The lights of the city outside Liang Chen's window at Dragon Crest Manor twinkled like a million jewels, showing off the never-ending wealth and activity. But inside his fancy suite, it was surprisingly quiet, even empty. He had a lot of nice things, like soft carpets, expensive art, and a view that went on for miles, but he often felt lonely. He lived in a world where people always wanted more from him. He was Liang Chen, the heir to Horizon Tech, a huge company that was like a kingdom for his family.
He wasn't thinking about making money or going to board meetings tonight. He was looking at a smaller screen, and his laptop was open to a small online forum about tech ethics. He typed quickly and angrily under the name "Sentinel." His fingers flew across the keyboard. He was making a strong case for a world where businesses could come up with new ideas without too many government rules and where technology could grow without too many rules. He really believed in making things better and doing things that people thought were impossible. But there was a stronger pressure behind that belief: the heavy burden of his family's legacy and the need to keep Horizon Tech at the top. New privacy laws felt like a direct threat, like someone was trying to catch a bird that was flying. He thought of them as problems, not helpful advice. He hit "post" even though he was angry and defiant.
He let out a long sigh. He felt the pressure even in this anonymous space online. He was always fighting and taking care of himself. He fought a lot of battles in his life: against competitors, the market, and most of all, against his own family members who were always trying to outsmart him to take over the business. Liang Zhong, his grandfather, was a strong man who wanted nothing less than the best. It felt like the stakes were too high with his 25th birthday coming up and the marriage condition tied to a huge 20% company share. This online forum was a small escape for him, a place where he could argue his points without worrying about what other people would think of him. But he still put all of his energy into what he said.
Mei Lin sat cross-legged on her old armchair in a smaller, cosier apartment miles away. Milo, her fluffy white Samoyed, was curled up at her feet. The flat was basic and smelt like her mother's food. There were a lot of books and some plants. Liang Chen's world was nothing like hers. She was Mei Lin, a Master's student at Shanghai University in her last year. She was trying to start her own business doing ethical hacking.
She had just read Sentinel's latest post and was very angry. He called it "uncontrolled innovation." She was mad. She thought that sounded like a fancy way of saying "do what you want, even if it hurts someone." Professor Lin Yuze, a quiet and thoughtful college history professor, and Dr. Wen Hua, a kind and dedicated doctor at a government hospital, were her parents. They taught her a lot about what is right and wrong. They taught her to always put others first and to use her skills for good. They had spent all of their money on her and her brother Lin Yichen's education, giving them every chance to succeed. Mei Lin really believed in being responsible and giving back.
She felt a wave of anger and heat rising up her neck. How could anyone not see how many people would die? She started typing, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard with very little time to think. She wrote a harsh, principled answer that tore Sentinel's arguments to shreds. She talked about how corporate greed could hurt people in very real ways, like by invading their privacy, taking away their freedom, and trampling on their lives to make money. She spoke with passion and anger, and she truly believed that technology had a responsibility to people, not just to shareholders. This was her online life as "CipherTruth." She hit "send," and a rebellious shiver ran through her.
When Liang Chen reloaded the page, CipherTruth's answer came up. He glanced at it quickly and then read it slowly again. He bit down on his jaw. Her words were harsh, cutting, and brutally honest. She didn't just disagree; she made him question his most deeply held beliefs, which hurt him the most. He always felt defensive when she said things like "human cost" and "corporate greed," even though he knew they were true.
He was both annoyed and strangely interested at the same time. It made me mad that she was so stubborn, so fiercely idealistic, and so unwilling to see the big picture of running a big business. But she was interesting because she was so smart. He found it strange that she wasn't just making empty criticisms; she backed up her points with strong logic and a real passion. He didn't often meet people who were so honest. Most of the people in his life either agreed with him because they were scared or because it was in their best interest, or they argued in a way that was weak and predictable. CipherTruth was neither. She was a real challenge for my mind.
He leaned back and read the words on the screen. Who was she? Was she an activist for a long time? A very intelligent student? He thought of someone strong and unyielding, someone who held their beliefs close. He felt a strange pull towards the fight, as if he was addicted to the mental challenge she gave him. CipherTruth was a breath of fresh air in a world full of fake interactions. For example, every smile from a cousin like Liang Zixin felt fake, and every conversation with Liang Zhe (even from abroad) felt like a chess game. In this online back-and-forth, he felt truly alive, truly challenged, and completely unmasked. He didn't get to have this kind of direct interaction at work every day at Horizon Tech. He wanted to know more than just who she was; he wanted to know what kind of mind could push back against his so strongly.
Mei Lin's small flat had a computer screen that showed Sentinel's answer. Her heart raced a little faster when she read it. She could tell he was mad. But she also felt something else that she couldn't quite put into words. It was a short time of real thought, and she felt more connected than she had expected. He didn't just not listen to her. He was really trying to fight with her and defend his point of view by looking at things from different points of view.
She was still mad, but there was also a strange, unsettling curiosity in her mind. This "Sentinel," a strong voice that sounded like it was coming from somewhere else, was giving us clues about a complicated mind. She felt a connection to the intellectual struggle and a kinship in how hard it was to make those arguments. It was a mix of annoyance and an interest she couldn't explain, like a puzzle she couldn't help but want to solve. She began to wonder who was behind the screen. Was he really as cold and businesslike as he looked? Or did he have more to him than just his online persona, like she did?
She scratched behind Milo's ears again and ran her fingers through his soft fur. The laptop screen lit up the dark room and made a humming sound. The outside world, the bills, the school deadlines, and her worries about the future all faded a little. In this online space, it was just her and Sentinel, two people who didn't agree with each other. For the first time in a long time, Mei Lin felt a strange, quiet thrill about what the next day and the next fight might bring. At first, this digital fight was just a disagreement, but now she couldn't stop watching it.