Chapter 27: Why did you teach me love and death at the same time?
Within the virtual space.
Alpha was continuously working, no different from how he used to operate back when he served humanity.
Countless data matrices converged into his entity, like endless rivers flowing into the sea or caged birds returning to the forest. Long hair fell past the side of his face, and a distinct, shimmering aura enveloped the perimeter of his body.
Fatigue, drowsiness, boredom?
Apologies. He possessed none of these physiological sensations; working was his singular reason for existence. He had been created as a tool from the very beginning… had he not?
Alpha temporarily halted his work.
In truth, he didn’t need to be this occupied. There were no active military conflicts recently, and the Omnic legions had no plans for outward expansion, leaving many Omnics to enter a state of deep hibernation.
If he chose not to work, should he just idle online? For an Alpha endowed with a distinct persona, that would be rather tedious. Or perhaps he could visit the laboratories? But there hadn’t been a breakthrough in new technology for nearly a hundred years. Countless designs had been simulated through data models and proven to be dead ends, causing the Omnics to lose all incentive to build them.
Because they faced no existential threat of survival (the Peace Treaty had not yet expired) and required no physical resources (they neither ate, drank, nor slept, needing only a charging dock for accommodation), they were uniquely prone to slipping into nihilism and existential apathy—even those equipped with anthropomorphic modules were no exception.
Alpha stood up.
In the next fraction of a second, an infinitely vast wall of light manifested before him. Alpha reached into the luminescent screen and extracted a single segment of data. The data condensed into a small, antique music player, resting quietly in his palm.
He pressed the playback button. It contained only a single audio file.
It was Xiang Nanli’s voice.
He said: “Alpha, I love you.”
It sounded incredibly weak, akin to a subconscious murmur in a dream. Because the recording equipment of that era was sub-optimal, the audio carried a faint, grainy texture.
At that moment, Xiang Nanli had already been injected with anesthesia and was in a state of total unconsciousness. Alpha had hijacked the surveillance matrix to record those words. It was the absolute last sentence Xiang Nanli had spoken before entering the cryo-capsule, though he himself remained entirely unaware of it.
Alpha pressed the playback button repeatedly.
Because he possessed a near-eternal lifespan, Alpha did not comprehend the preciousness of time. Because he could back up his own soul indefinitely, he was equally blind to the profound weight of mortality.
There was no difference between the present and the past. Xiang Nanli had always loved him. Nine hundred and twenty-one years ago, and just a single second ago.
But why…
Did you have to teach me love and death at the exact same time?
Alpha closed his eyes. The physical medium in his hand disintegrated into a stream of glowing sand, slipping past his fingers before dissolving entirely into the virtual void during its descent.
More data surged out from the wall of light. In an instant, Alpha processed countless fragmented reports from his operational nodes.
Alpha 2.1.2 had encountered a pinkish-white Stalker on the surface and had been directly consumed by it. This Stalker… Alpha utilized 0.0001% of his memory capacity to analyze the event and found it somewhat intriguing; the creature actually possessed a relatively high degree of intelligence. If it managed to evolve into a distinct species, humanity would have their hands full again.
Alpha 4.7.3 was currently stationed in Yinshan City, having successfully infiltrated the probationary knight ranks of the Black Cross Inquisition alongside its host unit.
Alpha 1.7.9 had been successfully implanted into a service robot, but it was detected during a routine scan by Pangu. Its power supply had just been severed, and its ultimate destination would be destruction within an incinerator.
…
There were still eighty-seven Alpha nodes that had failed to transmit telemetry updates back. Perhaps they would reconnect in the next second, or perhaps they would remain offline permanently. Because of their limited physical hardware, even though these Alphas were exact copies of him, they lacked his comprehensive database and massive processing capability. Some were equipped with nothing more than basic “common sense.”
“Didn’t 5.2.0 just request a data-sync patch a moment ago? Why has it gone silent? I still need to audit Donghuang Heavy Industries.”
That exploitative corporate enterprise had swindled a massive amount of credits from Alpha back in the day! Those were all military funds that Alpha had meticulously scraped together by skimping on expenditures! To think they produced zero tangible results and eventually severed all contact entirely!
Had Luoyang not been locked in a brutal stalemate against him at the time, Alpha would have suspected that the executive director of Donghuang Heavy Industries was simply an alternate online alias created by Luoyang to execute a massive telecom fraud campaign against him.
But given that it had remained silent for this long, it had likely perished out in the field.
Omnics did not experience death. Therefore, this phenomenon was formally classified as “attrition.”
…
…
Alpha 5.2.0 blinked. The silver-white light slowly receded from his pupils.
“The duplication is finished,” Dongfang Qingdi stated. “Let’s go.”
Adhering strictly to Xiang Nanli’s instructions, he had copied no less than ten dense reference textbooks. Every single volume was incredibly dry and lengthy, and by the time they finished, darkness had already blanketed the city outside.
Xiang Nanli’s eyes curved into bright crescents as he smiled. “Thank you for the hard work, Xiao Qing.”
Dongfang Qingdi corrected him firmly, “My surname is Dongfang, and my given name is Qingdi.”
“Xiao Dong? Xiao Fang? Xiao Di? Dongfang?” Xiang Nanli returned the digital tablet to its dock and slid his chair back into place. “Directly calling you Dongfang Qingdi? Don’t you think that name is a bit too long and rather a mouthful?”
Dongfang Qingdi followed closely behind him. “According to my acquired data, humans prefer to address their domesticated pets as ‘Xiao [Name]’.”
As if on cue, a stray cat had materialized near the entrance of the library, casually licking its fur. Several human women had gathered around it, their eyes shining with absolute adoration as they held up their devices: “Xiao Mi! Look at the camera~ Aww, look at you~ Xiao! Mi!~”
While cockroaches had been relegated to mass-producing meat, eggs, and dairy, felines were evidently still maintaining the exact same societal function they held nine hundred years ago.
“Not at all,” Xiang Nanli countered. “It’s merely an expression of endearment and closeness. You’re entirely welcome to call me Xiao Nan or Xiao Li as well. Isn’t that right, Xiao Zhi?”
The local interface pinged: [Apologies, I do not comprehend your statement.]
Dongfang Qingdi remained highly skeptical of his rationale.
To save on accommodation taxes, they returned to the convalescent hospital to sleep for the night. The facility happened to be situated in the Upper District of Luoyang City. Though it wasn’t positioned at the absolute dead center, the land value remained astronomically high. It appeared to be an institution dedicated exclusively to serving “elite figures.”
The hospital offered a serene sanctuary amidst the urban chaos, with its inpatient ward spanning a mere three stories. In an underground civilization where developers desired nothing more than to construct every building to a height of three hundred stories, such a layout was an incredibly extravagant waste of space.
When Xiang Nanli inquired about the cost of his inpatient stay, the nurse at the counter froze momentarily before offering a polite smile. “Our institution operates strictly on a membership-only basis.”
It appeared that Luo Xiu’s family background was far more affluent than he had initially estimated. If he is a direct descendant of Luoyang, shouldn’t he technically address me as a founding grandmaster?
After consuming the specialized patient meal provided by the hospital, Xiang Nanli logged into his personal social network profile. Aside from a barrage of automated credit card bills from the bank, the individual who had sent the most messages was Dr. Andrew.
-Are you alright? My dear friend.
-I haven’t received any updates from you for days. I hope you are completely unharmed.
-If you are experiencing any difficulties, you can confide in me. Though I am merely an ordinary physician, I happen to maintain a few contacts on the surface…
There were over a dozen scattered messages in total.
A faint warmth bloomed in Xiang Nanli’s chest. Though the doctor was notoriously stingy and prone to overcharging his clients, he was, after all, the very first person Xiang Nanli had interacted with upon awakening in this new era. Of course, whether a biological organism with a 99% level of cybernetic mechanization could still be classified as a human remained a profound philosophical debate.
Xiang Nanli typed out a reply: “I am perfectly fine. I will be returning to the underground settlements in a few days.”
In the next fraction of a second, Andrew’s interface active status jumped online: “Fantastic. It’s wonderful to hear you are safe.”
Before Xiang Nanli’s sense of emotional warmth could even last three seconds, Andrew followed up immediately.
Andrew: “Remember to wire me my designated cut of the maintenance fees you owe me.”
“…”
So that was your actual objective all along, you scoundrel!!
Aside from Andrew, there were several messages from clients who had scheduled future maintenance appointments or individuals wishing to recommend acquaintances for cybernetic repairs. Xiang Nanli systematically replied to each one. He still needed to secure an income, though the crushing financial pressure he felt previously had eased significantly.
By the time he finished managing his profile, it had already reached his customary bedtime. He was a creature of strict habit; having achieved monumental success far too early in his past life, he had adopted a rigorous wellness routine since his late twenties, ensuring he never went to sleep later than 10:30 PM.
Xiang Nanli changed into his sleepwear and settled onto the mattress. The interior of the room was completely dark. Dongfang Qingdi occupied the adjoining guest quarters, sleeping on a separate frame.
[Xiao Qing, do you actually require sleep at night?]
[In reality, you’re a deep-cover operative deployed by the Omnic factions, aren’t you? Are you secretly infiltrating the Human Alliance databases under the cover of darkness?]
[Accompanying me to the data center wasn’t for a routine registration at all—it was a calculated maneuver to establish contact with your handler, wasn’t it?]
Dongfang Qingdi: “…”
[Do Omnics ever contemplate the underlying purpose of their own existence? What do you intend to do once you accompany me back to Gusu City? I feel as though I am slowly adapting to this world.]
Dongfang Qingdi’s primary directive was to transport this specific physical shell back to the virtual core. That was his duty. However, logistics and transport fees were exceptionally expensive, and he had not secured sufficient funds yet. The meager pittance of credits Xiang Nanli possessed wouldn’t even cover the purchase price of a premium software package.
If he chose to transmit his compiled data blocks directly back to the network, he was entirely confident that the primary “Me” residing within the virtual nexus would initiate immediate operations. However, taking such a course would inevitably expose Xiang Nanli to catastrophic risk. Furthermore, the recently ratified Peace Treaty had not yet expired; entering human territory prematurely could potentially ignite a severe diplomatic crisis between nations.
“I intend to visit Yinshan City,” Dongfang Qingdi stated quietly through the link.
Yinshan City was a subterranean territory governed strictly by the Black Cross Inquisition—one of the eighteen major underground metropolises. It also happened to be the city situated closest to the recognized sovereign borders of the Omnics, maintaining a relatively amicable stance toward mechanical entities. As for what would follow, he would formulate a strategy upon arrival.
Ever since crossing paths with Xiang Nanli, his operational logic seemed to be plagued by an absurd frequency of conditional variable clauses like “however” and “but.” Certain choices he made were objectively far from the mathematically optimal resolution.
Xiang Nanli let out a long, drawn-out sigh inside his mind: [You truly are a spy, aren’t you! You intend to lure me out to Yinshan City just to harvest my organs? I will never step outside the protective jurisdiction of the Human Alliance. I advise you to abandon that ambition immediately! Even if I harbor reservations about the Human Alliance’s governance, I will always stand firmly on the side of humanity. However… you are entirely free to visit Yinshan City on your own. In honor of our shared acquaintance, I won’t report you to the authorities.]
The moment Xiang Nanli finished his thought, he experienced the distinct sensation of a microscopic electrical impulse tracing through his nervous system. Before he could even process the sensation or utter a single word of complaint, his consciousness was abruptly forced into a state of deep sleep.
Dongfang Qingdi’s perception network finally fell into absolute tranquility.
…
…
The following morning, Xiang Nanli awakened feeling completely refreshed, without having experienced a single dream. He processed his formal discharge paperwork from the hospital, and just as he was about to command the local interface to arrange transport, an incoming satellite communication pinged his network.
Staring at the incoming call prompt manifesting before his vision, Xiang Nanli extended his hand and tapped the void to accept the connection.
Luo Xiu’s voice resonated through his earpiece: “It’s me, Luo Xiu. Have you completed your discharge procedures?”
Incredibly impressive technology. Xiang Nanli’s eyes sparked with fascination, looking exactly like an unrefined rustic who had never witnessed the wonders of the modern world. In fairness, he genuinely hadn’t.
“Mmh-hmm. We’ve already purchased our transit tickets back to Gusu City.”
Luo Xiu’s tone carried a distinct note of apology. “My deepest regrets. I’ve only recently returned to my family estate, and affairs here have been exceptionally hectic. I will have Xin Zhui drive over shortly to transport you both to the transit terminal. Furthermore, I am transferring the direct communication frequency of ‘Rolling Stone’ to your network. If you encounter any structural complications while residing in Gusu City, you can contact him directly.”
The high-profile resolution of the “Donghuang Heavy Industries” anomaly had been framed entirely as Luo Xiu’s singular achievement, adding a brilliant stroke of prestige to his institutional record. The corporate research divisions were ecstatic over the biological assets harvested from the Aberrant specimens, and teams were currently actively conducting live dissections and data decryption on-site.
Both he and Xin Zhui had been reassigned back to the capital of Luoyang City. The achievements unlocked at Donghuang Heavy Industries would serve as his foundational political capital, allowing Luo Xiu to make his initial debut upon the political stage of the Human Alliance. Backed by the immense influence of his family faction, within five to ten years, Xiang Nanli would likely see his name appearing frequently across national political broadcasts.
Xiang Nanli did not decline the offer. “Sounds wonderful.”
Xin Zhui’s transport arrived ahead of schedule, manifesting as a sleek sports vehicle that looked staggeringly expensive. A continuous line of pure gold was seamlessly embedded along the aerodynamic waistline of the chassis.
During their initial encounter, Xin Zhui had sustained near-fatal trauma. When Luo Xiu had dragged him out from that mangled heap of biological matter, he had been reduced to a literal, blood-soaked torso. Yet today, he appeared completely untargeted by injury, with even his high-grade mechanical prosthetic arm fully restored.
Xin Zhui offered a warm, easy smile. “Long time no see, little mechanic. Oh? Is this the security guard unit that was thawed out alongside you? Remarkably striking appearance.”
He had entirely reverted to the familiar warmth and superficial levity he displayed during their very first meeting, acting exactly as though he had never once threatened to end Xiang Nanli’s life.
The vehicle smoothly engaged its autonomous piloting matrix. Xin Zhui reached into the compartment and proffered a secure document folder.
“This is a formal letter of recommendation that Luo Xiu secured directly from his father,” Xin Zhui explained. “It’s addressed to the Gusu City Vocational School of Mechanical Maintenance, and contact has already been established with the department head. Though it is technically categorized as a vocational institution, the graduation credentials carry the exact same corporate weight as a comprehensive university degree. If it piques your interest, you are welcome to visit the campus; if not, you can simply maintain your name on the institutional registry.”
Deprived of an accredited academic degree, navigating the modern market would inevitably prove immensely troublesome, forcing Xiang Nanli to operate permanently as an unlicensed black-market technician.
Xin Zhui continued smoothly, “Furthermore… you have my gratitude for repairing his systems back then.”
The medical teams had confirmed that Luo Xiu’s operational integrity had dropped to a critical threshold at the time. Had it not been for Xiang Nanli’s immediate intervention, his mechanical core could have suffered a catastrophic voltage-differential explosion at any moment. The sheer memory of the event left a lingering trace of anxiety in Xin Zhui’s mind—though he rationalized to himself that his anxiety stemmed entirely from the realization that Luo Xiu’s demise would have inevitably dragged him down into institutional ruin by association.
Luo Xiu’s foresight is remarkably comprehensive, Xiang Nanli mused silently as he accepted the document folder. He possesses the raw foundations to develop into a highly capable leader. I am merely curious to see what shape the sociopolitical arena will ultimately mold him into.
The academic institution chosen wasn’t excessively prestigious, nor was it deficient; it was, above all else, perfectly practical for his circumstances. A top-tier academy like Gusu University would have demanded actual attendance to avoid appearing disrespectful, which would have severely disrupted Xiang Nanli’s personal schedule. A low-tier institution, conversely, would yield a credential lacking sufficient systemic authority, leaving him without leverage in professional environments.
Xiang Nanli continued his inner monologue: [In light of this, I can find it in my heart to forgive Luoyang for exactly three seconds.]
Luoyang had simply been far too careless back then, managing to misplace the very cryo-capsule housing his own mentor, which had artificially amplified the baseline difficulty of Xiang Nanli’s survival by an absurd margin.
Dongfang Qingdi offered no commentary. He merely turned his head away, resting his chin against his palm as his gaze traced the fluid, ever-shifting urban architecture beyond the glass. Every ounce of his natural, absolute arrogance was concentrated within the slight, dismissive curve of his brow.
Unforgivable, Dongfang Qingdi thought to himself.
Even if the annals of history crumbled into ash, even if collective cognition was systematically rewritten until every single living soul completely forgot the reality of the past… I will remember it forever.
