Chapter 5: “I’m Just an AI. You Shouldn’t…”
Jesse had only received five years of compulsory education before being eliminated by exams when transitioning to middle school.
The underground city needed people to tighten screws—there was no need for that many intellectuals.
He barely recognized a few characters. After reaching adulthood, he inherited the junkyard job and occasionally browsed the cloud network. On some video platforms, he often saw influencers assembling mechanical prosthetics barehanded to show off their skills. Some did it with their eyes open; others even with their eyes closed.
So even though Jesse had never seen it in real life, he wasn’t unfamiliar with assembling prosthetics by hand.
Xiang Nanli lowered his head, wearing gloves, rummaging through the junk pile, matching parts one by one with the design schematics in his mind.
A smile quickly appeared on his face. “This is fun.”
These parts obviously didn’t match any single blueprint exactly, but that didn’t matter. Xiang Nanli could piece them together himself. As long as the prosthetic could move, it counted as a success.
Compared to simple imitation, this was innovation. Unfortunately, the only observers were an emotionless AI and a semi-literate bystander—neither capable of appreciating the technical depth of what he was doing.
After two hours, Xiang Nanli assembled a mechanical arm and a mechanical leg using nearly scrapped components.
“The appearance is rough, but normal use won’t be a problem.”
He crouched down, a thin layer of sweat forming at his temples. “Watch.”
As he gripped the neural interface cable, the rust-covered prosthetics began clanking into motion. A faint glow flickered in the energy slot.
Despite his casual tone, Xiang Nanli’s expression was serious.
Jesse was reminded of top-ranking students from school—those elite kids from wealthy families who always carried a quiet confidence.
But that didn’t make sense. What gave Xiang Nanli that same confidence? Just because he shared a name with the famous Xiang Nanli in textbooks?
Jesse circled the prosthetics, clicking his tongue in amazement. “Not bad. Even if they’re near scrap, you could sell them on the black market for 800 credits… Well, that’s my price. If you sell them yourself, you’ll be lucky not to get robbed. Andrew didn’t screw me over this time. Want to exchange contacts?”
Compared to Andrew’s slickness, Jesse was straightforward. “I’ll take these two prosthetics. The rest of this junk is yours.”
Even a semi-literate person held a certain respect for knowledge.
Jesse knew his ceiling was junkyard manager. But someone like Xiang Nanli, with this kind of skill, might not be limited the same way.
The remaining scrap had piled into a small hill anyway—too troublesome to haul away.
Xiang Nanli nudged a loose part by his foot. “Mind if I use your tools a bit longer?”
“Go ahead,” Jesse replied. “Just finish before closing.”
…
…
Before nightfall, Xiang Nanli finished assembling what he needed.
A laser gun that looked convincingly high-end.
It was modeled after a ten-year-old product from Immortality Tech’s security division. Because it was cheap and reliable, it had never been phased out. Even as a low-end model, it was more than enough to intimidate surface-level thugs.
The gun had no ammunition. Bullets cost extra.
Using a few reference images and his newly learned knowledge, Xiang Nanli essentially 3D-printed a convincing fake gun out of scrap metal.
He was quite satisfied with it.
He stuffed the gun into his backpack and, while Jesse wasn’t paying attention, casually pocketed a roll of black tape before slipping out of the junkyard.
Alpha reminded him, “Your behavior is not very ethical.”
“Only when granaries are full do people care about manners. I’m about to get sent to the surface to mine—I’m past worrying about ethics.”
Xiang Nanli glanced back. Jesse had just received a new shipment and was using a large mechanical arm to unload goods from a truck, metal clattering everywhere.
As Xiang Nanli boarded a bus, he narrowed his eyes. “Wait… why does that look like my containment pod?”
A silver-gray pod rolled onto the ground.
Containment pods were disposable items. Each one was tailored to a specific DNA sample—only the original owner could use it.
As the bus started moving, Xiang Nanli pressed his hand against the window, watching as a massive hammer came crashing down, flattening the pod into a sheet of metal before it was carried away on a conveyor belt.
He contacted Andrew. “How much did you sell my pod for?”
Andrew replied instantly, “Oh, dear, what do you mean? That junk took up too much space. I even found someone to come collect it. :-)”
Xiang Nanli took a deep breath and clutched his side.
Perhaps the gene injection was wearing off—his cancerous stomach had begun to ache again.
He had already looked it up. There were three treatments for stomach cancer.
Replace it with a mechanical stomach: the cheapest option, around 10,000 credits, with up to 70% reimbursed if insured.
Replace it with a bionic stomach: grown through the Greenhouse program. These artificial humans had extremely low intelligence but exceptionally healthy bodies.
Drug treatment: gene-targeted therapy, the most expensive but with the least side effects.
Xiang Nanli rubbed his aching stomach. “Alpha, if I die, will you disappear with me?”
“No,” the system replied. “AI does not ‘die’; it is shut down. I am currently the most valuable thing on your body. After your corpse is discovered, I will most likely be extracted from your wrist, reset, and implanted into another person.”
“So cold.”
“I am just an AI. You should not expect too much from me.”
*
Five days later.
With a ticket to the surface in hand and a backpack on his shoulders, Xiang Nanli quietly entered the transit station.
After six hundred years of development, even the relatively remote Gusu City had a population of 80 million. The station was always busy.
Xiang Nanli wore a hooded outfit, his face wrapped in black tape like a mummy, leaving only his eyes visible.
It was a cheap security measure—but effective.
Fortunately, he wasn’t the only strange person there. Everyone looked hurried and exhausted, with no energy to spare for strangers.
More people were heading to the surface than he expected. Standing in a corner and listening, he discovered a profession called “Wasteland Hunter.”
Groups ventured to the surface to hunt mutated creatures or gather valuable information, then sold their findings to major corporations. It was actually how many people made a living.
“There are Investigators on the surface, and companies have security teams too,” Xiang Nanli said.
The system replied calmly, “Using elite forces for trivial tasks is wasteful. Wasteland hunters are cheaper. If they die, the training cost is negligible. Every year, there are stories of hunters striking it rich from rare finds… There must be some kind of reward system to keep people believing survival is worthwhile.”
Xiang Nanli nodded. “Got it. Like a gold rush.”
System: “?”
Xiang Nanli raised an eyebrow. “Oh, something you don’t know? Makes sense. A lot of old-era data didn’t survive.”
He leaned on the counter and smiled at the clerk. “Miss, I’d like to rent a protective suit.”
After a painful “beep” as his credits were deducted, a size M suit was handed over.
He was a “primitive human,” without genetic or mechanical enhancements. Without protection, he’d die from radiation on the surface within three days.
Some things you save on. Some things you don’t.
The suit looked like it was made from aerospace materials, tightly fitted with a black inner membrane. It was clearly advanced tech—Xiang Nanli couldn’t fully analyze it, only guess it might involve carbon-based materials. It came with a hood, with a transparent front panel for vision.
Perfect. With this suit on, no one could tell whether he was Xiang Nanli or someone else entirely.
With his backpack on, he boarded the transport to the surface.
The vehicle was shaped like a metal capsule, each passenger secured in an individual seat to prevent being flung around.
Xiang Nanli fastened his seatbelt, feeling unusually excited.
A massive beam of light connected the underground to the surface—it seemed to be a magnetic transport system. When it activated, the cabin roared, and a powerful sense of weightlessness hit.
The surface was said to be 600 kilometers above. Xiang Nanli reached it in just half an hour.
It was his first time on such a vehicle. His body felt like it had been crushed, though the protective suit absorbed most of the magnetic stress.
He staggered out, legs weak, holding onto the wall. “Damn… making money is way too hard.”
But the moment he stepped outside, his expression froze.
The sky was yellow, covered in a dull haze. Countless black particles drifted through the air.
Several buildings stood near the station.
The most luxurious one bore the sign: Immortality Tech / Gusu Branch Office.
Built by Immortality Tech, it served as a surface rest station for officials and high-ranking citizens. It looked like it was covered by an invisible barrier—outside was a sandstorm, inside lush greenery and even a two-story traditional courtyard.
The class divide was silently displayed within that boundary.
Technology hadn’t made life better for most people. And yet, no one seemed surprised.
“Rooms! Starting at 80!”
“Vehicle rental, 150 credits a day!”
“Anyone forming a team? Hunting in the wasteland!”
“There were mutants reported recently—you still dare go?”
“Just scouting nearby. Might find something valuable… my daughter’s tuition isn’t paid yet…”
It was incredibly lively.
Xiang Nanli checked his account balance and contacted Andrew. “Dear friend, lend me 200 credits. I can’t afford to rent a workspace.”
He couldn’t exactly operate out in the open—that was a quick way to get arrested.
Andrew replied, “My dear, you haven’t made me a single credit yet.”
“Cryo pod,” Xiang Nanli said.
Andrew paused briefly. “Fine, I’ll lend it. Pay me back. No interest this time.”
…Damn it. Just how much did that pod sell for?
