My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 13

Five days after the case ended, the doormat at the entrance of the law firm was already dirty.

Ah You had washed her feet yesterday, but it rained again today. Lin Jiqiu came downstairs barefoot, her feet covered in a layer of gray water stains as she stepped onto the doormat. She glanced down at them, but didn’t pay them any mind, and walked to the sofa to sit down.

Ah Zuo was already there; the computer screen on the counter was lit up, displaying a document.

“Good morning,” Lin Jiqiu said.

“Good morning.” A-Zuo placed a glass of warm water on the coffee table. “Brother Cheng didn’t go home last night.”

Lin Jiqiu paused in his movement as he picked up the water glass. “In the studio again?”

“Yes. The lights were on all night.”

Lin Jiqiu did not answer. She took a sip of water, put down the cup, stood up, and walked to the second floor.

The studio door was closed, but light shone through the crack. She knocked twice, but there was no response. She knocked twice more.

“Come in.”

She pushed open the door.

Cheng Ran sat at his workbench, the screen displaying densely packed data tables and architecture diagrams. His hair was a little messy, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze was clear—the kind of clear-headedness that comes after staying up all night.

“You’re not asleep,” Lin Jiqiu said.

“I slept for two hours.”

“That doesn’t count as sleeping.”

Cheng Ran did not refute, but turned around to look at her.

“I’ve found some new information about that organization.”

Lin Jiqiu walked over, stood next to him, and looked at the screen.

“The upstream of the ‘Rejuvenation Growth Camp’s’ funding account is a shell company registered overseas. I traced the flow of funds from that company and found that it was sending money to more than just that one camp.” Cheng Ran pulled up a chart with dense nodes and connections. “There are at least five other similar accounts, distributed across three different provinces. The types of recipients are highly similar to those of the ‘Rejuvenation Growth Camp’—they are all training institutions focused on ‘spiritual growth’ and ‘self-exploration’.”

Lin Jiqiu frowned. “Five more?”

“At least five. Maybe more.” Cheng Ran zoomed in on a node on the chart. “Moreover, these institutions’ funding has a common upstream source—a company called ‘Mirror Technology’.”

“Mirror technology?”

“The company is registered overseas, and its main business is listed as ‘psychological counseling and education and training.’ But when I checked its product line,” Cheng Ran switched to another page, “they are selling a course. It’s available both online and offline. The offline format is almost identical to the ‘Rejuvenation Growth Camp.’”

Lin Jiqiu remained silent for a few seconds.

“Mirror technology”.

“Hmm.” Cheng Ran looked at her. “Mirror Meeting.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

“Can we find out who the legal representative of this ‘Mirror Technology’ is?” Lin Jiqiu asked.

“Found it.” Cheng Ran pulled up a document. “The name is ‘Zhang Wei.’ But this person… we can’t find any more information. No social media accounts, no public activity records, no photos. It’s like someone who lives on paper.”

“Another Zhang Wei.”

“Hmm. The probability of it being a fake identity is very high.”

Lin Jiqiu leaned against the edge of the table, his arms crossed over his chest. “Five camps. If each camp has fifteen people, that’s seventy-five people. Five thousand eight…”

“435,000. And that’s just tuition,” Cheng Ran said. “They also have other paid services—’advanced courses,’ ‘one-on-one tutoring,’ ‘overseas study tours’… none of them are cheap.”

Where did the money go?

“Most of the money went to accounts overseas. I tried to trace it, but it got cut off after the third layer.” Cheng Ran’s voice lowered. “It wasn’t ordinary account encryption. It was the kind used by Stargazer.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at him.

Are you sure?

“Confirmed,” Cheng Ran said. “The Stargazers’ encryption algorithm has a characteristic—they embed a checksum in the data packets to prevent tampering. I saw it when I was in Rusty Bone. I found the exact same checksum when I was analyzing the financial data just now.”

Lin Jiqiu remained silent.

A meeting of mirrors. Stargazers.

Two of the three organizations have already intersected.

“What do you plan to do?” Cheng Ran asked.

Lin Jiqiu thought for a moment. “Continue the investigation. But this case isn’t urgent. They weren’t kidnapping; it was ‘legal’ training. Even if we find something, we can’t take action against them without direct evidence.”

“What about the next commission?”

“wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait until someone comes to us.”

Lin Jiqiu straightened up and walked towards the door. After taking two steps, he stopped.

“Cheng Ran”.

“Um.”

“Take a nap during the day. You haven’t finished that new thing yet, have you? Don’t let both of them fall behind.”

Cheng Ran’s fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment.

“……Um.”

Lin Jiqiu walked out and closed the door.

She stood in the hallway and heard the sound of keyboard typing behind her—faster than before she came in.

She smiled slightly, then went downstairs.

At noon, Cheng Ran appeared on the first floor.

This was unusual—he usually stayed in his studio, and when he got hungry, he would come down to find something to eat, or Ayou would bring it up. But today he came down by himself, walked to the sofa, sat down, and picked up the teacup in front of Lin Jiqiu and took a sip.

Lin Jiqiu glanced at him.

That’s my cup.

“I know.”

There’s another one on the coffee table.

“That’s far.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t say anything more.

Ah You peeked out from the kitchen and saw Cheng Ran sitting on the sofa. He paused for a moment. “Brother Cheng? You’re downstairs?”

“Um.”

“Have you got a meal yet?”

“not yet.”

“Wait! I’ll serve you!” Ah You shrank back, and the sound of bowls and chopsticks clattering came from the kitchen.

A-Zuo flipped through the files without looking up. “Brother Cheng, you didn’t go home last night?”

“Um.”

“Can I sleep on the sofa in the studio?”

“able.”

Are you asleep?

Cheng Ran paused for a second. “…No.”

A-Zuo didn’t ask any more questions.

Ayou came out carrying a bowl of noodles and placed it in front of Chengran. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

Cheng Ran picked up his chopsticks and took a bite.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

Ah You’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Um.”

When Ah You turned back to the kitchen, his steps were noticeably lighter.

Lin Jiqiu watched Cheng Ran eat noodles without saying a word.

Cheng Ran was halfway through his meal when he suddenly spoke up. “Your ‘yin’.”

“Um?”

“Should I carry it with me?”

Lin Jiqiu took out the dark gray structure, about half the size of a fist, from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table.

Cheng Ran glanced at it, took out “Yang” from his pocket, and placed it on the coffee table. The two structures were placed side by side, their surfaces gleaming with a similar dark luster under the light.

“The vibration frequencies are now consistent,” Cheng Ran said. “I adjusted them last night.”

Lin Jiqiu reached out and touched the “yin,” feeling it vibrate—synchronized with the one in Cheng Ran’s hand.

“so what?”

“So,” Cheng Ran put “Yang” back into his pocket, “I can sense any movement you make.”

“Haven’t you been sensing all along?”

Cheng Ran paused for a moment. “…It’s not that kind of perception. It’s something more specific. Force, speed, direction…When you hold it, I can feel how much force you’re using.”

Lin Jiqiu held the “yin” in his palm and felt its vibration.

“So what can you feel right now?”

Cheng Ran looked at her hand and remained silent for two seconds.

“…You’re using force.”

Lin Jiqiu loosened his grip a little.

“And now?”

“It’s loosened.”

She smiled.

“That’s good,” she said. “You won’t have to keep asking me where I am anymore.”

Cheng Ran lowered his head and continued eating his noodles.

But his ears turned red.

The client arrived in the afternoon.

It wasn’t an appointment; he came directly to our door. A man in his forties, dressed in a dark suit, his hair neatly combed, carrying a briefcase, stood at the door, glanced at the “Bai Xiang Law Firm” sign, hesitated for a few seconds, and then pushed the door open and came in.

The wind chimes tinkled.

A-Zuo stood up. “Hello, excuse me—”

“I’m looking for the boss.” The man’s voice was tense.

Lin Jiqiu stood up from the sofa. “That’s me.”

The man looked at her—a male, a young man in his early twenties, casually dressed, who didn’t seem like anyone important. But he didn’t hesitate for long; he walked to the sofa, sat down, and placed his briefcase on his lap.

“My surname is Zhou,” he said. “Someone introduced me to this place.”

“Who introduced you?”

“A… friend. He said you could solve some… special problems.”

Lin Jiqiu sat back down on the sofa and looked at him. “What kind of trouble?”

Mr. Zhou opened his briefcase, took out a document, and placed it on the coffee table.

“My company is currently working on a project, and the core technology has been leaked. The other party beat us to it and released their product before us. I suspect someone within the company leaked the information.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I called the police. But they said they didn’t have direct evidence and could only investigate first.” Mr. Zhou’s voice was even lower. “Besides, that competitor’s background… isn’t clean. I’m worried that calling the police might alert them.”

“What’s your background?”

Mr. Zhou hesitated for a moment. “They have a company behind them. I checked that company, and the registration information is fake. But they have plenty of funds, and their technical team is very strong… It doesn’t seem like an ordinary startup.”

Lin Jiqiu glanced at the documents on the coffee table.

What do you need us to do?

“Find the person who leaked the information,” Mr. Zhou said. “Get the evidence. If possible…find out how they obtained our technology.”

Lin Jiqiu remained silent for a few seconds.

“Can.”

Mr. Zhou’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “The fee—”

“We’ll talk after we finish.”

Lin Jiqiu stood up and picked up the document. “I need to see these.”

“Okay.” Mr. Zhou also stood up. “Contact me anytime if there is any progress.”

He left a business card and then left.

The wind chimes rang again, then fell silent.

Ah You came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands. “Looking for someone again?”

“No.” Lin Jiqiu flipped through the documents. “It’s a commercial leak.”

“We’re doing this?”

“Do.”

Ah You looked at Ah Zuo, who had already started typing on the keyboard.

Lin Jiqiu took the documents and walked up the stairs, stopping on the second floor.

The studio door was open. Cheng Ran sat at his workbench, a scanned copy of the document he had just received displayed on the screen—A Zuo had already sent it to him.

“Did you see it?” Lin Jiqiu asked.

“Um.”

“Can you find out about that competitor’s background?”

Cheng Ran tapped a few keys on the keyboard. “Checking. Their official website has very little information, and the registration number is fake. But the server…” He paused, “…I’ve seen this IP range before.”

“where?”

“It’s on the same segment as ‘Mirror Technology’s’ server.”

Lin Jiqiu narrowed his eyes.

It’s another mirror meeting.

“Cheng Ran”.

“Um.”

“I’ll take this commission.”

Cheng Ran turned his head and looked at her.

“careful.”

“Um.”

Lin Jiqiu turned around and walked towards her room.

He was still flipping through the documents in his hand.

Mirror Technology. Mirror Meeting.

It seems some people don’t want her to be idle.