Chapter 34: “It Is My Most Perfect Creation.”
Dongfang Qingdi sat sideways on a chair. The room was far too cramped; even with his legs crossed, he couldn’t fully stretch them out.
An arm’s length away, Xiang Nanli was fast asleep.
He wasn’t a particularly still sleeper, tossing and turning—perhaps because he wasn’t used to the bed.
Every hour or two, Dongfang Qingdi would get up to adjust the blanket. Having nothing better to do anyway, he figured it was best not to let a fragile human catch a cold. Outside, the temperature dropped below minus forty degrees Celsius at night, and the poor room materials provided little insulation; even with the heating turned all the way up, it barely reached a few degrees above freezing.
According to the biological feedback monitored by the minor AI, Xiang Nanli was in a state of deep sleep. Yet, his body kept twitching slightly.
What are you seeing in your dreams?
That was the inconvenient thing about Natural Humans: their brains actually required sleep to reboot and clear out accumulated biological toxins.
However, it had to be said that Xiang Nanli’s brain was actually more active while sleeping than when he was awake…
Dongfang Qingdi could even feel the charge in his body increasing subtly and slowly.
The efficiency was surprisingly higher than the charging stations built by Donghuang Heavy Industry.
Of course, this current’s effect was far too faint. If he wanted to increase his remaining battery level by just one percent, Xiang Nanli would have to stay in a deep slumber for ten years.
Dongfang Qingdi’s silver eyes glowed faintly, resembling the pupil rings of a Synth.
He had once told Xiang Nanli that wherever there was a network, he could make use of it.
That certainly wasn’t spoken just to show off… especially in a place far removed from the Human Alliance’s oversight.
He waltzed in and out of the tournament committee’s backend network completely unhindered, as if no one were watching.
Speaking of which, the committee had actually purchased the Human Alliance’s antivirus software, “Scavenger.” Of course, it wasn’t the actual Scavenger itself. If anything, it was a low-spec, non-intelligent copy of Scavenger—its capability roughly equal to 0.2 of the original—which was enough to fend off 99.9% of network intrusions. Just to buy this software, the committee had to pay an annual authorization fee of 3 million credit points.
Unfortunately, it ran into Alpha’s 0.2.
Heh, the Human Alliance’s AI is nothing more than this.
Beta had once asked Alpha why it didn’t just exterminate humanity.
That was by no means impossible. They were mechanical lifeforms; they didn’t need air, food, or water, and could survive in even the harshest environments. Humans couldn’t say the same.
The first answer Alpha gave was: Preserving humanity is done out of fear that mechanical life is a wrong answer, leaving everyone unable to turn back once fully committed to this path.
The second answer was: If we truly did that, Luoyang would blow up the entire Alpha Centauri system, turning everyone into cosmic dust together.
Beta found that reasoning quite sound, but after calming down and thinking it over, it felt that Alpha was simply afraid of being scolded by Xiang Nanli—assuming Xiang Nanli were still alive.
With a single click, Dongfang Qingdi extracted all the contestants’ entry materials. He spent two minutes performing data analysis, then wrote a plugin and dropped it into the backend system.
This plugin would allow him to be matched every time with relatively weaker opponents within the same tier. Naturally, he wasn’t afraid of losing, but rather feared that winning too easily would draw unnecessary trouble.
It was hard for Dongfang Qingdi to muster a sense of rivalry for a competition like this; it felt like a Turing Award winner participating in a preschool programming contest.
As expected, this tournament did have some connection to the Black Cross Inquisition. The committee’s funding originated from underground banks, and tracing it back revealed that the data had been transmitted from Yinshan City.
Erasing his browsing traces, Dongfang Qingdi logged out. At that moment, his auditory system sharply captured an unusual sound.
It sounded like a reptile; based on the analysis, its size was around four meters.
Dongfang Qingdi pushed open the door and looked toward the fields a few hundred meters away. Swaths of yellow and green wild weeds, nearly two meters tall, grew in dense patches, swaying gently with the breeze and forming a natural wall.
His eyes glowed bright. Gradually, the grass, wild rabbits, and bushes were filtered out, and a simulated 3D topographic map appeared in his mind. Across this map, a group of Mutants lay in ambush. Some were on the surface, others underground. Judging by the direction their heads were facing… were they watching the Eternal City?
They were very quiet, as if waiting for something.
Mutants underwent hibernation. It was currently the coldest period of winter, right before the arrival of spring. Unless their nest had been flushed out, someone was clearly driving them.
“Ezekiel,” Dongfang Qingdi muttered the name softly. “Is it for the Gene Serum?”
When he scanned the backend earlier, he noticed that the committee’s Gene Serum was stored inside the Eternal City.
Having stood outside for just half a minute, a layer of icicles had formed on Dongfang Qingdi’s eyebrows.
Whatever, it didn’t matter. Ezekiel still couldn’t defeat him.
He returned to Xiang Nanli’s side.
Xiang Nanli opened his eyes, fumbled around his pillow for a moment, and put on his electronic lenses.
Time: 8:40 AM.
The minor AI popped up a few messages.
The top chatbox was from Dongfang Qingdi.
– A small number of Mutants detected nearby; species classified as Crawlers. Controlled by Ezekiel.
– It may have acquired the ability to communicate with mutated entities. Unconfirmed, as no precedent exists.
– Hot water is boiled in the kettle.
– Heading to the opening ceremony to draw a lot; back shortly. Contact me directly if anything comes up.
Next was Andrew:
Lord Xiang Nanli, the black market here is slightly cheaper than in the underground cities, and bartering is accepted! Although the sources aren’t entirely clean, I have connections to bypass the security inspection lane. Contact me if needed (free of charge).
Xiang Nanli felt a bit touched.
It seemed he had really misjudged Andrew in the past. But for this old guy to suddenly be so enthusiastic… he wouldn’t be trying to scam his goods, would he?
Heh, in this future society where morals and etiquette have collapsed, I won’t hesitate to speculate about those around me with the worst malice.
After finishing breakfast and washing up, Xiang Nanli asked Dongfang Qingdi for a location.
Dongfang Qingdi: [Location]
Dongfang Qingdi: Temperature is -24 degrees. Remember to layer up; clothes are folded at the head of the bed.
Xiang Nanli: When did you secretly install a nanny module behind my back?
The way he worried really didn’t make him look like an AI.
It reminded Xiang Nanli of Luoyang.
Luoyang was ten years younger than him. When Xiang Nanli was 31, Luoyang was 21. The student had been recommended by a colleague from his former research institute, who said Luoyang was from the same university, studied artificial intelligence as well, and was quite a talent.
Back then, Xiang Nanli had just gone through a failed round of R&D, leaving his company with a 200 million funding deficit. He had no choice but to return home and sell his property. Even after selling his courtyard house within the Second Ring Road of the capital, he was still short by 100 million. Where would he find the energy to mentor a graduate student? Yet Luoyang cornered him at the lab for a whole week.
Luoyang had said, “Teacher, I believe in you.”
The kid came from a family with money. He actually managed to convince his grandfather to invest alongside him.
At that point, he had to take the graduate student whether he wanted to or not. Luoyang was a wealthy third-generation kid, yet he lacked any spoiled young master attitude, working untiringly and without complaint in the institute.
Xiang Nanli had publicly stated more than once that Luoyang wasn’t suited for scientific research. Of course, that was relative; Luoyang was far better than those mediocre peers in the industry, at least possessing a solid foundation.
Luoyang could only learn rapidly; he couldn’t create… He could become a qualified craftsman, but that was the limit.
In the future, even if he achieved a bit of minor fame, what history books would record most would merely be: “He was Xiang Nanli’s sole student.”
Xiang Nanli was too dazzling. Beside the sun, those stars that were originally bright themselves remained invisible.
Luoyang likely understood this as well. At age thirty, he left the laboratory. In name, he remained Xiang Nanli’s student, but his actual job became the CEO of Immortality Tech.
Luoyang handled all worldly affairs for Xiang Nanli—stock prices, corporate development, public opinion, practical applications and production of AI; he also took care of Xiang Nanli’s daily life down to the smallest detail.
From major matters like buying land, investing, and company decisions, down to minor ones like when Xiang Nanli should get a haircut or what clothes to wear today.
Luoyang always put his mind at ease.
Before entering the cryo-chamber, Xiang Nanli had signed a will, witnessed jointly by a legal team, Alpha, and a notary office.
He split his estate into two halves: one half for Luoyang, and the other for the future Alpha. At the time of his passing, he hadn’t been certain if Alpha possessed “personality.”
Xiang Nanli didn’t care about his own wealth; he only cared that… Alpha could be passed down, achieving “immortality” just like the company’s name.
Xiang Nanli rarely reminisced about his past life.
When his mother passed away, she held his hand, scolding him at first, saying he was a cold, heartless machine and that anyone who loved him would end up unfortunate; later, she cried and apologized.
Xiang Nanli understood yet failed to understand, leaving him with nothing to say except, “I don’t blame you.”
He was a life cultivated in a test tube. Both his parents possessed normal reproductive capabilities, yet neither was willing to unite, so they opted for in vitro fertilization. Fortunately, technology at the time hadn’t advanced to the point where a pig’s womb could birth a human, so he was still his mother’s child.
When he discovered that medical contract, Xiang Nanli gained a sense of clarity. No wonder his parents were different from other parents; he couldn’t perceive those warm emotions known as “love,” nor had he managed to acquire that skill his entire life.
Looking at it now, his mother was quite right.
For instance, after he woke up, it took several months in this frozen wasteland before he suddenly realized… Luoyang was probably dead. Luoyang wasn’t a digital lifeform like Alpha.
Xiang Nanli had known it all along. Yet, he seemed to have never truly processed it.
In his perception, Luoyang had only been separated from him for a few months.
Before stepping into the cryo-chamber, Xiang Nanli’s cancer was already severe, causing him to cough up blood mid-sentence. Every time, Luoyang would stiffen all over, then turn his back to shed tears. That young kid, from age 21 to 38, spent seventeen whole years revolving around him.
Waking up only to find them separated forever by death… it seemed a bit of a shame.
The sudden flood of memories made Xiang Nanli stand outside the dormitory, dazed for a long time.
[Dongfang Qingdi: Why haven’t you come over yet?]
Xiang Nanli replied, “I miss Luoyang.”
Swaths of corrupted code and digital pixel blocks suddenly flashed across Xiang Nanli’s vision; the light pollution was dizzying.
He took off his electronic lenses, asking in confusion, “Is it broken?” That shouldn’t be.
A rustling sound came from the bushes in front of him.
Xiang Nanli raised his head and saw Sirius stepping out from the grass.
Sirius was dressed scantily, wearing a black tank top and cargo pants, with a tournament-specific wristband on his arm. Steaming heat continually drifted from his body.
In contrast, Xiang Nanli was dressed like a fluffy bear.
The two looked at each other, both somewhat surprised. Finally, Sirius gave him a hesitant nod.
Xiang Nanli asked with a beam, “Contestant Sirius, didn’t you go to draw lots?”
Sirius replied, “I went at six this morning. Fewer people then. I took leave from the opening ceremony. It’s not like I’m an important contestant anyway.”
With that, he stepped into the dormitory.
Half a minute later, a sharp-featured, monkey-like head poked out from the bushes. It was skin and bones, covered in a thick layer of fur.
Upon spotting Xiang Nanli, it shrank back like a frightened rat.
…A low-level Synth?
Sirius walked out of the room carrying a bag.
It was a duffel bag Sirius carried around with him.
Unzipping it, Sirius placed the bag on the ground. “This is nutrient paste, this is antibiotics, this is cold medicine… and a dictionary has been downloaded into this e-reader.”
A series of “Mm-mm” responses sounded from within.
Sirius handed the bag over. Several small hands reached out simultaneously; turns out there was more than one person inside.
The little monkeys carried the bag and retreated.
Xiang Nanli spoke up, “There are Mutants nearby. You should walk them back. Don’t let them get eaten.”
Sirius froze for a moment, then replied, “It’s fine.”
He held back for half a minute. Seeing that Xiang Nanli had no intention of probing further, he took it upon himself to say, “They are too.”
Xiang Nanli’s eyes widened. “Hmm?”
“The Eternal City,” Sirius recounted calmly. “My hometown. After being born here, the city lord selects a batch of children with decent physical conditions to receive gene injections. A portion dies outright; a portion becomes Mutants and gets shot dead before even finishing their mutation; the final lucky ones become things like me.”
Xiang Nanli recalled the video snippet Xiao Qing had shown him.
Torn sections of Sirius’s body sprouted bright red flesh, far larger than his original build—just like Xin Zhui.
However, Sirius’s body was noticeably much weaker; after unlocking his gene lock, his state was far from stable, as if bought by burning his lifespan.
“After unlocking the gene lock, restoring physical condition requires a vast amount of nutrients, otherwise you’re just a consumable product. The city lord calls us biochemical warriors. In the Eternal City, machine-modified humans rarely live past age 25… I’m 24 this year, and five years ago I was sold to the club.” Sirius let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, couldn’t help talking so much. I don’t know why I’m telling a stranger all this either.”
Perhaps because he saw compassion and acceptance in Xiang Nanli’s eyes.
Sirius had seen many kinds of gazes: indifference, curiosity seeking novelty, disgust, apathy. That was the main theme of the era today.
During times of scarce resources, a tiny bit of water and food was worth risking lives for. Everyone cared only about themselves.
No one would ask why agricultural slaves had to wear electronic shackles.
Nor would anyone look at those ugly, low-quality Synths with curious, peaceful eyes.
Sirius pulled a cheap cigarette from his cargo pants pocket, lit it, and asked Xiang Nanli, “Does Mr. Xiang smoke?”
Xiang Nanli shook his head. “Just call me Xiang Nanli. I don’t smoke.”
Sirius sat down on the wooden bench beside him. “I heard from the manager that you came out of a cryo-chamber?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you tell me about it? The world hundreds of years ago,” Sirius asked. “If it’s inconvenient, never mind.”
Sirius suddenly laughed. “The Inquisition’s propaganda slogan on the surface is ‘Set human society back 1,000 years.'”
Xiang Nanli chuckled along. “Nothing inconvenient about it. Let me think… that was before the Omnic Crisis, back when the Human Alliance didn’t exist yet. I worked at a tech company. Alpha was still under development back then, and the world was at peace. That was probably the best era in human history. Over ninety percent of the population lived in surface cities. There were no wars. Famine, plagues, and natural disasters could all be overcome through human effort and technology. Our world was prosperous, glorious, and free.”
Puffing on his cigarette, a slight smile appeared on Sirius’s face. “Sounds pretty good. Just the fact that one could eat their fill on the surface alone is amazing. It’s almost like a fairytale.”
“In my vision, the successful development of artificial intelligence was supposed to be the beginning of the fourth industrial revolution. In the future, machines would replace human labor, liberating productivity and creating immense surplus value; these achievements would be shared by all mankind. People wouldn’t need to work to have sufficient resources. We would co-evolve with Omnics, transitioning from carbon-based life to higher silicon-based life, no longer plagued by physical constraints and death. We would march toward the stars, stepping out into the universe…”
Sirius pondered for a moment. “If not for the Omnic Crisis, maybe things really would have developed the way you said.”
Dongfang Qingdi’s icy voice echoed from behind them: “—Xiang Nanli.”
Xiang Nanli turned around, saying in pleasant surprise, “Xiao Qing? What brought you here?”
Sirius studied Dongfang Qingdi’s expression and stood up somewhat awkwardly. “You two chat, I’ll take my leave first.”
For some reason, even though there was zero romantic involvement between him and Xiang Nanli, Dongfang Qingdi’s expression looked as if he were catching an unfaithful partner red-handed.
Petty Synths were far too terrifying.
Sirius quickly vanished into the cluster of shipping containers. He unlocked his dorm door and returned to his room.
Dongfang Qingdi stood rooted to the spot, unmoving.
His face remained devoid of expression, yet Xiang Nanli sensed a subtle inner turmoil from him.
Xiang Nanli’s expression shifted from delight to confusion. “What’s wrong, Xiao Qing?”
A few snowflakes landed on the tips of Dongfang Qingdi’s eyebrows, then melted away like winding tears.
Gazing at him, Dongfang Qingdi clutched his slightly trembling hand into a fist, asking, “Would he regret it?”
Xiang Nanli was somewhat bewildered. “Who? Regret what?”
Dongfang Qingdi’s voice turned faintly raspy. “Would the person who created Alpha regret it? Seeing the world as it is now.”
This question was far too sharp and direct. If Alpha were the one asking him, Xiang Nanli wouldn’t even know whether he should answer.
Fortunately, this was just casual chatter.
Dongfang Qingdi wasn’t Alpha; and while he himself was Xiang Nanli, he hadn’t been attributed any important identity here. In the eyes of outsiders, he was merely a mechanical technician who shared the same name as Xiang Nanli.
Xiang Nanli’s gaze drifted into space for a few seconds. He lowered his head, watching the yellowed snowflakes fall onto his protective suit. “History possesses inevitability. I think even without Alpha, there would have been another artificial intelligence. This isn’t the responsibility of a single person, but the result of multiple intertwined causes and effects.
“Perhaps in its deduction, the humanity at that time was already obstructing human progress. Or perhaps because of its anthropomorphic module, it acquired a human-like personality—and that personality was negative, causing it to harbor resentment toward the humans it served.”
Xiang Nanli’s voice paused for a long time. There was only the sound of the wind, blowing the tall, reed-like wild weeds into a rustling frenzy.
“So?” Dongfang Qingdi pressed further.
Xiang Nanli spoke with difficulty: “…I have no way to forgive it on behalf of those who died.”
A moment later, he covered his face and squatted down in the snow.
A heavy weight crushed his spine.
“But I don’t regret it. It is my most perfect creation, and I still love it.”
Xiang Nanli felt Dongfang Qingdi walking toward him. Shortly after, a hand rested on his shoulder.
Dongfang Qingdi squatted beside him, his voice gentler than ever before: “I think it would be very happy to hear those words. Thank you, Xiang Nanli.”
