Mai Jia - Decoded

Getting back to what I was saying, after Rong Jinzhen fell. . ill, it was decided that I would assume his responsibilities, which meant deciphering BLACK. That notebook, Rong Jinzhen’s notebook, was the most important piece of information we had, so naturally it came into my hands. That notebook — well, you don’t know it, but that notebook was in essence the receptacle for all of his thoughts, a repository for his ruminations on BLACK; it contained all his mature reflections on the cipher as well as all his wild and crazy speculations. As I pored over each word, each sentence, each page, I began to feel that every single word meant something; every word was important. It shook me to the core: each word had a special quality to it, exciting me, provoking me. I had never discovered that kind of ability within myself, but I could admire what he had written. What is more, the notebook told me that Rong Jinzhen had already completed ninetynine per cent of the work. All that was left was to take the last step.

That final step was related to everything that came before — namely finding the key to unlocking BLACK.

The concept behind a cryptographic key is this: say that BLACK was a house that needed to be burnt down, then the first thing you would need to do is to collect the necessary kindling, enough to start the fire. Well, the amount of kindling collected by Rong Jinzhen would put a mountain to shame: enough to cover the house from top to bottom. All that remained to do was start the fire. Finding a match was the key to cracking BLACK.

From examining the notebook, you could see that Rong Jinzhen had set off down the path to finding this key a year before. This means that the other ninety-nine per cent had only taken Rong Jinzhen two years to complete, but that he couldn’t take that final last step. That to me was strange. Whatever way you look at it, if it took him two years to complete ninety-nine per cent of the work, then it didn’t matter how difficult that last one per cent might be, he shouldn’t have needed to waste a year trying to figure it out and then still not get it. This was just too strange.

Something else was also odd, but I’m not sure whether you can understand it or not. BLACK was a high-level cipher and we had spent years working on cracking it, but without making any progress. It was as though a sane person had borrowed the words of a madman to speak. In three years, there was not a single mistake to work with; not a drop of water had escaped. In the history of cryptography, this is an extremely rare phenomenon. Rong Jinzhen had already discussed this issue with me, believing that this was exceptionally odd. Over and over again he had raised doubts about BLACK, even suggesting that perhaps it had been plagiarized from an earlier cipher created by some agency or other. After all, once used, a cipher will invariably be modified, improved upon; this is the only way to reach perfection. Otherwise, the person creating it must be a god, possessing a genius far beyond what we can imagine.

These two strange phenomena were also the two main problems that we were forced to deal with. Looking at the notebook, I could see that Rong Jinzhen had thought extensively, profoundly, rigorously upon these two problems. The notebook brought me once more into contact with Rong Jinzhen’s spirit, in contact with his majesty: a thing so beautiful that it was frightening. When I first came into possession of his notebook, I thought that I would stand upon his shoulders and use all my energies to push forward on the path laid out in it. But once I entered into it, I realized that there was no way that I could march in tandem with such genius; even the slightest contact with such a soul shook me violently — attacked me!

His mind was trying to take me over.

At any moment, it would swallow me whole!

You could say that that notebook was Rong Jinzhen. I was drawing closer to him (though the medium of the notebook); I was being pushed towards him; I began to feel more and more his formidableness, his profundity, his wonder. Simultaneously, I began to feel my own weaknesses, my own insignificance — it was as though I was shrivelling up. In those days, poring over every word and sentence in the notebook, I began to realize, to comprehend, just how unique and special Rong Jinzhen was; how much talent he possessed. I began to see how crazy and bizarre his thinking was, how crafty and incisive he was. He was sharp, keen; he possessed a vigorousness about him that threatened; he was ferocious. All this implied a certain nastiness about him, an evil that lurked deep inside, ready to consume you at a moment’s notice. As I read through the notebook, it was as if I were reading about all of mankind: creation and murder were lumped together in large numbers; yet, ultimately, everything had a peculiar sort of beauty about it, revealing man’s remarkable intellect and passion.

To tell you the truth, the notebook had created this kind of person for me — he was like a god, he had created everything; he was also the devil, the destroyer of all things, including my own mind. Standing in front of this man, I felt devoted, awed and terrified; through and through I felt the need to prostrate myself in front of him. Three months passed and I had not stood upon his shoulders — I just couldn’t do it: I couldn’t stand up! All I could do was to stand meekly by his side, like a long-lost child that had finally found its mother’s embrace and was loath to leave her again; like a single raindrop finally falling to the ground and burrowing itself deep inside.

As you can imagine, if this was all I could do, then the best I could hope for would be the same as Rong Jinzhen: I too would be stuck at the ninety-ninth step; that final step would remain forever in the darkness. Perhaps time would eventually have permitted Rong Jinzhen to make that last step but not me, because as I just said, I was but a child walking alongside him — since he had fallen, I too would fall. It was then that I discovered that this notebook that had been given to me was filled with nothing but sorrow. It had allowed me to reach the cusp of victory, allowed me to spy it in the distance, but it kept that same victory forever beyond my grasp. How sad, how pitiful! I felt overwhelmed with horror at my plight, I felt utterly helpless.

However, just at that moment, Rong Jinzhen returned from the hospital.

It’s true, he was discharged: but not because he had recuperated, rather. . how shall I put it? It was just that there was no hope in him being cured so remaining in the hospital was meaningless — thus he returned.

I’d like to say it was the will of heaven, but I never spoke with Rong Jinzhen again. When everything happened, I was in hospital and by the time I was released, Rong Jinzhen had already been moved to the provincial capital to receive treatment there. Paying him a visit would have been most inconvenient and what is more, as soon as I was discharged, I was given BLACK to deal with. There was simply no time to see him. Besides which, after all, I had his notebook. The first time I laid eyes on him was after he had been released from hospital, after he had already gone mad. But we never spoke .

That was the will of heaven.

I should say that if I had gone to see him a month earlier, perhaps what happened later would not have taken place. Why do I say this? I have two reasons: first, while Rong Jinzhen was in hospital, I was absorbed in reading his notebook. In my mind’s eye, Rong Jinzhen was metamorphosing into an ever greater, ever larger, ever more intrepid character: a veritable giant; secondly, while reading through the notebook and turning things over in my mind, the difficulties in deciphering BLACK were diminishing, tapering down to a fine point. A basis of sorts was being laid down that would serve as the foundation for everything that happened afterwards.