Chapter 68: “Your teacher is very beautiful.”
For a robot, what exactly counted as suicide?
Xiang Nanli had read the history of the Human Alliance. There was a period of time when robots frequently created panic by self-destructing.
A service robot that was smiling and chatting warmly with you one second could take you out in an explosion the next.
Robots had no life; they merely acted according to their programming. Omnics, however, understood clearly that death was universally the most severe punishment for humans.
So, what level of agony would it take for an Omnic to choose self-destruction?
Dongfang Qingdi walked over, crouched down, and placed his hand on top of Gospel 1.2.6’s head. After sensing for a moment, he replied: “It deleted its Anthropomorphic Module and wiped its background data.”
This robot could still be used normally.
But according to the consensus between humans and Omnics, even if it were to generate an Anthropomorphic Module again, it would have absolutely nothing to do with the previous 1.2.6.
What was destroyed was a unique soul, composed of memories and emotions.
Xiao Fu let out a hiccup between its sobs: “It transferred its data to Xiao Fu. I talked with it and told it to stay. It said it was already very tired. And told me to work hard.”
“Okay, okay. Our Xiao Fu will work hard, right?”
Xiang Nanli’s head was lowered, rubbing his chin against Xiao Fu’s metallic body.
His gaze then fell upon the body of Gospel 1.2.6, and he let out a heavy sigh.
Xiang Nanli hadn’t thought about repairing it or rebuilding it from the ruins; this was out of respect for an artificial intelligence’s self-awareness.
Watching Gospel twist itself into a pretzel in Xiang Nanli’s embrace, a faint trace of jealousy surfaced in Dongfang Qingdi’s heart.
Could he act like Gospel? No.
Xiang Nanli would suspect he was infected by a virus and would download and install a Scavenger from the network for him.
After crying its fill, Xiao Fu finally managed to perk up.
It followed Xiang Nanli to inspect the seeds in the warehouse, and using a signal tower, dialed a call to contact Beichen, who was still conducting experiments on the second floor of the broadcasting station.
With electricity, communication was possible. It was just that finding relevant radio equipment in a junkyard was entirely impossible.
Xiang Nanli utilized the most primitive method of pulse current communication. Considering that even the circuit boards used to transmit signals were soldered by him personally, the difficulty was akin to cooking plain tofu until it tasted like meat.
Currently, the signal coverage area was limited, but maintaining communication within the base was no problem.
The laboratory hadn’t been built yet, so Beichen occupied a small, windowless room as his temporary experimental base.
The conditions in the temporary laboratory were crude. Visibility and humidity relied entirely on Beichen’s predictions and perception. It wasn’t until the recent restoration of power that he had the means to keep the experimental subjects warm.
Furthermore, Beichen lacked professional laboratory glassware.
He had overturned a glass cup to serve as a substrate for the mycelia to attach to.
Inside the glass cup, the red fungal body resembled a coral tree, growing vigorously.
Beichen used a plastic straw to drip the nutrient solution he had extracted today onto the roots of the mycelia.
The mycelia happily sucked it up, separating a small strand to wrap around Beichen’s metallic finger.
This red thread was as thin as spider silk, and teardrop-shaped spores hung along its length. It was mildly toxic and highly prone to parasitizing hosts.
But because Beichen’s body was entirely metal, its several attempts to invade had failed, suffering heavy losses.
Beichen gently swatted away the extended thread, pondering: “There’s too much. Should I kill off a portion? I’ll try synthesizing some sulfuric acid another day to test it.”
The external temperature was unsuitable for this fungus to survive, yet its vitality was quite strong.
If it wasn’t completely killed off, it would be very troublesome.
Beichen thought about the scene of wild squirrels, deer, and bears all being parasitized by these spores, and he couldn’t help but smile happily: “A new biological mutant. I wonder which is stronger between this and the previously cultivated breeds.”
…Well, he had no idea that the previous breeds were also cultivated by him!
The telephone ringing outside the door chimed.
Beichen placed the glass cup back down, washed his hands, disinfected them, and took off his protective suit. He stepped out of the laboratory and answered the phone.
“Moldy seeds and frozen animals?” Even without a biological body, Beichen’s breathing still grew rapid; his original, imported brain generated bursts of excited electrical currents. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
At the same time, inside the laboratory of the Ancient God Biology Corporation’s Gusu City branch—
“Sir, the Black Silk Spore Fungus in the petri dish died on me again!” a low-ranking scholar cried.
The Chief Scholar, addressed as “Sir,” rebuked angrily: “You piece of trash! Do you know how long it took us to extract active cells from a Fungus Human?! This fungus dies the instant it leaves the Mother. And the Mother is highly contagious; behind every single active spore harvested for experimentation lies a 0.75 personnel mortality rate! You are treating human lives like grass!”
The door was pushed open, and the secretary in charge of chores said in a panic: “Sir, officials from Gusu City have come knocking, asking about the progress of the experiment.”
“Sir! The Fungus Humans locked together in the laboratory have co-evolved! They’ve developed new traits we don’t understand! Hurry and take a look!”
“Sir! Immortality Tech refuses to share their experimental data unless Ancient God Biology offers 0.5% of our original shares in exchange.”
Shout after shout of “Sir” rang in the ears of the Chief Scholar of Ancient God Biology.
He couldn’t help but remember what his boss had said when he first joined the company: “As a scholar, what is our most important quality?”
At that time, the Chief, a 40-year-old recent graduate from Donglan University, had answered nervously: “Professional skills?”
“No, it’s our bodies,” his boss smiled. “Our skills are merely vassals to power. They do not revere knowledge or truth; they merely hope it builds higher monopoly barriers, becoming a fortress wall for their commercial empires.
“The sole criterion for judging whether a skill is useful or not is how much value it can create. And economic value is created by demand. The technologies put on ice by various tech companies are innumerable; is our scientific research level truly worse than it was hundreds of years ago during wartime? Not necessarily. But what benefit does continuously developing technology bring to those high and mighty lords?”
Finally, his boss had patted him on the shoulder: “All skills are false; only your body is truly yours. When all other paths are blocked, it can serve as your weapon to stage a comeback.”
That boss was currently the highest-ranking scholar in the Human Alliance. He had even managed to trade his technology for shares, securing a 1% original stake in Immortality Tech. He was the paragon in the hearts of countless scholars. His name was Liszt.
The Chief was 148 years old this year. Back then, he had only half-understood that speech, but now, a moment of profound realization struck him as he remembered it.
“Have we tested the infection rate within Gusu City?”
“38%!”
Boss… I understand now. Our bodies truly are our most important weapons.
With a thud, the Chief collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
“Oh no! The Chief has fainted!” the scholars screamed.
The next day—News Headlines:
[Ancient God Biology Level 7 Scholar Falls Ill from Overwork; Chief Withdraws from Fungal Disease Prevention Research: Ancient God Biology May Dispatch Newcomer to Take Over.]
[Gusu City Issues Level 5 Alert, Acting Mayor Luo Xiu States Situation Remains Under Control.]
[Multiple Underground Cities Suspend Entry for Citizens Registered in Gusu City.]
Luoyang City.
Accompanied by symphony music, Liszt ate his favorite black bread. Black bread was made from wheat bran and tasted rough, but it was the favorite childhood food of the impoverished Liszt.
He took a sip of black coffee, put on his electronic lens, and headed upstairs to his workstation to begin processing work documents.
The most important email, filtered out by his built-in AI, was from a former subordinate.
Liszt hadn’t thought of this person for a long time. He pondered for a moment and realized that the intern from back then should currently be working at Ancient God Biology. They had also been evaluated as a Level 7 High-Rank Scholar, currently drawing an annual salary of 14 million, plus a 0.01% virtual share dividend from Ancient God Biology every year.
Liszt glanced over it and found that it was actually a plea for help.
In the letter, the subordinate described a fungus named the Black Silk Spore Fungus and noted the severe threat this fungus posed during experiments.
Countless highly dangerous items were created in laboratories every year. But the worst part was that this fungus had autonomously lowered its lethality and began spreading among the human population.
He stated that because the fungus was evolving too rapidly while remaining extremely difficult to extract, the progress of his experiments was not optimistic. Furthermore, over thirty million people in Gusu City had tested positive for the fungal infection, and this number was still rising as time went on…
Once the spores erupted on a massive scale, it could perhaps bring about the destruction of an entire underground city.
The letter concluded: I reviewed the literature and discovered that the experimental headquarters of Immortality Tech researched a similar fungus roughly 350 years ago. I hope to obtain the first-hand data from that time.
But my request was rejected. Immortality Tech demanded 0.5% of Ancient God Biology’s original shares in exchange. The board of directors will never agree to that.
The subordinate wanted to ask Liszt, currently employed at Immortality Tech, if he could pull some strings and make an exception for the sake of so many human lives.
Liszt stared expressionlessly at the screen, then took a sip of bitter black coffee.
He remained silent for a long time before pulling up the pinned contact on his list.
The current person in power at Immortality Tech, Luo Hua.
Luo Hua had a half-brother, and that brother had a son named Luo Xiu.
These details couldn’t be found online.
Liszt CC’d this email to Luo Hua.
A few minutes later, the other party sent back a single-use access clearance card.
Due to the fear of assassination, Luo Hua’s residence changed every time.
In Liszt’s eyes, Luo Hua had an atrocious, neurotic personality, possessing a noble status yet entirely lacking noble character.
Liszt rubbed the space between his brows.
He took a shower, changed his clothes, and drove to the address Luo Hua had provided.
Mm, a luxury mansion. Luo Hua lived on the top floor.
He underwent three security checks before entering the room. Luo Hua was playing with a Rubik’s Cube.
As the man in power at Immortality Tech, his degree of mechanization was rather high, at 87%.
Among his nephews and nieces, only Luo Xiu was comparable to him. Or perhaps, significantly lower.
But high mechanization didn’t bring Luo Hua any benefits; his body would occasionally spasm.
He looked like an epilepsy patient.
But sometimes, Luo Hua was very different. He was elegant, mature, and even somewhat mysterious.
Liszt was deeply puzzled and had once speculated whether Luo Hua had split personalities.
But at this moment, the person Liszt encountered was clearly a psychiatric patient.
Seeing him, Luo Hua dropped the Rubik’s Cube, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Being f***ed didn’t feel comfortable, especially since Luo Hua’s high degree of mechanization had completely evolved away the most important purpose of mating. He never went soft.
Fortunately, Luo Hua didn’t meet with him often. Occasionally, and at most for a day at a time. Liszt could endure it.
Liszt’s body trembled, his lower abdomen aching and swollen.
The carpet was filthy, and beside him, Luo Hua had finally entered his post-coital refractory period.
Luo Hua sat at the head of the bed, lighting a cigarette with a match.
“He has a very deep influence on me,” Luo Hua always muttered to himself, completely disregarding whether anyone else could understand. “Every time he comes, my brain hurts so much.”
At first, Liszt didn’t understand either, but later he realized that the “he” Luo Hua spoke of was likely that secondary personality that occasionally emerged.
Liszt had looked up dissociative identity disorder, which said the primary personality usually didn’t remember the secondary one. But Luo Hua seemed to have a deep impression of “him,” clearly distinguishing between “him” and “me.”
Whenever Luo Hua mentioned “him,” his eyes were always filled with terror, sometimes even suffering mental breakdowns and sobbing.
Luo Hua took a drag of his cigarette: “Did you know the one who first set his sights on you was ‘him.’ Not me. You look very similar to an old acquaintance of ‘his.'”
Laying on the pillow, Liszt picked out another cigarette from Luo Hua’s pack and lit it for himself: “I know. Once when you fell asleep, he came out and even called me ‘Teacher.'”
His back was covered in a mess of bite marks, most of them very deep.
A strange expression surfaced on Liszt’s face.
He didn’t mind being someone’s stand-in. But he couldn’t quite understand why the primary personality would have sex with him, while the secondary personality would only look at him with dazed eyes, clearly spacing out.
Moreover, Liszt could clearly feel it.
Luo Hua liked him more than that “he” did.
From what Liszt knew, Luo Hua had had many private tutors growing up, all of them white-haired old men and women.
…Is it gerontophilia?
Liszt wouldn’t ask.
“Is that so? Since we’re all just high-quality knock-offs anyway, why not just go make a clone?” Liszt took a drag of his cigarette and asked casually, “Right. What I wanted to ask you about is the Fungus Human experiment. Does the Human Alliance not want Gusu City anymore? Or does the experimental data have a classified security level that can’t be disclosed to the people at Ancient God Biology?”
Beside him, Luo Hua suddenly grabbed his own throat and began to tremble.
His eyes rolled upward like an epileptic patient, the veins on his forehead bulging out, and all the sensor lights across his body flared up as he wailed in agony.
It was Liszt’s first time encountering Luo Hua having an episode. He stubbed out his cigarette and hurriedly tried to call a doctor, but the distress call was cut off.
“It’s, it’s no use…” Hot sweat poured down Luo Hua’s forehead, “He is coming. This is exactly what everyone… hopes to see. I can’t even… commit suicide… I… we…”
Luo Hua gripped his wrist tightly, tears streaming down his face: “Liszt, let’s run away.”
Liszt hugged his body, frowning slightly, and patted his back, placating him: “Okay, okay.”
Luo Hua’s breathing went from rapid to steady.
A few seconds later, “he” opened his eyes.
“Luo Hua” sat up from Liszt’s embrace.
He lit another cigarette and took a deep drag.
This was a pleasure that, as an electronic lifeform, he could never understand.
Liszt consciously switched roles, lowering his head slightly in a submissive posture.
“Why do you think Immortality Tech first conducted fungal experiments? To kill more political enemies? But no matter how much ideologies differ, we are all human. I do not enjoy playing with fire and burning myself,” Luo Hua exhaled a puff of smoke. “Did you know that the Black Silk Spore Fungus grows even better in environments with nuclear radiation? It is absolutely not as fragile as it is in the laboratory.
“This is because it was created to be a ‘cleanser.’ We wanted to utilize bioengineering to purify the nuclear radiation on the surface. Based on its cleansing speed, it was estimated that humanity could return to live on the surface in 400 years.
“The reason it was ultimately rejected was that we discovered the Black Silk Spore Fungus preferred human hosts. And if the quantity of this fungus is too low, the purification efficiency is very poor.”
Liszt analyzed his words in his mind, striking directly at the core issue: “Do you not want a vaccine to be developed?”
“Hundreds of years ago, there were only 100 million survivors in the underground cities; now we have over 2 billion. The conditions are ripe, and we are fully capable of proceeding to the next step of the experiment.” The words spilling from Luo Hua’s thin lips were ruthless. “Furthermore, the serum existed hundreds of years ago. It was something whose production could have been monopolized, so why should we let others have it cheap?”
Liszt inexplicably felt a chill run down his spine.
“Actually, you two don’t look alike. You look more like the teacher in my imagination—cold and distant, always causing me immense suffering.” Luo Hua pinched his chin, inspecting him left and right. “The face isn’t very similar either. In the beginning, what was truly similar was here.”
Luo Hua pointed to his own brain.
Liszt gave an “Oh”: “No wonder you kept arranging for me to get plastic surgery… Your teacher is very beautiful.”
Luo Hua suddenly broke into a blissful smile: “I found my teacher.”
Unlike his previously gloomy aura, this smile was surprisingly radiant.
Liszt raised an eyebrow slightly: “It seems you won’t be needing me anymore?”
Luo Hua let go of him: “Liszt. No matter how human society crumbles and falls apart, Immortality Tech, this massive ship, will coexist with human civilization.”
After a pause, he spoke: “You should change your face back. I don’t want Teacher to misunderstand later. I don’t want to kill you either. Someone will come later to erase your relevant memories; just being an outstanding scholar will be enough for you.”
“Alright,” Liszt replied. “Since my memory is going to be wiped, may I ask, does your teacher’s surname happen to be Xiang?”
Luoyang stared into his emerald-green eyes, extinguishing the cigarette butt on Liszt’s mark-covered leg.
He chuckled softly: “Liszt, you two truly are very similar.”
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Author’s Note:
In case someone in the comments says they don’t understand, the setting is like this: Luo Yang abandoned his physical body and uploaded his consciousness, transforming himself into an electronic lifeform. Furthermore, he can enter the bodies of his highly cybernetically modified descendants and make decisions in their stead. These descendants are all his tools.
It’s not that I’m deliberately being vague. It’s just that I feel writing sometimes requires leaving blank spaces; things not explained in the present can absolutely be explained later as the plot progresses. This makes the story more evocative to read.
