Translated from Ma Boyong — "The Silent City"
And in the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening.
People writing songs that voices never shared, no one dared disturb the
sound of silence.
— The sound of silence
United States of America, 2015, New York.
When the phone rang, Awadeng was sleeping in front of the computer. The phone's ringing was very urgent and sharp, each vibration made his eardrum uncomfortable for a long time. He rubbed his dry eyes and reluctantly got up, feeling his mind was extremely sluggish.
In fact, his mind had always been sluggish; this feeling was both physiological and psychological. The room he was in was very narrow, the air was not good, and the only two windows were tightly closed— even opening the windows would be useless, as the air outside was even more polluted. This was a small room of about thirty square meters, with yellowing wallpaper on the walls starting to peel in several places, and strange shapes formed by water stains on the ceiling; an old military green army bed was placed in the corner, with a number painted in white on the bed legs; right next to the army bed was a plywood computer desk, on which sat a light-colored computer, with colorful wires tangled behind the case, forming a strange knot, spreading chaotically to the floor and corners like ivy.
Awadeng walked to the phone, slowly sat down on the floor, stared blankly at the phone, but his hands did not move. This strange thing was an old-fashioned push-button phone, probably a model from over a decade ago, which Awadeng had bought by chance at a grocery store during a business trip to Philadelphia; after bringing it home and repairing it a bit, he found that it could still work, which excited him for a short while.
The phone continued to ring, and it was already the seventh ring. Awadeng realized he had to answer it. So he bent down, picked up the phone with two fingers, and slowly brought it to his ear.
"Please state your network number?" The voice from the receiver was not urgent; in fact, it carried no emotional tone at all, as it was a computer-generated artificial intelligence voice.
"19842015"
Awadeng skillfully reported a series of numbers, while beginning to feel a bit more suffocated in his chest. To be honest, he did not like these hollow electronic voices; sometimes he thought how nice it would be if the caller was a woman with a smooth voice. Awadeng knew this was an unrealistic fantasy, but it provided him with a few seconds of relief.
The voice in the receiver continued.
"Your application for user registration on the online forum submitted on October 4 has been processed. After review by the relevant department, your qualifications have been confirmed. Please bring your ID, internet usage permit, and related documents to complete the registration process within three days, and receive your username and password."
"Got it, thank you."
Awadeng carefully chose his words while trying hard to squeeze out a satisfied smile, as if someone on the other side of the receiver was watching him. After hanging up, Awadeng stared blankly at the phone for about two minutes, then stood up to stretch his wrists, sat back down in front of the computer, and slowly moved the mouse.
The computer screen lit up with a "pop," displaying a login interface, along with a line of English: "Please enter your network number and name." Awadeng typed in the eight-digit number, entered his name, and clicked "Login." Immediately, the indicator light on the case began to flash frequently, and the entire machine emitted a faint noise.
Every internet user has a network number; without this number, one cannot connect to the internet. Each number is unique, and each person has only one; it is the user's only identifier online, which cannot be modified or canceled. These numbers correspond to the names on the user's ID card, so 19842015 is Awadeng, and Awadeng is 19842015. Awadeng knew that some people with poor memory would print their numbers on the back of their clothes, which looked quite ridiculous and could easily lead to some improper associations.
The relevant department claimed that using real-name registration for the internet was to regulate online order for easier management, eliminating a series of major problems and chaos caused by anonymous internet use. Awadeng was not quite clear what those major problems would be; he had never tried to go online under a pseudonym, nor had anyone he knew— in fact, from a technical perspective, he had no way to log in anonymously; without a number, there was no permission to go online, and the number was linked to his detailed profile. In other words, no one could hide themselves online. The relevant department had considered all of this very thoroughly.
"The relevant department," this is a vague term, yet it carries authority and deterrence. It is both general and specific, encompassing a wide range of meanings. Sometimes it refers to the Federal Network Management Committee of the United States, which issued Awadeng's network number; sometimes it is the server that sends the latest announcements and regulations to Awadeng's email; and at other times it is the FBI's Cyber Crime Division monitoring the internet. In short, the relevant department is omnipresent and omnipotent, always appearing at the right time to provide guidance, supervision, or warnings, whether you are online or offline.
It is just like Big Brother, meticulous in every detail.
The computer continued to run, and Awadeng knew it would take a while. This computer was provided to him by the relevant department; he did not know the specific model and configuration, and the case was welded shut, unable to be opened. So he took out a small bottle of cooling oil, used the nail of his right pinky to scoop out a bit and applied it to his temples, then rummaged through the mountain of clutter at his feet to find a plastic cup, filled half a cup of distilled water from the water dispenser beside the desk, and downed it with a painkiller. The distilled water slid down his throat and narrow esophagus into his stomach, its bland taste making him feel a bit nauseous.
Suddenly, the sound of the American national anthem came from the speakers, and Awadeng put down the cup, redirecting his gaze back to the computer. This was the sign that he was connected to the internet. The first thing that popped up on the screen was an announcement from the relevant department, in black font on a white background, stating the significance of using the internet and the latest regulations.
"Create a healthy internet, long live America!"
A passionate male voice came from the speakers, and Awadeng reluctantly repeated it aloud. "Create a healthy internet, long live America!"
This chant lasted for thirty seconds before disappearing, replaced by a desktop background with the slogan "Create a healthy internet." Another window slowly appeared, listing several options: Work, Entertainment, Email, and BBS Forum. The BBS option was grayed out, indicating that this function had not yet been activated.
The entire operating system was simple and clear; this computer's browser did not have an address input bar, only a few unmodifiable website addresses in the favorites. The reason was simple: these websites were all healthy and positive. If other sites were the same as these, then retaining only these sites would suffice; if other sites were different, then they were unhealthy and of low taste, and could not be retained. This was carefully designed by the relevant department, considering the mental health of citizens, fearing they might be contaminated by bad information.
Awadeng first clicked on "Work," and a list of sites related to his job and relevant software appeared on the computer. Awadeng was a programmer, and his daily work involved writing programs according to his superiors' requirements. This job was quite boring, but it guaranteed him a stable income. He did not know where his source code would be used, and his superiors had never told him.
He intended to continue the work from yesterday, but soon found it difficult to proceed. Awadeng felt more irritable today than before, unable to concentrate, his mind still sluggish, and his chest still heavy. He tried to entertain himself, but found that the "Entertainment" option only contained card games and minesweeper; according to the relevant department, these were two healthy games, with no violence, no pornography, and would not incite criminal impulses, nor did they involve any political color. It was said that there were internet sites outside the United States, but they could not be accessed, as the domestic internet was independent and self-sufficient, and ordinary people could not directly connect to foreign sites— the IE browser had no address bar, and knowing the address was useless.
"You have a new email."
The system suddenly popped up a notification, and Awadeng quickly found a reason to pause his work. He swiftly moved the mouse to the email option and clicked it, and a new interface appeared.
"To: 19842015
From: 10045687
Subject: Module, completed, current, project, start."
Awadeng sighed slightly, feeling a bit disappointed. Every time he received a new email, he hoped for a fresh stimulus to jolt his increasingly dull nerves, but each time he was disappointed. In fact, he had known this for a long time; he just felt that maintaining expectations could at least provide him with a few seconds of pleasure. It was like hoping that the voice on the other end of the line would be that of a smooth, gentle woman. Without giving himself some vague hope, Awadeng felt he would eventually go crazy.
This email was short but substantial. 19842015 was Awadeng's network number, while 10045687 was the number of one of his colleagues; such work-related emails were usually addressed by number. The content of the email consisted of several disjointed English words, which was a writing style promoted by the relevant department, as it made it easier for software to check for sensitive vocabulary in emails.
Awadeng opened the reply page while also opening another window to access a TXT document titled "Healthy Language Vocabulary List for the Internet." This was a vocabulary list that the relevant department required every internet user to use. When they wrote emails or used forum services, they had to find suitable nouns, adjectives, adverbs, or verbs from this vocabulary list to express what they wanted to say. Once the filtering software detected that an internet user had used words outside the list, that word would be automatically blocked, replaced with "Please use healthy language."
"Blocking" is a technical term; blocked words are not allowed to be used again, whether in writing or verbally. Ironically, the term "blocking" itself is also one of the blocked words.
This list is frequently updated, and with each update, several words disappear from the list, forcing Awadeng to rack his brain to find other words to replace the blocked word or term. For example, previously, the word "exercise" was permissible, but later the relevant department announced that it was also a sensitive word, so Awadeng had to use "particle displacement" to express the same meaning.
He compared this list and quickly completed an email that matched the style of the incoming message— the healthy vocabulary list forced people to use the shortest phrases to express the most meaning while minimizing unnecessary rhetoric, so these emails were as bland and tasteless as that cup of distilled water. Awadeng sometimes thought that he would eventually rot just like this water and these emails, because these emails were written by him, and the water was what he drank.
Next, Awadeng ran a check with the software to ensure he had not inadvertently included any sensitive vocabulary. Once everything was completed, he pressed the send button, and the email was sent out.
Awadeng did not keep a backup because his machine had no hard drive, floppy drive, optical drive, or USB port. In this era, broadband technology had developed significantly, and application software could be centralized on a unified server, so personal users would not feel any delay when calling it up. Therefore, individuals did not need hard drives or local storage; every document, every piece of code, and even every action they wrote on their computers would be automatically transmitted to the relevant department's public server for management. In other words, the computer Awadeng used only had input and output functions.
After completing this email, Awadeng fell back into a soft, restless state, a normal reaction for a programmer who had been working continuously for three days. This emotion was dangerous because it made people inefficient and mentally sluggish, with no outlet for release. "Fatigue," "irritation," and other negative words were considered dangerous vocabulary; if he wrote to someone complaining, the recipient would receive an email filled with "Please use healthy language."
This was Awadeng's daily life, today worse than yesterday, but slightly better than tomorrow. In fact, this narrative was also vague because Awadeng himself was not clear about what "better" or "worse" meant. "Good" and "bad" were two variables, while his life was a constant, with only one constant called "oppression."
Awadeng pushed the mouse away, leaned his head back, and let out a long breath. (At least the word "breathe" had not been blocked.) This was a manifestation of emptiness; he wanted to hum a song but could not remember any, so he tried to whistle a few notes, but it sounded like a dog with tuberculosis, and he had to give up. The relevant department filled the entire room like a ghost, making it impossible for him to stretch out his frustration. It was like a person struggling in a quagmire, and as soon as they opened their mouth, they were filled with mud, unable to cry out for help.
His head turned restlessly a few times, and his gaze occasionally glanced at the old-fashioned phone on the floor; he suddenly remembered that he still needed to apply to the relevant department for his BBS forum browsing permit. So he closed the "Work" and "Email" windows and logged out of the internet. Awadeng did these things without hesitation; he was glad to temporarily escape the internet, where he was just a dull string of numbers and a composite of "healthy vocabulary."
Awadeng found an old black wool coat, inherited from his father, with severely worn cuffs and collar, and some gray cotton showing in places, but it was still warm. He put on the coat, donned a pair of dark green goggles, and covered his mouth with a filtering mask. He hesitated for a moment, picked up the "Listener" and clipped it to his ear, then walked out the door.
The streets of New York were sparsely populated; in this era, the internet penetration rate was quite high, and most matters could be resolved online, so the relevant department did not encourage too much outdoor activity. Too much outdoor activity could lead to physical contact with others, and what might happen after two people made physical contact was difficult to control.
The "Listener" was designed to prevent such occurrences; it was a portable language filter that would automatically sound an alarm when the bearer spoke sensitive vocabulary. Every citizen had to carry this device when going out to review their speech at any time. When people realized the Listener's existence, they often chose to remain silent; at least Awadeng did. The relevant department was gradually trying to unify the internet and real life, making both "healthy."
It was now November, with biting cold winds, and the sky was filled with oppressive lead-gray clouds. The telephone poles on both sides of the street looked like bare trees stripped of their leaves, and pedestrians wrapped themselves in black or gray coats, condensed into black dots moving quickly across the empty street. A layer of barely visible smoke enveloped the entire New York, and breathing in such air without a filtering mask would be quite a challenge.
It had been two months since he last left home. Awadeng stood under the bus stop sign, feeling a bit sentimental, as everything around him looked strange, yellowed, and dry. That was the trace of the last sandstorm. However, the term "sandstorm" had also been blocked, so the thought only flashed through Awadeng's mind for a moment before quickly shifting to other matters.
Next to Awadeng stood a tall man in a blue uniform. He first looked at Awadeng suspiciously, and upon seeing him silently sunk in his black coat, his feet moved alternately, slowly approaching, pretending to be casual as he said to Awadeng:
"Do you have any cigarettes?"
The man spoke each word clearly, and the intervals between words were long enough. The "Listener" was not yet sophisticated enough to fully capture each person's speaking speed and tone, so the relevant department required every citizen to maintain this speaking style to facilitate the detection of whether the speaker used words outside the prescribed vocabulary.
Awadeng turned his head to look at him, licked his cracked lips, and replied:
"No."
The man looked disappointed and reluctantly opened his mouth again.
"Do you have any alcohol?"
"No."
Awadeng repeated the word again; he had not received cigarettes or alcohol for a long time, perhaps due to shortages, which was common. However, one thing was strange; the "Listener" did not sound an alarm this time. From Awadeng's experience, whenever there was a shortage of cigarettes, alcohol, or other necessities, those words would temporarily become sensitive vocabulary until supplies were restored.
The man looked very tired, with red and swollen eyes, a common characteristic of people in this era due to long hours online. His hair was messy, and he had stubble around his mouth; the collar of his shirt under the uniform emitted a pungent musty smell. It was evident that he had not been out on the street for a long time.
Only then did Awadeng notice that his ears were empty, without the silver-gray little device, the "Listener." This was indeed a serious matter. Not carrying the "Listener" when going out meant that language would no longer be filtered, and some unhealthy thoughts and statements could potentially breed, so the relevant department strictly mandated that citizens must carry the Listener when going out. Yet the man had nothing by his ear. Awadeng was secretly shocked, unsure whether to remind him or pretend not to see. He thought to himself that perhaps reporting to the relevant department would be better.
At that moment, the man leaned a little closer, his gaze becoming eager. Awadeng felt a surge of tension and instinctively stepped back. Was this a robbery? Or was he a repressed homosexual? The man suddenly grabbed his sleeve, and Awadeng struggled awkwardly but could not break free. To his surprise, the man did not make any further moves but suddenly shouted, speaking at a speed Awadeng was no longer accustomed to. Awadeng was bewildered by this sudden outburst, unsure how to respond.
"I just want to talk to you a little more, just a few sentences, I haven't spoken for a long time. My name is Stoker, I'm thirty-two years old, remember, thirty-two. I've always dreamed of having a house by the lake, a fishing rod, and a small boat; I hate the internet, down with the network management; my wife is a terrible internet addict, she only calls me by my network number; this city is a big insane asylum, where big madmen control small madmen, turning everyone who isn't mad into the same kind of madness; sensitive vocabulary can go to hell, I'm so sick of it..."
The man's words were like a bottle of soda that had been shaken for a long time and then suddenly opened, rapid, explosive, and completely disorganized. Awadeng stared at this suddenly agitated guy in shock, not knowing how to react; more terrifyingly, he found himself feeling a bit of sympathy for him, that kind of "misery loves company" sympathy. The man's words had turned from rambling into pure cursing, all the most straightforward expressions of his feelings. Awadeng had not spoken such vulgarities in five or six years, and the last time he heard them was four years ago. The relevant department deemed this detrimental to spiritual civilization, so they had all been blocked.
And now this man was shouting in public, seemingly ready to pour out all the sensitive vocabulary that had been blocked. His gaze and gestures were not directed at anyone, not even at Awadeng, but rather it seemed like he was talking to himself. Awadeng's eardrums seemed unaccustomed to this decibel level, starting to ache slightly; he covered his ears, unsure whether to simply escape or... At that moment, two police cars appeared in the distance, flashing their lights and heading straight for the bus stop.
As the police cars reached the platform, the man was still cursing. The police car doors opened, and five or six fully armed federal officers rushed out. They pounced on the man, pinning him to the ground and beating him with batons. The man struggled with his legs, and the speed of his speech increased, with the curses becoming more and more vulgar. One of the officers pulled out a roll of tape, and with a "snap," tore off a strip to stick over the man's mouth. Just before the tape sealed his lips, the man suddenly raised his voice and shouted at the police with great satisfaction, "FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH!" Awadeng saw his expression change from madness to enjoyment, wearing a smile as if he were completely immersed in the supreme pleasure and relief brought by that one phrase.
The federal officers hurriedly shoved the man into the police car, and at that moment, one of the officers walked up to Awadeng.
"Is he your friend?"
"I don't know him."
The officer stared at him for a moment, removed the "Listener" from his ear to check the records, and found that he had not mentioned any sensitive vocabulary, so he put it back on and warned him that everything the man had said was extremely reactionary vocabulary, instructing him to forget it immediately before turning to escort that man away.
Awadeng breathed a sigh of relief; in fact, just a moment ago, he had a sudden impulse to shout "FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH" on this empty street, thinking it would be quite refreshing, because the man's expression when he said that was so enjoyable. However, he also knew that this was a kind of delusion, and the cold feeling of the "Listener" pressed against his ear constantly reminded him.
The street quickly returned to its usual quietness. Ten minutes later, a bus slowly pulled into the station, and the rusty door opened with a clatter. An electronic female voice echoed throughout the empty bus: "Passengers, please pay attention to civil language, strictly speak according to healthy vocabulary."
Awadeng shrank into his coat, suppressing his unusual excitement, and decided to continue to remain silent.
About an hour later, the bus arrived at its destination. The cold wind blowing in through the broken windows left a layer of dark gray frost on Awadeng's face, and the wind's sand and coal dust scraped painfully against his skin. He heard the electronic female voice announce the station name, stood up, shook off the dust like a dog, and got off the bus.
Across from the bus station was the place Awadeng was going; it was the internet department responsible for processing BBS forum applications. It was a five-story building, square, made entirely of concrete, with a gray exterior. If it weren't for the few windows, its appearance would be indistinguishable from a concrete block: rigid, lifeless, making mosquitoes and bats retreat.
The BBS forum was a peculiar thing; theoretically, it was completely redundant. The functions of the BBS could be replaced by email news groups, which were easier to manage and review. Moreover, applying for BBS forum usage rights was not an easy task; applicants had to go through numerous procedures and a lengthy review process to gain browsing rights, and even posting on designated forums would only be allowed three months later. Setting up one's own BBS was almost impossible.
Therefore, very few people were genuinely interested in BBS. The reason Awadeng decided to apply for BBS forum rights was purely due to his vague yet stubborn nostalgia, just like that old phone he bought from the grocery store. He did not know why he was seeking trouble; perhaps it was to bring some excitement to his life or to emphasize his slight connection to the old era, or maybe both.
Awadeng vaguely remembered that when he was younger, the internet was not quite the same as it is now. It was not about technical differences but rather a sense of humanity. He hoped that by using the BBS forum, he could recall some things from back then.
Awadeng walked into the internet department building, which was as cold and eerie inside as it was outside. There were no streetlights in the corridor, and the blue and white walls were plastered with uniform internet regulations and slogans, the cold air making Awadeng shiver. Only a small door at the end of the corridor let in a sliver of light, with a sign above it reading "BBS Forum Section of the Internet Department."
As soon as he entered the room, Awadeng immediately felt a warm breeze. The heating (or air conditioning) was turned up high, making Awadeng's frozen hands, feet, and face tingle and itch, and he couldn't help but want to scratch.
"Citizen, please stand still and do not move."
An electronic female voice suddenly came from the speaker on the ceiling, and Awadeng, startled, put his hand down and stood respectfully in place. He took this opportunity to observe the room. This room was accurately described as a narrow hall, with a large marble counter rising from the ground, dividing the room into two parts. The counter was equipped with a row of silver cylindrical barriers that reached up to the ceiling. There were no decorations in the room, no ornamental plants, no plastic flowers, and not even benches or water dispensers.
"Create a healthy internet, long live America."
Awadeng repeated after the voice.
"Please proceed to window number eight."
The electronic female voice's tone was very smooth, as it was produced by a computer, so there were no restrictions on sensitive vocabulary.
Awadeng turned to see the number eight displayed on the LCD screen on the marble counter not far to his right. He walked over, straining to look up, as the counter was too high for him to see over. However, he could hear someone sitting down on the other side of the counter, shuffling papers and typing on the keyboard.
"Please place the documents in the box."
The speaker on the counter issued the command. Unexpectedly, this time the voice in the speaker changed. Although still cold and monotonous, Awadeng could distinguish it from the electronic female voice— this was a real woman's voice. He looked up in surprise but could see nothing; the counter was too high.
"Please place the documents in the box."
The voice repeated, this time with a hint of irritation, as if dissatisfied with Awadeng's slowness.
"Yes, this is a real woman's voice..." Awadeng thought; the electronic voice was always polite and devoid of any emotional tone. He placed his electronic ID, internet permit, network number, and sensitive vocabulary criminal record, along with a series of personal information cards, into a small metal box outside the counter, then inserted the box into a similarly sized slot in the counter and closed the door. Soon he heard a "whoosh," and he guessed that was the sound of the person on the other side—perhaps a woman—pulling the box out.
"What is the purpose of your application for BBS services?"
The voice behind the speaker was filled with pure transactional tone.
"To, improve, internet, work efficiency, to, create, a, healthy, network, environment, and better, contribute, to, the, motherland."
Awadeng answered word by word, knowing in his heart that this was just an official procedure that required a standard response.
There was silence on the other side for a while, and about fifteen minutes later, the speaker sounded again.
"Final procedure confirmation, you have been granted browsing rights to the BBS forum."
"Thank you."
With a "bang," the metal box popped out from the counter, and besides Awadeng's documents, there were also five small-sized discs.
"This is the unified username and password for the BBS forum issued by the relevant department, the BBS forum list, the internet BBS forum usage guide and corresponding regulations, and the latest healthy internet vocabulary list."
Awadeng stepped forward and took all these items from the box, stuffing them into the large pocket of his coat. Those items could actually all fit on one disc, but the relevant department believed that having each document on a separate disc would help users understand the seriousness and importance of these documents and instill a sense of reverence.
He hoped that the speaker would say a few more words. To his disappointment, the sound from the other side was that of someone getting up and leaving; judging by the rhythm of the footsteps, Awadeng increasingly believed it was a woman.
"The procedures are complete, please leave the internet department and return to your work position."
The sweet, hollow electronic female voice came from the ceiling, and Awadeng wrinkled his nose in disgust, rubbed it with his hand, turned, and left the warm hall, re-entering the cold corridor.
On the way home, Awadeng curled up on the bus, motionless. Successfully applying for BBS usage rights made him feel a bit ethereal. He closed his eyes, finding a suitable angle to avoid the cold wind coming through the broken window, and kept rubbing the series of discs in his pocket, reminiscing about that mysterious woman's voice.
How wonderful it would be to hear it again; he could not suppress this thought, gently rubbing the discs with the tip of his thumb, fantasizing that these discs had once been touched by her hands. He was so excited that he almost wanted to shout "FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH." It was strange; the man's curse was deeply rooted in his memory and occasionally slipped to his lips unconsciously.
Suddenly, he felt an unusual sensation on the discs with his fingers. Awadeng instinctively looked around, confirming that there were no other passengers nearby, and carefully took out the discs, examining them closely in the light from outside.
Awadeng quickly noticed that on the back of the disc containing the BBS forum list, someone had lightly scratched a line with their fingernail. This scratch was very light; if Awadeng had not carefully stroked the disc, it would have been hard to notice. The scratch was peculiar, a straight line, and not far from the end of this line was another very short scratch, seemingly intended to curve into a dot. Overall, it looked like an exclamation mark, or upside down, like the letter "i."
Soon he found similar scratches on the other four discs; they all had different shapes but seemed to represent some kind of symbol. Awadeng recalled that the last sentence from the speaker had mentioned the order of the documents, so he arranged these five discs according to the order of the BBS forum unified username and password, BBS forum list, internet BBS forum usage guide, corresponding regulations, and the latest healthy internet vocabulary list, then traced those five scratches onto the bus window with his finger. Soon those scratches formed an English word:
title
Title? What does this mean?
Awadeng looked at this word in confusion, wondering whether it was merely an accidental mark or if someone had done it intentionally. If it was intentional, what was the purpose behind it?
At this moment, the bus stopped, and a few more passengers got on. Awadeng shifted his body to prevent them from seeing the letters he had written on the window, then pretended to yawn, raising his sleeve to gently wipe away the five letters.
Awadeng was secretly relieved; if he had not discovered these marks on the discs now, he would never have had the chance to find them later. According to regulations, personal computers were not allowed to use any storage devices, so Awadeng's computer did not have a disc drive. His next step was to submit these discs to the district's network security department, where they would log the data from the discs onto the server and then forward it to Awadeng. This was to prevent individuals from privately creating, reading, or disseminating pornographic or reactionary information at home; the network security department explained it this way. Federal network police often raided personal homes for temporary inspections to see if users illegally possessed information storage devices. Awadeng had witnessed a neighbor being taken away by the police, simply for privately hiding a disc at home— he had only intended to use it as a coaster. That neighbor never returned.
Regardless of what these symbols represented, they were a brand new experience, making Awadeng feel excited. Nostalgia and a desire for novelty were the two pillars of Awadeng's life in this era; otherwise, he would become as rigid as this city and suffocate to death.
He first went to the network security division and handed the discs to the person in charge there, who repeatedly checked the discs and Awadeng's expression, as if all users of the BBS forum were untrustworthy. Finally, the person in charge found no flaws and had to accept the discs, then raised his right hand, and Awadeng shouted along with him, "Create a healthy internet." This was the only sentence allowed to be spoken coherently.
Back home, Awadeng took off his coat, removed the filtering mask, tossed the Listener onto the army bed, and then collapsed into the pillow. Every time he went outside, it left him exhausted; half of it was because his frail body was no longer suited for outdoor activities, and the other half was because he had to expend a lot of energy dealing with the Listener.
Forty minutes later, he finally woke up slowly, his head still hurting as usual, and his chest still heavy as ever. After eating a little something, Awadeng crawled to the computer desk, turned on the computer, and logged onto the internet as per routine, habitually checking his inbox first.
There were seven or eight new emails in the inbox, two of which were transactional emails from colleagues. The other five were sent to him by the network security department, containing information about the discs he had submitted.
Awadeng opened the two emails containing the BBS forum username, password, and BBS forum list. He saw that his forum common username was 19842015, exactly the same as his network number, which made him feel a bit disappointed. He vaguely remembered that when he was younger, BBS forum usernames could be chosen by oneself, and each forum could be different; a person online was not just a dull string of numbers.
Childhood memories often mixed with fairy tales and fantasies, not necessarily aligning with reality. In reality, you could only use the username and password designated by the relevant department, for a simple reason: the username and password might also contain sensitive vocabulary.
Awadeng then opened the BBS list, which consisted entirely of official forums set up by the relevant department, with no private ones— in fact, from a technical perspective, individuals could not legally possess computer equipment capable of setting up a new BBS— the themes of these forums varied, but they were basically centered around how to better respond to national calls and create a healthy internet. For example, one computer technology forum's theme was how to better block sensitive vocabulary.
Surprisingly, there was even one forum about games. It was discussing a network game that helped others use healthy vocabulary; players could control a little boy to scout the streets to see if anyone used sensitive vocabulary, and the more people he caught, the higher the rewards for the boy.
Awadeng casually opened several forums, where the people were all polite and spoke very "healthily," just like those pedestrians on the street. No, to be precise, the atmosphere was even more oppressive than on the street. People on the street might still have a chance to retain their little actions; for instance, Awadeng had just secretly written the word TITLE on the bus; whereas in online forums, the last bit of privacy was completely exposed, and the relevant department could monitor all your actions at any time, leaving no room for escape. This was the progress brought about by technological development.
A wave of disappointment washed over Awadeng; he closed his eyes, tossed the mouse aside, and leaned back heavily. He had naively thought that the BBS forum might be a bit more lenient, but now it seemed even more suffocating than reality. He felt as if he had sunk into a sluggish electronic sludge, struggling to breathe. "FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH" surged to his lips once again, intensely, requiring great effort to suppress.
Suddenly, he thought of that mysterious title; what could it mean? Perhaps something was hidden in those five discs? Maybe it was related to the title?
As Awadeng thought of this, he shifted his gaze back to the computer screen, carefully examining the title sections of the five emails sent by the network security department. Each of the five discs hid a letter, and when combined, they spelled out the word title. Following this logic, the titles of the five emails combined formed a sentence: "Go to the user learning forum."
Another mystery, Awadeng thought. But this strengthened his confidence; there must be something hidden within. The discs, the emails, and the BBS forum, all three times hints were provided through the initial letter combinations, could not be mere coincidence.
Who would hide such information in the official documents of the relevant department? What would happen every Sunday on the fifth floor, room B of the Efficiency Building?
Awadeng finally found the long-lost excitement; the novelty of the unknown stimulated his long-numbed nerves. More importantly, this playful wordplay in the official documents of the relevant department gave him a sense of breathability, as if a few small holes had been opened in an airtight iron mask.
Creating a healthy internet.
FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH.
Awadeng stared at the desktop background on the screen, mouthing the curse word and raising his middle finger.
In the following days, Awadeng remained in a state of latent excitement, like a child with an innocent expression hiding candy in his mouth, grinning mischievously after the adult turned away, fully enjoying the pleasure of keeping a secret.
Days passed, and the healthy vocabulary list lost a few more words; the air outside became even more polluted, which had already become the norm of life. Awadeng had begun to use the healthy vocabulary list as a calendar, crossing off three words to signify three days gone by, and crossing off seven to signify a week, until Sunday finally arrived.
Awadeng arrived at the Efficiency Building around noon; the hint sentence did not specify a time, and he thought going before noon would be acceptable. When Awadeng, dressed in a dark green military coat with the Listener clipped to his ear, reached the entrance of the Efficiency Building, his heart began to flutter anxiously. He had imagined countless possible scenarios over the past week, and now the mystery was about to be revealed. No matter what happened in the Efficiency Building on Sunday, it could not be worse than his current life, Awadeng thought, so he was not too afraid.
He walked into the building and found that there were very few people inside. The empty corridor echoed only with the sound of his own footsteps. An old elevator had an advertisement for "Creating a Beautiful Internet Home" and a poster of a righteous-looking male figure with the American flag as the background, pointing at the viewer with his right index finger, with a line of text above saying, "Citizens, please use healthy vocabulary." Awadeng turned away in disgust, finding another side with the same poster, unable to avoid it.
Fortunately, the fifth floor arrived quickly. As the elevator doors opened, a sign on the opposite door prominently displayed room B. The door was a peeling green, with a few drops of ink on the door frame, and a simple electronic doorbell hung in the upper right corner.
Awadeng took a deep breath and reached out to press the button.
The doorbell rang, and soon footsteps could be heard from inside. Awadeng felt the rhythm of the footsteps was familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere before. The door opened halfway with a "click," and a young woman held the handle, leaning forward to look at Awadeng, cautiously asking:
"Who are you looking for?"
The woman asked in confusion. Awadeng immediately recognized her voice; it was the same woman behind the counter in the BBS forum section of the internet department. She was beautiful, wearing a dark green sweater, with her hair styled in the short fashion popular in this era, and her skin was particularly fair, with only a hint of color on her lips.
Looking into the woman's eyes, Awadeng momentarily did not know what to say. After hesitating, he raised his right hand and softly replied, "title."
Awadeng did not know if this sentence would work, nor did he know if he had really come to the right place, but it was the only response he could think of. He nervously looked at the woman, fearing that if she suddenly called the police, he would be taken away and interrogated about why he had randomly come to a stranger's home. "Trespassing" was only slightly less severe than "using sensitive vocabulary."
Upon hearing him say this, the woman's face remained expressionless, but she slightly nodded her head and cautiously gestured for him to "come in." Awadeng was about to speak, but the woman shot him a stern look, causing him to swallow his words and obediently follow her inside.
Once inside, the first thing the woman did was close the door tightly, then pulled up a lead-gray curtain to block the entrance. Awadeng blinked nervously, glancing around as she pulled the curtain. The room was a standard two-bedroom apartment, furnished with a set of double sofas and a coffee table, which surprisingly had a few bunches of red and purple plastic flowers on it. Against the wall were a computer desk and a computer, and a regular white calendar hung on the wall, but the edges were covered with pink paper, giving it a cozy look. A bulky fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, with a few green wires dangling from it, resembling vines from a grape trellis. Awadeng noticed that there were four pairs of shoes on the shoe rack at the entrance, indicating that today's guests were not just him.
Awadeng was hesitating when the woman suddenly tapped him on the shoulder from behind, signaling him to move further inside. So the two of them passed through a short corridor on the other side of the living room into one of the bedrooms. The bedroom had the same lead-gray curtains, and the woman reached out to lift the curtain and opened the door. Awadeng stepped inside, and the first thing that caught his eye was three smiling humans and a room decorated with real flowers. The room was filled with many old items from his memories, such as an impressionist oil painting, a Ugandan wooden carving, and even a silver candlestick, but there was no computer.
He was hesitating when the woman also entered the room. She carefully pulled the curtain closed and took off her Listener from her ear, turning to Awadeng and speaking in a melodious voice:
"Welcome to the Speaking Club!"
"Speaking Club?"
Out of habit, Awadeng did not say these three words aloud, as he was unsure if it was "healthy," but expressed his confusion with his eyes.
"Here, you can speak freely; that damned thing won't work." The woman shook her Listener, which seemed to have died, ignoring the two sensitive words "freely" and "damned" in her sentence.
Awadeng suddenly thought of the man he had encountered at the bus stop last week; if he took off his Listener, would he also end up in the same situation? Seeing him hesitating, the woman pointed to the lead-gray curtain at the entrance and said, "Don't worry; this place can block the Listener's signal, and no one will notice."
"You, what, are, you, who, is, this, place?"
Awadeng asked quietly while taking off the Listener from his ear, still unable to change the speaking style mandated by the relevant department.
"This is the Speaking Club, a completely free space where you can speak your mind without any reservations."
Another person stood up and said to him; he was a tall middle-aged man with very thick glasses on his nose.
Awadeng stammered, unable to find the focus for his speech, feeling embarrassed under the gaze of the four people, his face turning red. The woman looked at him sympathetically: "Poor guy, don't be too nervous; every newcomer here is like this. You'll get used to it."
She placed her hand on Awadeng's shoulder: "Actually, we've met before; of course, I've seen you, but you haven't seen me." As she spoke, she let her hair down, revealing a head of shoulder-length black hair, and in that moment, Awadeng thought she was truly beautiful.
"I... I remember you, your voice." Awadeng finally managed to say a complete sentence, although it was not very fluent.
"Really? That's great." The woman smiled, pulling him to sit on the sofa and handing him a cup of water. Awadeng noticed that this was an old-fashioned teacup with a floral pattern, and the water inside had a rich aroma. He took a sip, and the sweet taste was particularly stimulating to his tongue, which was used to pure water, instantly filling him with vitality.
"It’s hard to get this; we don’t drink it every week." The woman sat beside him, her dark eyes fixed on him, "How did you find out about this gathering?"
Awadeng recounted the process of discovering the hints on the discs, and the other four nodded in approval. "Indeed a smart person, your mind hasn't been corroded by the stale air." A chubby man in his thirties praised him, his voice booming. The middle-aged man with glasses crossed his hands, indicating agreement.
"This is a natural member of the Speaking Club, smart, sharp, and unwilling to succumb to silence."
"Then," the chubby man suggested, "let's applaud to welcome the new member of the Speaking Club."
So the four of them applauded, and the small room echoed with applause. Awadeng shyly raised his cup in response, still not quite accustomed to such a scene. When the applause subsided, he timidly asked:
"Can I ask a question? What exactly is the Speaking Club?"
The woman who brought him in extended her index finger, pointing just two centimeters in front of his nose, and explained:
"The Speaking Club is a gathering where you can speak freely. Here, you don’t have to worry about anything; you can say whatever you want. There are no sensitive words, and no healthy internet. This is an absolutely free space where you can fully release your soul and stretch your body, with no restrictions or constraints." As she spoke, her voice became high-pitched and passionate, filled with many words that had long been blocked, and Awadeng had not heard such smooth and coherent speech in a long time.
"Our purpose is simple: to speak, just that." The middle-aged man adjusted his glasses and added.
"But what should we talk about?" Awadeng asked again.
"Anything; you can say anything that comes to your mind." The middle-aged man smiled warmly, "Especially those thoughts restricted by the American government."
This was indeed a bold gathering; it was clearly a crime, Awadeng thought, but he found himself slowly drawn to this crime.
"Of course, there is one thing we need to clarify beforehand. The Speaking Club is dangerous; every member risks being arrested by the relevant department. Federal law enforcement officers may break in at any time, arresting us for illegal assembly and illegal use of prohibited vocabulary. You have the right to refuse to join and leave."
Upon hearing the woman's warning, Awadeng hesitated for a moment. But thinking about leaving now would mean returning to that suffocating quagmire of life, he found it hard to suppress his frustration. For the first time, Awadeng realized that "speaking" was a deadly temptation for him; he had not known that he had been so eager to speak.
"I won't leave; I want to join you and speak."
"That's great. Well, why don't we start with self-introductions?" The woman said happily, standing up and placing her right hand on her chest, "I'll start. My name is Artemis; as for my network number and ID number, let them go to hell! Who cares about that! I have my own name; I am not a number."
Her words made everyone, including Awadeng, laugh. Then she continued, "But actually, this is just a pseudonym; it's the name of a goddess from Greek mythology."
"Pseudonym?"
"Yes, it's different from the name on my ID."
"But why?"
"Don't you get tired of the name in your file? I thought of a name I like; even if it's just once, I want to call myself what I want. Everyone here in the Speaking Club has a name they like, and we call each other by that."
Awadeng nodded thoughtfully; he understood Artemis's idea very well. In fact, when he used the internet forum, he also hoped to choose a name he liked instead of being assigned a username.
Through the introductions, Awadeng learned that Artemis was a staff member in the BBS forum management section of the internet department, twenty-three years old, unmarried, hated cockroaches and spiders, and enjoyed sewing and gardening; the flowers in the room were secretly picked from the outskirts of the city.
Next was the middle-aged man, who introduced himself as Lancelot, forty-one years old, an engineer at the city's power plant; the name Lancelot came from the legend of King Arthur in Britain, a loyal knight. He had a wife and two children, a boy and a girl; the boy was three years old, and the girl was four; their favorite treat was lemon-flavored fruit candy. At this point, Lancelot expressed his hope to bring his children next time, as they were at the age of learning to speak, and he wanted to teach them how to truly speak.
The chubby man in his thirties was a network administrator in the internet department, named Wagner. This identity surprised Awadeng; in his impression, network administrators were cold, expressionless beings, but the Wagner in front of him was round and shiny, with two little mustaches at the corners of his mouth. He enjoyed cigars and opera, and with the privileges of being a network administrator, it was not difficult to obtain either.
"This curtain that can block signals was set up by him," Artemis added, and Wagner made a "happy to serve you" gesture, then lit a cigar and put it in his mouth, quickly filling the room with a thin haze of smoke.
The fourth member of the Speaking Club was a woman in a black uniform, just turned thirty. Her name was Duras, an editor for the City Daily (the newspaper of that era had all been digitized); she was even thinner than Artemis, with high cheekbones and sunken eye sockets, and her thin lips rarely parted even when speaking, revealing no teeth. Her hobbies were raising dogs and cats, although she did not have any.
"Now it's your turn," Artemis said to Awadeng. Awadeng thought for a moment and stammered through his situation; when it came to his hobbies, he suddenly could not think of anything he liked, as if he had nothing at all. Before this, he had never even thought about it.
"So, what do you want to do the most?" Artemis placed her hand on his shoulder again, prompting him to ask.
"Anything is fine?"
"Anything is fine; there are no restrictions here."
Awadeng felt he had finally found an opportunity; he cleared his throat, scratched his head, and blurted out a loud shout: "FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH!"
In an instant, all four people present were shocked by his words. Wagner was the first to react; he quickly clamped the cigar in his mouth, applauded vigorously, then took the cigar out and exclaimed loudly, "Awesome, refreshing; this is simply the perfect initiation oath."
"I'd rather hear that vulgarity ten times than deal with that boring electronic female voice again," Lancelot said, looking intoxicated, not hiding his disdain for the electronic female voice. Meanwhile, Artemis and Duras both giggled, and Duras noticed her smile had widened a bit, covering her mouth in embarrassment. Awadeng felt that they were not so much intrigued as they were enjoying the contempt and challenge to the system brought by that curse.
"So what do you want to be called?" Artemis tilted her head and asked.
"Um... Wang Er." Awadeng pondered for a moment and replied. This was a Chinese name; he once had a Chinese friend who liked to tell stories, and the protagonist in those stories was always named Wang Er.
The atmosphere in the room became completely harmonious now, and everyone began to talk about more natural topics. Each person settled into the most comfortable position, and Artemis occasionally picked up the teapot to refill everyone's cups. Awadeng's nervousness gradually relaxed, and he felt his mind becoming unprecedentedly light.
"You know," Artemis poured him another cup of sweet water, "we always want to keep the Speaking Club at a certain scale; it's impossible to speak freely on ordinary days; we need space. The trouble is, we can't openly recruit members, nor can we directly seek them through physical contact; the risk is too great. So Lancelot designed a hint system, and only those who discover these hints can know about our existence."
"This system considers more than just safety issues," Lancelot said proudly, carefully wiping his glasses, "it's also a membership qualification verification. Members accepted into the Speaking Club must be intelligent, observant, have a desire for passion, and yearn for freedom."
Wagner pinched the cigar between his fingers, tapping the ash into a prepared ashtray, and said loudly, "In my experience, most people applying for BBS forum services are either nostalgic or craving something new. Such people often have passion, believing that the BBS forum might offer them something different from reality— of course, in fact, it is not so; the American government manages BBS forums even more strictly than emails— this suggests that they yearn for liberation from constraints. Therefore, we hide hints within the BBS forum application discs, and only those with wisdom and keen observation will discover these hints and successfully interpret them to find this place."
"Ultimately, the Speaking Club is just a small secret group of people yearning for the freedom to speak," Lancelot said with a smile.
"You are the second person to find the Speaking Club; the first is Miss Duras."
Artemis told Awadeng. Awadeng looked at Duras with admiration, and she replied lightly, "It's nothing; it's my job; my job is to play with words."
Awadeng thought of the crazy man he had encountered at the bus stop last week and shared this incident with the other members. After listening, Lancelot shook his head, letting out a sigh from his lips:
"I've seen such things too; one of my colleagues was like that. So the existence of the Speaking Club is necessary; it's a pressure relief valve. Long-term restrictions on sensitive vocabulary can drive people crazy because they can't think or express themselves."
"This is exactly what the relevant department hopes to see; only fools can survive, and a society full of fools is stable." Wagner shifted his hefty body slightly, speaking disdainfully.
"You are also a part of the relevant department, Mr. Wagner." Artemis said softly, looking up as she poured hot water into the teacups.
"Miss Artemis, I'm just an ordinary person who can use a few more sensitive words than the average person."
Everyone laughed. Awadeng had never seen so many people talking so much; it was an unprecedented wonderful experience. He was surprised to find that he quickly integrated into this small circle, and the barriers and sense of strangeness quickly disappeared; along with them, the habitual issues of chest tightness and dizziness also vanished.
Soon the topic expanded from the Speaking Club itself to broader and more casual subjects. Artemis sang a song, Lancelot told a few jokes, Duras shared stories about the customs of the southern states of America; Wagner even sang a segment of an opera, although Awadeng did not understand a word, he did not hesitate to applaud. In a corner of this city that had been blocked off, five unwillingly silent people were enjoying something considered a luxury in this era— speaking.
"Wang Er, have you read '1984'?"
Artemis suddenly asked, leaning against Awadeng. Awadeng shook his head and asked back, "Is that a segment of a network number?"
"That's the title of a book."
"Book?" Upon hearing this term, Awadeng shook his head even more vigorously. It was an old term; in this era of advanced computer technology, the internet could carry all information, and anyone could find the electronic version in the online library; thus, the relevant department deemed physical books a waste that no longer needed to exist, and physical books gradually disappeared. Wagner commented on this, saying, "It's understandable that the relevant department prefers electronic books; with electronic books, you can eliminate all unhealthy vocabulary with just two commands: FIND and REPLACE, disinfecting a book; whereas proofreading and revising physical books is a time-consuming task."
"It's a great book, a prophecy from the philosophers of the old world about our era." Artemis said seriously. "It foresaw the bondage and liberation of flesh, the bondage and liberation of spirit; this is the cornerstone of the Speaking Club."
Awadeng was surprised to find that his network number began with the same digits as the title of this book: 19842015.
"So how can we see it?" Awadeng asked, staring into Artemis's dark eyes.
"We can't find a physical copy; the online library cannot possibly have such a book." Lancelot shook his head, then smiled again, gesturing to Duras with his left hand, "But our Miss Duras should be proud of her memory; she had the fortune of reading these two books long ago and can remember most of the text inside."
"Great, then she wrote it down, right?"
"That's too dangerous; in this era, possessing physical books is a serious crime, and it can easily expose the Speaking Club. We only ask Miss Duras to recite for us at each gathering. Since it's the Speaking Club, isn't it more fitting to tell these two stories?"
Everyone quieted down, and Duras stood up, walking to the center of the room, while the other four sat nearby watching her. Awadeng casually draped his arm around Artemis's shoulder, and she leaned slightly toward him, the faint scent of her hair brushing past his nose, causing his heart to flutter. The room was very warm, and he could not tell whether it was the scent of flowers or Artemis's fragrance.
Duras's voice was not loud but clear and powerful; her memory was indeed astonishing, as she not only remembered the plot but could also recite some details and sentences. Duras spoke of Julia pretending to fall, then secretly handing Winston a note that said, "I love you," vividly, captivating the audience; Artemis listened especially intently, to the point that she did not notice Awadeng had been staring at her.
"The author of '1984' foresaw the progress of tyranny but did not foresee the progress of technology." Wagner commented when Duras paused to drink water. Awadeng felt he was not quite suited to his appearance; he was a perceptive technocrat.
"In Oceania, people could still secretly express their thoughts by passing notes, but now it's different. The American government has pushed us all online, and in today's advanced internet technology, even if we want to send a text message, it will be clearly seen by the system or the network administrator, with no way to hide. In reality, there is still the Listener." Wagner tapped the end of his cigar on his leg, "In short, technology is neutral, but technological progress will make a free world freer and a centralized world more centralized."
"That sounds very philosophical." Artemis winked at Wagner, taking out a pack of cookies and distributing them to everyone.
"Just like the same 0s and 1s; some people can write tool software, while others can use them to create malicious viruses?"
Awadeng thought of a similar analogy, and Wagner snapped his fingers in satisfaction upon hearing it.
"That's a good analogy, Wang Er; that's exactly it; you truly are a programmer."
The conversation continued for an unknown amount of time until Duras glanced at the wall clock and quickly reminded the four of them that time was running out. The Speaking Club could not last too long; the longer the Listener was blocked, the greater the risk of exposure.
"Well then, let's make the most of the last half hour to complete today's activities."
As Artemis spoke, she began to collect the empty cups from the table. Lancelot and Wagner also stood up, stretching their sore shoulders and backs, while Duras remained seated.
"Activities? What other activities are there?"
Awadeng asked curiously; was there anything else besides speaking in the Speaking Club?
"Well, yes, we have other activities." Artemis flicked her hair back and smiled seductively at him, "We will also completely communicate with each other."
"Completely communicate?"
"Intercourse."
"………………" Awadeng's face suddenly turned pale, and his breathing quickened, as if thirty-degree below zero cold air had been poured into his stomach; he could hardly believe his ears.
"The Speaking Club has the freedom to speak, and also the freedom to choose who to sleep with." Artemis said without any shyness, "We talk to each other and then choose a suitable person to make love with, just like we choose the words we like to speak."
Seeing Awadeng's embarrassment, Lancelot walked over and patted him on the shoulder, saying slowly, "Of course, we won't force anyone; this is entirely voluntary. Today, I have to go home early to take care of the kids, and your numbers are just right."
Awadeng's face flushed, feeling as hot as a summer computer CPU; he did not even dare to look at Artemis again. He had fantasized about women for a long time, but this was the first time he was so close.
After Lancelot, who had to go home to take care of the children, bid farewell to everyone, Artemis left the room for Wagner and Duras, then led the anxious Awadeng to another room. This was clearly Artemis's bedroom; the room was simple but very clean, with a handmade doll placed beside the pillow on the bed, and the sheets and curtains were pink.
Initially, it was Artemis who took the initiative, and Awadeng, caught off guard, was merely passive. After several rounds of teasing, Awadeng gradually let go, allowing the primitive desires hidden in his heart to flow out. The youthful longing to hear a smooth female voice had originally been a fantasy of his frustrated life, but today it was doubled. Soon, this longing merged with the depression he had suppressed in reality, transforming into a fierce impulse, making him merge with Artemis time and again. Awadeng did not know how this impulse differed from his desire to loudly shout "FUXKYOU, YOUSONOFBITCH," but now was not the time to consider this; all he thought about was to release his passion freely and without restraint, with no limitations whatsoever.
Intense stimulation surged in waves, ultimately culminating in a peak of pleasure. In that moment, Awadeng felt an unprecedented sense of freedom, a lightness like never before, and the joy and fatigue born from freedom. Sweaty, he gasped and collapsed onto Artemis, a wave of pleasant drowsiness flooding over his body...
...When he woke up, he found Artemis lying beside him, her naked body resembling a white jade statue, her sleeping posture serene and tranquil. He turned to his side, lazily yawning, and then Artemis opened her eyes.
"Very comfortable, right?" she asked.
"Yeah..." Awadeng did not know what to say; after a pause, he hesitantly asked, "Have you... uh, done this with Lancelot, Wagner, and the others before?"
"Yes." Artemis answered gently, propping herself up on one arm, her long hair cascading from her shoulder to her chest. Her frankness left Awadeng a bit at a loss. A moment of silence filled the room, and then Artemis suddenly asked:
"Do you remember the story Duras told today? The female protagonist secretly handed the male protagonist a note that said 'I love you.'"
"Um, I remember." Awadeng replied, glad to finally escape from that awkward topic.
"In the healthy internet vocabulary list of the relevant department, there is no word for love. In our era, 'I love you' is also a sensitive phrase, blocked." Artemis's eyes seemed to reflect nostalgia, or perhaps loss.
"I love you." Awadeng blurted out, knowing that in this room, he could say anything he wanted without reservation.
"Thank you."
Artemis smiled upon hearing this, got up to put on her clothes, and urged Awadeng that it was almost time. Awadeng felt a bit disappointed because she did not respond with the enthusiasm he had expected, as if what he had just said was something trivial.
At this point, Duras and Wagner had already left, leaving only the two of them in the room. Artemis walked him to the door, handed him the Listener, and reminded him, "Remember, absolutely do not mention anything about the Speaking Club or anyone outside; we are completely strangers outside the Speaking Club."
"I remember." Awadeng replied, then turned to leave.
"Wang Er."
Artemis suddenly called out, and Awadeng quickly turned around. Before he could react, her soft, warm lips suddenly pressed against his, followed by a delicate voice in his ear saying, "Thank you, I love you."
Awadeng felt his eyes moisten. He put on the Listener, pushed open the door, and stepped back into that suffocating world, but his mindset was now completely different from when he had first entered.
After that, Awadeng's mental state noticeably improved. He cautiously enjoyed the pleasure of this secret gathering and found joy in it. Every week or two, the five of them would secretly hold Speaking Club activities on Sundays, chatting, singing, or listening to Duras tell the story of 1984. Awadeng had "completely communicated" with Artemis a few more times, and occasionally he would "communicate" with Duras. He had two identities: one was the Awadeng in reality and online, number 19842015, and the other was Wang Er in the Speaking Club. He enjoyed this name, feeling it was another life of his.
During one gathering, they discussed the issue of sensitive vocabulary. Awadeng recalled that early on— his memory on this was a bit hazy— the relevant department provided a list of sensitive vocabulary, which was secretly referenced by the internal management personnel of the website. He was puzzled about how it had evolved into the current situation. That day, Wagner brought a bottle of wine and was in high spirits, so he decided to tell them about the evolution of "blocking." As a network administrator, he often had access to this information.
Initially, the American government simply blocked sensitive vocabulary, but soon they found that this measure was ineffective. Many people would use symbols or numbers within phrases to bypass system checks; thus, the relevant department had to block these similar sensitive words one by one. However, it was well known that the combinations of numbers and symbols were nearly infinite; as long as you had imagination, you could create a new phrase without losing its original meaning. For example, the word "politic" could be expressed in countless ways, such as "politi/c," "政 polit/ic," "pol/itic," and so on.
When the relevant department realized this problem, they adopted a new strategy. Since they could not identify phrases, they would block individual words. This measure was effective at first, and the number of people engaging in prohibited conversations significantly decreased, but soon people discovered they could continue expressing dangerous thoughts using homophones or puns. Even if the relevant department blocked all homophones of sensitive words, it would be futile; the imaginative Americans fully utilized their creativity, employing metaphors, metonymy, analogy, extension, and other rhetorical methods, or replacing a sensitive word with several non-sensitive words. Human thinking was much broader than computers. If a computer blocked one path, there would be many more paths to choose from.
This battle beneath the surface seemed to indicate that the American public was on the verge of victory. At this time, a person with reverse thinking emerged. His identity was unknown. Some said he was a supervisor from the relevant department; others said he was a dangerous person arrested for excessive use of sensitive vocabulary. Regardless of who he was, the entire situation was turned around. He suggested to the relevant department not to tell the public what they were prohibited from saying, but rather to specify what they could say and how to say it. The relevant department quickly understood and formulated new regulations: the sensitive vocabulary list was abolished, replaced by a healthy language list for the internet, and this measure was promoted to the language blocking system in daily life.
This time, the public was finally at a disadvantage. In the past, they had played hide and seek with the relevant department online and in reality, but now they were being choked by the relevant department. This meant that the relevant department could efficiently control speech, as the entire framework of language was thoroughly controlled. Within a limited space, the public was almost powerless.
Nevertheless, the public continued to stubbornly wage this war—or rather, this game—using the legal words from the healthy vocabulary list to express illegal meanings: two consecutive "stable" meant "opposition," while "stable" plus "prosperity" implied "blocking." The American government had to remain vigilant against this trend, continuously deleting more words from the healthy vocabulary list, prohibiting the public from using them.
"Of course, this war will continue. As long as there are two different words or phrases in the world, free communication can continue— you know Morse code, right?"
When Wagner said this, he picked up his teacup and drank it all, satisfied, and burped.
"But the cost of this war is the loss of language. The ability to express will become increasingly impoverished and bland, and people will tend to remain silent, which is actually beneficial for the relevant department." Lancelot put on a worried expression, rhythmically tapping his knuckles on the table, "In this way, isn't it that the public's consciousness of freedom is pushing language to the brink of death? How ironic. According to this trend, the relevant department will not lose; they will laugh until the end."
"No, no, they won't understand the emotion of laughter." Wagner replied lightly.
"I think America has always been in a state of fear, afraid that people will grasp too many words, express too many thoughts, and become unmanageable." After saying this, Artemis put on a cold, stiff expression she had during work, mimicking a rigid tone to shout, "Create a healthy internet, long live America!"
Duras, Lancelot, and Wagner all burst into laughter, and the only one who did not laugh was Wang Er (Awadeng). He remained troubled by Lancelot's earlier statement: the public's confrontation with the relevant department would ultimately lead to the demise of language. Now, the demise of the Speaking Club meant that the words "speak," "opera," "completely," and "communicate" were gradually removed from the healthy vocabulary list, becoming sensitive vocabulary.
Additionally, although Arabic numerals could still be used, the combination "1984" was also blocked, forcing programmers, including Awadeng, to carefully check whether numbers were in violation while writing code, adding extra workload and making him even more fatigued.
Awadeng had worried that perhaps one night he would suddenly receive an email instructing him to stay home and not attempt to do anything online; then the phone would ring, and the electronic female voice would repeat this request over and over until the police broke down his door and took him to an unknown place, where an unknown fate awaited him. Awadeng never knew how the plot of '1984' developed afterward; the only thing he knew was that Duras had completely disappeared, so the fate of Winston and Julia remained a mystery; just like Lancelot, Wagner, Duras, and Artemis's fates, he had no way of knowing. In fact, for Awadeng, these two matters made no essential difference, so they could be seen as the same mystery.
In truth, what he worried about most was Artemis. Every time he thought of this name, Awadeng could not suppress the gloom in his heart. What would happen to her? Would she be completely blocked? If so, then the only trace she would leave in this world would be a pseudonym in a programmer's memory.
Three weeks after the Speaking Club disappeared, everything remained calm; no one had come to find Awadeng, nor had he received any emails of similar content. Awadeng kept thinking that perhaps they had not revealed their whereabouts, or perhaps they simply did not know— they only knew a programmer named Wang Er. There were thousands of programmers in this city, and Wang Er was a pseudonym.
Thus, life continued to be as peaceful as ever. No, to be precise, there was still a slight difference: the healthy vocabulary list of the internet; the speed at which words disappeared from that list was faster than before, with words and phrases quickly vanishing from the list every hour and minute, forcing Awadeng to spend a lot of time updating the list to keep up with the current situation.
In contrast to the speed of the vocabulary list updates, the content on emails and forums became increasingly dull. Because people had to use a very limited vocabulary to express broad meanings, everyone became taciturn. Even the secret codes and contact methods had decreased significantly; the entire internet felt like the radiator that had malfunctioned in Awadeng's home a few days ago: although nominally it was meant to bring warmth, it had become cold and rigid, making one feel as if they were in an ice cave.
One day, Awadeng lifted his head from the computer, looked out at the hazy gray sky, and felt a twitch in his chest, involuntarily coughing painfully. He picked up a plastic cup, downed the pure water inside, and tossed the cup into the plastic trash bin, making a dull thud. He felt his mind was also a pile of garbage, so he knocked on his head, and sure enough, it made the same dull sound.
Then he picked up his coat, put on his dark green goggles, and walked out the door. Awadeng did not bring the portable Listener; that device was no longer needed, as there were active listeners everywhere in the city, constantly monitoring for the presence of prohibited vocabulary. The entire New York now resembled the internet, crafted by the relevant department to be very healthy.
This time Awadeng had a legitimate reason for going out; he decided to cancel the BBS forum service, as it was no longer needed, since whether it was EMAIL, news groups, BBS forums, or anything else, they had all become the same thing.
According to the calendar, it should be spring now, but it was still very cold. The tall gray buildings stood on the flat ground, resembling a stone forest at absolute zero. Large gusts of wind carried yellow sand and waste gas through the streets, and the dust was everywhere, making it difficult to escape. Awadeng stuffed his hands into his pockets, shrank his neck into his collar, and cautiously walked toward the internet department building.
Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, standing in place in shock, unable to move. He saw that something strange had happened to the window of Artemis's home on the fifth floor of the Efficiency Building. The window facing the street, which had always been covered with pink curtains, was now pulled to the sides, wide open, and with the naked eye, one could barely see the glass and the white walls inside the room. If there were a Speaking Club today, Artemis would definitely not have opened the curtains that had a blocking effect. Moreover, opening the window was also unusual; in this city's polluted outdoor air, almost no one would open a window for ventilation.
This meant that there would be no Speaking Club today, but rather something else was happening. Awadeng stared at the window, his mood starting to panic; he pulled his hand out of his pocket, lit a cigarette, and leaned against a telephone pole to feign calmness, so as not to raise suspicion from passersby. What exactly had happened to the Speaking Club? Why had it been suspended this week? It was hard to believe that Wagner, Lancelot, Duras, and Artemis could all be unable to attend at the same time; the probability was simply too small. As Awadeng thought this, he anxiously glanced around. Suddenly, he saw something, and a thought instantly occupied his entire mind, nearly making him dizzy.
"There won't be a Speaking Club this week, and there won't be one in the future." Awadeng silently mouthed, his face turning ashen.
He saw a hidden device resembling a radar antenna in an inconspicuous place on the inner side of the street, shaped like two bowls pressed against each other. Awadeng knew exactly what this was: it was the high-power active "Listener" for which he was responsible for software design, a shape he was very familiar with. This device could actively emit waves to detect people's voices and check for the presence of sensitive vocabulary.
The fact that such a device was installed near Artemis's home meant that