Chapter 123: Password (6)

123 – Password (6)

After a full five seconds of silence, applause began to ripple through the venue—not an abrupt outburst, but starting sparse and scattered, gradually joined by more and more people. It was as if the entire audience slowly grasped the meaning, and ten seconds later, the applause swelled to an unprecedented crescendo.

Lin Xun looked at Lo. This was also an answer he hadn’t anticipated. And it was an almost perfect response.

The questioner, Xiao Wang, spread his hands and laughed heartily, addressing the Goddess of the Luo River: “You’ve convinced me. I now admit you truly possess the ability to think.”

Lo smiled slightly at him. “Thank you.”

On the large screens surrounding the venue, a clear, magnified image of Lo appeared. That smile sparked another wave of “Wow—” from the crowd.

Xiao Wang’s question time ended, and the next questioner stood up. However, none of the subsequent questioners were product managers, so their questions were no longer tricky or peculiar. Instead, they earnestly inquired about how the Goddess of the Luo River accomplished learning and thinking, or they posed challenging application scenarios for her to solve.

But amid this orderly Q&A session, a true genius suddenly emerged.

This person was slightly gaunt, wearing black-framed glasses. His features were stern, but his eyes were lively, giving the impression of someone in testing.

“Hello, I’m a test engineer,” he began.

Lo: “Hello.”

“I’d like to know how you make choices when faced with ethical dilemmas. Take the most familiar example—the trolley problem. Suppose you control a trolley, and there are five people on the track ahead. You must decide whether to avoid hitting those five people by choosing to hit one person on another track.”

Before Lo could answer, Lin Xun smiled faintly. Lo was not an AI lacking in knowledge, and humanity had already engaged in extensive discussions on such issues.

Lo replied, “A vehicle under the control of an Automated Driving System would not face such a choice.”

The questioner said, “No, I just want to know what you would choose in this situation.”

“This is a standard for moral judgment, not a problem,” Lo said calmly. “If you require me to make a choice, my decision depends on whether the designer programmed my value judgment based on deontology or utilitarianism. Based on deontology, I choose inaction; based on utilitarianism, I choose to sacrifice one person.”

The questioner said, “You’ve still given an evasive and ambiguous answer. So, I’d like to know what value judgment standard your designer programmed for you.”

Lo’s eyes lifted calmly, meeting his gaze directly. “I am an artificial intelligence designed to simulate humans.”

This time, there was no applause. The venue fell into silence once again.

Lin Xun noticed someone in the audience suddenly cover their mouth, a look of sudden realization dawning on their face.

The questioner was stunned—for a full five seconds. After those five seconds, he clapped his hands three times, the sound abrupt in the silent venue.

He sat down. “Thank you, I have no further questions.”

The audience remained somewhat dazed. Fortunately, the host broke the awkwardness with a smile. “I didn’t quite understand this question.”

Lin Xun glanced at the Goddess of the Luo River and, seeing no intention for her to continue speaking, pressed his earpiece and smiled slightly. “I think what he means is that, in the cognition of artificial intelligence, evasiveness and ambiguity are also traits of humanity.”

A belated “Wow—” finally erupted in the venue, mingled with good-natured laughter and enthusiastic applause, yet the audience wore slightly solemn expressions. Perhaps this Q&A session was even more astonishing than the first question exploring humanity’s future. It meant that this artificial intelligence had learned how to play a word game.

This did not demonstrate his intelligence, but rather his human-like nature.

Only when the venue quieted down again did the host speak: “Unbelievable.”

The audience below voiced their agreement.

Lin Xun smiled politely.

The Q&A session ended there. After the host’s brief closing remarks, Lin Xun walked to the center of the stage and bowed to the audience. Lo approached him, gently taking his hand. Lin Xun turned, holding a folder in one hand and leading the Goddess of the Luo River with the other as they walked offstage. Applause echoed, camera flashes lit up the space, and Lo’s snow-white clothes fluttered beside him. In that moment, his heart felt unexpectedly calm. The opening and closing questions were undoubtedly two strokes of genius. With this, he had openly presented Lo in his entirety to the audience. How to judge was no longer his responsibility.

Wang Anquan and Zhao Jiagou greeted him backstage. After a whoop of excitement, Zhao Jiagou stepped forward to high-five him.

“Lin Suanfa, do you know how cool you were?” Wang Anquan raised his phone, showing a paused livestream screen. “You looked as epic as the Big Bang. Advancing through the preliminaries is definitely no problem—I think we might even win the championship outright. Honestly, I feel like this could even make it into textbooks. It’s a milestone!”

Lin Xun nudged him. “No, what kind of metaphor is ‘the Big Bang’?”

Zhao Jiagou popped out from behind Wang Anquan. “It means you looked like some kind of… you know, something really awesome while presenting the slides.”

Zhao Jiagou seemed to be at a loss for words.

This guy was actually speechless.

“Bro, today I’ll call you ‘bro,'” Wang Anquan said. “Bro, even though my sexual orientation is heterosexual, I fell in love with you for twenty minutes while you were presenting. And during the Q&A, I fell in love with our little Goddess of the Luo River for another twenty minutes.”

Zhao Jiagou added, “During those forty minutes, Anquan and I became love rivals, though we’ve made up now.”

Zhao Jiagou continued, “And during those forty minutes, a million people became our love rivals too.”

Wang Anquan chimed in, “Look at what you wore today—this white shirt, my god, seriously.”

Zhao Jiagou said, “You wore a white shirt, and Lo wore white too. The impact was like watching a sci-fi movie. You have no idea how beautiful Lo is. Where on earth did you get this 3D projection?”

Lin Xun asked earnestly, “Can I hear some professional compliments?”

“No,” Jia Gou replied decisively. “I don’t even know where to start praising. Anyway, the Goddess of the Luo River stole the show. Did you see the audience’s expressions? They looked like you’d cast a spell on them, completely under your control. Oh, by the way, did you see the live comments? I think you’re about to go viral, seriously. I’ve already gotten five calls in just this short while. The funniest is Paper-Cut, the one that said before, ‘We believe it does not align with our company’s development strategy.’ They’ve changed their tune now, saying, ‘We have a strong interest in your project and intend to explore further collaboration.'”

Lin Xun drew out an “Oh?” and then laughed. “How did you reply?”

Jia Gou said, “I replied: Sorry, after discussion, we believe our project does not align with your company’s development strategy. We wish you the best in finding a more suitable partner.”

Lin Xun: “You’re ruthless.”

Zhao Jiagou: “I’m so happy.”

Wang Anquan: “I’m also so happy.”

Lin Xun: “I’m also very happy.”

He turned and saw Jiang Lian sitting behind them. Brother Jiang hadn’t joined their conversation, but when Lin Xun looked at him, he gave Lin Xun a thumbs-up.

Lin Xun felt reassured and said, “Thanks, brother.”

Jiang Lian handed him a bottle of water and said, “There were too many people asking questions, so we actually went over time. But the backstage staff specifically extended it for you, saying they couldn’t bear to cut you off and wanted to let you finish.”

Lin Xun unscrewed the cap and took several big gulps. After talking for so long, he was genuinely thirsty. But those two ungrateful friends, Anquan and Jiagou, were lost in their own happiness—only Brother Jiang would always be his Brother Jiang.

New people entered the preparation room, so they exited through a small side door and returned to the backstage area. As soon as they arrived, Lin Xun was surrounded.

“Senior!” A young girl at the front gave him a victory sign. “You were amazing!”

Lin Xun: “Thank you.”

Before he could finish thanking her, another person crowded in: “Senior, you’re so handsome!”

Lin Xun: “Thank you, thank you.”

“Senior, can you bring out the Goddess of the Luo River now? I really want to see her up close!”

“She’s shy and doesn’t really want to come out right now.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a boy pushed through the crowd, holding a scribbled-on piece of paper. “Senior, there’s something I don’t quite understand about the scattered cluster theory…”

Lin Xun: “It’s like this. First, get a bigger piece of paper.”

“No problem, I brought a smart tablet!”

And so, a group of people sat down right there to watch Lin Xun answer the junior’s question. Lin Xun was surrounded by a circle of heads—there weren’t actually many familiar faces, but the term “senior” seemed contagious. For some reason, everyone was calling him “senior,” making Lin Xun feel older than he was. In reality, he might even be younger than most of them because he had skipped quite a few grades back in the day.

The boy drew diagrams on the tablet, his eyes shining brightly. “Is this understanding correct?”

The others also looked at him.

Meeting their gazes, Lin Xun felt a momentary daze, as if time had reversed and he was back in his student days.

During discussion sessions, after class, or before exams, someone would always sit down across from him with paper and pen, asking, “Can I ask a question?”

As he explained, more people would gradually gather around. Sometimes, halfway through, someone would raise a new question. The summer sunlight would filter through the gaps in the classroom curtains, and when he looked up, he would see their faces.

He rarely indulged in sentimental moments, but in that second, a memory suddenly flashed back—a line from somewhere, perhaps a script, a poem, or a song lyric.

Time flows like water, leaving no trace.

The last time he had explained a problem like this was already three years ago.

And the time spent explaining problems flowed away like water. After finishing this question, the people around him began chattering again.

The girl from earlier raised her phone and said, “Senior, the Science Expo is trending!”

“Oh, I missed it—your name is right above the Expo!”

In no time at all, another voice chimed in: “Wow, another post about Dong Jun!”

Another girl behind him asked, “Senior, are you and Dong Jun really a thing?”

“Does Senior have any connection with the Galaxy?”

“The livestream is almost at two million viewers. Too bad Senior already came down. The late worm gets eaten by the bird—I can’t help but laugh.”

“Senior, Senior, how did you and Dong Jun meet?”

Lin Xun had never compared himself to a rabbit before.

But now, he felt like a rabbit that had fallen into a den of wolves.

But just then—

A voice rang out.

“Junior, excuse me.”

“Junior, could you please step aside?”

The junior rolled her eyes. “Who are you calling junior?”

Wang Anquan: “…”

Wang Anquan, pulling Jia Gou along, struggled through the crowd and finally reached Lin Xun. He reached out to separate him from the juniors, standing in front of them as a shield. “Algorithm is really tired. We’re taking him to rest for a bit; he’s been busy all morning. If anyone has questions, you can ask me. My WeChat ID is 1624WW—”

Before he could finish, the crowd scattered in an instant.

Only the wind remained.

The wind blew in from outside the window, quietly and slowly rustling Wang Anquan’s hair.

He stood silently in the wind.

His figure carried a trace of noticeable loneliness and stiffness, like a piece of code that had suddenly encountered a bug.

Behind him, Lin Xun held onto Jia Gou, who was clutching his computer, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. If it weren’t for Jiang Lian holding them back, the two of them would have collapsed from laughter.

Zhao Jiagou trembled like a dog’s tail grass in the wind, saying, “This is legendary. I hate that I didn’t bring a camera.”

Wang Anquan turned around and looked directly at Lin Xun. “Today, I’m drawing a line between us. I can’t appear in the same place as you.”

Zhao Jiagou: “You were just in love with him a moment ago.”

Wang Anquan: “Did I say that? I must have remembered wrong.”

The two of them started arguing again.

Just then, Lin Xun’s phone screen lit up. He said, “I’m going out to take a call.”

The backstage lounge was empty, filled with props and equipment. Though cluttered, it was quiet, connected to a long corridor for staff to move around.

Lin Xun answered the call—it was his sister, Lin Ting.

“Xunxun, I saw the livestream,” Lin Ting’s voice came through the phone. “You were amazing!”

Lin Xun chuckled. “It was alright.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m just so happy,” Lin Ting giggled on the other end. “My roommate asked me for your contact info. Are you giving it?”

“No,” Lin Xun replied. “She’ll meet me when I come to visit you.”

“I think so too,” Lin Ting said. “Xunxun.”

Lin Xun: “Hmm?”

Lin Ting: “Xunxun.”

Lin Xun: “?”

Lin Ting: “Xunxun.”

Lin Xun: “…?”

He asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m just… really happy,” Lin Ting’s voice almost soared. “It’s so great.”

Lin Xun smiled, holding the phone.

He said, “I’m pretty happy too.”

“Happy is good,” Lin Ting said. “You’ve always been happy doing math problems since you were little.”

“Alright,” she continued, “I won’t bother you anymore. Go celebrate with Jia Gou and Anquan? Wait, why do I hear them arguing again?”

Lin Xun: “Haven’t you gotten used to it by now?”

Lin Ting laughed again, exchanged a few more pleasantries, and the call ended.

More messages popped up on his phone screen, from friends he hadn’t been in touch with for a long time, mostly offering congratulations. He scrolled down the interface and saw a message from his senior sister, Ye Yuan.

Ye Yuan – Zeroth Law: Congratulations on Lo’s promotion. You never disappoint.

Lin Xun stared at that message for a long time. In that moment, he had so much to say, so many emotions to describe, but all the words remained in his heart, unspoken. He could only slowly type out a single “Thank you.”

Thank you for what?

For the support, or for the belief? Perhaps both. Human emotions were ultimately complex things.

Or maybe it was for the understanding.

He had received many congratulations today, but this message carried the most weight.

He knew what his senior sister meant to say: You haven’t disappointed me.

And for him… the thing he feared most was someone telling him, “I’m disappointed in you.” He wasn’t someone who settled for mediocrity. Not only could he not accept being worse than others, but he also couldn’t accept being worse than the Lin Xun others expected him to be. Perhaps that was the self-cultivation of a “lemon spirit.”

After sending that “Thank you,” he replied to the other messages one by one, put down his phone, and looked outside.

Wang Anquan and Zhao Jiagou had stopped arguing and were now slinging their arms over each other’s shoulders, howling like madmen. Jiang Lian was smiling—he rarely smiled, but today he had laughed many times.

Further out, the backstage team was preparing their speeches, and many people were gathered in conversation.

His gaze passed through another door, where the expo was still in full swing. Thousands of spectators were lined up, watching the scene unfold. Everywhere he looked, there was a lively and grand spectacle.

And today, it seemed he had achieved a complete victory, realizing things he had long wanted to accomplish. He had received congratulations from almost everyone, wishing him a happy promotion.

But standing in the dim, empty lounge at this moment, he suddenly felt lost. It seemed something was still missing—just a little bit, just that little bit, and he could be completely happy, fully immersed in the lively and grand scene before him.

…What was it?

He lowered his head, wanting to call out the Goddess of the Luo River, to have her quietly accompany him for a while.

But someone pressed down on his phone.

Before he could react—the next moment, he was suddenly pulled into an embrace from behind.

Cool strands of hair brushed against his cheek, followed by a fleeting kiss, as if from a distant place.

“Happy promotion, baby.”