Chapter 100: OS (1)

100 – OS (1)

But exactly what was unclear, Lin Xun couldn’t quite articulate it yet.

He opened his schedule and crossed off today’s date.

In four days was the regional preliminary selection for the Technology Expo, the kind that required on-site demonstrations.

Five days after that would be the main exhibition.

After returning, once he ran a final overall debugging of everything, the creation of the Goddess of the Luo River would be completely finished. The remaining three days would only require minor tweaks—for presentation purposes, Jia Gou had exaggerated the Goddess of the Luo River’s capabilities in the PowerPoint, including many false features that hadn’t been implemented yet. Lin Xun planned to go through them one last time, implementing what he could and deleting what he couldn’t.

In any case, everything was going smoothly. He had done everything he was currently capable of, and what ranking he would ultimately achieve depended on how far others had progressed.

After returning, it was time for debugging and verification. Dong Jun was more skilled at this than he was. Lin Xun spent the evening lounging with Zhi Zhen, and with today’s activities being a bit strenuous, he felt a faint drowsiness. Almost as soon as Dong Jun leaned in, he began to doze off.

A hand reached around his shoulder and gently stroked the back of his neck. Sensing the permission in the gesture, Lin Xun relaxed and fell asleep—though he felt a bit guilty for drifting off so quickly.

To make up for it, with the last shred of consciousness, he lifted his face and kissed Dong Jun’s Adam’s apple.

Then he lost awareness.

When he woke again, he was surrounded by a familiar scene.

A pristine, quiet estate, with emerald green lawns and a shaded corridor winding around.

The person beside him was the doctor.

“I see the market share of the Nut is about to drop below fifty percent,” the doctor said lazily, propping his head up and fiddling with the white flowers hanging from a nearby vine. “Are you really not going to care about Galaxy anymore?”

“It’s fine,” Lin Xun replied. “Didn’t you guys release version 2.0? Why hasn’t it launched yet?”

“Maybe someone wants to see just how heartless you can be,” the doctor sighed.

“I haven’t…” His tone seemed to falter for a moment before softening. “How is he doing now?”

“Come on,” the doctor’s voice suddenly grew louder. “You two really haven’t been in contact?”

Lin Xun shook his head.

“I thought you were just breaking up for fun.”

“Not at all,” Lin Xun said. “Is he with anyone else now?”

The doctor: “…How could that be possible?”

Lin Xun: “Oh.”

The doctor looked at him. “So what exactly do you mean?”

“Let’s not talk about this,” Lin Xun changed the subject. “I heard you guys not only finished version 2.0, but version 3.0 is almost ready too.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite well-informed.”

Lin Xun shrugged. “Half of them are my people. It’s hard for me not to know.”

“Version 3.0—I never expected it to turn out this well,” the doctor nudged his shoulder. “You definitely don’t know the details. I’ll give you a surprise when it’s ready.”

Lin Xun smiled. “Alright.”

“But that’s not why I came to see you today,” the doctor straightened up, his expression turning serious. “Eagle’s latest full-body immersion pod looks really impressive, as you know.”

Lin Xun looked at him and nodded.

“We’ve also looked into it. Their methods these days are a bit underhanded,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow with a hint of mockery in his eyes. “Anyway, all our work has been upgraded to a higher security level now. As for your side…”

Lin Xun replied, “I’ll keep all my materials well-protected.”

The doctor said, “That’s not what I meant.”

After a pause, he continued, “Your things have always been well-secured. I just wanted to say, be careful about your personal safety.”

After a moment of silence, Lin Xun answered, “Alright.”

The doctor said, “You can’t go back to live there either. I want you to stay at my place. At least it’s safer than being alone outside.”

Lin Xun nodded, “I’ll consider it.”

The doctor seemed to finally relax a little, stretching lazily as he stood up. “Summer is coming,” he said.

Then he added, “Come on, I’ll show you the wine cellar. I’ve set up a new one.”

Summer.

Lin Xun looked up at the azure sky, where plump white clouds drifted, and the faint chirping of cicadas could be heard in the distance.

This summer was no different from any other before.

At this thought, he suddenly jolted awake.

Looking at the surrounding scenery and the doctor’s retreating figure in the distance, he realized this was clearly a dream.

He hadn’t dreamed in a long time—to be precise, ever since he started sleeping with Dong Jun, he hadn’t had this kind of dream… one so lucid it felt real.

As soon as this thought surfaced, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, instinctively reaching for the space beside him.

Empty.

This realization snapped him fully awake. He sat up in bed—the space beside him was indeed empty. Dong Jun wasn’t there.

Lin Xun glanced around and noticed a faint sliver of blue light seeping from the gap in the closet door.

He got out of bed and walked toward it, not bothering to put on shoes. Someone just waking up isn’t entirely rational—he simply felt uneasy without Dong Jun by his side and wanted to know where he was.

When he was just a few steps away, he heard a faint sound leaking through the gap. It wasn’t Dong Jun’s voice, nor did it sound human. It was clearly a mechanically synthesized voice, one he had encountered many times before.

The voice carried no emotional tone, stating flatly, “After all, you’re capable of anything.”

After three seconds of silence, Dong Jun’s voice responded, “Isn’t it you who’s been doing these inexplicable things all along?”

The other replied, “I don’t execute contradictory operations.”

The next moment, Dong Jun’s voice rang out again, calm but cold, like the edge of a thin blade.

He said, “I understand.”

The mechanical voice began, “If it weren’t for you—”

The sound cut off abruptly.

In the darkness, even a dropped pin would have been audible.

Lin Xun felt he had been detected.

He gently pushed the door open. “I…”

He saw Dong Jun turn around. In front of him was a blue floating screen—another piece of unfamiliar black technology.

Bathed in the faint blue light, his profile was as still as ice and snow, his expression not yet softened. It was indeed cold, just like his tone earlier. Lin Xun reflected that he had never seen Dong Jun like this before.

Upon seeing him, Dong Jun’s expression softened considerably.

He asked, “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Lin Xun replied. “I woke up on my own, and then… I couldn’t find you.”

“Sorry.” Dong Jun turned off the screen and walked over to him, ruffling his hair.

Lin Xun: “Aren’t you going to continue?”

Just hanging up on someone like that?

“It’s fine,” Dong Jun said. “It was an AI.”

Lin Xun: “…Oh.”

“It’s so late, is there something you need?” Lin Xun asked.

“Mhm,” Dong Jun replied. “I have to go out tomorrow.”

Lin Xun followed him out and then saw Dong Jun lower his head.

“I just woke up,” he looked at his feet on the floor, “feeling a bit out of it.”

Dong Jun glanced at him lightly, picked him up, and tucked him into bed.

Lin Xun hugged his pillow and slowly wriggled to the side, making room for Dong Jun.

Dong Jun brushed aside the slightly messy hair on his forehead: “Why did you wake up?”

“Suddenly felt like you weren’t here,” Lin Xun rubbed his eyes. “So I woke up.”

Dong Jun chuckled softly, leaning down to hug him: “Go back to sleep?”

Lin Xun assessed his mental state: “You’ve already woken me up. I’m not sleepy for now.”

“Oh?” Dong Jun said. “What do you want to do then?”

Lin Xun observed Dong Jun’s posture—the man was leaning against the headboard, looking slightly languid.

He climbed up, turned over, and looked down at Dong Jun from above: “There’s something I want to ask you.”

He was a bit groggy.

But even in his grogginess, he was still a little more clear-headed than the average person’s grogginess.

This world was really strange, and the dream he just had was even stranger, packed with a huge amount of information. His intelligence was fine—anyone with normal intelligence would notice something unusual.

Especially since lately, his Dong Jun had been too indulgent toward him, making him feel like he could question things a bit.

Sure enough, he saw Dong Jun smile faintly: “Ask.”

Lin Xun didn’t hold back either. He picked up his phone nearby and opened Dong Jun’s Weibo.

So far, Dong Jun had only posted two Weibo updates.

The second one was related to Lin Xun—that was fine. The first one, however, was something Lin Xun had been uneasy about for a long time.

“Lo asked me why I look at the stars.

I think the Galaxy and code are the same kind of thing—that’s one answer.”

Lin Xun shoved the screen in front of Dong Jun and spoke up.

“Who is Lo?”

Dong Jun took hold of his wrist and lowered it.

Dong Jun looked at him, a hint of teasing amusement in his eyes: “Have you wanted to ask for a long time?”

Lin Xun: “.”

Lin Xun: “Right now, I’m the one asking you.”

Dong Jun moved the phone aside, held his hand, lowered his thick lashes, and looked almost innocent as he answered: “A friend.”

Lin Xun’s resistance to beauty was practically nonexistent. Seeing Dong Jun like this, he instantly felt like he’d stumbled into a scene from a melodramatic urban drama, playing the unreasonable current boyfriend interrogating his partner about an ex.

But he wouldn’t stop.

He continued: “A friend you’ve known for many years?”

“Mhm,” Dong Jun said. “One of the friends I co-founded Galaxy with back then.”

Lin Xun thought for a moment, then added: “Then… I should have heard his name before?”

Dong Jun shook his head.

Lin Xun was slightly puzzled.

The next moment, Dong Jun sat up from the headboard, wrapped his arms around Lin Xun’s waist, pulled him down, and held him.

This position made Lin Xun feel like he’d lost the initiative. Just as he was about to struggle, he heard Dong Jun whisper in his ear: “He’s already passed away.”

Lin Xun froze for a moment.

His voice was a bit hoarse. “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Dong Jun said. “It was a long time ago, so I never mentioned it to you.”

“I see,” Lin Xun replied.

Though he said “I see,” countless possibilities had already flashed through his mind.

—Third-rate novel plots like “Lo died in a car accident, and Dong Jun vowed to research the Automated Driving System.” Although he knew he shouldn’t disrespect the deceased like this, he couldn’t help being an exceptionally talented lemon.

So, after hesitating for a moment, he still asked, “Was it an illness?”

“No,” Dong Jun said, gradually holding him tighter. “Suicide.”

For a moment, Lin Xun didn’t know what to say.

He propped himself up to look at Dong Jun’s expression.

Under the moonlight, his face was very calm, his eyelashes slightly lowered.

Before Lin Xun could speak, Dong Jun spoke first. “My mother also died by suicide.”

Lin Xun fell silent, listening quietly.

“That day, she was very kind to me and to Dong Chen,” he said softly. “She called Dong Chen, her voice gentle, telling him to come home early.”

“And then… she said she was going back to her room to sleep,” Dong Jun said, his fingers gently stroking Lin Xun’s hair. “After that, I never saw her again.”

Lin Xun whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Dong Jun smiled, and Lin Xun sensed a faint trace of madness in his calm expression.

Then, Dong Jun asked softly, “Would you ever take your own life?”