My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 14

The leak is certain. But who did it? How did they do it? The documents don’t provide the answers.

“A-Zuo, check Xingyuan Technology’s public information.” Lin Jiqiu placed the document on the counter.

“I’ve already checked.” A-Zuo pulled up the information on the screen. “They’ve been established for less than two years, have a team of about fifty people, and no publicly available funding records. But their product development speed… is a bit unusual.”

“What’s wrong?”

“A team of fifty people typically needs two to three years to develop an AI chip from scratch. Xingyuan only took one year.”

“Is there a powerful backer behind them?”

“Very likely.” A-Zuo zoomed in on a chart. “Their funding chain cannot be traced—it’s not an ordinary corporate account. Similar to the situation with ‘Mirror Technology’.”

Lin Jiqiu tapped his fingers twice on the counter.

It’s the same old story. It’s them again.

“Any progress on Cheng Ran’s side?”

“They’re still investigating. He said Xingyuan’s servers have multiple layers of encryption, so it will take time.”

“Tell him I need a breakthrough tomorrow.”

A-Zuo nodded and started typing on the keyboard.

Lin Jiqiu went upstairs and changed her clothes. This time, she didn’t transform into anything special—a dark coat, casual pants, sneakers, and her hair casually hanging over her forehead. She looked like an ordinary technician or a salesperson.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and confirmed that there were no flaws.

Then I went downstairs.

I’m going out for a bit.

“Where are we going?” Ah You poked his head out from the kitchen.

“Star Yuan Technology”.

“Now? It’s getting dark.”

“It’s better to go in after dark.”

Lin Jiqiu pushed open the door, and the wind chimes tinkled. Dusk had fallen, the streetlights were on, the flower shop was closed, but the coffee shop’s lights were still on. She walked along the street for a few minutes, turned into a small alley, and stopped under an old locust tree.

Close your eyes.

A bluebird emerged from her consciousness and landed on her shoulder.

“Go scout ahead first,” she instructed in her mind.

The bluebird flapped its wings and flew away, disappearing into the twilight.

Lin Jiqiu leaned against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, and used the bluebird’s vision to perceive the road ahead.

Xingyuan Technology rented an entire floor in an office building in the east of the city. A bluebird flew in through the ventilation duct and glided silently along the ceiling of the corridor. Most employees had already left work at this hour; only a few workstations still had their lights on.

The office layout was standard—open workstations, meeting rooms, a break room, and several private offices. The door at the end of the corridor was closed, without a sign.

The bluebird landed on the door frame and peered through the crack in the door.

It was dark inside, and there was no one there.

But there was something on the table—a computer, the screen was black, but the power indicator light was on. There were also several documents scattered on the table.

The bluebird flew back to the ventilation duct and returned the way it came.

Lin Jiqiu opened her eyes.

“What did you see?” Cheng Ran’s voice came through the earpiece.

“The office. There’s an empty room at the far end; it might belong to the person in charge. We need to go in and take a look.”

“What about access control?”

“A regular door lock. I can open it.”

“Where’s the surveillance footage?”

“There’s a camera in the corridor. Qingque saw it, but she can avoid it from that angle.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No need. Just keep an eye on the server.”

Lin Jiqiu walked out of the alley and headed towards the east of the city.

She didn’t take a taxi—it would have been a forty-minute walk, but she wasn’t in a hurry. Night deepened, and fewer and fewer people were on the street, only the streetlights twinkling one by one. She walked quickly, but her steps were light, almost inaudible.

It was almost eight o’clock when we arrived at the office building.

The main entrance to the building was closed; a card was required to enter. Lin Jiqiu went around to the side, where there was a fire escape. The door was locked—a regular lock.

She took a thin wire out of her pocket, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned it a few times.

Click.

The door opened.

She slipped inside and gently closed the door.

The corridor was quiet. The emergency lights cast a dim yellow glow, and the gray carpet on the floor made no sound underfoot. She walked down the corridor, passing several empty offices, her own shadow reflected in the glass doors.

The elevator was out of service. She took the stairs.

Xingyuan Technology is on the twelfth floor. The stairwell is narrow, the lighting is harsh, and every step echoes.

When she reached the twelfth floor, she pushed open the fire door and slipped into the corridor.

The hallway lights were on—motion-activated lights that turned on automatically when she walked in. There was a camera on the ceiling, its red indicator light flashing.

Lin Jiqiu walked close to the wall, avoiding the camera’s angle. Her body leaned slightly forward, her steps were light and silent, like a cat’s.

The spot Qingque had marked was at the end of the corridor. She walked over and stood in front of the door that had no sign.

The door was locked.

She crouched down, took the thin wire from her pocket, and inserted it into the keyhole. The lock was very simple, and she opened it in two seconds.

She slipped inside and gently closed the door.

The room was dark. She felt for the light switch on the wall but didn’t press it—the light couldn’t be turned on. She took her phone out of her pocket, turned on the flashlight mode, and used her hand to block most of the light, leaving only a sliver shining onto the table.

computer.

document.

There were also some miscellaneous small items—notebooks, pens, and business cards.

She opened the document first. The first page was Xingyuan Technology’s product roadmap, outlining its chip plans for the next two years. The second page was a technical parameter comparison table, with their chips on the left and Yuanwang’s designs on the right.

The parameters in the comparison table are highly consistent with those in the internal documents of the Yuanwang.

Lin Jiqiu took a picture with his phone.

Then she opened her notebook. The first few pages were meeting minutes, nothing special. Turning to the middle, she found a page with a folded corner. Several names were written on it, one of which was circled—Zhou Yuan.

Yuanwang Technology. Mr. Zhou.

The person who leaked the information is very likely among these names.

Lin Jiqiu took a picture of this page.

She closed the laptop and put it back in its place. Then she looked at the computer—it required a password.

She turned off her phone’s flashlight and pulled a small device from her pocket. It was a thumb-sized USB drive Cheng Ran had given her, containing a password-breaking program. Once plugged into a computer, it could bypass passwords.

She plugged the USB drive into the USB port.

The computer screen lit up, but instead of going to the desktop, a password input box popped up.

The indicator light on the USB drive flashed a few times.

The screen flashed, and the desktop appeared.

Lin Jiqiu quickly glanced through the screen—the desktop was clean, with only a few folders and a recycle bin. She opened a folder; inside were technical documents, contracts, and a few emails.

Among the senders of the email, one name looked very familiar—Zhang Wei.

The legal representative of Mirror Technology.

Lin Jiqiu narrowed his eyes and quickly took a screenshot and saved it.

Then she unplugged the USB drive and turned off the computer.

She didn’t touch anything else, simply putting the documents back in their original order and folding the notebook back to its original position. Then she walked to the door, opened it, and slipped out.

The motion-sensor lights in the hallway turned on again.

She retraced her steps—the fire door at the end of the corridor, the stairwell, the twelfth floor, the side door of the fire escape.

Stepping out of the building, the night breeze felt cool on my face.

Lin Jiqiu put her hand in her pocket and touched the still vibrating little thing—”Yin”. Cheng Ran, on the other side, should have felt her movement as well.

“We’re out,” she said in a low voice.

“I saw it,” Cheng Ran said. “Heart rate normal. Temperature normal. Did it go smoothly?”

“Successfully. I took some photos. I’ve sent them to you.”

“Received. The ‘Zhang Wei’ in that email… is the legal representative of Mirror Technology. It’s the same name we found before.”

“Yes. This case is inextricably linked to the Mirror Society.”

Are you going to tell Mr. Zhou?

“Don’t talk about it now. Let’s find the person who leaked the information first.”

Lin Jiqiu hung up the phone and walked back along the road.

The streetlights cast her long shadow on the sidewalk.

Behind me, the office lights went out one by one.

She quickened her pace.

It was almost ten o’clock when I got back to the office.

Ah Zuo was still behind the counter, Ah You was dozing on the sofa, and Ah Hua was curled up on his lap.

“The boss is back.” A-Zuo looked up.

“Hmm.” Lin Jiqiu walked to the sofa and sat down, startling Ayou awake.

“Boss? You’re back? What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Oh…” Ah You rubbed his eyes, “Are you hungry? I’ll heat up some food for you.”

“No need. I’ve already eaten.”

Lin Jiqiu leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes.

A bluebird flew in through the window and landed on the windowsill. Amo peeked out from the corner of the wall and squatted at her feet. Ahua jumped off Ayou’s leg, walked to Lin Jiqiu’s feet, and rubbed against her.

“You guys are all quite clingy today,” Lin Jiqiu said.

Ahua meowed, jumped onto the sofa, and curled up next to her.

Ah You looked at Ah Zuo, then at Lin Jiqiu. “Boss, is that case… difficult?”

“It’s not difficult. It just takes time.”

“That’s good.”

Ah You stood up and stretched. “I’m going to sleep. Ah Zuo, you should go to sleep early too.”

“Um.”

Ah You went upstairs.

Ah Zuo is still typing on the keyboard.

“A-Zuo.” Lin Jiqiu opened her eyes.

“Um.”

“Check the backgrounds of those people on that list for me tomorrow.”

“good.”

Lin Jiqiu stood up and went upstairs.

When she got to the second floor, she saw that Cheng Ran’s studio door was open and the lights were on. She walked over and stood in the doorway.

Cheng Ran sat at her workbench, the screen displaying the photos she had just taken.

“Aren’t you going to sleep yet?” Lin Jiqiu asked.

“Waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m back.”

“Um.”

Cheng Ran turned off the screen and turned to look at her.

“That new thing is almost finished.”

“What’s new?”

“What I mentioned last time. Yin and Yang.”

Lin Jiqiu reached into his pocket and touched the vibrating device.

“It’s already vibrating.”

“That’s the initial state,” Cheng Ran said. “Once it’s done… it will be different.”

“What’s different?”

Cheng Ran thought for a moment. “It will respond to you.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at him.

How should we respond?

Cheng Ran didn’t answer. He took “Yang” out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Then he took out a small part from the drawer—a part of “Yin,” which hadn’t been assembled yet.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Lin Jiqiu nodded.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

She turned and went into her room.

I closed the door and leaned against it.

The “yin” was still vibrating in my palm.

She didn’t know what it was trying to say.

But she felt it was saying—

“I am here.”