Choice
The news of his father Li Jianhua's injury was like the last straw that broke the camel's back, snapping the taut string in Li Ming's heart. Almost instinctively, he rushed out of his office and drove frantically towards the hospital. The street scenes rushing past the window were blurry; all he could hear was his heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart. Zhang Lei's cold warning, Zhao Zhen and Zhou Ruilin's relentless pressure, and the image of his father lying in the hospital bed intertwined to create a suffocating picture of despair.
When Li Ming arrived at the hospital and saw his father lying on the bed with his leg in a cast and his face pale, while his mother, Wang Xiuqin, silently wept beside him, all of Li Ming's strength and pretense crumbled at that moment. He rushed to the bedside, tightly grasped his father's rough hand, and felt as if something was tightly blocking his throat, unable to utter a single word.
“It’s nothing… Mingming, just a scrape, nothing serious…” Li Jianhua tried to force a smile to comfort his son, but the smile was more heartbreaking than tears. The factory safety officer stammered an explanation that the equipment was “old and dilapidated” and “malfunctioned unexpectedly,” but Li Ming didn’t believe a word! His father had an “accident” right after Zhang Lei issued the warning? What a coincidence!
This is not an accident! This is a warning! It is the most blatant and cruel threat! The other party is using his parents' safety to clearly tell him: everything about you is under control, including the life and death of your family!
A surge of rage, piercing fear, and utter despair, mixed with overwhelming fury, coursed through his chest like magma, burning and scorching him. For the first time, he realized with such clarity that before those truly colossal beings, all his struggles, all his calculations, all his forbearance seemed utterly laughable and insignificant. He could disregard his own safety, but he couldn't gamble with his parents' lives!
At that moment, his crazy plan about the "mirror image," about the future, about breaking free from shackles, was like a flame extinguished by ice water, leaving only cold ashes.
He silently arranged everything at the hospital, hired the best caregivers, and comforted his frightened mother. Then, he walked alone to the empty rooftop of the hospital. The night wind was biting, making his thin clothes flutter, but it couldn't dispel the heaviness and coldness in his heart.
He took out his phone, staring at the encrypted contact information—the only gateway to the "Mirror" lab. His finger hovered over the dial button for a long time before finally pressing it hard.
“Wang Hao,” his voice was hoarse like a broken bellows, “'Mirror' Project… terminated.”
A long silence followed on the other end of the phone, broken only by Wang Hao's suppressed breathing. After a long while, Wang Hao finally spoke with difficulty: "...Where's all the data?"
“Completely erase it.” Li Ming closed his eyes, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth. “All servers, format. All code repositories, destroy. All local backups, physically destroy. I want it… to have never existed.”
"I understand." Wang Hao's voice trembled slightly, but more than that, it was filled with understanding. He knew what Li Ming's decision meant, and he also knew the desperate situation they were facing.
After hanging up the phone, Li Ming felt as if all his strength had been drained away, and he staggered against the cold concrete railing. He knew that he had personally killed the last chance that "Mingyu" might have to break free from its fate. From now on, "Mingyu Technology" would truly become a law-abiding and methodical "good child" under the wings (or rather, in the cage) of Lei Yao Capital.
The next day, Li Ming returned to the company with unprecedented exhaustion and an almost numb calm. He summoned all the core members, including Li Ziqing, who had just finished dealing with family matters and rushed back.
At the meeting, Li Ming announced a series of shocking decisions:
First, completely suspend the development of all non-core functions of the platform, especially any projects involving algorithm optimization and new data applications.
Second, proactively apply to the "Security Committee" for a thorough, radical security review and "purification" of the platform's existing data structure and algorithms.
Third, the company's strategy has been comprehensively scaled back, focusing on maintaining the stable operation of existing communities and the continued implementation of the "Craftsman Program," and no longer seeking scale expansion and market breakthroughs.
Fourth, accept a "deep technical support" offer from Lei Yao Capital that he had previously rejected—Lei Yao would send a technical team to "Mingyu" to "assist" in the "optimization" of the platform architecture and the "standardization" of the code.
This series of decisions is almost tantamount to handing over the technological lifeline and future development direction of "Mingyu" entirely to Lei Yao.
A deathly silence fell over the conference room. Liu Qiang stared wide-eyed, his face filled with disbelief. Wang Hao kept his head down, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed his inner turmoil.
Looking at Li Ming, who seemed to have lost all his vigor and vitality overnight, and seeing the unfathomable weariness and gloom in his eyes, Li Ziqing felt a heartache so intense she could hardly breathe. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately said nothing. She knew that Li Ming's decision must have been driven by a profound and unimaginable reason.
“Li Ming…” she could only call his name softly, her voice filled with helpless concern.
Li Ming didn't look at her, his gaze blankly fixed ahead, his tone as flat as if he were reading a document unrelated to himself: "Execute it. This is the only correct choice for the company at present..."
No one raised any further objections. An atmosphere of despair enveloped the entire team.
Leiyao Capital's technical team quickly took their positions, and like a skilled surgeon, they began a comprehensive "review" and "restructuring" of the "Mingyu Life" platform's codebase. Wang Hao was forced to relinquish most of his core permissions, becoming a collaborator. He watched as his hard work was modified, commented out, and even directly deleted, his eyes growing dimmer day by day.
Li Ming transformed himself into a mere executor. He ceased to consider long-term strategies and technical details, focusing solely on strictly following the instructions of Zhang Lei and the "Security Committee." He submitted reports on time, attended various "compliance meetings" that he considered meaningless, and even began to actively "persuade" some key technical personnel who felt the company had lost its vitality and were considering leaving.
He seemed to have become an empty shell, devoid of his soul, walking between the company and the hospital, mechanically fulfilling his responsibilities as a son and CEO.
However, just when everyone thought that Li Ming had completely given in and that "Mingyu" would fall into ruin, no one noticed that beneath Li Ming's seemingly numb and calm exterior, something deeper was quietly changing.
On countless trips to and from the hospital, on countless sleepless nights, watching his father's face gradually recover but still filled with lingering fear, and watching his mother's eyes, which tried to appear calm but couldn't hide her lingering fear, something more enduring than anger and more resilient than despair began to accumulate and surge again in the depths of his cold heart, like magma running underground.
That wasn't an impulse, nor was it an adventure; it was a chillingly firm resolve based on the most brutal realities of life.
He realized that simply running away and submitting wouldn't bring true safety. Zhang Lei's "protection" came at a price, and that price would only keep rising. Only by possessing power that the other party couldn't ignore, or even fear, could one truly protect those they wanted to protect.
Destroying the "mirror image" is a desperate measure to save oneself, a way to avert immediate catastrophe. But it does not mean giving up.
He needed a new way, a more covert, smarter, and more undetectable way, to rebuild his strength. He could no longer pin his hopes on a centralized, easily discoverable "laboratory." He needed to disperse the sparks, integrating them into seemingly harmless daily life, into those permitted, "safe" boundaries.
He began to take advantage of the opportunity presented by Lei Yao's technical team "optimizing" the code, seemingly cooperating, but actually secretly observing their technical approach and mindset. He started to study more carefully the technical documents and industry standards approved by the "Security Committee," not to look for restrictions, but to look for the "grey areas" and "interpretable spaces" under those restrictions.
He even began to proactively engage in in-depth conversations with his colleague in charge of the "Artisan Project," a man passionate about traditional culture and handicrafts, to learn about those seemingly unrelated fields to internet technology. A vague idea of a new model that would more deeply integrate online communities with offline entities, and perhaps circumvent certain "sensitive" regulations, began to quietly take shape in his mind.
He was no longer angry or anxious; he became more patient and calm than ever before. Like a master infiltrator, he buried himself deep within, waiting, calculating, and preparing.
That day, he went to the hospital to pick up his father from discharge. His father, leaning on his cane, looked at the bustling crowd outside the hospital, and suddenly patted Li Ming on the shoulder, his tone calm yet powerful:
“Mingming, Dad is fine now. The machines in this factory are old, it’s normal for them to break down. You go out and do whatever you need to do, don’t let us hold you back. Your mother and I aren’t as useless as you think.”
Hearing his father's simple yet trusting words, and seeing the composure in his father's eyes after weathering many storms, Li Ming felt a lump in his throat and nodded heavily.
He knew he couldn't give up. He had to keep going in another way.
Just as he helped his father into the car and was about to leave, his phone vibrated. It was an encrypted message from an unknown number, containing only a few words:
"The seeds have been safely transferred. Now we await the spring breeze."
The sender was Wang Hao.
As Li Ming looked at the message, his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. Beneath the stillness of his eyes, a subtle yet incredibly resolute glint flashed.
The storm hasn't ended; it's just gone underground. And a new game has only just begun.
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