Since the college entrance exam spanned several days, the invigilation patrols were infrequent, leading to a high success rate.

If the ancients could achieve it, the Atlanteans, who possessed a far more advanced civilization, certainly could.

A magnifying glass is an essential tool for the elderly, especially in a household like the Rabinovichs' with their extensive library.

Flipping through the drawers, we quickly found a magnifying glass made from sheep bone.

Ignoring the chill of the night air, the two of us lit a candle and began our examination.

However, the hidden secret was clearly not obvious; after searching for a long time, we made no headway.

At that moment, Nie Chuan put down the transparent bead and remarked strangely, "Logically, the Atlanteans wouldn't be so careless as to hide a secret we have to struggle so hard to find."

I nodded, saying, "Exactly. The fact that they concealed it so thoroughly suggests they feared the bead falling into enemy hands."

Nie Chuan added, "If they intended to convey the contents inscribed on it, they must have also revealed the method to reveal the secret. If they didn't tell you, then unless..."

"Unless what?" I quickly asked.

"Unless there's a specific scenario where the secret is easily discernible to us, but utterly invisible to the enemy," Nie Chuan stated.

I felt there was logic to his words, yet it was baffling, as achieving that level of specificity would require an intimate knowledge of us.

For instance, knowing that I dislike bathing, and that the secret only manifests when saturated with sweat.

But how could the Atlanteans possibly know about my aversion to bathing?

Suddenly, it struck me: the entity attached to me must know the method to unlock the secret on the glass bead.

However, there was no way I could summon it in front of Nie Chuan; so, I said instead, "Why don't you get some more rest? I'm fine, but it’s only two or three in the morning; are you sure you don't want a little more sleep?"

Nie Chuan yawned and said, "Alright, I'll have more energy to research after sleeping. There's no rush now."

With that, Nie Chuan returned to the ** to sleep.

Seeing that he was asleep, I breathed a sigh of relief, silently pulled on my clothes, and walked toward the washroom.

I wasn't actually looking to use the facilities; I just wanted to forcibly remove the thing clinging to me.

Inside the washroom, I tugged at my own face and pulled at my beard until my face burned and ached, but the thing still wouldn't detach.

Feeling helpless, I muttered to myself, "Is it asleep?"

Then I dismissed the thought, as even if it were asleep, it shouldn't withstand my current torment.

Afterward, I began speaking to the thing in the washroom like a lunatic, demanding it come out, but to no effect.

After struggling for about half an hour, I grew dejected, wondering if everything that had happened was just an illusion or if I was dreaming.

Dejectedly, I left the washroom and headed toward the room, feeling utterly played.

Walking forward with a heavy heart, I suddenly noticed what sounded like footsteps coming from the abandoned room I had peeked into earlier.

I thought I must have misheard, perhaps the sound was from another room.

But when I pressed my ear closely against the door, I confirmed there were indeed footsteps.

It wasn't just one person; it sounded like two or more.

They walked lightly but rhythmically, pausing almost every few steps, as if tidying the room or perhaps pacing during exercise.

After listening for a while, I leaned closer to the crack in the door, but I couldn't see anything.

"Strange..." I said to myself.

Logically, the room wasn't large, and it was pitch black inside. If someone were pacing back and forth within a distance of five or six steps, I should have seen some silhouette.

Moreover, no light was on in the room—who would be continuously moving inside?

Unless...

I shook my head, as all my previous speculations about ghosts had been proven impossible.

Even though I had already encountered alleged aliens, I still didn't believe in actual ghosts.

After a moment's thought, I slipped back into the room.

By this time, Nie Chuan was sound asleep, snoring loudly.

I crept over to his side, found the flashlight he carried, and then returned to the door of that room.

I examined the flashlight, shone its beam through the crack in the door, and then pressed my eye against another fissure.

However, I now noticed the footsteps inside had ceased.

Looking in with the flashlight beam, I saw that, just as before, the furniture inside was neatly arranged, but all covered with grey cloths thick with dust.

I observed the heavy layer of dust on the floor and realized there were no footprints indicating recent passage.

This made me even more puzzled, making me wonder if I had only imagined the sounds.

Just as I was preparing to return to bed, I noticed the black fabric covering a photograph hanging on the wall—it was fluttering slightly in a draft.

Yet, the photograph itself remained covered in a thick layer of dust, obscuring the features of the people in it.

Had someone opened the window?

I knew this room, like mine, had a window.

But this room was strictly controlled by Mr. and Mrs. Rabinovich, who prevented strangers from getting near; they certainly wouldn't make the amateur mistake of leaving a window open.

Unless someone had opened the window from the outside and entered just now.

As I had this thought, I suddenly saw a hand quickly dart out and swipe across the photograph, clearing the dust.

I didn't have time to register where the hand came from, as I was instantly paralyzed by the sight of the figures on the photograph.

It was a picture of the village chief and Mrs. Rabinovich, smiling sweetly and leaning close together, with a blonde, blue-eyed Russian young man standing between them.

The appearance of this young man instantly reminded me of the photograph in the derelict engine room on the second basement level of Durban Island.

In that photo, only half the face of one of the two young men was visible.

At the time, I couldn't place that half-face; now, it was perfectly clear before my eyes.

This man was BEY, the Rabinovich couple's son, the undercover police officer.

Why was BEY’s photo in the ruins of the engine room? And depicted as a pilot, no less?

I couldn't make sense of it, nor could I recall any connection.

In less than three seconds, I processed all these thoughts, and then turned my attention back to the hand that had wiped the dust.

I had considered breaking down the door, but making such a commotion late at night would undoubtedly attract everyone's attention.

Since this person likely entered through the window, I could catch them red-handed by circling around to the back window of that room.

I knew this thought was somewhat naive; the person must have already spotted my flashlight beam, and by the time I arrived, they would surely have fled.

Indeed, when I climbed out of my own window, I saw that the window of that room was still ajar.

I shone my flashlight inside and saw it was empty. Looking out into the wilderness, I found no sign of anyone.

I cursed under my breath, feeling deflated.

However, I remained intensely interested in that photograph, so I waited until everyone was distracted and slipped in through the window myself.

Once inside, I realized there were footprints on the floor, but they were only circling the area near the window, focusing on a large wardrobe and a dressing table leaning against the wall.

I saw that the black cloths covering these two pieces of furniture had been pulled off.

Peering closer, I found the contents of the cabinets had been thoroughly rummaged through and left in disarray.

But this person was clearly not a thief, as a string of pearls and an old-fashioned gold watch—both quite valuable—had been left untouched in the drawers.

This individual was definitely looking for something specific. But what exactly?

I continued turning through the drawers and suddenly discovered a very old notebook bound in cowhide.

I didn't typically have a habit of reading others' private things, but this notebook had been left open by the previous person, and the visible page contained the inscription: "Malyusha, Chakov, True Love Endures."

At first, seeing those two names, I didn't quite register their significance.

Then, a cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

Because those were the names of the two dead people we had encountered in the elevator during our time beneath Lop Nur.

That couple had engraved their names on silver rings that we had seen!