Chapter 39 Sea Without Light 39
“You need to make a commitment to me,” Kui Xin said.
“Is the commitment to no longer invade your privacy? No problem. I acted out of necessity before; if you’re not satisfied with the compensation of one hundred thousand, I can give you more,” the hacker replied.
Kui Xin: “Even the commitments written in a contract can be violated at any moment, let alone verbal commitments. To me, your promise is worthless. As for the money, do you really think it can give me a sense of security?”
Hacker: “Just tell me what you want, and I will provide it.”
“I want your name, your phone number, and your location,” Kui Xin calmly proposed, “You know my name, my phone number, and my location; now I need to know yours… that’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“Not too much, but I’m worried that once you have my identity, you might report me.” The hacker took a long while to respond this time, “Let’s put the identity issue on hold. Once we meet, you’ll know who I am.”
“You’re worried I might report you; I’m worried that after we meet, you might put me in a sack. Your displayed sincerity isn’t enough… I suspect you want to lure me into meeting so you can do something bad to me. What if your true identity is Remover?” Kui Xin countered.
Hacker: “…”
After a while, the hacker said, “If I were the Remover, I should have immediately killed you after learning your information, instead of sitting here chatting with you.”
“Perhaps you’re tempted by my extraordinary abilities and want to confirm I’ve awakened before killing me,” Kui Xin intentionally suggested.
The hacker proposed, “If you still don’t trust me, I can take a photo of my game identity card and send it to you with the code blocked out.”
“You could just Photoshop that image, and I wouldn’t be able to tell,” Kui Xin replied. “With your hacker skills, editing an image shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
The hacker was left speechless by Kui Xin’s logic: “Then what do you want?”
“Tell me your real name.” Kui Xin stubbornly pressed on this point, “If you can’t even offer an equivalent exchange, how can you ask me to join your team? Don’t you think your request is particularly unconvincing?”
The hacker fell silent, remaining quiet for a long time.
Kui Xin leaned back in her chair, staring at her mobile phone screen.
She had returned to the First World and dug up that silver identity card, worried about the situation she had been fearing from the start.
The card displayed a player number and player name; if later, any player asked to collaborate and presented their card, their identity would be completely exposed.
Initially, Kui Xin wasn’t worried about this issue because she didn’t plan to form a team. As a Remover, her identity meant she could only be a lone wolf; others wouldn’t trust her, and she didn’t want to go through the trouble of earning their trust.
But now, the situation had changed. A hacker who had obtained her real-world identity information had sent her a team invitation, and she had to adjust her mindset and act accordingly.
If the hacker presented his identity card proving he was a Proxy, Kui Xin would have to show her card to prove she was not a Remover. Therefore, she repeatedly questioned him, seeking excuses to pretend she didn’t trust his proof, to avoid the hacker asking her to show her card once he proved himself.
She had to think of a way… a way to let the hacker believe she was not the Remover without showing her identity card.
Kui Xin believed that the hacker refrained from asking her to present her card because he wanted to gain her trust.
Since he wanted to earn her trust, he couldn’t make too many demands at the beginning of their conversation, or it would come off as aggressive. But that didn’t mean it would always be that way; if they were likely to cooperate for the long term, proving each other’s identity would be inevitable.
Kui Xin felt a bit relieved that her clean identity and her performance after receiving the fake police call had, to some extent, cleared her suspicions, lowering the hacker’s guard.
She took the silver card from her nightstand and ran her fingers over it. The material of the card was similar to silver, with complex interwoven patterns that felt uneven, like a finely detailed relief.
It wouldn’t be impossible to ask an old silversmith to replicate one, but every player had a corresponding number. If she randomly reported a number and the holder of that number was reported dead on the forum, the disguise card would lose its effectiveness.
Moreover, allowing any third party to come into contact with the player identity card would increase the risk of exposure, even if the contact person didn’t know what the card represented.
“I’m sorry; I have one big question,” the hacker said. “Since you’re so guarded against me and don’t trust me, why do you still invite me to meet in the real world?”
“Because your words have hit my soft spot; I need teammates,” Kui Xin maintained her facade. “But you’re too frightening; you know about me, yet I know nothing about you. I find it hard to trust you… what you do scares me. Discussing matters over the phone doesn’t make me feel safe; meeting privately, I’m afraid you’ll have ulterior motives. It would be best for us to meet in a public setting, in my city; it’s better for both sides.”
“I apologize for offending you,” the hacker said again, “it’s my fault.”
Kui Xin displayed appropriate weakness and humility, making the hacker lower his guard.
She was in the right and should have made more demands.
After repeated exchanges and tests, Kui Xin had almost figured out the hacker’s pattern.
He seemed genuinely interested in forming a team; after experiencing her complications and suspicions, he didn’t show impatience. His direct transfer of funds was indeed an expression of apology. He did not use the Remover as an excuse to continue explaining, which was relatively sincere.
However, his sincerity couldn’t erase Kui Xin’s disgust. The moment the hacker checked her phone, she had already blacklisted him.
“I must confess to you that I’m not alone; I’m part of a team. There are three of us,” the hacker said.
Kui Xin frowned: “Are all three of you players? How did you meet?”
“Yes,” the hacker replied. “Our goal is to unite all players in the Jingchu region. If conditions allow, we even want to contact players from other regions to form a close and reliable alliance, where members share information and help each other.”
That was quite an ambitious idea.
Such thoughts must be based on the hacker’s powerful technical foundation; he could quickly identify who the players were, investigate their situations thoroughly, and judge whether they were trustworthy.
“I want to ask, do you plan to recruit players this way?” Kui Xin couldn’t help but ask, “Will you recruit others just like you did me?”
The hacker said, “That’s currently the idea.”
Kui Xin’s lips twitched, almost laughing out loud.
This recruitment method didn’t seem like searching for team members; it felt more like a threat, likely to provoke rebellion.
“So what will you use to convince the players?” Kui Xin questioned. “As I said before, verbal promises are worthless.”
The hacker was stuck in a serious misconception.
He was in the shadows, while others were in the light. He had hacking skills and held vast amounts of information and intelligence, occupying an overwhelming advantage over ordinary players. He could easily use that edge to pressure others without needing to earn their trust.
If the hacker threatened others saying, “Join my alliance, or I’ll expose your identity,” most players would likely capitulate. If he approached a player saying, “I’ve investigated all your private information, and I think you’re qualified to join us; let’s establish a relationship of equal trust,” the player would definitely think he was crazy and vehemently reject his recruitment.
If it were Kui Xin, occupying an overwhelming advantage, she wouldn’t waste time negotiating with others; she would directly state her purpose and achieve the desired results through her overwhelming advantage.
The hacker’s approach was too wishy-washy and soft; they hadn’t shifted their mindset and didn’t understand that an iron-fisted approach, a tough style, and appropriate pressure were key to ensuring survival.
Their thinking still remained in an old phase—an ordinary person’s stage.
Even if they realized a crisis existed, their ordinary mindset wouldn’t be easily reversed in a short time.
For instance, even now, they unconsciously adhered to modern societal norms and moral standards, attempting to gain Kui Xin’s trust.
They had ideas and ambitions but lacked the capability and strategy to implement them.
It wasn’t just the hacker’s group that was stuck in an ordinary mindset; most players’ thinking also remained at the ordinary person stage.
Not everyone could experience so many thrilling events the moment they crossed over, like Kui Xin.
“Your hacking skills are impressive; is that your extraordinary ability?” Kui Xin asked straightforwardly. “Being able to break through the city’s surveillance system is quite extraordinary.”
“This is a skill I already had; the Second World strengthened my abilities,” the hacker said. “The firewalls of organizations in the Second World are as thick as iron barrels, while the information technology of the First World has only developed for a few decades; the technical divide between the two worlds is huge.”
So that’s how it is… Kui Xin thought.
The hacker’s abilities came from intelligence, not extraordinary abilities, which slightly reassured her. Compared to that, the mysterious and unpredictable extraordinary abilities were the root of her concerns.
Kui Xin said, “You won’t step back to tell me your real information, will you?”
The hacker seemed to be weighing something.
Five minutes later, he sent three words: “Xie Gankqing.”
These three words appeared for less than two seconds before quickly disappearing from the message screen, along with all the preceding chat records.
The message interface turned completely blank.
The hacker only sent one person’s name, but according to him, he had at least three people on his side.
Kui Xin said, “What’s wrong? Are you afraid I’ll hold it against you? You talk sincerely, but your actions are still insincere. You say you won’t invade my privacy, yet you’re still controlling my phone to retract the message.”
“This is the last time,” the hacker said. “Tell me the meeting address; you choose the place and time.”
Kui Xin: “We’ll discuss the address later. Make it tomorrow, and you come to Tonglin City first.”
Hacker: “So anxious? Does it have to be tomorrow?”
“Yes. It must be tomorrow, at nine in the morning,” Kui Xin said.
She arranged this to make the hacker rush and catch them off guard, ensuring they wouldn’t have time to make any small moves. Kui Xin also refused to settle on an address now for similar reasons; confirming it in advance would give them the opportunity to arrive first, and she couldn’t allow that risk to exist.
Once the meeting details were finalized, Kui Xin hesitated for a moment, opened a web page, entered a URL, and accessed a corporate inquiry website.
This website could provide related information about companies owned by individuals based on their names.
She typed in “Xie Gankqing,” and the search results were displayed immediately.
Kui Xin believed the other party was quite prominent and likely wealthy, perhaps owning many assets, so she searched for his information on the corporate inquiry site, and unexpectedly found the person.
The page showed that Xie Gankqing was a shareholder in several major companies, but he did not serve as the legal representative. His personal information section had no photo, so Kui Xin had no way of knowing his appearance.
Was this Xie Gankqing the same one from the hacker’s side?
Kui Xin took out a piece of paper, wrote down all the company information related to Xie Gankqing, and began to search one by one.
Finally, she found some useful information. The company where Xie Gankqing held the largest share also had a few other shareholders, one of whom shared the surname Xie and was named Xie Jinhua, holding a 30% stake, which was quite high. Following this Xie family member upwards in her search, Kui Xin realized this might be a family business.
Kui Xin had a vague impression of Xie Jinhua; he seemed to be a well-known wealthy figure in the Jingchu region, a name she had heard in financial news before.
Leaving the corporate inquiry site, Kui Xin focused on searching for information related to Xie Jinhua.
After two hours of searching, she finally found a hint in a ten-year-old interview program. Xie Jinhua proudly stated, “I have two most proud achievements in my life: one is the company I built from scratch, and the other is my son, Xie Gankqing, who just got admitted to the Capital University this year!”
Kui Xin pulled the corners of her lips, opened the Capital University website, and clicked to view the display page of outstanding graduates from previous years.
Her luck was good; before long, she found Xie Gankqing’s name on the six-year-old outstanding students display page, along with a photo of his graduation certificate.
Exiting the Capital University website, she logged into a system called the National Same Name Inquiry System and entered “Xie Gankqing.”
The inquiry showed: Xie Gankqing had one person with the same name and surname, and sixty people with the same name but different surnames.
The results made everything clear.
The son of the richest man in the Jingchu region, an outstanding student from Capital University, and a player on the hacker’s side, their identities overlapped— they were all Xie Gankqing!
Kui Xin memorized Xie Gankqing’s face.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a breath, staring blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes to ease her mind.
After killing Fang Zhi, Kui Xin hadn’t had the chance to see the players’ reactions on the forum; she needed to monitor public opinion appropriately and guide it when necessary.
But when she opened the forum, she found the discussion on the homepage… was a bit off.
Kui Xin clicked on the post reporting player deaths and saw that the first reply had added two lines of text.
“Proxy 1339 was killed by Proxy 388 on July 29.”
“Proxy 388 was killed by Remover 777 on July 29.”
Remover 777!
Kui Xin almost jumped out of her chair.
Following her, another Remover had emerged, with their existence exposed through a death report.
“…” After a long time, Kui Xin sat back down, her demeanor calm. “Not bad… the focus has shifted.”
