Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

Zhang Yang didn't know how long he had slept. He was awakened by the sound of the workstation's cooling fan changing speed. After the brute-force program finished running the last segment, the CPU load dropped sharply, and the fan went from a full-speed hiss to a low background noise. He opened his eyes, and his neck, which had been tilted against the back of the chair for too long, made a cracking sound when he turned his head.

The progress bar on the screen had disappeared, and a pop-up window displayed the message: "Password cracked." Below it was a string of 32 characters, a mix of uppercase and lowercase letters, numbers, and symbols with no discernible pattern. He copied the password into his notebook and clicked "OK." The image volume in the virtual machine was automatically mounted, and the disk management tool displayed the drive letter. The file system was identified as a custom encrypted format, and after decryption, it was displayed as NTFS.

He was about to open the file directory when he heard footsteps behind him.

Gao Jun pushed open the door and walked in, his steps faster than usual. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the ash already accumulated, but he didn't flick it off. He walked behind Zhang Yang, put his hands on the edge of the workbench, stared at the disk on the screen, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Is it untied?"

"Just untied it." Zhang Yang pushed the journal aside to make room for him. "Thirty-two people, ran around all night."

Gao Jun didn't reply. He stared at the disk, his chest heaving more than usual. Zhang Yang could hear the change in his breathing rhythm, his nostrils flaring slightly. His fingers, gripping the edge of the table, tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning white and trembling slightly, as if he wanted to crush the tabletop.

He wasn't smiling, but the muscles around his eyes and mouth were twitching very slightly; the suppressed excitement he felt was more genuine than anything he had ever seen Gao Jun before.

Another person entered through the door. Zhang Yang heard the footsteps first; the leather shoes stomped heavily on the anti-static floor, the strides were long, and the landing frequency was slow.

The man was a little over 1.8 meters tall, rather thin, wearing a dark gray shirt with the cuffs neatly buttoned. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and behind the lenses were small eyes with a cold gaze—not the kind of coldness that was deliberately displayed, but the kind of indifference that only someone who rarely spoke to others would have.

His face was thin, with slightly protruding cheekbones and a sharp jawline. His skin was so pale that it didn't look like someone who was often out and about. There was a thin layer of calluses on the sides of the knuckles of his right index and middle fingers. Zhang Yang recognized that spot; only people who held pens or carving knives for long periods of time would develop calluses in that area.

Gao Jun looked away from the screen, turned around, and patted the man on the shoulder with an unusual seriousness in his gesture. "Brother, let me introduce you. This is Sun Yang, our company's plate maker."

Zhang Yang stood up, nodded, and said, "Hello."

Sun Yang glanced at him, said nothing, and simply nodded slightly. His gaze lingered on Zhang Yang's face for less than a second before shifting to the screen. It wasn't a formal assessment; it was a quick glance and then dismissal. In his eyes, Zhang Yang was probably just a technician Gao Jun had hired, not worth a second glance.

Zhang Yang didn't pay attention and sat down again. He opened the root directory, and several folders were listed on the screen with names in English abbreviations. He randomly opened the first one, which contained scanned images of the front and back of a 100-yuan banknote. The resolution was extremely high, and even the texture of the fibers on the banknote could be seen clearly.

Opening another file reveals a plate-making parameter table, which lists paper specifications, ink formulas, watermark coordinates, and security thread embedding positions. Each item is marked with a value accurate to two decimal places.

Gao Jun leaned forward, his shoulder blocking Zhang Yang's view. He raised his hand from the edge of the table and placed it on Zhang Yang's shoulder. The pressure wasn't heavy, but the position was precise, just enough to prevent Zhang Yang from leaning forward. "Brother, you've worked hard enough. The password is cracked. Take your things and go back first."

Zhang Yang withdrew his gaze and nodded. "Okay, Mr. Gao." He bent down and began packing his things—floppy disk case, notebook, pen—one by one, putting them into his backpack. "And my payment?"

Gao Jun turned to the door and called out, "Xia Tian."

A man of medium height, wearing a black T-shirt, walked in and stood at the door waiting. Gao Jun said to him, "Take Zhang Yang to collect his payment, and then take him home."

Xia Tian replied, "Yes, Mr. Gao."

Zhang Yang zipped up his backpack, pushed the chair back to its original position, and passed by Sun Yang, who was already sitting down at the worktable. Sun Yang was leaning on the edge of the table with his left hand and holding a mouse in his right, zooming in on a micro-text scan of the back of a RMB banknote. His face was very close to the screen, the magnified image reflected in the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, his pupils moving slightly. He didn't turn around.

Zhang Yang followed Xia Tian out of the factory. The iron gate closed behind them, the dull metallic clanging echoing in the corridor. He glanced back at the closed gate, then continued walking. The floppy disk case in his backpack swayed gently with his steps, making a soft clinking sound.

Summer led him across the factory's open space to another row of bungalows. These houses had probably been the factory's warehouses. A newly replaced padlock hung on the iron gate. Summer took out his key, unlocked it, pushed open the door, and pulled the light cord. The fluorescent light flickered twice before turning on, illuminating the wooden crates and metal cabinets piled up inside. Summer walked to the innermost metal cabinet, squatted down, took another key from his pocket, and opened the cabinet door. Inside were a dozen or so small black leather suitcases with a dull sheen. Summer took one out, placed it on the ground, unlocked the latch, and lifted the lid.

Inside, gold bars were neatly stacked, wrapped in oiled paper, with only the two ends showing. Xia Tian picked up a bar, weighed it in his hand, then put it back. He turned the box around to face Zhang Yang and said, "Count them. These are all 99.999 gold bars, not a single one is missing."

Zhang Yang glanced down at the box, then reached out and pressed the top row of gold bars. They were stiff beneath the oil paper, with shock-absorbing foam strips stuffed between them. He closed the lid, the latch clicking shut. "Alright, take me back now."

Summer pulled a black hood from her pocket and handed it to him, saying, "I'll have to trouble you to put this on."

Zhang Yang glanced at the hood, said nothing, took it and put it on his head. The hood was made of thick fabric, and once he put it on, he couldn't see anything and could only hear his own breathing. He carried the suitcase and was helped by Xia Tian to the car. The car door opened, and he bent down to touch the back seat, sat down, and put the suitcase on his lap.

The car started, and Zhang Yang silently calculated the time in his mind. It had been almost forty minutes since he came out of the factory, took the gold, and got into the car. He could feel the car constantly turning, first left, then right, then left again. The intervals between each turn were irregular. Xia Tian was taking a detour, but Zhang Yang knew that no matter how Xia Tian detoured, Lao Zheng's men were watching outside, and the car had never left the police's sight from beginning to end.

He recalled how, when he opened the metal cabinet earlier that summer, the dozen or so suitcases inside were neatly stacked. Gao Jun's hoarding of so much gold in this factory area was clearly not a spur-of-the-moment decision; it was his emergency reserve. If something went wrong, and cash was frozen or banks were closed, gold would be the hardest currency. Gao Jun had more backup plans than he had imagined.

More than an hour later, the car stopped. Xia Tian got out, opened the back door, and said, "We're here."

Zhang Yang removed his hood, blinked, and adjusted his eyes to the light. He got out of the car with his suitcase, glanced around, and saw an old street in the east of the city. Several cars were parked along the roadside, including his gray Santana. Xia Tian was already back in the driver's seat, the door still open. She looked up at Zhang Yang, who nodded to her. "Thank you."

Xia Tian smiled, said nothing, closed the car door, started the car, and drove away.

Zhang Yang stood by the roadside until the car's taillights disappeared around the corner before turning to walk to his own car. He opened the trunk, put the suitcase inside, and closed the lid. Then he opened the front door, got into the driver's seat, but didn't start the engine immediately. He bent down and reached under the seat, feeling around until his fingertips touched something hard—a small, candybar-style mobile phone, secured to the seat's frame with tape. He tore off the tape, took out the phone, and pressed the power button.

The screen lit up, showing two bars of signal. He dialed Lao Zheng's number.

He answered after one ring. "Thank God," Old Zheng's voice came through the receiver, carrying a pent-up frustration, "You're finally back."

Zhang Yang held the phone in his left hand, and habitually pulled over and fastened the seatbelt next to his seat with his right. "I believe you've found the factory you took me to, right?"

"That's right."

Zhang Yang said quickly, "There's a guy named Sun Yang inside. He's the plate maker. He's wearing a dark gray shirt, gold-rimmed glasses, has prominent cheekbones, and a thin face. This guy is the core of the whole counterfeit money case. All the plate-making parameters in the master plate are in his hands. You must prevent them from transmitting the plate-making information out of the network."

"Don't worry," Old Zheng's voice was steady. "The network within a three-kilometer radius is under our surveillance. We have full control over wired, dial-up, and ISDN networks. Shortwave signals, radio signals, and microwave transmissions are all within our control range. If he dares to send out even a single word, we'll be the first to know."

Zhang Yang started the car, shifted gears, turned the steering wheel, and veered back onto the road he had come from. "I'm heading towards the command vehicle now. You can begin operations at any time."

"You'll direct the vehicle."

"Yes."

Zhang Yang hung up the phone, tossed it onto the passenger seat, and stepped on the gas. The streetlights cast streaks of light across the windshield, casting alternating shadows on his face.

By the time we arrived at the command vehicle, it was already fully light. The command vehicle was parked on the side of a quiet side road. It was a modified van that looked like a delivery truck from the outside, but the inside was brightly lit.

When Zhang Yang opened the car door and jumped in, he found Qin Liguo sitting in front of the monitor, holding an enamel mug. The monitor showed live footage of the factory area; the armed police had sealed off all the outer exits, and the special police were infiltrating inside. The operation had begun, and he was a step too late.

Qin Liguo looked up at him, scanned him from head to toe, and then put down the enamel mug. Zhang Yang stood there, still clutching the floppy disk in his hand, his expression indescribable. It wasn't fear, nor was it nervousness; it was more like someone who had finished their task but hadn't had time to consider the consequences, realizing during a review that they had overlooked a step.

Looking at his expression, Qin Liguo understood everything. He stood up and walked over to Zhang Yang. "Tell me," he said calmly. "Judging from your expression, I knew you'd gotten into trouble."

Zhang Yang smiled awkwardly and placed the floppy disk on the table. "Uncle Qin, I think I did make a mistake."

Qin Liguo didn't look at the floppy disk. "What mistake did you make?"

"I've transferred all of Gao Jun's money away." Zhang Yang paused, "A total of 1.26 billion US dollars, all of which has been transferred to these accounts in Hong Kong."

Qin Liguo was stunned for a moment. He didn't react at first, but after the string of numbers settled in his mind, his voice suddenly rose, "What?" Realizing he was speaking too loudly, he glanced out of the car and lowered his voice, "1.26 billion?"

"US dollars," Zhang Yang added, as if confirming a minor detail.

Qin Liguo swallowed the rest of his "what" back. He pointed at Zhang Yang, opened his mouth, then closed it again, finally managing to squeeze out only one sentence through gritted teeth: "You little brat...you little brat..."

He couldn't continue.

Zhang Yang quickly picked up the floppy disk from the table and handed it forward. "Uncle Qin, all the transfer records, receiving accounts, and login credentials for Gao Jun's three main bank accounts are copied onto this disk. The account passwords are also included. The receiving accounts in Hong Kong use shadow accounts that the bank system cannot trace to the actual controller."

Qin Liguo took the floppy disk, glanced down at the thin black plastic sheet, and weighed it in his hand, as if he couldn't quite gauge its weight. "When did you do this?"

"On Gao Jun's server," Zhang Yang said. "He has a funds collection server with an automatic collection program installed on it. Every six hours, it logs into three overseas banks with valid credentials to collect the balances. I just changed the target account parameters of the collection instruction."

Qin Liguo was silent for a moment, then said in a tone that was no longer angry but completely clueless, "You just wait and see."