My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 85

The platform was drawing ever closer. The ship’s speed had slowed considerably, the engine humming softly, and the hull swayed gently with the waves. Lin Jiqiu stood at the bow, his gaze never leaving the grayish-white metal structure ahead. Unlike the previous transfer points—those were extensions of land, with walls, roofs, and signs of footsteps—this platform stood alone on the sea, its base submerged in the dark water, its bottom invisible. Four thick steel pillars supported the deck, which was about three or four meters above the water, its surface a smooth metal plate with railings along the edges. In the center of the platform stood several slender metal poles, each topped with an antenna, arranged in a regular geometric shape, resembling a javelin pointing towards the sky against the grayish-blue backdrop.

“This isn’t your average offshore platform.” Cheng Ran stepped out of the cabin and stood beside him. “There’s no crane, no supply equipment, and no fuel tanks. Its function is probably communication or monitoring.”

“Communication relay station?”

“It could be at least one of them. It could also be the base’s ‘doorbell’—used to verify the identity of ships entering and leaving.”

The young man stopped the boat about fifty meters from the platform, turned off the engine, and the boat slowly drifted closer, leaving only the sound of the rushing water and the sharp sound of the sea breeze whistling across the metal surface.

Lin Jiqiu observed for a few minutes. There was no movement or sound on the platform. The deck was clean, with no equipment or containers, only a metal shell that looked like a control box fixed in the center, with a half-meter-long antenna on its surface. He turned to Cheng Ran and said, “I’ll go take a look.”

Cheng Ran glanced at him but didn’t stop him. “Bring a communicator.”

Lin Jiqiu lowered a small rubber boat from the side of the ship and paddled it to the area below the platform. An iron ladder ran along the edge of the platform, extending from the deck to the water. The ladder was somewhat rusty, but it felt stable when he stepped on it. He climbed up, scaled the railing, and stood on the deck. The metal deck was hot to the touch—the sun had been shining all day, and the heat was still trapped on the surface. He walked to the control box and squatted down. The metal box was sealed, with a sensor area on the side, but no buttons, no keyhole, just a gray rectangular panel. It was similar to the access control systems he had seen before.

He pressed the communicator next to the sensor area, turning to the side so Cheng Ran could see the screen. “Do you think it can be turned on?”

“No. Forcing it will trigger an alarm.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t touch the sensor area. He stood up and walked around the deck. The platform was small; a round trip took less than a minute. All around was the sea, a deep blue that merged with the sky at the horizon. There were no other ships, buoys, or navigation marks on the water. It was isolated. As if deliberately placed there, both conspicuous and isolated from the shipping lanes.

He returned to the iron ladder, took one last look at the control box, then climbed down the ladder, boarded the rubber dinghy, and rowed back to the boat.

“Communication platform. Independent power supply, remote monitoring. The sensing area requires a specific token to activate.” He stepped onto the deck and reeled in the rubber boat’s ropes. “If there’s such a platform near the entrance to the new base, it means that the waterway is controlled.”

“If we enter that area of ​​water, the Heavenly Palace Bureau will know immediately.”

“Possibly. But it’s also possible to take advantage of this.”

Cheng Ran looked at the antenna. “If it’s monitoring ship signals, then we can try to bypass its monitoring by simulating the signal of a legitimate ship without triggering an alarm.”

“Then we need to record its signal characteristics.”

“I’ve already logged part of it. But the complete features can only be captured when it responds to an external request.”

“Then we’ll make a request.”

Cheng Ran looked at him. “You want to simulate a ship approaching and see how it reacts?”

“If it sends a signal to confirm its identity, we can intercept it. If it doesn’t respond, it means it’s passive, only recording without responding.”

The young man remained silent, his hand resting on the steering wheel, awaiting instructions.

Lin Jiqiu was silent for a few seconds. “Get a little closer, but not too close. Approach slowly, like a passing ship.”

The ship restarted and approached the platform at an extremely slow speed. Its hull glided gently along the surface of the sea, the bow cutting through the water with a soft, grating sound, like a thin piece of cloth being slowly torn apart. There was no movement on the platform; the antenna remained silently standing, casting a simple shadow in the afternoon sun.

When the distance closed to about twenty meters, a soft sound came from the communicator.

Cheng Ran’s fingers slid rapidly across the tablet. “It sent a signal. Very short, only within the near field. Like an inquiry.”

“Can it be intercepted?”

“Intercepted.” Cheng Ran looked at the data on the screen. “This is not a public communication protocol. But its structure is similar to the Stargazer system I’ve seen before.”

Is it possible to fabricate a response?

“It will take time to analyze. But with a sample, it’s possible.”

Lin Jiqiu instructed the young man to turn the boat around and sail away from the platform. The platform slowly shrank against the horizon, its antenna and metal panels gradually shrinking into a thin silhouette against the grey-blue sea, like an unlit candle. A few minutes later, it disappeared completely, leaving only the horizon and a few wisps of low-hanging clouds.

The ship sailed back a short distance along the route it had come from. Cheng Ran went into the cabin, sat at the control panel, and imported the intercepted signal data into the analysis software. Lines of code appeared on the screen, and he leaned over to look at them, occasionally swiping them.

Lin Jiqiu stood on the deck, leaning against the railing. The sea breeze blew against his face, making his hair flutter backward. He looked at the distant sea; the antenna and platform were no longer in sight, but the platform’s outline remained in his mind, like a needle piercing the edge of that blank area on the map. He imagined the sea further south—that completely unmarked body of water—where, in its deeper depths, there might be even larger structures, more complete man-made formations, the source of the Originium. The line stretched forward, across the surface, and dived down until it disappeared from sight, like a taut thread lying across the deep blue background.

The ship glided steadily through the waves. The engine’s hum was continuous and rhythmic, like the only stable sound in the background. The young man stood before the helm, silent. Cheng Ran continued analyzing data in the cabin, occasionally tapping the keyboard, the sound drowned out by the engine noise. Lin Jiqiu stood by the ship’s railing for a while, the sea breeze occasionally shifting direction, carrying a dampness that brushed against his face. He turned and went into the cabin, sitting next to Cheng Ran, looking at the label on the screen—”Signal simulation success rate: approximately 40%.”

He watched for a while without saying anything.

The ship continued northward, heading in the direction it had come from. The land on both banks gradually drew closer, and a gray-green line reappeared in the field of vision, stretching along the sea surface, no longer as distant as when it had left. Lin Jiqiu watched that line widen, from a thin line to an outline, and then slowly become the shadows of trees and the edges of rooftops.

By the time the boat docked, the sun was almost setting. A thin layer of golden-red light bathed the concrete slope of the pier. A-Zuo untied the ropes and secured the boat. The young man turned off the engine, disembarked, stood on the pier, nodded to them as a farewell, and then turned and walked back.

Lin Jiqiu disembarked with her backpack and walked towards the parking area. Only when she reached the car did she glance back at the dock. The boat was moored by the water, and dusk was falling into its shadow, its outline gradually darkening.

On the way back, Cheng Ran said, “If everything goes smoothly, we can complete the generation and verification of the analog signal within three days, and then we can plan a real approach.”

“Then three days it will be.”

Lin Jiqiu looked out the window. Dusk had pressed the outlines of the fields and villages into a deep gray, with only a narrow sliver of light remaining on the distant sea, like a layer of light lingering in the distance before receding, reflecting the last glimmer of light on the horizon until nightfall took it away. He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of wheels rolling over the road, no longer looking out the window.