Since Han Yu descended into the underground base, she had stayed there day and night. At first, she would return to the tent to rest at night, but later she simply slept there. Zoe, the other woman in our group, also decided to sleep there with Han Yu.

Fatty said he was worried about the two women being in danger, so he volunteered to be a protector, guarding their safety.

I was different. Before I could even decide where to sleep, Han Yu assigned me a glorious and arduous task, a task that could only be completed on the surface—to manufacture as many simple drones as possible. The drones only needed to be able to fly for a few minutes, without remote control or video recording functions.

Han Yu always had some whimsical ideas. Having seen her true strength, I never doubted her decisions. So, I took a few researchers and worked day and night making drones. The electronic components used to make the drones were continuously supplied from the foot of the mountain by the camp's supply personnel.

One day, more than ten days later, I finished my work early. The new electronic components would not be delivered until the next day, so I contacted Fatty and the others through the radio, asking if they needed my help in the underground base. Fatty said that their work was progressing smoothly and they didn't need me to run back and forth. In the end, he even teased me for a long time.

When it comes to finding joy in hardship, Fatty is the only one.

Back in the tent, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, because the one-month deadline was approaching, and I felt a little anxious. It wasn't that I didn't believe in Han Yu's strength, but when faced with the fear of life and death, people often reveal a cowardly mentality, and I was no exception.

Since I couldn't sleep, I started looking for something to do. I vaguely remembered that I had taken my father's notebook with me and kept it hidden on my body, so I found it and, using the dim light in the tent, began to read my father's notes.

My father's notes were very interesting, containing both his work and his life. It was clear that he was a man who loved both his work and his life.

Just as I was savoring the fragments of my father's life, I suddenly felt that something was wrong. I carefully compared each record and finally discovered the problem.

My father's handwriting for recording his life and recording his work was completely different; it could be said that they were two different styles of handwriting.

Could it be that my father had a split personality? Or was this notebook written by two people? Judging from the writing style, it should have been written by the same person, with no signs of personality splitting.

Later, I leaned over each word and carefully observed it before I understood the reason for the different handwriting—it was the stroke order. It turned out that when my father was recording his work, he used his left hand; when he was recording his life, he used his right hand.

He was a left-hander who was practicing writing with his right hand.

I suddenly thought of the letters my father had sent. I had never paid attention to the stroke order before. I unfolded all the letters in one go, one after another, looking at them word by word. Finally, I found the information my father wanted to convey in the last two letters.

I circled all the characters with the opposite stroke order (written with his right hand) and then copied them onto a piece of paper.

The information extracted from the penultimate letter was:

"Morning light, mountains, key."

The information extracted from the last, scribbled letter was:

"Don't trust anyone."

Obviously, this was my father's way of reminding my mother, but unfortunately, my mother didn't notice it. At that time, no one understood the hidden information in my father's letters. After all this time, it turned out that I was the one the Z organization was looking for.

What puzzled me was, what exactly was this key?

The riddle of Devil's Gulch was like a locked door, and I had neither the key nor the ability to break it down.

In his last letter, my father told me not to trust anyone, so Zoe, Fatty, and Han Yu were also among the "anyone." If that was the case, should I run away? Could I escape successfully?

I pondered these questions and stayed awake all night.

Move your fingers and cast your precious gold and silver tickets, thank you!