☆ Archimedes and the Cipher

The cold at the beginning of winter was particularly intense in the mountains.

Stepping out of the car, a chill crept up from her calves, spreading throughout her body in moments. Zhen Ai instinctively wrapped her wool coat tightly around her, swiftly making her way towards the ancient castle ahead without running.

After a few steps, something felt odd, so she stopped and looked around.

It had snowed heavily a few days ago, and the trees in the mountains were dressed in silver, creating a serene white landscape. Driving up here was akin to entering a world of snow and frost.

The world was too quiet, with only the howling wind breaking the silence.

Everything around was covered in white, making the castle’s white bricks appear even more desolate against the snowy backdrop. The black windows, however, remained quiet and deep, like eyes staring fixedly at Zhen Ai in the center of the snow-covered ground.

Who would live in such a eerie place?

Pushing aside her strange thoughts, Zhen Ai took out a business card from her pocket.

Simple black letters on a white background, devoid of any decoration or color. In the center of the card was a handwritten classical Spencerian script —

S. A. Yan
Yan Su, The Man of Letters

The white snow reflected glaring light onto the card, penetrating her dark eyes.

When she received the card from Owen, it was somewhat unexpected. A decryption expert, a logician, a behavioral analysis expert, an FBI & CIA special consultant, plus a slew of other titles, yet the only description on the card was this concise phrase,

The Man of Letters. A scholar? A cryptanalyst?

It seemed modest at first glance but was actually arrogantly proud.

Zhen Ai climbed the heavy stone steps and rang the doorbell. The door was answered by a maid with dark skin, speaking in a pure Southeast Asian English accent:

“Miz, please waida minut, ai’ll getcha masder, ai’d ly do say u mai suid yourse, but du no.”

Zhen Ai pondered for a while before understanding what the maid said, “Miss, please wait a moment, I will go fetch the master. You may help yourself, but it’s better not to.”

Zhen Ai nodded, “thanks!”

The maid turned and left.

Zhen Ai frowned slightly. The maid’s last sentence sounded just like the tone of this household’s master.

Sure enough, as she turned her head, she saw the same white-on-black text on the wall to the right of the entrance — “You may suit yourself, but do not!”

The heating inside the house was ample. Ignoring the coat rack by the door, Zhen Ai unbuttoned her wool coat and loosened her scarf, but didn’t take off any clothing.

Unlike the cold and monotony outside, the interior of the castle was warm and clean, decorated in Renaissance style. With many windows, the snowy landscape outside illuminated the room brightly yet softly, casting a gentle glow on the aged paintings, filling the room with the scent of time.

Zhen Ai stood at the entrance for a while, checked her watch, and after ten minutes of silence in the ancient castle, she walked up along the stone steps on the opposite side, placing the envelope on the desk by the corridor. As she turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of colorful light at the end of the corridor.

She turned to look and was stunned for a moment before inexplicably walking over.

The exit of the corridor revealed a different scene, with colorful lights cascading like a waterfall from the high sky, enveloping everything in a faint rainbow curtain.

In front of her was a spacious circular hall, surrounded by wooden bookshelves from the bottom to the ceiling, filled with tens of thousands of books. Varying in height and color, they resembled colorful candies, quietly waiting for someone to taste.

On both sides of the bookshelves were two spiral staircases, and every two meters from bottom to top, there was a circular corridor, making it easy to access the books.

She had never seen such a large private library. The ancient fragrance of books seemed to contain the power of time’s purification.

A sense of awe inexplicably rose in Zhen Ai’s heart as she stood before the hall of knowledge, full of reverence.

Looking up, she saw a large circular stained glass window above her, through which the pure white daylight penetrated, turning into colorful streams of light.

Taking a deep breath, Zhen Ai slowly lowered her head and then glanced at the white triangular piano in the middle of the library. Placing a piano in such a place, the owner’s interests were indeed peculiar…

Her footsteps suddenly halted.

She had walked a few steps, turned at an angle, and saw the young man sitting behind the pianist.

About twenty-four years old, fair-skinned, with sharply defined Western features, he was as beautiful as if he had stepped out of a classical oil painting. His light brown eyes under thick eyebrows stared at Zhen Ai, his black eyelashes drooping slightly, giving her a once-over before calmly withdrawing his gaze.

That glance was too subtle, and Zhen Ai felt he was judging something. But then she thought it might be her own imagination, so she went over to say hello.

Only when she bypassed the piano did she realize he wasn’t sitting on the piano stool but in a wheelchair.

He was tall, wearing light-colored sweater and pants, which were folded in the wheelchair, giving him a relaxed look. He was drawing tadpoles on the music score. Was he composing?

Zhen Ai couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. Such a good-looking young man was actually…

Perhaps he was struck by inspiration at the moment, as he continued to write on, seemingly forgetting Zhen Ai’s presence. When he reached a certain point, he reached out to grab a book from the piano stand.

Seeing him struggling, Zhen Ai subconsciously walked over to push his wheelchair, but then realized that this “kindness” was actually impolite. As a result, her hand hung awkwardly in the air.

He looked at her retracted hand, remained silent for a moment, then looked up at her, his light-colored eyes indifferent but unable to hide his sharpness, still carrying a hint of inquiry.

Feeling strange under his gaze, Zhen Ai spoke first, “Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Yan Su.”

As soon as she said it, she realized her mistake. Just as she was about to repeat it in English, he spoke in standard Chinese, “I am.”

Zhen Ai was stunned.

Before coming here, she had heard some rumors about Yan Su — eccentric, solitary, without friends, living alone in a mysterious castle deep in the mountains. Naturally, she imagined a hunchbacked old man with a weather-beaten face, holding an old kerosene lamp, walking through the dark corridors of the ancient castle, with ghostly lights flashing past the black windows.

She knew that “Yan Su,” pronounced the same as “serious,” was of Chinese descent, so she naturally assumed he was much older, thinking the young man in front of her might be his son.

Who would have thought that such a legendary figure would be so young?

“Could you bring the white book on the back shelf for me?” His voice was low and clear, as pleasant as a musical instrument. “

It’s right in front of you, the 13th row from the bottom, 5th book from the right.”

Zhen Ai went over to fetch the book. He took it from her, his gaze falling on her reddened hands, and asked casually, “No gloves?”

This sudden question caught Zhen Ai off guard before she answered, “No.” Looking down, she noticed her skin was red and white from the frequent changes in temperature between cold and hot.

The man in the wheelchair took out a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the spot on the book cover where Zhen Ai had touched.

Zhen Ai: …

He looked up, seeing her staring at him, feeling neither embarrassed nor awkward, and explained matter-of-factly, “Human hands secrete oil, which may contain different types of fatty acids, usually slightly acidic. The book itself has a protective film, but if touched by hands without cleaning, this grease can damage…”

Seeing the girl’s eyes widen slightly, he stopped halfway through and fell silent for a moment before saying, “Forget what I said.”

Zhen Ai chuckled.

Yan Su’s fair face turned pale for a moment. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Zhen Ai suppressed her smile, remembering Owen’s reminder — “Don’t shake hands with him, as he will tell you that there are millions of bacteria on human hands, including hundreds of thousands of cocci, bacilli, spirilla, in addition to fungi and even viruses. Research shows that women’s hands have more types and quantities of bacteria than men’s. So, it’s unfair for international etiquette to give women the initiative to shake hands. In order to respect each other, people should avoid physical contact, especially hands.”

Zhen Ai handed him the large envelope, “Owen sent me. He said you could help me. I appreciate your assistance.”

Yan Su took the envelope, his fingers rubbing against it, feeling its texture. He opened the envelope and took out a card, on which were rows of densely packed numerical matrices: “98.C111 GV943.49 23.E121 DJK734.01…”

“Is this envelope yours, or was it with this card?”

“It’s mine. The card wasn’t in any packaging; it was simply stuffed into the mailbox.” Zhen Ai added, “I found it strange too, to send a card without an envelope.”

“Because the material of the paper can reveal a lot of information. The card is made of ordinary thin bond paper,” he squinted slightly, holding up the envelope, “but this handmade Xuan paper can only be obtained from a workshop in Chinatown.”

“Just from an envelope, you can tell so much?” Zhen Ai raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Yan Su noticed her slightly exaggerated reaction, implying that her emotional expression was a lie.

He withdrew his gaze, placing the envelope and the card on the piano cover, and remained silent.

Zhen Ai handed him a few more sheets of paper, “By the way, Owen said you don’t help people you don’t know, so here’s my resume.”

Yan Su took it, quickly flipped through it, and placed it on the piano, still not saying a word.

Zhen Ai found his fluctuating speech pattern peculiar — sometimes more talkative, sometimes less. Just as she was about to ask something, the maid came over to Yan Su, saying, “Mr. Owen is here.”

Owen was Owen’s English name.

The relationship between Owen and Yan Su was unusual, so there was no need for an announcement when he entered. Before the maid finished speaking, he was already here, speaking Mandarin with a slightly inaccurate tone but fluently. Looking at Zhen Ai with a warm smile, he asked, “How did the conversation go?”

Unexpectedly, Yan Su interrupted, “I need to talk to you.”

There was no indication that he had even looked at Zhen Ai.

Owen paused for a moment, then smiled apologetically at Zhen Ai before turning to Yan Su. Zhen Ai didn’t mind and said, “Excuse me,” then left.

After seeing Zhen Ai leave, Owen walked over to Yan Su and kicked his wheelchair, “Can you stop finding solace in your wheelchair whenever you encounter a tricky situation?”

Yan Su picked up the music score again, then put it down and picked up the card between his index and middle fingers, saying directly, “Your friend is not the client; this isn’t meant for her.”

Owen froze. He knew Yan Su’s personality well; he only accepted cases from clients who personally came to him.

Frowning, Owen said, “Are you sure? What if…”

“Why are you so nervous?” Yan Su turned to look at him, “I didn’t say I would refuse.”

Of course, here’s the revised text with the NB placed at the end:

Owen opened his mouth wide, more surprised than before,

A: Yan Su believes Zhen Ai is not the client;

B: Yan Su thinks Zhen Ai lied to him;

Outcome → → Did he accept?

“Why?”

Yan Su opened the piano lid, his slender and fair fingers playing a series of graceful melodies. He calmly said, “Because she accepted the witness protection program*, and you are responsible for protecting the witness.”

Owen’s back stiffened, immediately pushing Yan Su’s hand away and slamming the piano lid shut with a “clap,” staring at him intently. “She, no,” he wanted to deny, but realized he couldn’t escape this guy’s scrutiny.

Yan Su lifted the piano lid again, calmly playing the piano. His voice was elegant and deep, blending with the piano melody, creating a melodious tone:

“She injured her right hand, was held captive and abused, is very alert and capable of using a handgun. One or both of her parents were experts at the top of a certain field’s pyramid, but they are deceased.

She has been to the Middle East and enjoys watching soccer.

She has received professional self-protection or defense training, understands basic cryptology, and her actual profession, unlike what is stated in her resume as a journalism major, should be in the biological field, leaning towards cell research or pharmaceuticals. And her level of expertise may rival that of her parents.”

“How long have you been with her? Ten minutes? Five minutes?” Owen was dumbfounded. “How did you figure it out?”

“It’s quite obvious,” Yan Su looked at him calmly, the colorful light of the sky falling into his light brown eyes, shining like rare glazed treasures, gentle and clear, cleansing away the dust.

Where was it obvious…?

Owen opened his mouth, regretting asking him.

*NB: Witness protection program (证人保护计划) refers to a program designed to protect witnesses who may be endangered due to their testimony in legal proceedings, often involving criminal cases.