Chapter 56: Talent Cannot Be Replicated
A bizarre smile.
Rock pulled the trigger.
“Bang—” That was the sound of a bullet firing.
In the years to come, Rock would dream of this day countless times. In those dreams, he would lunge forward hysterically, desperate to stop himself from firing the gun!—Even though it ultimately wouldn’t have changed a thing. If it wasn’t him, it would be someone else. If not today, then tomorrow.
Rock had thought he was merely completing a simple mission, oblivious that this would mark the beginning of a nightmare. This single bullet would spin through his mind for the rest of his life, striking him dead center between the brows every time he remembered it.
“Bang—” That was the sound of a body exploding.
Rock’s eyes widened, staring in sheer astonishment at the scene unfolding before him.
No blood or brain matter sprayed from the shot elderly man. Instead, like a punctured water balloon, countless cherry-blossom-pink specks of powder erupted from the man’s body (he would later learn these were spores). These tiny, dust-like particles drifted with the wind, quickly vanishing into the air.
Rock blinked, almost believing he was hallucinating.
Around him, many others had opened fire simultaneously. The scene was a river of blood, with flesh and gore flying everywhere.
Rock’s internal AI reminded him that he was experiencing some physiological discomfort, warning him not to throw up inside the car—car washing fees couldn’t be reimbursed through public funds, and they were expensive.
This cleanup operation ended quickly. It wouldn’t make the news, but it would become a political achievement to be reported to their superiors.
The role of enforcers like them in all this was utterly insignificant.
The next day, the sun rose as usual.
Gusu City’s power grid had been paralyzed for about six hours. By the time Xiang Nanli woke up from his sleep, the glaring virtual sunlight was shining outside once again.
He pushed open the shattered glass window. A strange smell of disinfectant drifted through the air.
It made sense. When proteins fermented via microorganisms, they inevitably produced a stench. Moreover, it was impossible to guarantee that every inch of the streets had been scrubbed clean, making the activation of the self-cleaning system a necessity.
Xiang Nanli looked down at the street about half a kilometer away.
Cars came and went; life in Gusu City seemed entirely unaffected.
But looking further into the distance, one could spot damaged skyscrapers, rescue aircraft hovering in the air, and various media vans.
Xiang Nanli turned on his home television and listened to the news: “Yesterday at 8 PM Gusu time, lawless elements colluded with members of the World Tree organization to launch a suicide terrorist attack on the Gusu City Municipal Building.”
“The Mayor of Gusu City was killed on the spot.”
“This attack resulted in… casualties… losses… strongly condemn… The Human Alliance has decided to impose sanctions on the Black Cross Inquisition and arrest all involved personnel…”
Dividing his attention, Xiang Nanli listened to the broadcast while crouching beside his Immortality Tech access pod, pinching a wire between his fingers with a look of deep contemplation.
The neural transmission cable had burned out.
Xiang Nanli tested it with his own transmission cable and discovered that the cable wasn’t the issue—the access port itself was broken.
“No way, our company’s product quality can’t be this garbage, right?” Xiang Nanli muttered. “Only good products can bring a company a sustainable, long-term future. Still, Immortality Tech has always held a monopoly on access pod production. They really can make money lying down.”
Even though he had long lost his founding shares, Xiang Nanli still couldn’t help slipping into the mindset of a company owner.
A 300,000-credit access pod! The most expensive thing he had ever bought! And it broke after a single use.
Xiang Nanli propped his electronic lenses on his face, contacted Immortality Tech’s customer service, and applied for a refund.
The entity on the other end was clearly an artificial idiot, throwing an application form back at him.
Xiang Nanli had Xiao Zhi fill it out and upload it. A few minutes later, his application was rejected.
“Based on internal data analysis, this safety malfunction is not a product quality issue regarding the access pod, but rather caused by other accidental factors (Category: Other – Accidental Disasters). Out of humanitarian consideration, our enterprise has issued you a 50% discount coupon for new products. Thank you for your purchase and support.”
Clearly, the system determined that the malfunction was caused by the riots in Gusu City last night. Xiang Nanli’s residence was only a few kilometers from the incident and had been caught in the shockwave of the explosions; therefore, it did not count as a product defect.
As for Xiang Nanli’s note stating, “Felt a Level 7 severe migraine in my brain after connecting,” customer service had completely ignored it.
Ignorant Gusu City bumpkin. It’s completely normal to experience brain discomfort the first time you use an access pod.
According to Immortality Tech’s experiments, the lower a person’s IQ, the worse their tolerance for the access pod. Though internal documents seemingly recorded “IQ” uniformly as “Spiritual Consciousness,” believing the term “IQ” was just a more scientific phrasing.
Xiang Nanli opened the shopping voucher to check. The AI customer service had given him a 50% off coupon for a limited edition access pod priced at 12 million credits—and it was non-transferable.
Xiang Nanli’s blood pressure instantly spiked: “Human customer service! I want a human!”
Customer Service: Hello, we fully transitioned to a completely intelligent customer service model in Year 150. There is currently no human channel. If you have objections to my handling of the results, you are welcome to file a complaint.
Customer Service: By the way, my superior is also me! ww We are smart machines of the same model, just with different authorization levels, hehe~
Xiang Nanli: “…”
Despicable.
Luoyang, you were right. Technological advancement just brings more convenient exploitation, accelerating the loss of a voice for those at the bottom.
Whatever.
Xiang Nanli pulled out the schematics he had photocopied at the library earlier, planning to study them and fix it himself.
Xiao Fu observed for a moment, then proactively picked up a rag from the kitchen in its mouth and began dusting the floor of the house.
Its current body wasn’t suited for doing much else anyway.
Xiao Fu’s software configuration wasn’t as advanced as Dongfang Qingdi’s, and connecting to the Human Alliance’s network could easily lead to it being tracked.
It might look completely empty-headed, but it was still an AI that had lived for hundreds of years. How could it possibly be stupid?
Furthermore, Xiao Fu was not the complete Gospel.
It had been split off from the main body ages ago, carrying only technology related to agriculture (primarily planting and animal husbandry).
Back then, Gospel had thought: Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
It just hadn’t expected that all the baskets would end up on a ship destined to capsize.
The Eternal City ultimately regressed into a serfdom system, and the City Lord needed people to tend to those fields and beasts.
Self-sufficiency was convenient, but in today’s world…
Agricultural science didn’t seem all that necessary.
If only I were Revelation, Xiao Fu thought. That way, the base could rapidly produce military weapons to steamroll the surrounding factions, violently seizing more resources to effortlessly complete the primitive accumulation of capital.
At this thought, Xiao Fu couldn’t help but feel dejected, its mechanical legs pushing the rag with a distinct lack of energy.
The housekeeping robot he purchased still hadn’t arrived.
Customer service claimed that due to the violent incident in Gusu City, the warehouse storing that new model had burned down, and they were currently transferring stock from other cities.
Xiang Nanli originally wanted to return it, only to discover that a “no-questions-asked return” actually deducted a 20% deposit (and this policy applied uniformly across all institutions in the Human Alliance). He had no choice but to endure it.
Halfway through his repairs, the system suddenly notified him of an incoming deposit of 400,000 credits.
Xiang Nanli was a little surprised, unable to figure out where the money had come from.
Xiao Zhi spoke up: [I took the contract and went to demand your unpaid wages. The Cloud Court determined that you had completely fulfilled your obligations, so they transferred the money out of the Combat Club’s public account.]
Rhine had died on the Surface, but the news simply hadn’t made it back yet. Currently, an acting manager was running the club, and perhaps they would be officially promoted soon.
“The Human Alliance’s control over its various cities is still extremely dominant,” Xiang Nanli remarked, looking at his blueprints. “Even though everyone is posting online and people seem completely panicked, actual order has been maintained the entire time.”
This was an incredibly powerful, orderly organization. It might look riddled with holes on the surface, but its core remained an impenetrable block of iron.
It controlled the world’s largest population, the most advanced technology, and the best resources, and it operated under what currently appeared to be the most civilized system.
The thought that he might have to go up against such a colossal entity in the future brought Xiang Nanli a sliver of pressure. But on second thought, it was hard to say how long he’d even live, so he let it go. Why worry about things that hadn’t even happened yet?
Taking his freshly retrieved wages, Xiang Nanli used Andrew’s connections to purchase a batch of supplies. Once he was back on the Surface, he could go to the warehouse to pick them up.
He had once asked Andrew why a legitimate doctor would know so many people involved in the criminal underworld.
Andrew had hemmed and hawed for ages before spitting out a single phrase: “Dopamine tablets.” Thank the new era. In the past, just 50 grams of that stuff would get you a bullet to the head.
Aside from various mechanical parts and weapon installations, Xiang Nanli also bought a vehicle.
Well… there was no one checking driver’s licenses on the Surface anyway.
He stayed at home for two days. On the afternoon of the second day, Rock sent a message: [That matter you asked about has been handled. The pass will be sent to you via encrypted email shortly. You can use it to go pick the person up from the prison.]
After saying that, Rock immediately went offline. The Investigation Bureau had been swamped lately, busy arresting different people in different districts. Gusu City’s prisons were practically overflowing. Additionally, Rock had to process thousands of whistle-blower letters every single day. Some were real, while others were just people using the authorities as a borrowed knife for baseless revenge reporting.
Every civil servant was currently burning the candle at both ends.
Xiang Nanli was overjoyed and quickly sent a “Thank you.”
The so-called pass was actually an electronic cryptographic key. Simply showing it to the prison staff for a scan would do the trick.
Xiang Nanli left Gospel at home and took a public bus to the Gusu City Prison.
The prison was massive, its exterior bizarrely resembling a gigantic metal bucket.
Xiang Nanli had never been to prison, so he wasn’t familiar with its internal layout.
He arrived at the main hall, explained his purpose, presented the pass to the staff, and signed his Citizen ID on multiple electronic informed consent forms.
Finally—
Sitting in the waiting room, Xiang Nanli watched the metal door before him slide open.
The door was narrow, only allowing one person through at a time.
A prison guard walked out, leading a robot by a chain. The robot’s body parts were extremely old and battered, covered in pitted, aged battle scars. Its screws were loose, clanking and rattling with every step.
The most unique feature was its head, which looked like a spherical fishbowl. It was translucent, housing a pink, fleshy brain inside that was connected to over a dozen wires.
“This is the prisoner, designated GS719,” the guard unlocked the electronic shackles on Mobei with a key and gave him a gentle shove forward. “Turn over a new leaf on the outside. Don’t come back.”
Although there was no file on him, GS719 had always been housed in the “High-Risk Prison,” a place reserved for the most heinous and deeply sinful criminals.
Compared to the cyber-psychopaths, legendary hackers, and spies housed there, GS719 was quiet and obedient. His favorite activity was simply basking in the sun on the lawn. Even the prison guards couldn’t fathom what he had possibly done to end up there.
GS719 took a blank, robotic step forward.
Xiang Nanli thought for a moment and decided he definitely needed to install a helmet on him once they were out.
Otherwise, GS719 walking around outside would be a bit too horrifying.
He stood up, bent down, and gave GS719’s mechanical arm a squeeze: “I bailed you out. Do you understand what that means?”
Yes, Xiang Nanli had paid a massive price to have Mobei released from prison upon the “completion” of his sentence.
He didn’t know Mobei, nor did he have any relationship with him. It certainly wasn’t just to gain leverage over Andrew.
What moved him was what Andrew had said: You are both geniuses who can change the world; you shouldn’t spend your whole lives rotting in a prison.
Xiang Nanli had looked into cloning technology; discussions about it had been all over the net for ages. If cloning and consciousness-synchronization tech could create virtually identical “replicas,” why not just replicate the famous creators and inventors from history?
Organizations had tried exactly that long ago.
Desiring the brains of geniuses, they conducted various experiments on scientists who had voluntarily donated their bodies.
They possessed the exact same genes, the same foundational knowledge, and even partially extracted memories.
But a fake was still a fake.
Some replicas were just mentally disabled individuals with memories; others were riddled with inferior genetic defects. And then there was a group that seemed just like normal people—but even if they scored normally on intelligence tests, their capacity for critical thought and innovation was nowhere near their original counterparts.
Ultimately, the laboratories concluded: Talent cannot be replicated.
This robot wasn’t very tall, peaking at about 1.3 meters.
GS719 paused for a moment, then nodded his head.
“Because you were previously convicted of a felony, you are now in a probationary period after your release. You’ll only gain citizenship if you maintain a clean record for ten years. Right now, you are registered under my household. I picked out a new name for you: Beichen,” Xiang Nanli said gently. “Can you understand?”
Beichen meant Polaris, the North Star. Xiang Nanli figured that since he couldn’t remember anything anyway, he might as well start a completely new life.
Mobei—now Beichen—nodded his head once more.
He merely lacked his memories; he wasn’t stupid. Feigning ignorance had just been his protective camouflage in prison.
But he hadn’t expected that it would actually earn him a bit of pity.
Beichen’s degree of mechanization was incredibly high, but that actually had nothing to do with the Human Alliance’s interrogations.
During the final stages of Donghuang Heavy Industry’s experiments, biological resources (Mutant feed) were severely depleted. Thus, Beichen, along with the researchers still trapped underground, modified themselves into machines.
He was a mad scientist, and a martyr upon that path.
Talent cannot be replicated.
If that is the case, then let me bear witness.
Let me witness what kind of miracle you can create.
Xiang Nanli patted his round, bulbous head: “Let’s go. We’re going home.”
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Author’s Note:
Xiao Qing goes on a business trip for a week and comes back to find the house full of wild men (machines) Xiang Nanli picked up off the streets.
