Definitions and Beginnings
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the café's huge floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled shadows on the dark wooden tables. The air was filled with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the soft strains of jazz music, creating a world apart from the coldness of the detention center and the clamor of the internet outside.
Lin Feng sat in a quiet booth in the corner, a nearly untouched Americano in front of him, the ice mostly melted. Zhou Wenyuan sat opposite him, his latte long since cold. He looked at Lin Feng; the young man before him, tempered by his time in the detention center, possessed an even more composed demeanor, a composure almost frightening, his eyes seemingly frozen in an unmelting layer of ice.
"Lawyer Zhou," Lin Feng suddenly spoke, his voice low, breaking the brief silence. His fingers unconsciously traced the cold glass, "Do you know the different types of death?"
Zhou Wenyuan was slightly taken aback, not expecting Lin Feng to suddenly ask such a philosophically significant, even somewhat ominous, question. He carefully considered his words, attempting to answer from a legal or medical perspective, "From a legal and biological standpoint, it usually refers to brain death or cardiac arrest..."
Lin Feng didn't seem to need his answer. He raised his eyes, his gaze not fixed on Zhou Wenyuan, but piercing through the window to look at the bustling street outside, his eyes empty and deep, as if staring at some truth incomprehensible to ordinary people. He interrupted Zhou Wenyuan, speaking in a calm, yet clear and distinct tone, continuing on his own:
Three types.
"Physiological death. Heart stops beating, breathing ceases, cells disintegrate, and you turn to dust. This is the most basic, and also the most boring kind." There was a hint of contempt in his tone, as if he were talking about an insignificant tool.
He paused, picked up the glass of ice water mixture, and gently swirled it.
"Social death. Disgraced, abandoned by all, ostracized by every circle, like a weed uprooted, alive but completely 'deactivated' by the system of human society. His name became synonymous with shame, his very existence was a mistake, no one cared, no one remembered, and... no one was even willing to admit that he had ever existed."
Zhou Wenyuan felt a chill creep up his spine. He looked at Lin Feng and suddenly realized that these words were not empty talk, but had a clear purpose.
Lin Feng put down the glass, the bottom of the glass touching the table with a soft but crisp "tap". He leaned forward slightly, his voice even lower, carrying a chilling, almost Whisper quality:
"And then... ultimate death."
"It's not the demise of the body, nor the forgetting of society. Rather... it's being erased from all records, thoroughly cleansed from everyone's memory, like a wisp of smoke dissipating into the air, leaving no trace. The people he loved, the people he hated, the things he experienced, the value he created, or the sins he committed... everything returns to nothingness. No one can prove he was ever here, and no one needs to be held responsible for him. This is the most thorough, the cleanest, and also the most... fairest erasure."
After he finished speaking, he leaned back in his chair, his face expressionless, as if his chilling remarks were merely a casual comment on today's weather.
Zhou Wenyuan's throat felt dry. He picked up his cold coffee and took a sip, the bitter taste spreading through him. He vaguely sensed that the "three kinds of death" Lin Feng mentioned were not just a theory, but rather the hammer of judgment about to fall, which would impose different levels of punishment depending on the different individuals involved.
"Alright," Lin Feng stood up, his movements swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation, "I should go."
He didn't look at Zhou Wenyuan again, nor did he explain the specific meaning of those words. He walked straight to the entrance of the coffee shop, and his figure quickly disappeared into the bustling crowd in the afternoon.
Zhou Wenyuan sat alone, staring at the nearly full iced Americano across from him. Sunlight shone on the glass, reflecting a cold light. Lin Feng's last words echoed in his mind like a curse—"social death," "ultimate death," "erasure"... He realized that the storm hadn't subsided, but had transformed, shifting from the clamor of the internet to a deeper, more deadly Undercurrent. And Lin Feng was the source and center of that Undercurrent.
As night fell, thick, dark clouds swallowed the last glimmer of starlight, and the long-brewing rain finally poured down. Large raindrops pounded against the windows, making a pattering noise, like countless cold fingers urgently tapping on the glass. The city became blurred in the rain, and neon lights spread out in hazy patches of light.
Inside an apartment building in a mid-range suburban residential complex, the scene was quite different. Warm lighting dispelled the chill outside the window, and a lighthearted variety show played on the television, the host's exaggerated laughter filling the silence of the space.
Sun Tingting was curled up on the soft sofa in the living room, wrapped in a soft coral fleece blanket, holding a tablet computer in her hands. A currently popular historical romance drama was playing on the screen. She was watching with great interest, occasionally smiling at the interactions between the male and female leads. A plate of washed strawberries was also beside her.
The sounds of spatulas clattering and the aroma of food wafted from the kitchen; Mother was preparing a late-night snack. Father sat on a single sofa nearby, wearing reading glasses, flipping through the day's newspaper, occasionally taking a sip of tea.
Everything seemed so ordinary, so peaceful. It was as if the raging storms of the outside world and the raging online attacks against her had nothing to do with this warm little home.
Sun Tingting didn't even bother refreshing her social media anymore. After the initial panic and anger of the first few days, a near-numb sense of luck took over. She stubbornly believed that the internet's memory only lasted seven seconds. Once this storm passed, and the next bigger scandal emerged, who would remember her, Sun Tingting?
She could still bask in the glory of graduating from a prestigious university and successfully securing a place in graduate school, and continue her "beautiful" life in a different environment, or even under a different name. As for Lin Feng? What could a poor student with no power or influence do even if he was acquitted? Could he possibly cause any trouble? Deep down, she even harbored a lingering sense of twisted superiority.
"Tingting, have some wontons, they're freshly cooked." The mother came out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of wontons, a loving smile on her face.
"Okay, Mom, put it there. I'll watch this episode." Sun Tingting replied without looking up, her attention completely absorbed by the plot.
The father put down the newspaper, rubbed his eyes, and said, "This rain is really heavy; it doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon."
Unbeknownst to anyone, in the cold rain outside the window, a ghostly figure lurked silently in the shadows of the greenbelt below, like a venomous snake awaiting its prey, gazing up at the window emitting warm light. Rain dripped from the brim of his raincoat, and his eyes, hidden in the shadows, were devoid of warmth, only deathly stillness.