A Name in the Shadows and the Oath of the Robe
In that dusty small town, names, like dust, were easily forgotten. Lin Xiaoqing's name, however, was once the brightest star in town. Her home was a mud-brick house that seemed to tremble with every gust of wind. Her parents were farmers who toiled from dawn till dusk, their sweat watering the barren land and nourishing her seemingly unattainable dream of university. That year, the acceptance letter arrived like a golden dove, flapping its wings as it flew into their humble home. The red seal, the white paper, carried the entirety of a young girl's imagination about the future – sunlit classrooms, vast seas of books, and the hope of escaping this land.
Lin Xiaoqing wept tears of joy, hot tears that fell onto the letter, smudging a small patch of ink, like a silent blemish appearing on the blueprint of her future. She carefully tucked it under her pillow, as if it were a ticket to paradise.
However, the gates of paradise slammed shut before her, silently but with the force to crush everything. On the day of registration for the new semester, standing before the gates of the institution she had dreamed of, she was told that "Lin Xiaoqing" had already enrolled. That "Lin Xiaoqing" wore a beautiful dress she had never seen before, arm-in-arm with a distinguished-looking middle-aged man, her eyes holding a trace of superiority Lin Xiaoqing couldn't comprehend, and… an emptiness. The acceptance letter in her hand looked identical to the one held by the other "Lin Xiaoqing," yet not entirely the same. In the face of reality, hers suddenly became waste paper, a sheet filled with mockery.
She stood like a stone statue amidst the bustling crowd. The world spun around her, blurred, and finally turned into a cold, gray void. She tried to argue, her voice hoarse, but was pushed away by security guards like a stray dog. The middle-aged man, reportedly a department head of some sort, his gaze was like an ice pick, piercing her last shred of dignity. "There must be a mistake," someone said coldly. "Go back."
Go back? Back where? Back to the mud-brick house that held the hopes of her entire family, but now only contained despair? She didn't know how she left that city, only remembered the sky was leaden gray, like a giant tombstone pressing down on her young chest. Her name, her identity, her future – stolen, replaced, erased effortlessly by a vast, invisible machine woven from power, connections, and indifference. It was an almost absurd deprivation, as if she were merely an erroneous code in a file, deletable at will.
The following years were the darkest abyss of her life. She worked on assembly lines, her fingers blistered by machines; she washed dishes in restaurants, grease soaking her hands and dreams; she drifted through the city's corners, surviving tenaciously but humbly like a weed deprived of sunlight. She saw too many others struggling at the bottom like her, the same weariness and resentment in their eyes. The "Lin Xiaoqing" who replaced her, she heard, thrived in university and entered an enviable workplace after graduation. Every piece of news was like a dull knife twisting repeatedly in Lin Xiaoqing's heart.
Despair is stagnant water, but anger is fire. On a sleepless night, as the city's neon lights cast mottled shadows through her small window onto her tear-streaked face, a thought struck her like lightning, splitting the darkness: She had to reclaim what was hers – not the tainted university spot, but justice, fairness, her trampled dignity. She thought of the law. A cold, rigorous field, yet potentially holding ultimate fairness. If the hand of fate had strangled her dream with power, she would use the weapon of law to forge a path for herself, and for the silent majority.
It was an almost insane decision. A village girl who hadn't even properly finished high school, challenging the imposing fortress built of statutes and logic. She began to teach herself. She sweated on the factory floor by day and pored over thick, brick-like law books under dim light by night. Every unfamiliar term, every complex case, was like a steep mountain peak to climb. She gnawed on dry buns when hungry, splashed cold water on her face when sleepy. Her body grew thinner, but her eyes grew brighter, like tempered steel.
Countless times, she thought of giving up. The vast, formless shadow of power felt like Kafka's unreachable castle, bringing a suffocating sense of powerlessness. Who was she? Just a forgotten name, dust outside the statistics. How could she fight against that solid, deeply rooted system? But whenever these thoughts arose, she would remember her parents' wrinkled faces, remember herself standing lost and helpless before the university gates, remember the other souls struggling in the shadows. Her anger, her indignation, her yearning converged into an unstoppable force.
After countless sleepless nights, countless failures and restarts. Finally, on a bright morning, she received her lawyer's qualification certificate. That paper felt heavier than the acceptance letter years ago, for it carried not only her sweat and tears, but also a vow.
She put on the lawyer's robe. Standing in court, the black robe felt like a banner, and also like armor. Her voice was no longer hoarse but clear, firm, filled with the power of logic. She began taking on pro bono cases, defending migrant workers who couldn't afford fees, disadvantaged groups facing unfair treatment. She saw in them the same confusion and helplessness she had once felt, and also saw the brilliance of law when it upheld justice.
She made no deliberate effort to find the person who had replaced her. Personal grudges now seemed insignificant to her. What she fought against was the vast shadow that created countless tragedies like hers, the arrogance and indifference that disregards rules and treats the powerless like weeds. Every argument in court, every right secured for a client, was a silent declaration to the one who stole her name and life, and the system behind them: Look, you stole a student's identity, but you created a fighter for justice.
Late at night, Lin Xiaoqing would sometimes stand by the window, gazing at the city lights. She knew the shadows hadn't fully dispersed, injustice still existed. But she was no longer the girl crying in the dark. She had chosen to use the lamp of law to illuminate forgotten corners, to warm cold hearts. Her name, Lin Xiaoqing, no longer just an identifier, now represented an indomitable will, a resilient flower blooming from the ruins of despair, a long journey sworn by the robe, pursuing flickers of light and justice in the human world. Her fight had just begun.