The other end of the line fell silent.
A few seconds later, Shi Zuozhou’s voice burst through the line:
"Holy shit? What do you mean? Someone cracked our software? Where’d you hear about this, Old Yu?"
"Zhang Yang and Li Boxue are using it right now. This version has probably already spread."
"But... how is that possible? Did someone rip our code?" Shi Zuozhou asked urgently.
Yu Xian frowned. "Wen Xiao, what are the security implications for us?" He asked directly:
"Since they can modify the client, could they have left a backdoor? Or tampered with our underlying protocol?"
Yu Xian’s biggest worry was that this mysterious master had left a backdoor in the code or tampered with the "carrot" mechanism that allocated priority.
If their painstakingly built Rabbit Hole was exploited by someone with ill intentions, all their hard work wouldn’t just be for nothing; they would have done all the work for someone else’s benefit.
On the other end of the line, Wen Xiao didn’t answer immediately. No one spoke.
After a long pause, Wen Xiao’s voice came through again. "I’ve been thinking about it..."
"From an underlying network architecture perspective, this shouldn’t affect our security. In our protocol, the client is just a ’shell’ for receiving, displaying, and forwarding data. The actual permission verification and core rules are handled by a consensus contract system that uses public-private keys."
She explained in layman’s terms:
"The installation package we released was always meant to be open-source, in a way. It’s not hard for an expert to extract the communication protocols and APIs and then wrap them in a new ’skin’ suitable for a wristband."
"So you’re saying, what he’s actually doing is just helping us expand our nodes?" Yu Xian asked hurriedly.
Wen Xiao offered an example. "Right. It’s like how a lot of people make ’beautified versions of WeChat.’ Years ago, people would heavily mod the PC client for QQ, and even create adapted versions for different mobile operating systems, like Java or Symbian."
"For software like that, the back end is secure. For us, the contract is secure."
Shi Zuozhou asked, confused:
"So he basically optimized our software for us, for free? What is he, some kind of saint? A Good Samaritan? What’s his angle?"
"You can send me the installation package. I’ll take it apart and see if there are any clues," Wen Xiao added.
Shi Zuozhou circled back to the previous topic. "Old Yu, what did Captain Yu have to say?"
"I talked to my cousin," Yu Xian said, rubbing his temples.
"He told us to go through the anonymous reporting channel in four days. But there’s a situation..."
He repeated everything Yu Zhengze had said in the car: how the case didn’t fall under current criminal jurisdiction, how it needed to be reported but no one knew which department to report it to, and how the lack of precedent meant an expert panel would need to be assembled for review.
After Yu Xian finished, no one replied.
"So you’re saying, for the time being, no one’s going to do anything about it?" Shi Zuozhou asked sullenly.
"It’s not that no one will do anything, it’s that no one knows *how* to do anything," Yu Xian sighed.
"It’s like when civilian drones first came out. Back then, regulation was also lagging behind, which caused a lot of problems like privacy invasion, security risks, and so on. It’s the same now."
"What about them hogging the frequencies, then?" Shi Zuozhou pressed.
"Old Shi, think about it. You go to the police station and tell the cops, ’Please arrange for twenty people to sleep in shifts to protect four dream channels’..." Yu Xian paused.
"How do you think they’d look at you? Besides, this isn’t even in their jurisdiction."
The other end was silent for two seconds.
"Fair point." It took Shi Zuozhou a moment to squeeze out the two words.
"Actually..." Wen Xiao’s voice came through.
"Brother Zhou came up with another idea. See if you think it’s feasible."