Mai Jia - Decoded

‘My notebook! My notebook!. . ’ Rong Jinzhen’s voice trailed off.

As it turned out, he had put his notebook in his briefcase. [Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

Think about it: as a solitary person, a man generally sunk in deep contemplation of something or other, Rong Jinzhen gave the impression that he often heard fantastic, astonishing sounds. These reverberations would seem as if they had drifted in from somewhere far, far away, as if emanating from some spiritual realm. But they would never fully manifest themselves, they wouldn’t wait for him, they would always fall short of what was hoped for, and yet, without warning, he would encounter them on the fringes of perception. They would come uninvited, appear within his dreams, in the dreams within dreams, behind the words in a book he was reading — cryptic, always in new forms, mysterious in nature. What I would like to say is that these sounds — inspirations, really — would seem to spring from somewhere between heaven and earth, but in truth they came from Rong Jinzhen; they were ejected from his soul, they radiated out from his being, flickering once and then disappearing. He had to write them down immediately or they would be lost. As fast as they came, they left, even their shadows vanished. Because of this, Rong Jinzhen had got into the habit of always carrying a notebook on his person, everywhere he went, at all times; the notebook seemed as if it were his shadow, quietly striding alongside him.

I know it was a 64-page blue leather notebook; the title page contained a top-secret number as well as Rong Jinzhen’s personal serial number; inside were his notes and scribblings made over the last few years when he was working on BLACK. Normally, Rong Jinzhen would put the notebook in his top left-hand pocket, but this time, since he had to carrying along any number of official credentials and papers, he decided to bring a leather attaché case with him, placing the notebook in with them. The leather case was one that had been given to him by our director upon his return from a trip overseas. It was made of very fine calf ’s skin, very delicate and lightweight, with a wide elastic strap that you could carry in your hand and hoop around your waist, making it into an extension of your clothes. His notebook was inside. Certainly, Rong Jinzhen never suspected that anything would happen — he didn’t believe he could lose it, he most likely felt as though it would always be there. .

[To be continued]

Over the past few days, Rong Jinzhen had gone through two notebooks.

He used up the first one four days ago. On that day, he had left the conference early and returned to his room feeling rather angry because of a particularly idiotic and dim-witted presentation. Panting with rage he reclined on his bed and stared out the window. From the outset, he noticed that the sky outside was slanted; he blinked, and yet it still spun. He began to realize that his line of sight was becoming blurred: the window, the sky, the city, the setting sun, everything was quietly slipping away, and in its place there emerged a flowing atmosphere and the sound of the setting sun scorching the sky — he saw the firmament as a formless and swirling mass with hot embers drifting through space on into nothingness. The heavens burned and darkness swelled up, eventually engulfing him. At that moment he understood, and he felt his body transform into an electric current. He glimmered, his entire body began to float; he had become some form of energy. Like a blazing flame he began to burn, to swirl, to evaporate, to drift into nothingness. Then at that instant, a clear sound rang out, like the graceful resonance of a butterfly flapping its wings. . this was the sound of his fate, the sound of nature, the flash, the blaze, the spritely imp — he had to record it.

This was the moment he had used up an entire notebook, and later he felt rather pleased about what he had written. It was the wrath he had felt that had ignited him, the ire towards that mindless presentation that had inspired him. The second notebook he had filled out in the wee hours of the previous morning. Whilst dreaming and swaying back and forth in unison with the train’s movements, Rong Jinzhen had dreamt of Professor Johannes. They had spoken at length in his dream, and upon waking, Rong Jinzhen immediately reached for his notebook to record their conversation.

You could say that on the trail to deciphering some secret cipher or other, passing through the narrow passageways of the genius, Rong Jinzhen never cried out in distress, nor did he exert himself praying for assistance. Instead, from beginning to end, he made his way on crutches: one was diligence, the other was solitude. His loneliness hardened his mind and soul, his diligence made it possible for him to reach out to the stars and take hold of good fortune. Luck is crafty: you cannot see it, you cannot touch it, nor can you say for sure what it is. You cannot understand it, nor does it wait for you. If you pray for it, it will not come. Luck is sublime and mysterious, perhaps the most mysterious thing in this world. But Rong Jinzhen’s good fortune was not mysterious, it was very real, it was hidden away between the lines in his notebook. .

But now his notebook had been spirited away!

Realizing what had happened, Vasili became agitated, nervously moving about. He went first to see the head of the train’s security, to alert him and his staff to prevent anyone from disembarking; then he used the train’s telegraph machine to wire Unit 701 and report the situation. Unit 701 in turn reported to General Headquarters, who then reported to their superiors — on up the chain of command it went until reaching the most senior director. He issued forth the following directive: ‘The missing documents involve national security; all departments are instructed to provide whatever assistance is necessary. The files in question must be recovered as quickly as possible!’

How had Rong Jinzhen’s notebook been lost? It involved sensitive institutional secrets and it contained explicit information on the problems they had encountered in their attempts to decipher BLACK. Rong Jinzhen had used it to record his thoughts — these most important ruminations on the intricacies of BLACK. How could it have been lost?

Lost!

It had to be recovered!

The train had picked up speed. It was hurrying to the next station.

Everyone knew that the next stop was A City. You could say that Rong Jinzhen had met with calamity just outside his front door, as if it had been long predestined, set in stone. No one would have imagined that so many days could have gone by without anything happening — and now this! It was terribly unexpected, to get all the way home only to have a leather briefcase go missing (not even the safety-deposit box). The culprit behind all of this could not be considered to be someone especially villainous, rather just a damnable thief. It was all like a dream. Rong Jinzhen felt weak and confused; a pathetic, hollow web of intrigue had entangled him, was torturing him. As the train roared ahead, he felt worse and worse. The train wasn’t heading for A City, it was heading to hell.

Once it reached its destination, the train doors were all locked. The orders had been given an hour ago by the Intelligence Service. But common sense told everyone that the thief in question had already left the train. He had disembarked once he had taken the briefcase, and that was in B City.

It is well known that if you want to conceal a leaf, the best place to do so is in a forest. If a person wants to conceal himself, the best place is in a crowd, in a city. Solving this case was not going to be easy. Establishing the particulars was going to be harder than hard. To give you an example, to give you a general idea of the features of this case, consider the following.