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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 3: The Lighthouse Society and the Entrance to the Abyss
To be honest, the moment I received that ghostly text message, my first thought was to run. Pack my things, change cities, cancel all my contacts, and vanish without a trace. After all, the person on the other end had managed to hack into my phone without a sound; the technological gap was enormous, and confronting them head-on would be nothing short of suicidal. Money could be earned again, but if I lost my life, that would be the end.
Yet sometimes, people have a self-destructive streak deep within them. That message felt less like a warning and more like a blatant act of contempt. The more they wanted me to leave, the more I refused! Coupled with Sister Wang's swollen eyes, the cold "vacuum" in Xiao Ya's room, and that mention of Tian Yucheng's inheritance... Curiosity can sometimes drive a desperate detective more than fear.
Consequences? Damn it, at this point in my life, what’s the worst that could happen? Ending up dead in the streets or rotting away in prison? It didn’t seem all that new.
Fear still lingered, like an icy snake coiled in my stomach, occasionally flicking its tongue. But a fierce determination surged within me, mixed with a reckless abandon akin to cheap alcohol igniting my spirit. I was going to do this!
Back at my studio, any sense of security had completely fled. I rummaged through this tiny space of less than twenty square meters like a madman. I checked window slots, door cracks, ventilation ducts, even dismantled a few old outlets to investigate. The result? Not a single feather. Yet I remained uneasy and dug out an outdated device that claimed to detect hidden cameras and recording devices, waving it around the room for half an hour. The detector remained silent—more zen than I was. Either I was being overly paranoid or their equipment was too advanced for my cheap gadget to detect anything.
I restored my phone to factory settings and switched to a new anonymous SIM card. But that was just a facade—a mere psychological comfort. I knew that as long as I used electronic devices, I was like a transparent person.
I couldn’t wait to die. I had to take the initiative and find “them”!
But where to start? I had to go back to Xiao Ya. How did she get involved in this? Her old computer was missing; what did she use to go online? Surely she couldn’t rely solely on her thoughts?
I quickly called Sister Wang.
“Sister Wang, besides using her dad’s old computer at home, does Xiao Ya have her own laptop or tablet?”
“Her own? Yes! She bought a laptop for college; she usually uses it for watching shows and doing homework. She also has an old tablet.”
“Then… is that laptop and tablet still at home?” My heart raced as I asked.
“Hey, Li Detective, what brings you here? Looking for a mistress or chasing a deadbeat? Just so you know, I don’t take high-risk, low-reward jobs.”
“Neither,” I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for someone. A missing female college student. I might need your help… to retrieve some data from the cloud.” I briefly explained the situation, omitting the anonymous warning and emphasizing the disappearance, the old computer, the new computer, and the potential cloud data clues.
Old K was silent for a full half-minute, long enough that I thought he had hung up. “Cloud data recovery? Interesting. Do you have the account password?”
“I only have a few common social media accounts and her school email; the passwords are uncertain. I mainly want to see if there are any clues in her photo streams, memos, frequently used web pages, or emails—especially any recently deleted ones.”
“Hmm… this doesn’t sound like a typical girl throwing a tantrum.” Old K’s voice seemed to grow more serious. “This job… could be tricky. What’s her level of caution? Is there a chance she set a trap?”
“I’m not sure, which is why I’m reaching out to you.”
Another silence followed. “Alright then. The deposit is five figures; transfer it over. Same old rules: whether it works out or not is another story. Data recovery is like mining; it’s all about luck. If we find something, I’ll give it to you, and you can settle the balance. If not, the deposit is non-refundable. Don’t ask about the process or how I’ll manage it.”
Five figures! I felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest. That was practically my instant ramen budget for the next three months!
“...Fine.” I almost forced the word out through clenched teeth. “I’ll send you the account information. Please hurry, Old K; this is urgent.”
“Hurrying won’t help; it depends on how fast the machine runs and my mood,” Old K said before hanging up.
The next two days felt like an eternity; I was as restless as an ant on a hot pan. The studio floor was nearly worn down from my pacing. My mind kept flickering between Sister Wang’s tears, Xiao Ya’s overly tidy room, that damned warning message, and more often than not, my aching heart over that hefty deposit. What if Old K bailed on me or found nothing? Who would I turn to for help? Would that guy sell me out?
Just when I was on the brink of a mental breakdown, my encrypted messaging app pinged. It was Old K, sending me an encrypted zip file along with two words: “Final payment.”
L.S.? Lighthouse Society? Is that the abbreviation for Lighthouse Society?
“Alpha-7?” Is that question mark the key?
“Understanding the structure of the keyhole”... The keyhole is the website itself.
I stared at the characters “Alpha-7?” and glanced at the yellowed cover of the book titled “Fundamentals of Cryptography and Practice” that I found in Xiao Ya's room. I quickly flipped to a chapter discussing some early or non-mainstream substitution encryption methods, which were said to be popular among certain niche organizations or cults. It mentioned a simple “Core Word Substitution Method.”
Could it be... a flash of inspiration struck me. Is the core word “Lighthouse”? Or “Society”? Or simply “LS”?
I tried using “Lighthouse” as the keyword and applied the simplest substitution rule described in the book to “Alpha-7”... but it resulted in a string of gibberish.
Using “Society”? Still gibberish.
Using “LS”? Still wrong.
I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. Xiao Ya's notes seemed deliberately circular. Key... keyhole... map...
Wait, “map”? The map left by my father? The stuff on the old computer?
Could it be that “Alpha-7” isn’t a password at all, but rather needs to be interpreted in conjunction with a concept from her father’s research? Like that “Singularity Project”?
I tried inputting “Singularity,” “Interaction”... but there was no response.
What is it? I kept staring at the phrase, "The key (Alpha-7?) is just a stepping stone; understanding the structure of the lock (L.S.) is the key."
The structure of the lock... this website, this "Lighthouse Society," what is its purpose? To filter "elites," to stimulate "potential." What it needs are "resonators."
Resonance...
Suddenly, I recalled another ancient method mentioned in that cryptography book, one based on frequency analysis—a simple substitution. What if "Alpha-7" isn’t content, but rather a code for some kind of frequency or pattern?
I tried to convert "Alpha-7" into a numerical pattern and combine it with "L.S."... It was too complicated; I had no clue.
Had I overthought it? The simplest option... The book mentioned the basic Caesar cipher? Or perhaps the Atbash Cipher, a simple letter substitution (A for Z, B for Y...)?
I attempted to apply Atbash substitution to "Alpha," which yielded "Zoksb." What about the number "7"? If I also applied some sort of mirror substitution... but there were no unified rules.
Damn it! I felt like I was going crazy from this girl's riddle!
In a fit of frustration, I moved my mouse back to the code input box. Almost instinctively, I typed in "Zoksb," then looked at the number "7." For some reason, I interpreted it as the seventh letter of the alphabet, "G," and applied Atbash substitution again to get "T."
So, I entered "ZoksbT."
I pressed enter.
The page refreshed!
What the hell?! Is it really like this?! Such a… casual yet somewhat reasonable combination?
The dialogue box asking for a code vanished. In its place was a line of new text, cold and scrutinizing:
“Frequency confirmed. Pathfinder, welcome to the Narrow Gate of Thought. Please choose your enlightenment path: [Online Whisper (Encrypted Channel)] or [Offline Gathering (Location to be determined, notification after approval)].”
I did it! Stumbled upon it?!
I stared at the two options on the screen, my heart pounding like a drum, adrenaline surging through my veins. A mix of exhilaration from surviving a close call and intense anxiety about stepping into the unknown made my palms sweaty.
This is the entrance! The gateway to the Lighthouse Society!
Online is safe but feels superficial. Offline is dangerous but confronts the core.
Which one to choose?
I felt like I was standing at the edge of a bottomless cliff, with swirling fog beneath me. Should I retreat? Or take the leap?
At this point, there was no turning back.
I took a deep breath, feeling my lungs tremble, moved the mouse, and hovered the cursor between those two choices of hell and heaven for a split second. Then, summoning all my strength, I clicked decisively.
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