Chapter 8 — The Queen Cryes, I Report the Punishment

Photography exchange. Share outfits. Additional job support. Old account. Behind the scenes are all secret filming, account theft, face swapping, and trading. In the police announcement, Du Niem Vi's name appeared twice. Once, one of the victims had his photos distributed. Once was a participant in illegal drainage. A lot of people don't understand. They like simple stickers. Good person. Bad guy. Victim. The one who harms people. But reality is not the short video title. Just because a person is a victim in one thing, doesn't mean she can harm someone in another thing. My son attended a cybersecurity lecture jointly organized by the school and the police. It writes content that is very easy to understand. Don't click on links randomly. Don't put private photos in an auto-syncing cloud drive. The account must have two-step verification enabled. Ask the computer repair person to record the screen. Equipment handover must be clearly written. If you encounter a privacy leak, first report it to the police, don't handle it privately. I watched him practice and laughed at him: "You're doing this like an anti-fraud advertisement." It said: "It's okay to understand." "It's too complicated to say, but they feel that it's very far away from them." I nodded. "Reasonable." One year later, my son won first prize in the national cybersecurity challenge. On the day he received the award, he wore a white shirt. Standing on stage, very clean. The host asked: "After going through that, what is your biggest feeling?" It thought for a moment. "Don't leave your innocence to public opinion to preserve." “Don't leave justice to your emotions to decide.” The applause below the stage was very loud. I sat in the corner, my eyes stinging. After finishing, it ran in front of me. “Mom, what's for dinner tonight?” "Hot pot." “Mom, please?” “Mom, please.” It laughed. Like a normal twenty-three year old guy. What I'm waiting for is this normality. On the way home, he suddenly asked me: "Mom, why were you so determined to report to the police that day?" I grabbed the steering wheel. The lights outside the window receded one by one. I said, “Because Mom once had a very long nightmare.” It looked at me. “What did you dream about?” “Dreaming that my mother didn't believe me from the beginning.” It was quiet in the car. After a long time, he softly said: "Luckily, Mom woke up." I laugh. "YES." Luckily I woke up. Luckily in this life, I no longer entrust my son's purity to cries, power, traffic and so-called face. The car drove through the school gate. The new student dragged his luggage inside. On the big screen ran a line of cyber security propaganda slogans. “Protecting victims starts with investigating the truth.” I looked at that line, my heart suddenly felt light. In my previous life, I carried documents everywhere. In this life, the truth does not arrive until late at the grave. It caught up while my son was still alive. The boy leaned against the passenger seat, softly humming a song. The night wind crept through the window. Clean, warm. It's like fate has finally paved the path that owed us back to the light.