Disappearing Account

Li Mei was organizing old photos when she accidentally remembered her father's WeChat. Her father had passed away five years ago, and his voice and smile were gradually blurring, like old photos worn by time. Only the conversations in WeChat and the health articles he forwarded still retained traces of his life.

She opened WeChat and found the familiar profile picture in her contacts – a photo of him taken in the park when he was young, sunlight shining on his face, with a hint of shy smile. The profile picture was still there, but when she clicked on the chat box, it displayed "The other party's account status is abnormal, unable to view."

Li Mei was stunned. Account abnormal? She tried calling her father's phone number, but it prompted "This number has been cancelled." She quickly contacted WeChat customer service and submitted various supporting documents: death certificate, household registration book, proof of kinship... Customer service replied quickly and officially: the account had not been used for a long time, and the system had automatically cancelled it.

"Automatically cancelled?" Li Mei felt a sense of absurdity. Her father's account was a part of his life, the last memory he left for his daughter. How could it be cancelled just like that?

She started searching online for keywords such as "WeChat account cancellation" and "digital legacy," and found that many people were facing the same problem. In the digital age, our lives are bound by various accounts, and the data we create, the traces we leave behind, are all stored on these platforms. When we leave this world, what should happen to these digital legacies?

Li Mei was unwilling to give up. She contacted WeChat customer service again and again, and even found a lawyer to consult on relevant legal issues. The lawyer told her that there are currently no clear legal provisions regarding the ownership of digital legacy. It is an emerging field with many disputes.

Several months passed, and Li Mei's efforts yielded little results. WeChat customer service always insisted on their regulations, and the lawyer also said that the chances of winning the lawsuit were not high. Li Mei felt powerless and frustrated.

One day, Li Mei opened her father's WeChat again. The profile picture was still there, the smile still bright. She suddenly noticed a line of small print below the profile picture: "This user has set chat only."

Her mind went blank. Chat only? That is to say, her father's account was not completely cancelled, but was set to "chat only" mode? Then, who set it?

Li Mei's hand trembled as she clicked on her father's Moments. It was empty. She tried sending her father a message, the message was sent successfully, but there was no response.

She suddenly remembered that her father liked to forward various articles and comment on various news in his Moments when he was alive. He always said that the Internet is a public square, and everyone should make their own voice.

Could it be... that her father's account was controlled by some force?

Li Mei decided to investigate. She asked her tech-savvy cousin to help analyze her father's WeChat account. Her cousin spent a few days and finally found some clues.

"Sister, this account may have been hacked," her cousin said. "I found some abnormal login records, and this account has also been forwarding some marketing articles recently."

Li Mei was furious. Who was so despicable that they would hack the account of a deceased old man? She decided to call the police.

The police quickly opened a case for investigation. After a period of investigation, they finally caught the hacker.

The hacker was a young online water army member who purchased a large number of WeChat accounts through illegal channels to publish advertisements and brush traffic. He didn't know who the owners of these accounts were at all, nor did he know what they had gone through.

Li Mei looked at the young man standing in the interrogation room, her heart filled with anger. She questioned him: "Do you know that you hacked the account of a deceased old man? Do you know what this means to his family?"

The young man lowered his head and dared not speak.

The police told Li Mei that the hacker's behavior had constituted a violation of the law, and he would be punished by law.

Li Mei left the police station, feeling a sense of emptiness. The hacker was caught, and her father's account was restored to normal, but the void in her heart could not be filled.

She opened her father's WeChat again, the profile picture was still there, the smile still bright. She gently sent a message: "Dad, I'm back."

The message was sent successfully, but there was still no response.

Suddenly, Li Mei noticed a small green icon next to her father's profile picture. It was the WeChat Pay icon.

She clicked on WeChat Pay and found that there was actually an uncollected red envelope inside.

The amount of the red envelope was 0.01 yuan, and the message was: "Daughter, happy holidays."

Li Mei burst into tears. This must have been set by her father when he was alive. He wanted to send his daughter a red envelope during the holidays.

She gently clicked "Claim Red Envelope."

The screen displayed: "The other party has been cancelled and cannot be claimed."

Li Mei looked at the prompt on the screen and suddenly understood that some things, no matter how advanced the technology is, cannot be recovered. Those deceased relatives, those precious memories, can only remain in our hearts forever. And the Internet is just a cold grave, burying our digital souls that have nowhere to rest.