novelraw Chapter 39: Sea of Darkness - (39)
Chapter 39: Sea of Darkness - (39)
“You need to make me a commitment,” Kui Xin said.
“Is it a commitment not to invade your privacy again? There’s no problem there. My previous actions were out of necessity; if you’re unsatisfied with the compensation of one hundred thousand RMB, I can offer more.” The Hacker responded.
Kui Xin countered, “Even commitments written in contracts can be breached at any time, let alone verbal promises. To me, your commitments hold no value whatsoever. Money as well—do you think it can provide me with a sense of security?”
“What do you want? Please feel free to propose anything,” the Hacker replied.
“I want your name, phone number, and location,” Kui Xin calmly stated her condition. “You already know my name, phone number, and whereabouts. Now, it’s only fair that I should know yours… Is that too much to ask?”
“Not unreasonable, but I’m concerned that once you have my identity, you might report me to the authorities.” This time, there was a longer delay before the Hacker’s response. “Let’s set aside the identity issue for now. Once we meet, you’ll know who I am.”
“You worry about me alerting the authorities, but I’m also concerned that after our meeting, you might ambush and capture me. Your displayed sincerity isn’t enough… I suspect you’re trying to lure me into a meeting to do something nefarious. What if your true identity is actually a Depriver?” Kui Xin countered with suspicion.
The hacker paused before responding, “If I were a Depriver, upon learning your information, I would have immediately gone to kill you instead of sitting here chatting with you.”
“Maybe you’re coveting my superhuman abilities and want to confirm my awakening before killing me,” Kui Xin deliberately questioned.
The hacker suggested, “If you still don’t believe me, I can take a photo of my game identity card, censor it, and send it to you.”“Even if you send it, how could I tell if the image has been photoshopped or not?” Kui Xin said, “With your exceptional hacking skills, manipulating images should be no issue for you, right?”
The hacker was left speechless by Kui Xin’s skepticism. “Then what do you propose?”
“Tell me your real name.” Kui Xin strongly insisted on this point. “If you can’t even fulfill an equivalent exchange yet still invite me to team up, don’t you think your request lacks credibility?”
The hacker fell silent, with no response for a long moment.
Kui Xin leaned back on the living room chair, staring at her phone screen.
Ever since she returned to the First World and discovered that silver identity card, the situation she had been dreading occurred.
The card displayed both the player’s code number and name. If future players demanded cooperation by showing their cards, her true identity would be impossible to conceal.
Initially, Kui Xin wasn’t concerned about this issue because she had no intention of forming teams. As a Depriver, her fate was sealed; others wouldn’t trust her, nor did she want to expend effort gaining their trust.
However, circumstances have changed now. A hacker who obtained her real-world identity information has extended a team-up invitation, compelling her to reconsider her stance and adapt accordingly.
If the hacker presented his identity card to prove he was a Proxy, Kui Xin would inevitably need to show hers to demonstrate she isn’t a Depriver. Therefore, she repeatedly questioned him, seeking excuses to feign distrust, aiming to prevent The Hacker from validating himself first, which could then lead to demanding her card reveal.
Without showing her identity card, she needed to find a way—a method—to convince the hacker she wasn’t a Depriver.
Kui Xin believed that the hacker didn’t ask her to present the card because he wanted to gain her trust.
If one wanted to earn trust, it wouldn’t be prudent to make excessive demands right at the beginning of their interaction, as it could appear overly aggressive. However, things might change later on; if there were prospects for long-term cooperation, proving each other’s identities would eventually become necessary.
Kui Xin felt somewhat relieved. Her innocent status and behavior after receiving the fake police call had, to some extent, cleared her suspicion, leading the hacker to lower his guard.
From the bedside table, Kui Xin retrieved the silver card and gently touched it. The card’s material resembled silver, with intricate interlocking patterns that felt uneven under her fingers, indicative of meticulous engravings.
Creating a counterfeit using the old silversmith seemed feasible, but every player has a unique identification number. Randomly reporting a number could backfire if its holder happened to have died and was announced on the forum, rendering the forged card ineffective.
Moreover, allowing any third party to come into contact with the player’s identity card increases the risk of exposure, even if the person has no idea what the card signifies.
“I’m sorry, but I have one significant doubt,” the hacker said. “Since you’re so guarded against me and distrustful, why did you invite me for a meeting in the real world?”
“Because your words truly struck my vulnerable spot, I need teammates.” Kui Xin maintained her persona. “However, you are genuinely frightening. You know me, but I know nothing about you. It’s difficult for me to trust you… Your actions make me apprehensive. Discussing matters over the phone doesn’t feel secure, and privately meeting up worries me that you might have ulterior motives. We should ideally meet in a public place, specifically in my city, which would be beneficial for both of us.”
“My apologies; I didn’t mean to offend you.” The hacker apologized again. “It was my mistake.”
Kui Xin strategically displayed vulnerability and acquiescence, causing the hacker to further lower his guard.
She held the moral high ground, giving her the right to make more demands.
Through successive exchanges and probing, Kui Xin had largely figured out the hacker’s approach.
He seemed genuinely interested in forming a team; despite her stubborn resistance and suspicions, he didn’t show impatience. The direct transfer of points did indeed convey his apology, and when apologizing, he refrained from using the Depriver identity as an excuse for further explanation, indicating some sincerity.
However, his sincerity could not erase Kui Xin’s aversion. From the moment the hacker accessed her phone, she had already placed him on her blacklist.
“I need to confess that I am not alone but part of a group. There are three of us,” the hacker said.
Kui Xin frowned. “All three are players? How did you meet?”
“Yes,” the hacker replied. “Our goal is to unite all players in the Jingchu region. If circumstances permit, we even aim to connect with more players from other regions to form a tight and reliable alliance. Within this alliance, members would share intelligence and assist each other.”
It was a highly ambitious plan.
Such an idea likely stemmed from the hacker’s robust technical capabilities. He could swiftly identify who the players were, thoroughly investigate their backgrounds, and determine if they were trustworthy individuals.
“I’d like to ask, do you plan to recruit players using this method every time?” Kui Xin couldn’t help but inquire, “Similar to how you approached me?”
The hacker replied, “Currently, that’s our intention.”
Kui Xin’s lips twitched, nearly bursting out into laughter.
This recruitment approach seemed more like coercion than seeking team members; it could easily provoke defiance.
“So what can you offer to make other players trust you?” Kui Xin asked, “As I mentioned earlier, verbal promises are hardly worth anything.”
The hacker fell into a severe misconception.
He operated from the shadows while others were exposed. With his hacking skills, he possessed vast amounts of information and intelligence, giving him an overwhelming advantage over ordinary players. He could leverage these strengths to exert control without needing to earn their trust.
If the hacker threatened others with, “Join my alliance or I’ll expose your identity,” most players would likely succumb to his pressure. However, if he approached someone and said, “I’ve investigated all your private details and believe you’re eligible to join us. Let’s establish an equal relationship based on trust.” Other players would undoubtedly curse him for being insane and vehemently refuse his invitation.
In contrast, Kui Xin, when holding an absolute advantage, would unlikely waste time negotiating or engaging in idle chatter with others. Instead, she would straightforwardly state her purpose and achieve the desired outcome through overwhelming superiority.
The hacker’s group displayed excessive hesitancy and leniency; their mindset had not fully adapted to the new circumstances. They failed to grasp that iron-fisted tactics, assertive approaches, and appropriate coercion were crucial for survival.
Their thinking remained stuck in the old phase—the ordinary civilian mentality.
Even if they recognized the existence of danger, their conventional mindset could not swiftly adapt.
For instance, at this moment, they still unconsciously adhered to the norms and ethical standards of modern society, attempting to gain Kui Xin’s trust.
They possessed ideas and ambitions but lacked the capability and strategies to implement them.
It wasn’t just The Hacker’s group whose mindset remained fixed in the ordinary phase; most players’ thinking was similarly entrenched.
Not everyone can experience such heart-pounding events immediately upon crossing over, as Kui Xin did.
“Your hacking skills are impressive. Is this your superhuman ability?” Kui Xin asked bluntly. “Being able to breach the city surveillance system makes you quite extraordinary.”
“It’s a skill I already possessed, but the Second World enhanced it,” the hacker explained. “The computer firewalls of various organizations in the Second World are as robust as iron fortresses. In contrast, the information technology in the First World has only developed for a few decades, resulting in a significant technological gap between the two worlds.”
So, that’s how it is… Kui Xin thought.
His hacking abilities stemmed from his intellect, not from any superhuman power, which provided her with some relief. Compared to both, it was her mysterious and unpredictable superhuman abilities that she truly feared.
Kui Xin said, “You’re unwilling to back down and reveal your true identity, aren’t you?”
It appeared as though the hacker was weighing something.
After five minutes, he sent three words: “Xie Ganqing.”
Less than two seconds after these words appeared, the message swiftly vanished from the chat window, along with their entire previous conversation history.
The messaging interface became entirely blank.
The hacker had only shared one name, yet according to him, there were at least three individuals involved.
Kui Xin asked, “What? Are you afraid I might find leverage against you? Your words sound sincere, but in reality, they still lack honesty. You claimed you wouldn’t invade my privacy again, yet you controlled my phone to withdraw the message.”
“This is the last time,” the hacker responded. “Tell me where we can meet. You decide the location and time.”
Kui Xin: “I’ll provide the address later; let’s schedule it for tomorrow. First, come to Tonglin City.”
The hacker: “So urgent? It has to be tomorrow?”
“Yes, it must be tomorrow, at 9 a.m.” Kui Xin replied.
Her plan was to rush the hacker and his associates, catching them off guard, so they wouldn’t have time for any mischief. Similarly, Kui Xin deliberately avoided setting the location beforehand, as doing so would give them an opportunity to arrive early and prepare. She couldn’t risk that happening.
After finalizing the meeting details, Kui Xin hesitated for a moment before opening her web browser and entering a URL to access a specific website.
This was a corporate information search site, where one could look up company details associated with individuals’ names.
She typed “Xie Ganqing” into the search bar, and the results were promptly displayed.
Kui Xin surmised that since Xie Ganqing acted generously, he likely had considerable wealth and might own numerous assets. Thus, she decided to search for him on the corporate information site, not expecting to actually find him listed.
The webpage revealed that Xie Ganqing was a shareholder in several large companies but did not serve as the legal representative for any of them. In his personal profile section, there were no identification photos, leaving Kui Xin unable to ascertain his appearance.
Is this Xie Ganqing the same person as The Hacker’s Xie Ganqing?
Kui Xin pulled out a sheet of paper and copied down all of the company information pertaining to Xie Ganqing. Then she systematically searched each one.
Finally, she found some useful details. In the company where Xie Ganqing held the largest share, there were several other shareholders. Among them, one shareholder also had the surname Xie—his name was Xie Jinhua, with a substantial ownership stake of thirty percent. Following further investigation of this individual named Xie, Kui Xin discovered it seemed like a family-owned business.
Kui Xin vaguely recalled the name Xie Jinhua; he appeared to be a well-known wealthy figure from the Jingchu region whom she had heard mentioned in financial news before.
She exited the corporate search website and focused solely on researching information about Xie Jinhua.
After two hours of digging, she finally stumbled upon a clue within a decade-old talk show episode. Xie Jinhua’s son’s name was indeed Xie Ganqing.
During the program, Xie Jinhua proudly stated, “In my life, I have had two greatest accomplishments. First is the company I built from scratch with my own hands, and second is my son, Xie Ganqing—he has been admitted to Capital University this year!”
Kui Xin’s lips curled slightly upward as she opened the official website of Capital University and clicked on the page displaying outstanding alumni from previous years.
Her luck held; not long after, she found Xie Ganqing’s name on Capital University’s website under the showcase of outstanding students from six years ago. The site also displayed his graduation photo.
Kui Xin logged out of the Capital University website and accessed a system called the National Duplicate Name Inquiry System. She inputted “Xie Ganqing.”
The search results showed: One person with the exact same name, and sixty individuals sharing only the given name but different surnames.
This outcome made it clear.
The son of the Jingchu region’s wealthiest individual, the distinguished student at Capital University, and the player aligned with the Hacker faction—all these identities converged upon one person—Xie Ganqing!
Kui Xin firmly etched Xie Ganqing’s face into her memory.
Relaxing her shoulders, she let out a deep breath and stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes, allowing herself to unwind.
After killing Fang Zhi, Kui Xin didn’t have a chance to check the forum’s reactions from other players. It was crucial for her to monitor public opinion and guide it when necessary.
However, as soon as she opened the forum, she noticed something peculiar about the discussions on the homepage.
Kui Xin clicked on the thread announcing the list of deceased players, and he saw two additional lines of text at the beginning of the post:
“Proxy No.1339 was killed by Proxy No. 388 on July 29th.”
“Proxy No. 388 was killed by Depriver No. 777 on July 29th.”
Depriver No. 777!
Kui Xin nearly jumped from her chair.
Following her, another Depriver had emerged abruptly, their existence exposed through this death notification.
After a long moment, Kui Xin slumped back down, her expression composed. “Not bad… The focus has been diverted.”