Dusk seeped like diluted ink, slowly soaking the courtyard nestled deep within the Jiangnan water country. Blue‑tiled roofs and white‑washed walls screened out the clamor of the outside world, leaving only the rustle of wind through bamboo groves and the low murmur of a stream winding past stone steps. Yue'er sat in the waterside study, thick manuscript paper spread before her densely covered with abstract symbols and sinuous formulas—the core chapters of the monumental work she was constructing, The Source Code of the Universe. The pen tip whispered across the paper; her entire world seemed condensed into this square‑inch space, interfacing with the profound vastness of the mathematical cosmos.
This was her sanctuary for seeking stillness, as well as the boundless field where her thoughts galloped. The political storms, financial sniping, and technological blockades swirling around the String Light Research Institute seemed filtered by these pink walls, dark‑tiled roofs, and murmuring water into distant background noise. She deliberately avoided most news feeds, setting her 'String Light Cloud Brain' access to the bare minimum for academic interaction. For her, the most important thing now was to solidify the unified thinking—churning and surging in her mind about information, geometry, and the essence of life—into rigorous and graceful prose.
She had just completed the proof for a crucial section; laying down the pen, she gently rubbed her slightly sore eyes. Outside the window, the last trace of sunset stained the horizon with a faint warm orange, reflected on the calm water surface, shattered into shimmering golden light. She picked up the cup of now‑cool green tea beside her, took a sip, feeling the tea's bitterness unfold on her tongue, then turn into a hint of sweetness. This solitude immersed in pure thought was, to her, a pleasure, even a necessity. Mozi's and Xiuxiu's figures occasionally surfaced in her mind, carrying warmth and concern, but she knew they were each fighting on their own battlefields of capital and technology, while she, in this quiet place, dug deeper foundations for them, and for all seekers.
Yet this deliberately maintained stillness was soon shattered.
The smart‑housekeeper system emitted an extremely soft, merely‑alerting hum, indicating that a multiple‑encryption‑verified physical letter had arrived. This was somewhat unusual. In an age where digital communication was ubiquitous, a physical letter itself carried an anachronistic gravity—or secrecy.
Yue'er frowned slightly, a faint unease flickering through her heart. She rose, walked to the traditional wooden mailbox at the study entrance—a decorative retention for harmony with the courtyard style, its interior connected to a high‑precision security‑scanning system. The mailbox's LCD panel showed the letter had passed basic safety inspection, with no hazardous characteristics. She retrieved the letter. It was a plain‑material, unmarked white envelope, slightly thick to the touch.
Returning to the desk, she opened the envelope under the fading twilight outside the window and the warm glow of the desk lamp. Inside was only a single sheet of similarly header‑less A4 printer paper. The text was cold standard print, the content brief, yet like a poison‑tempered dagger straight to the heart:
"Ms. Yue'er, your mathematical brilliance is astonishing; your exploration of the 'String Light Code' has illuminated many people's paths. However, the brighter the light, the deeper the shadow it casts. Don't you think that everything you cherish—your partner who strives to connect capital and ideals, your dear friend who carves the material future—is precisely because of the overly dazzling radiance you emit, exposed to unpredictable risks? The wise know that sometimes hiding oneself is the best protection for those around you. For the 'String Light' they cherish to endure, perhaps you should consider letting your own, most crucial 'string' dim temporarily, or even... disappear."
No signature, no explicit threat vocabulary, but the chill and malice permeating the words made Yue'er's fingers holding the paper turn instantly cold.
This was no ordinary threatening letter. It precisely captured the deepest, tenderest spot in her heart—one she rarely touched herself.
She had always believed herself fearless. Faced with the complexity and profundity of the mathematical world, she never retreated; confronted with skepticism and attacks in academia, she could face them calmly; even regarding the unknown ethical risks her research might bring, she could maintain a cool examination. Her courage stemmed from faith in truth, from absolute trust in Mozi and Xiuxiu, from the 'iron triangle' the three of them had built together—strong enough to withstand external storms.
Yet this letter, like a sinister snake, silently slithered into her meticulously constructed psychological defense. It did not threaten her directly, but aimed its spear at Mozi and Xiuxiu.
"Everything you cherish..." "...exposed to unpredictable risks..." "...for the 'String Light' they cherish..." "...dim temporarily, or even... disappear."
Each word hammered at her heart.
For the first time, she truly felt fear. Not for herself. If it were merely a threat against her personally, she might be angry, scornful, more vigilant, but never like this—a chilling dread rising from the depths of her heart.
She was afraid. Afraid that because of her existence, because of this undeniable 'radiance,' she might become the breach through which enemies attacked Mozi and Xiuxiu. Mozi advanced amidst the glint of swords and shadows in financial markets; Xiuxiu fought through the arduous攻坚 of technological breakthroughs; the open and hidden arrows they faced were already plenty. What this letter hinted was that she, Yue'er, herself, her continued prominence on the academic frontier, her continued advancement of her potentially paradigm‑shifting theory, would become the Sword of Damocles hanging over Mozi and Xiuxiu, attracting the most malicious attacks, possibly even triggering unknown dangers targeting their personal safety.
"Hiding oneself... is the best protection for those around you..."
"Let your own, most crucial 'string' dim temporarily, or even... disappear..."
These phrases echoed repeatedly in her mind, with mesmerizing power. She recalled the fatigue hidden in Mozi's brow during recent calls, though he always reported good news; she recalled the fleeting gravity in Xiuxiu's eyes when mentioning 'unexpected' setbacks in certain component supply chains. She had thought those were inevitable challenges in their professional progress, but now this letter made her wonder whether these 'challenges' were, to some extent, related to her, to the attention her research attracted?
A strong sense of guilt seized her. If her very existence was a source of risk, what right did she have to sit safely in this seemingly otherworldly courtyard, immersed in the ostensibly detached mathematical world? She enjoyed the tranquility Mozi's resources had created for her, enjoyed the top‑tier computing support Xiuxiu's technical team provided, while they, possibly because of her, bore greater pressures and dangers.
Was she too selfish?
Once this thought arose, it grew wildly like vines, entangling her reason.
She stood up, pacing restlessly in the study. Night had fully fallen outside the window; stars sparsely reflected on the water surface, cold and desolate. The environment that had once made her feel safe and inspired now seemed filled with invisible pressure. Those familiar formulas and symbols also lost their usual luster, turning heavy.
She walked to the window, gazing at the blurred outlines of distant hills in the dark. A thought surfaced uncontrollably: leave. Temporarily vanish. Cut off all contact with the outside world, find a place no one could locate, until this storm passed, or until her research was no longer seen as such a great 'threat.'
This idea sent a sharp pang through her heart. Leaving meant interrupting the writing of The Source Code of the Universe, meant abandoning communication with the global mathematical community (even if underground, grassroots), meant... leaving Mozi and Xiuxiu. She couldn't imagine a world without their spiritual resonance—how desolate it would be. The three of them were no longer separate individuals, but formed a solid, mutually supporting community of thought and emotion.
But what if her departure could secure a safer environment for them, let them advance their respective endeavors more smoothly?
Was the 'iron triangle' sturdy because of each other's presence, or might it collapse because one corner 'protruded' too much, attracting attack on the whole?
She was caught in unprecedented contradiction and struggle. Reason told her this letter was likely the enemy's trick, aimed at unsettling her, making her withdraw voluntarily, thereby weakening the core cohesion of 'String Light.' What the other side feared was precisely what she represented—the 'String Light Code' capable of connecting underlying logics across different fields. Succumbing to such a threat was itself a defeat.
But emotionally, the fear that Mozi and Xiuxiu might be harmed because of her overwhelmed all rational analysis. She could bear risks to herself, but she couldn't bear the possibility that they might fall into danger because of her. That possibility, even if one‑in‑ten‑thousand, was enough to keep her awake at night.
For the first time, she realized so clearly that she was not fearless. Her Achilles' heel was the two people she loved deeply.
She returned to the desk, her gaze falling again on that cold sheet of paper. Her earlier creative inspiration had vanished, replaced by full‑hearted anxiety and uncertainty. She picked up the internal encrypted communicator, her finger hovering over the button to call Mozi, hesitated a long time, and finally set it down.
What use would telling him serve? It would only add to his worries, possibly even disrupt his steps in dealing with the current complex situation. He would surely say this was merely the enemy's psychological warfare, telling her to ignore it, just enhance security. Xiuxiu's reaction would probably be similar.
But could security guard against all insidious schemes? Could it ensure that, if the enemy were cornered, they wouldn't resort to more extreme measures?
She couldn't gamble their safety on that 'what‑if.'
Night deepened; the lamplight in the study seemed especially lonely. Yue'er curled up in the large armchair, hugging her knees, like a child lost in darkness. She stared at the boundless night outside, feeling the darkness seemed to have weight, pressing in bit by bit, about to engulf her.
"Disappear..." This word surfaced again in her mind, carrying a heart‑piercing allure. If she temporarily disappeared, could she divert this potential crisis? Could she free Mozi and Xiuxiu from this 'shadow' cast because of her?
Once this thought took root, it grew wildly. She began uncontrollably thinking about concrete plans for 'disappearing': where to go? How to leave no trace? What to prepare? How to ensure complete disconnection, lest enemies use it to track Mozi and Xiuxiu?
Every step of thinking was like a knife‑cut on her heart. This meant she would actively abandon everything now—including the academic exchange she regarded as life itself, including the precious, extraordinary emotional bond between her, Mozi, and Xiuxiu.
Tears slid silently, dripping onto her arms hugging her knees, icy cold. She had never felt so helpless, so fragile. Even during the hardest phase proving the PNP conjecture, even facing skepticism from the world's top mathematicians, she had always maintained inner certainty and unyielding fighting spirit.
But this time, the enemy attacked not her scholarship, not her intelligence, but the people she cherished most, whom she would protect with everything.
What should she do?
Standing firm might mean endangering the loved ones.
Leaving would mean betraying her own heart, betraying the dream and conviction the three of them built together.
This letter from the darkness was like a stone thrown into a still lake, raising massive waves in her heart. The storm had already arrived silently in this seemingly most tranquil corner. And she, standing at the storm's center, for the first time because of love, felt bone‑chilling fear, and faced an excruciating choice about her own existential meaning.
The wind outside seemed stronger, rustling bamboo leaves, as if whispering, or accompanying the turmoil in her heart. The long night stretched ahead; she was destined to lie awake, alone chewing this sudden, heavy threat, and the fear born from love that nearly tore her apart.