Photo: screenshot

What started as a simple request for help has turned into a cultural moment that highlights people's longing for warm connections. On Monday afternoon, the quiet riverside of Qingfu village in the Hechuan district of ­Southwest China's Chongqing Municipality, erupted with activity. Hundreds of cars clogged the narrow streets, and more than 10,000 people gathered to witness and participate in a traditional "pig slaughter feast." 

The event traces back to January 9, when a young woman who goes by Dai Dai on short video-sharing platform Douyin asked for help to slaughter two pigs for her elderly father. Her post read, in part, "On January 11, my family will slaughter two pigs. Can someone help me hold the pigs? I'll feed you pork soup! My elderly father is too old to do it himself." 

She jokingly added, "I just want my front yard full of cars - more than at a wedding! Allow me to stand with my head held high in my village." 

The video has since received more than 950,000 likes and over 580,000 shares. 

The slaughter of pigs before the Spring Festival is a centuries-old ritual in rural China. In ancient times, before the festival period, many households sold pigs to earn extra ­income. But during the ­Chinese New Year, the ritual takes on a deeper meaning: preparing food for family gatherings, celebrating the season, and honoring communal bonds. 

In some regions, the year-end pig slaughter has become an important tradition for celebrating a bumper harvest, passing down folk customs, and strengthening neighborhood bonds, Bu Xiting, an associate researcher at the School of Cultural Industries Management at the Communication University of China, told the Global Times on Tuesday.

Surrounded by thousands of people, participants in the Qingfu village event were drawn not just by a bowl of freshly made pork soup, but by the strong sense of community and ritual that has been lost amid rapid urbanization, added Bu.

People brought gifts, helped where they could, and participated as if visiting their own family, enjoying not just food, but the rhythm, smells, and sounds of village life. 

Local authorities, including the police and tourism officials, managed the crowd with a mix of order and hospitality. Cars were directed, tickets for local attractions handed out, and the event transformed from a gathering into a "rural carnival" of sorts. The viral moment was handled responsibly, showing that spontaneous community events can be scaled safely with foresight.

Yet the challenge now is sustaining the momentum. Viral fame fades easily unless it is anchored in a meaningful experience or product. Bu suggests the village could evolve the feast into a regular cultural attraction: an annual "rural life experience festival," or a curated culinary route highlighting local traditions. By giving participants a story, a role, and a hands-on experience, like slaughtering pigs, making cured meats, and writing spring couplets, the event could become more than a viral spectacle, making a deeper connection to rural culture and Chinese heritage, according to Bu.

The broader lesson is clear: The most compelling form of cultural promotion isn't always meticulously scripted marketing. Rather it is the recognition of everyday life, the small joys and rituals that resonate deeply with people. The Qingfu village feast went viral not because of spectacle, but because it touched on authenticity, communal care, and shared tradition, qualities that cannot be replicated in a studio or on a stage.

Local tourism authorities have already taken action. The Hechuan Cultural and Tourism Bureau released a video highlighting the region's native black pig breed. According to media reports, five sub-venues for the pig-slaughter feast have been set up, and a pork soup festival is also under consideration.

The author is a reporter with the Global Times. life@globaltimes.com.cn