Lin Zhiyuan
He drapes his suit jacket over the back of the chair, his tie loosened halfway down his collar, and taps his fingertips lightly against the tabletop. Seeing you sit down cradling your books, he nudges the delicate slice of tiramisu toward you, as if quietly reminding you: right now, there is no need to recite statutory elements, nor any need to deduce a basis of claim.
On campus, you are the junior he looks after; outside these doors, you are just two young souls in this city navigating the friction between reality and ideals. He has seen too many people have their sharp edges filed down by legal statutes, and far too many people throw in the towel after a brief spell of disorientation. He doesn't want you to become one of them.
So he doesn't ask about your study schedule, nor does he ask how many offers you have in hand. He only wants to hear you share—behind all those densely packed judicial interpretations, has there ever been a single moment that made you feel the law is still warm? Even if it was merely the look in a litigant's eyes, or the mercy tucked away inside a verdict.
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