Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Sea Without Light Part 39

“You need to make me a promise,” Kui Xin said.

“A promise not to invade my privacy? No problem. I did that before out of necessity. If you’re unsatisfied with the hundred thousand compensation, I can give more.” The hacker responded.

Kui Xin said, “If even written agreements can be effortlessly broken, much less verbal promises — your commitment holds no weight for me. Money too — do you believe money can provide me security?”

Hacker replied, “Please tell me what you want.”

“I want your name, your phone number, and your current location.” Kui Xin calmly proposed the terms, “You know my name, my phone number, my current location—now it’s only fair that I know yours too.”

“Reasonable, but I worry you’d report me once you have this identity,” the hacker took a little longer to respond this time, “let’s put aside identity matters for now. When we meet, you’ll know who I am.”

“You’re worried I’ll report you, but I’m worried you’ll kidnap me once we meet. You haven’t shown enough sincerity… I suspect you want to lure me out to do something bad, and maybe you’re really the remover?” Kui Xin countered.

The hacker said in silence…

After a while the hacker said, “If I were the remover, I’d have killed you immediately after learning your information instead of chatting here with you.”

“You might be envious of my extraordinary abilities and want to confirm whether I’ve awakened before attempting to kill me,” Kui Xin suspected out loud.

The hacker proposed a solution: “If you don’t trust me, I can send you my game profile ID card with blur applied to hide personal details.”

“You wouldn’t recognize my image even if I sent it either way, right?” Kui Xin pointed out, “With your hacking skills, manipulating images should be easy for you.”

The hacker was speechless due to Kui Xin’s remarks, “What do you propose then?”

“Tell me your real name,” Kui Xin refused to let it go, “if you can’t even fulfill an equal exchange, how can you ask me to accept group invitations? Doesn’t that weaken your credibility?”

Silent for a long time, the hacker didn’t reply.

Kui Xin propped herself against the living room chair, focusing on the mobile phone screen.

She thought back to when she first entered the first world and retrieved the silver identity card, the concern she had started to become a reality.

The card listed the player number and player name. If other players needed to verify her credentials later on, her identity would be thoroughly exposed.

At first, Kui Xin wasn’t too concerned because initially, she had no intention of forming a team. A remover is destined to be a lone wanderer; others won’t trust handing their safety over to her, and she wasn’t keen on working hard to gain their trust.

However, recent events forced her to reassess and react accordingly. A hacker who had acquired information about her real-world identity issued a team invitation. She could not afford to remain steadfast in her previous stance and needed to act tactically.

If the hacker presented her with proof of his agency and identity, Kui Xin would have no choice but to expose her identity through her own card as well. Therefore, she kept questioning him, trying to find loopholes as an excuse to maintain distrust. She wanted to avoid him proving his identity by requiring her to show her own.

She needed a strategy—a method to prove her innocence without revealing her card.

She believed the hacker never offered to display his identity because he wanted to build her trust first.

If someone wants trust, they shouldn’t present excessive demands right from the start. It seems counterproductive. But, eventually, it might be necessary to confirm mutual identities if they aim for long-term cooperation.

Kui Xin felt partially relieved. Her clean record and her past handling of a fake police call reduced suspicion in the hacker’s eyes, lowering their vigilance.

Holding the silver card between her fingers, she examined its unique texture. Crafted from silver, intricate engraving decorated the surface, making it rough yet finely detailed.

If ordered from a skilled silversmith, such a replica might pass unnoticed, but every player has a unique identifier. Fabricating one could be risky if it became known a holder of that identifier passed away and the community was informed.

Also, exposing any player’s identity card to an external party increases suspicion, regardless of their awareness level.

“Sorry, but there’s one thing I’m confused about,” the hacker said, “why invite me to meet in the real world if you’re so wary and untrusting?”

“Your words struck a chord. I need a companion. But you seem terrifying, knowing myself but unknown to you. It’s difficult for me to believe you… Your actions scare me. Discussing things over the phone makes me feel unsafe. Meeting privately makes me fear ulterior motives, so let’s meet in public in my city. This benefits both parties.”

Kui Xin showed appropriate weakness, making the hacker relax further as she knew she was justified to demand more.

After a series of exchanges and investigations, Kui Xin understood the hacker’s tactics—he genuinely sought a team and remained calm despite her skepticism, even apologizing rather than using his role as a remover as a reason.

Yet, this demeanor couldn’t alleviate Kui Xin’s disgust—she had blacklisted him since he accessed her phone.

“I need to confess something—I’m not alone, we’re a team. We consist of three members,” the hacker admitted.

Kui Xin furrowed her brows, “Are all of them players? How did you come across each other?”

“Yes,” the hacker responded, “our goal is to unite all the players in the Jingchu region. And if circumstances permit, we wish to form alliances with players outside our area to share intelligence and assist each other.”

This was ambitious. Such aspirations rely on strong technical skills, swiftly identifying and assessing players, determining who can be trusted.

Kui Xin asked, “Is this the approach you use to recruit new members, the same as you’ve recruited me?”

“For now, yes,” the hacker admitted.

Kui Xin found it almost comical; such recruitment seemed more like coercion rather than persuasion, provoking rebellion.

“What makes these players trust you?” she continued, “Like I said, verbal commitments mean nothing.”

He misunderstood his position entirely—operating from the shadows with abundant information gave him significant leverage, negating the need for trust.

Should the hacker threaten another with, “Join my alliance or I will expose you,” many players would likely succumb. On the contrary, if he claims, “I know everything about you and think you deserve to join us,” players would surely resist his recruitment fervidly.

Unlike most others, Kui Xin wouldn’t waste time with negotiations unless her goals were straightforward.

The hacker’s approach seemed indecisive and too conciliatory; this hesitation hindered their survival. They hadn’t embraced the harsh realities of necessity, preferring a gentler hand without understanding the need for coercive measures.

His mindset stayed rooted in ordinary circumstances—ignoring the urgent threats around them, and still attempting to establish trust with Kui Xin.

Though grand in ambition, they lacked execution and strategy. Not everyone, like Kui Xin, could adapt to these extraordinary circumstances easily.

“Your hacking skills are impressive—is that part of your extraordinary abilities?” Kui Xin directly questioned, “Penetrating city surveillance signals your unique talent.”

“This is a natural skill enhanced by the second world.” the hacker explained, “The first world’s technology barely reaches the standards of the second. The gap is vast.”

So that was it… thought Kui Xin, somewhat relieved; his abilities stemmed from his intellect not extraordinary talents, reducing her fears.

Kui Xin asked, “You’re refusing to disclose your true information despite my repeated requests, isn’t that the case?”

The hacker seemed to hesitate.

After five minutes, the hacker replied with three words: “Xie Gankqing.”

These three characters flashed on the screen for barely two seconds before disappearing along with the entire chat history in the message thread.

A blank message interface remained.

The hacker had only mentioned a name—by his account, however, there should be at least three members on their end.

“Why so secretive?” Kui Xin challenged, “Are you afraid of me discovering something crucial about you? Even if you appear sincere, it’s just that—sincere on the surface. Claiming not to intrude on privacy, yet still controlling my phone to delete messages—that’s not genuine.”

“This is the last time,” the hacker replied, “tell me where we’ll meet. You choose the location and timing.”

“When the time comes, we’ll discuss the location. Schedule it for tomorrow, you come to Tonglin City,” Kui Xin instructed.

“Do you have to rush?” the hacker wondered, “Can’t it be scheduled for another day?”

“Tomorrow morning at nine, it must be then,” Kui Xin firmly stated.

Her plan ensured the hacker team rushed, putting them off guard. Setting a fixed location ahead compromised this advantage for her, so she postponed the details deliberately.

Confirming the meeting, Kui Xin hesitated a moment, accessed a webpage, and navigated to a business inquiry site.

She entered “Xie Gankqing” into the search field, revealing immediate results.

Assuming the hacker was wealthy and thus had multiple properties, she searched online. To her surprise, information on Xie Ganqing surfaced.

Xie Gankqing, it turned out, was a major investor in several large corporations, but didn’t hold any CEO positions. His profile showed no photo, leaving Kui Xin unable to identify him via appearance.

Was this Xie Gankqing the same person the hacker referred to?

She jotted down details related to Xie Gankqing in her notes, searching each company individually. Finally, she identified a pivotal piece of information—Xie Gankqing’s largest shareholder also had another member named Xie JinHua owning thirty percent shares. Further investigation revealed this looked like a family enterprise.

Kui Xin remembered Xie JinHua—a renowned tycoon from the Jingchu region, known from financial news segments. Referring to an old interview from a decade ago, Xiao JinHua proudly declared: “My life’s greatest achievements include building my company from scratch and my son Xie Gankqing, who just got admitted to Capital University!”

Smiling slightly, Kui Xin accessed the Capital University website, navigating the page showcasing past distinguished graduates.

Lucky to find his information quickly, a photo of Xie Gankqing appeared on the six-year-old distinguished alumnus page. The site displayed his graduation certificate.

Exiting the website, she logged onto another database platform called “Name Duplicate Check” entering “Xie Gankqing”.

Results displayed: Xie Gankqing—only one individual shared the exact name and surname; sixty were with a similar name but different surnames.

The facts converged clearly.

The son of Jingchu’s wealthiest man, a distinguished student from Capital University, and a player allied with the hackers—they were intertwined—they were all “Xie Gankqing”!

Kui Xin memorized the look of Xie Gankqing intently.

Relaxing visibly, a breath of fresh air escaped her lips, her gaze drifting upward, contemplating quietly for several moments.

Following the murder of Fang Zhi, Kui Xin had no time to check public reaction. She needed to appropriately monitor public opinion and direct it when required.

Yet, upon opening the forum, she sensed a deviation.

Opening the post detailing dead players, two new lines appeared at the top:

“Proxy 1339, assassinated by Proxy 388 on July 29th.”

“Proxy 388, dispatched by Remover 777 on July 29th.”

Remover 777!

She nearly leapt from her seat.

A new remover surfaced after her, his existence unveiled by the death report.

“…” After some time, Kui Xin sat heavily, her expression composed: “Good… the focus is diverted.”