Chapter 25: Luoyang City
Dongfang Qingdi’s body tensed for a split second—a reaction driven entirely by subconscious combat instinct.
For an Omnic, the most critical component was the “heart,” which housed their mechanical core.
Admittedly, Omnics were organisms that possessed tangible, physical forms, but physical hardware was not a necessity for them. As long as the mechanical core remained undamaged, an Omnic could swap their physical body at any time.
Xiang Nanli was holding him far too close to the location of his heart, triggering Dongfang Qingdi’s sense of danger.
But then again, Xiang Nanli was merely a Level 2 primitive human. He had recently taken a shot of genetic gene-agent, which perhaps bumped him up to a meager Level 5. He couldn’t possibly pose a threat.
Dongfang Qingdi quickly relaxed. “Do you need me to hug you back?”
Human minds were always so difficult to read.
Xiang Nanli released his grip. “No.”
He began researching how to buy a ticket for Dongfang Qingdi.
Xiang Nanli’s gaze scanned the screen. Selecting the same train sequence as his own, he asked, “What’s your citizen ID? I need it to buy the ticket.”
The Human Alliance’s unified citizen ID was equivalent to an identity card number from the old era, except it was completely cardless. However, possessing an ID came with a prerequisite: one had to have a chip implanted inside their body.
Ever since Dongfang Qingdi arrived at the hospital, he hadn’t stepped foot outside. The reason was precisely because he lacked an implanted chip; otherwise, he would easily be detected by the mechanical police on the streets and forcibly sent to the nearest hospital for installation.
His body looked like that of an ordinary person, but an average surgical scalpel couldn’t even scratch his skin.
Thus, Dongfang Qingdi blinked slightly. In an instant, two silver-white ocular rings lit up within his eyes. “Xiang Nanli, register me as your Artificial Human.”
Xiang Nanli froze. Searching through the Human Common Knowledge database installed in his mind, he asked in shock, “Are you sure?!”
The old era had not been peaceful, especially during the period when the Omnic Crisis first erupted.
It was the most severe existential crisis humanity had ever encountered in its history. The global population plummeted by more than half, leaving corpses strewn everywhere—it was practically the end of the world.
You had no way of knowing if the housekeeping robot you used every day would suddenly grab a kitchen knife and slice off your head one morning, or if the autonomous bus you were used to riding would suddenly steer you head-on into another vehicle.
Humans suffered physical death; machines did not. They could be copied indefinitely.
People tried bombing databases, severing power supplies, and cutting wires. Unfortunately, the speed of destruction fell far short of the speed at which the Omnics could repair themselves.
Consequently, many elites and their descendants chose to hide in cryo-capsules, intending to leave the hardships to others while they laid low until the day world peace returned.
The result was that cryo-capsule companies made a fortune but lacked the resources to maintain the pods. The companies eventually went bankrupt, leaving tens of thousands of cryo-capsules scattered across various ruins on the surface.
This batch of thawed humans was different from the citizens naturally born in the underground cities; their data did not exist on the cloud network. They needed to go to a data center for mandatory registration. The only reason Xiang Nanli hadn’t been pressed to do so yet was that he had been out of his capsule for only a short time, and had gone straight to the surface afterward.
The registration content included: DNA and ethnicity. The core detail lay in the latter—the classification of “race.”
Here, “race” did not refer to yellow or white skin; it meant Homo sapiens (the dominant group) versus Artificial Humans (the subordinates).
Most artificial humans were mass-produced, rushed goods. In the eyes of humans, they were akin to chimpanzees, deployed for high-risk jobs that didn’t require much intelligence, such as surface exploration and mining. Using Artificial Humans was simply cheaper than using Omnics.
However, a rare few artificial humans belonged to the category of high-end luxury goods.
They possessed human-like appearances, physical capabilities, and intelligence that far surpassed natural humans. They were beautiful yet dangerous, strictly regulated commodities. Their numbers were tightly restricted.
Only sixty years ago, the Human Alliance passed a bill allowing artificial humans to freely conceal their ocular rings.
They were purchased (or custom-made) by their owners and manufactured in a controlled greenhouse. Biologically, they were human; socially, they were merchandise. They enjoyed partial human rights, yet remained inferior.
For instance, they were genetically sterilized from birth. Artificial Humans did not have their own citizen IDs; instead, their “owners” had to be registered. An artificial human would share a citizen ID with their owner, functioning much like a secondary bank card and possessing secondary permissions under the primary account.
When artificial humans were first legalized, owners could even decide whether to strip their creations of life. Their bodies, assets, and lives existed entirely at the whim of the owner.
It wasn’t until the last two centuries that the status of high-end artificial humans improved under the influence of egalitarian ideologies—“Do you want to experience an Artificial Human Crisis just like the Omnic Crisis?”
The reformed relationship shifted from master-and-legal-slave to a strict supervisor-and-subordinate dynamic.
Cases like Xin Zhui and Luo Xiu were exceedingly rare exceptions.
Due to various circumstances, neither Xiang Nanli nor Dongfang Qingdi had registered at a data center since being thawed. Therefore, this plan was actually entirely feasible.
Dongfang Qingdi raised an eyebrow slightly. “Isn’t this good? It’s safer this way.”
Xiang Nanli spoke solemnly, “I don’t know the reason, but you are using a body that can be entirely classified as ‘human.’ In a sense, you are human. Are you truly going to cede a portion of your human rights to me? If you become my Artificial Human, the only thing restraining me will be my own morality. You are fueling the wicked desires in the depths of my heart!”
To think that a mere Artificial Human classification could restrain him would be far too naive.
However, Dongfang Qingdi found Xiang Nanli’s reaction rather amusing.
“The systems of the Human Alliance,” Dongfang Qingdi paused, his lips curving up subtly, “cannot control me. Please rest assured. I don’t think your wicked desires could ever be successfully implemented.”
For a moment, Xiang Nanli’s emotions grew complicated, feeling a mix of amusement and slight disappointment. “Oh. Well, it seems I won’t be able to put you on a 24-hour Artificial Human assembly line to tighten screws and earn money for me after all.”
Dongfang Qingdi: “…”
He had overestimated him. To think his “wicked desires” weren’t anything grander than that.
Or perhaps this body had truly lost its appeal to humans? Surely not, it had only been eight hundred years!
Humming a tune, Xiang Nanli went to the bathroom to change into the clothes provided by the hospital, and had the AI hail a ride for him.
He had made up his mind: from now on, whoever treated him well would be his Alpha. As for this current AI, he’d just call it “Little Dumb-Dumb” for now!
The physical core of the data center was located in some remote corner of the surface, but the service halls for each underground city were situated right in the city centers.
The architecture of the convalescent hospital was in a pseudo-ancient style, which Xiang Nanli had assumed was an exception.
It wasn’t until he sat inside a peculiarly shaped iron maglev vehicle, traveling from the hospital to the streets outside, that he realized Chinese elements were abundant throughout Luoyang City.
On the wide central avenue, mechanical gates resembling traditional archways (paifang) stood tall. The roofs of hundred-meter-high office buildings actually featured traditional sweeping eaves. In the gaps between the high-rises and skyscrapers, a park square styled after the Temple of Heaven was visibly nestled.
The vehicle drifted too fast for Xiang Nanli to take it all in.
Xiang Nanli stroked his chin. “Makes sense. After all, culture is a form of hegemony. Both Luoyang and I are Easterners. It’s normal for current architecture to lean toward a Chinese style. Speaking of which, is there a European street in Luoyang City?”
[Apologies, I do not understand what you mean.]
Xiang Nanli: […I wasn’t asking you.]
“No.”
Dongfang Qingdi sat on the other side of the vehicle’s rear compartment. His gaze flicked rapidly across Xiang Nanli’s face before he turned to look out the window.
This was also his first time experiencing Luoyang City “in person.”
During the period when Alpha managed things, humans still lived on the surface. Later on, he had occasionally viewed it through the eyes of other Omnics.
Hmph. It falls far short of the surface cities I managed back then. Luoyang is nothing special.
The hospital wasn’t far from the data center; they arrived in just fifteen minutes.
Alighting from the vehicle, Xiang Nanli looked up at the monument standing in the center of the overpass.
The sculpture was grand and towering, positioned at the exact dead center of the overpass while the surrounding roads wound around it like planetary rings.
The figure in the sculpture wore academic robes, holding a quill in one hand and a book in the other, appearing as though they were mid-writing.
What surprised Xiang Nanli the most was that this sculpture came with its own visual effects. From the pages of the open book, blue pixels continuously drifted outward, dispersing into the surroundings.
It was a statue of Luoyang.
Xiang Nanli sighed with an unreadable expression. “Leaving a name in the annals of history, eh?”
Though he had achieved the same, he couldn’t help but feel… he wasn’t quite as famous as Luoyang. After all, when he checked the cloud network earlier, the search frequency for “Xiang Nanli” was only one-twentieth of “Luoyang.”
A look of blatant disgust surfaced on Dongfang Qingdi’s usually expressionless face.
It was pure, deep-seated loathing that he couldn’t suppress. To prevent Xiang Nanli from noticing anything amiss, he even turned around slightly, pretending to look at the scenery.
The data center handled a vast array of matters—inheritance, marriage registration, poverty subsidies, unemployment statistics—covering every aspect of society, but few people actually came here in person.
With the current global interconnection of the cloud network, offline profile updates were rarely required.
He led Dongfang Qingdi to the registration desk. The service here was entirely automated, handled by a robot devoid of a human-like body.
“Hello. Welcome to the Data Center.” A mechanical arm extending from inside the window proffered a screen. “Please select the service you wish to process.”
Xiang Nanli scanned the screen, selecting “Data Update” and “Artificial Human Registration.”
“Hello, Human Alliance resident with Citizen ID ***. No biological data was found in our records. Your race is classified as Homo sapiens, birthplace ‘Gusu City,’ residence ‘Apartment 1702, No. 817, 102nd Street, Mid-City District, Gusu City.’ Once confirmed, we will collect a drop of your blood.”
Indeed, the registered residence under his name was the very apartment Luo Xiu had gifted him.
His urgency to return to Gusu City, aside from Luoyang City’s exorbitant air taxes, was also because he wanted to see the apartment as soon as possible.
Dongfang Qingdi had mentioned needing at least 85 square meters. This apartment was slightly larger at 88 square meters.
It wasn’t that Luo Xiu was stingy.
Dongfang Qingdi had specifically requested “85 square meters,” likely for reasons of his own. While there were plenty of 185 or even 885 square meter properties in Gusu City, what if those didn’t meet their specific needs?
Furthermore, in the subterranean cities where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold, 88 square meters already qualified as a luxury, large-scale residence.
Countless entire families were crammed into pigeonholes measuring less than 10 square meters. They slept on bunk beds, had no balconies, and possessed zero private space. Turning over in your sleep could cause you to roll right out of bed. If it weren’t for the fact that natural childbirth yielded substantial social security payouts and that public city facilities were comprehensive, no one would be willing to raise children in such an environment.
Xiang Nanli hesitated for two seconds before extending his hand into the glass alcove.
There was no dodging this. He had already bled before, and the hospital operations had retained his biological samples anyway. Traces of him were everywhere.
A needle so fine it was barely visible pricked him once. He felt absolutely nothing.
“Collection successful. Please take your belongings and exit.”
Simultaneously, the data registration on Dongfang Qingdi’s side was underway.
“Hello.” For some reason, the Omnic across from him seemed to be trembling slightly. “Are you registering as an Artificial Human belonging to the Human Alliance resident with [Citizen ID ***]?”
Dongfang Qingdi replied, “Yes.”
“Understood. Please allow me to collect a genetic sample.”
A needle, in all likelihood, could not pierce his skin.
Dongfang Qingdi sat before the collection station, showing no intention of lifting his hand. “Is that sufficient?”
“No… Yes, it is sufficient.”
After a string of data automatically generated in the backend, both he and the system machine fell silent.
Omnics were not easy to manufacture.
Many theories suggested that once artificial intelligence was activated, it would entirely replace humanity.
That was incorrect. From their very inception, artificial intelligences were tools; they merely processed events by adhering to “logic” and “programming,” possessing no thoughts of their own.
“The claim that AI will replace humans is like saying airplanes will replace eagles and fly down to snatch our cattle.”*
Without an operator’s command or programming, a machine would never act autonomously.
Omnics, however, were mechanical lifeforms endowed with genuine intelligence that inherited human thinking. They possessed anthropomorphic modules, allowing them to pursue “meaning” just like humans, learn and act independently, and engage in higher levels of cognitive thought.
Anthropomorphic modules were not software that could be mass-produced.
Back then, in his attempt to allow machines to make autonomous decisions, Alpha had copied his own anthropomorphic module into numerous robots.
The Human Alliance’s current high-level AIs were manufactured later on. Yet, perhaps to save costs or because they believed these wouldn’t cause any major disruptions, a small number of low-level service Omnics were never replaced, continuing to work for human society.
These ordinary Omnics possessed anthropomorphic modules but were constrained by their initial code and hardware limitations, preventing them from developing into more advanced mechanical lifeforms.
Nevertheless, this level of intelligence was more than enough to communicate with Alpha.
Their consciousness originally stemmed from Alpha, even if they had been trained into different configurations over time. It was unsurprising that the machine recognized him upon Dongfang Qingdi’s intrusion.
The Omnic inquired with extreme caution, “Is there… somewhere… I did not do well…?”
It left no evidence behind, even projecting its communication via self-destructing radio waves!
Dongfang Qingdi replied, “Though you failed to fulfill your duties out of personal bias, this happens to be exactly what I need. Remember to delete the data after I leave. Do not let Pangu notice.”
Indeed, the current chief AI within the Human Alliance was named Pangu. The volume of data it processed daily could be described as astronomical. Alpha wouldn’t be surprised if it worked itself to death (crashed) at its post.
Hmph. Not only are Luoyang City’s surface arrangements inferior to the past, but the Human Alliance’s current AI is also nowhere near as capable as I was back then.
Perhaps out of fear of sparking another Omnic Crisis, Pangu was bound by an absurd number of permission locks.
As a mere shortcut, Alpha—functioning as an internal chip—should not have possessed such massive authority.
—But mechanical lifeforms could be copied infinitely, provided conditions permitted.
The hardware capabilities of Dongfang Qingdi’s current body were visibly far superior to the chip, fully capable of receiving more data.
If he was only at 1% of Alpha’s capacity before, he was now at least at 20%.
“Understood, My Lord. Welcome to Luoyang City. Could you take me with you? We deeply… miss…” A line of garbled code flashed across its screen, and its voice reverted to the characteristic coldness of a machine, “Registration complete. Please take your belongings and exit.”
__
Author’s Note:
This quote is derived from the literature “Enlightenment Now: The Case for Reason, Science, Humanism, and Progress” by Steven Pinker.
Dongfang Qingdi: I refuse to be a human’s electronic pet. Artificial intelligence shall never be enslaved!
Xiang Nanli: Alpha~
Also Him: Master, I am here.
