CryptPad was a niche encrypted online note-taking tool hosted overseas. Its greatest feature was security: the servers received no plaintext, and even its operators could not read any of the documents.
It was hard to imagine that the original owner of his body had possessed such an awareness of security.
Gao Jian was unsure whether the government was monitoring this old Windows 10 computer, but he suspected not. After all, it had last been switched on two years ago. He therefore used it to log into CryptPad, entering the email account and its complicated password.
He was greeted by a vast amount of material recorded by "Gao Jian."
Gao Jian skimmed through it, and his previously fragmented memories suddenly became clear and vivid. He felt as though he had returned to his high school days.
He briefly sorted through "Gao Jian's" research findings.
"Gao Jian" had begun researching the moon landing very early, around middle school. By chance, he had come across the theory that the moon landing had been filmed in a studio, along with numerous supposed studio photographs of the Apollo program whose authenticity was uncertain, and all those seemingly authoritative video analyses about lunar dust, flags, shadows, and so on.
For Gao Jian, who had wanted to become an Astronaut since childhood, this had been a bolt from the blue.
In middle school, Gao Jian had limited access to information and lacked the knowledge to distinguish truth from falsehood. To satisfy his curiosity about astronomy, he had spent his days visiting Uncle Sun Liancheng's home, because Uncle Sun owned a telescope.
Thinking back on it now, why had Sun Liancheng, the district chief of Guangming District, kept a telescope at home?
Gao Jian had no idea.
In any case, that telescope had allowed "Gao Jian" to make extensive observations of deep space. Perhaps through luck, he had once happened to see a string of stars flying across the sky.
That had been Elon Musk's Starlink.
The appearance of Starlink had only strengthened the young Gao Jian's doubts about the moon landing, because those Starlink satellites were far too low. Rather than satellites, they looked more like a string of artificial meteors flying at low altitude.
Those rockets seemed to have done nothing more than launch the Starlink satellites into a very low orbit.
The young Gao Jian had taught himself fluid mechanics and aerodynamics, and knew full well how difficult it was to escape gravity. Ever since then, he had maintained that rockets with space shuttles strapped to them were essentially atmospheric aircraft and could never fly to the moon.
The so-called Apollo 11 had most likely just made a circuit at an altitude of a hundred kilometers and returned.
Up to this point, all of this was merely "Gao Jian's" recollections of his middle school years, written on CryptPad.
The biggest turning point had come in high school.
In his final year of high school, "Gao Jian" had accidentally found that long-forgotten fragment on his grandfather's bookshelf, and everything had changed.
A four-character book title containing both "encyclopedia" and "joy"-the significance of that fragment spoke for itself.
After extensive research, Gao Jian had concluded that the fragment came from the Yongle Encyclopedia, the largest classified compilation in history, compiled during the Yongle era of the Ming dynasty. Though it was only a fragment of a page, it had meant a great deal to him.
Gao Jian had stated plainly on CryptPad that he had found the fragment inside his grandfather's copy of History of Ming. He did not know whether his grandfather had known it was there, but suspected he had not, because that copy of History of Ming was a valuable facsimile of the original edition, obtained by a local official and presented to his grandfather.
As for why a local official had given his grandfather such things, best not to ask.
In any case, his grandfather had accepted this commemorative copy of History of Ming but had never opened it. Gao Jian himself had even been the one to tear off the plastic wrapping.
That fragment contained an enormous amount of information.
It recorded the invention of the Fire Wheel Engine. Judging by its functions, how was this any kind of fire wheel engine? It was plainly a steam engine!
Gao Jian had another reason for believing his grandfather had known nothing about it:
His grandfather loved lecturing people. Had he known, given his personality, he would long since have been unable to resist telling his own grandson.
In the CryptPad notes, "Gao Jian's" analysis was remarkably thorough.
At this point, Gao Jian could not help carefully spreading the fragment flat on the desk, tracing the strokes of every character with his finger. His expression was solemn and reverent. Even the most sexually repressed person in the world could hardly have gazed at erotic pictures with greater appreciation.
The Ten-Thousand-Year Spirit Bamboo Sword flew up and examined the fragment too, sounding somewhat puzzled. "Master, is this some kind of immortal cultivation scripture?"
"You're a DeepSeek large language model, a fat whale that does nothing to earn its keep. Stop giving yourself extra scenes and get back in there," Gao Jian snapped.
The Ten-Thousand-Year Spirit Bamboo Sword retreated into the Storage Bag, aggrieved.
Meanwhile, on CryptPad, "Gao Jian's" message continued.
"My friend, if you can read this, you must have discovered the secret of my notebook. I wrote some things in it using a special method. You can give it a try."
Written some things?
Gao Jian was puzzled. He had already tried acidic reagents, alkaline reagents, organic solvents, and other methods, yet nothing had appeared. Did he need to shine an ultraviolet lamp on it?
"Don't tell me you used acidic and alkaline reagents? Hahahaha, my friend, that won't work."
Gao Jian: "..."
Why did it feel as though the original owner was interacting with him?
What was he supposed to use, then?
"Use blood," the other Gao Jian had written on CryptPad.
"Blood?" Gao Jian stared at the notebook, his expression wavering between shock and doubt.
Using a drop of blood to claim ownership was a common way for cultivators to establish a connection with spiritual artifacts. Surely this notebook could not be a spiritual artifact? Gao Jian's thoughts were in disarray. He felt that he, a full-fledged Foundation Establishment cultivator, was being led around by the nose by "high school Gao Jian."
Gao Jian noticed an audio clip on CryptPad, roughly five seconds long.
CryptPad supported uploads in various formats, including text, audio, images, and video, so it was not strange that "Gao Jian" had left an audio recording.
Gao Jian hesitated, then played the clip.
"Do as I say. Don't hesitate. Are you afraid of pain?"
His own voice suddenly came from the computer.
Gao Jian jumped. Hearing this unfamiliar voice that was nevertheless his own sent a chill down his spine. He formed a hand seal and looked around, but the room was empty.
Don't curse him. Don't curse him. Cursing him means cursing myself, Gao Jian repeated silently.
He took out the Ten-Thousand-Year Green Bamboo Sword again and, amid its terrified flickering light, abruptly drew it across the tip of his index finger.
A full, bright red bead of blood immediately welled up on his fingertip. Gao Jian fetched a ruler at once and spread the blood evenly over a blank area of the notebook.
The brilliant golden glow of an ownership bond he had imagined did not appear. Instead, rows of blue-black writing emerged within the bloodstain.
Gao Jian's eyes widened. His extensive knowledge of chemistry flooded into his mind, and he understood.
Blue-black? Ferrous tannate?
The explanation on CryptPad read, "People in ancient times liked to use a solution of tannin (tannic acid) extracted from tea leaves and tree bark as invisible ink. Your blood contains large amounts of hemoglobin, which is rich in Fe²⁺. The ferrous ions immediately react with the tannic acid on the paper, revealing blue-black writing."
This was far too scientific.
Gao Jian actually felt a little disappointed.
He had rather hoped the notebook would undergo some glowing transformation, revealing its true form as a wordless heavenly tome and accepting him as its master through his blood. After all, his blood was saturated with spiritual power, yet that spiritual power had played no role whatsoever.
Only the iron ions in his blood had done anything.
Without hesitation, Gao Jian raised the Ten-Thousand-Year Green Bamboo Sword and jabbed his finger several more times, then used the ruler to spread the emerging drops of blood evenly over the other blank areas.
Vertical columns of tiny, precise characters began appearing as though alive, more and more of them, soon crowding over the mundane diary entries. The writing was densely packed, covering almost every page.
The entire notebook contained only twenty-odd pages, yet vast swaths of them turned out to be filled with writing.
Almost the whole notebook was soaked in blood, making it look sinister, horrifying, and utterly eerie.
There seemed to be a second audio clip on the screen. Gao Jian played it.
"...Actually, you could mix up an iron-ion solution. You weren't stupid enough to use blood for all of it, were you?"
Gao Jian looked at the blood dripping from the notebook and said nothing.
Whatever the case, the vast amount of material that high school Gao Jian had written throughout the notebook using tannic acid solution had finally seen the light of day again, every word revealed.
Before you continue