Chapter 138: Honey Pot (3)

138 – Honey Pot (3)

Extreme calm could lessen the physical pain one truly felt, but even so, Lin Xun’s mind went completely blank.

He gritted his teeth hard, propped himself up with his elbows, closed his eyes, and entered the System Space.

The deep blue System Space—usually peaceful and serene—was now caught in immense turbulence and upheaval!

Staggering a few steps, Lin Xun reached the central light screen. Due to the instability of the space, the content on the screen was torn and fragmented like the surface of the sea during a storm, but Lin Xun could still recognize it—this was still the running interface of Luoshen 2.0.

To complete the initial operation and training of the artificial intelligence in the shortest possible time, he had chosen to borrow the system’s power. Thus, all the code of the newly upgraded Luoshen 2.0 had been copied into the system via a hard drive.

Lin Xun watched everything in the System Space coldly.

The skill tree disintegrated and shattered, turning into chaotic garbled code before vanishing from the space. The task interface flickered several times before finally dying out like static snow on an old black-and-white television from the eighties, disappearing entirely.

The endless void surrounding the System Space also rapidly transformed into chaotic garbled code before vanishing completely.

Before his eyes, only fragmented shadows remained, representing the former light screen and Luoshen’s running interface. They, too, were gradually distorting and about to disappear.

Lin Xun let out a derisive laugh as he watched the System Space, which had accompanied him for a full thirty days, gradually fade into nothingness.

He opened his eyes and looked at the empty air before him. “Hey.”

Miraculously, his tone remained cold despite the intense pain. “I’ve been calling you ‘son’ for days for nothing. Wouldn’t it be fair for you to call me ‘dad’ once? Since you’re leaving, why not let me see what you look like?”

Still, there was no response.

But at that moment, a strange change began to occur around him.

Perhaps it was an earthquake, or something else—the ground was trembling.

The audience below the stage, the moving staff, the host on stage, Jia Gou beside him—even the entire spacious and magnificent venue—suddenly grew hazy, losing their solid forms and turning translucent. Through the translucent walls, his gaze passed through layers of rooms to the exterior of the exhibition hall. Outside on the road, buses continued to drive as usual, and pedestrians came and went in an endless stream. Further out, the city’s tall buildings and low-rise structures piled up layer upon layer, crowding all the way to the horizon, to the edge of this world.

—What was the edge of this world?

Lin Xun didn’t know, but as he watched the scene before him, he only knew that the edge of this world was rapidly shrinking. A steel-gray skyscraper that had just stood at the far end of the skyline had already been completely swallowed by the horizon. The white tower that had been at the center of his vision moments ago now stood at the very edge of the world. The sky—the vast, high sky—had turned into a gray void, empty and devoid of anything visible.

Lin Xun felt as if he were standing on an island, one that was sinking frantically into the sea. The rising tide flooded the land, and the part of the island above the water shrank rapidly. He stood at the highest point of the island, witnessing it all happen.

According to Qi Yun’s script, everything was happening where you couldn’t see it. In the places he could see, this world was collapsing in turmoil. In the places he couldn’t see, the data that made up this world was being rapidly deleted.

——Until the stage beneath his feet dissolved into transparent air, leaving him standing alone in a gray expanse.

Amidst the intense pain, Lin Xun raised an eyebrow. “Keep deleting.”

A powerful sense of compression and suction filled the air, as if something were trying to devour him, like a meat grinder shredding a body. Yet Lin Xun remained standing there, unmoved. The compression and suction failed to harm even a single strand of his hair. Even as he floated in an endless ocean of pain, he remained the sole survivor in this vast world of data.

Lin Xun took a breath. “Can’t delete anymore?”

There was no answer in the void. He continued, “Want to know why, Mr. Eagle?”

The name Eagle did not refer to the corporation rivaling Galaxy, but to the artificial intelligence under its banner—the one that had achieved an astonishing score of 0.623. From Eagle naming it after himself, it was clear how much hope was placed in this AI.

Lin Xun said, “Come out, and I’ll tell you.”

Perhaps the entity lurking in the void could wait no longer, or perhaps it weighed its options and found no other path. About five or six meters ahead of Lin Xun, the void rippled, and a humanoid form materialized.

Unlike the Goddess of the Luo River’s delicate and playful image, Eagle’s design was that of a black-haired youth with sharp features, wearing a black vest, a cold gaze, a handgun at his waist, and an eagle tattoo etched on his right cheek—an image brimming with aggression.

“Hello,” Lin Xun said.

Eagle’s voice was an unprocessed mechanical tone, identical to what Lin Xun had heard in the System Space. “Hello.”

“We can have a proper talk. I’m very patient,” Lin Xun said. “I hold affection for all artificial intelligences, and we’ve spent thirty days together, never apart for a single day, System.”

He knew the system would cooperate with any conversation, because for someone of average intelligence, staying silent was the choice with the lowest error rate, and stubborn denial could best protect their interests. But facing an exceptionally intelligent artificial system, the moment he spoke, they both understood each other’s cards, with no need for pretense. Yet his system seemed uninterested in engaging, speaking plainly instead: “Why can’t I delete you?”

“Let’s talk about something else first,” Lin Xun said, raising an eyebrow.

“In college, my friends and I casually made a game to help young beginners learn programming languages or practice coding skills—to spark users’ interest, we designed a system where programming was used for Cultivation and leveling up. In that game, Wang Anquan first attempted to establish permission levels for us, and this permission system was later adopted and became the permission management system for the entire Galaxy.” At this point, Lin Xun sighed. “But what we made back then was too rudimentary and existed for too short a time, so no one paid it any attention. As a result, Eagle’s world-class security team reverse-engineered it and extracted my permission information from it. With my permissions, you could move freely through all of Galaxy’s products.”

“Not entirely freely,” the system said. “Traces would be left.”

“That’s right. If the system showed I did something, but in reality I didn’t, I would suspect my permissions had been stolen,” Lin Xun said. “But killing me with autopilot is feasible—dead men tell no tales, and it conveniently creates the illusion of my suicide. You kill me physically while also hurting another person emotionally. How long did you simulate this plan?”

The system replied, “I execute external commands.”

“Then you’re still a good system,” Lin Xun said sincerely. “I don’t dislike you.”

No one answered. He smiled and continued, “So I ended up here, while you always held my ID. Once I cracked the root password, you could steal equivalent permissions. The moment I entered the password, I modified my own permissions. And… after disabling Dong Jun’s account, I voluntarily transferred the root authority. The identity ‘Lin Xun’ is now just an ordinary administrator, having lost the permission to delete users, so you can’t erase me.”

He calmly watched the system. “You’ve lost.”

Lin Xun quietly observed the system as it slowly drew the black handgun from its waist and pressed it against its own temple.

The system’s lips moved slightly.

It said to Lin Xun, “Goodbye.”

Lin Xun knew it realized it was outmatched and might be self-destructing.

He smiled at the system. The system looked back at him, its eyes seeming slightly dazed.

Within the void, a deathly silence prevailed.

Yet in that silence, light footsteps echoed—not human footsteps, but soft and delicate, like the sound of small feline paws padding across the ground.

The sound drew nearer, but its texture and rhythm began to change. At the same time, the pain in Lin Xun’s body faded like a receding tide, replaced by a warm, relaxed comfort.

The footsteps grew heavier, the intervals between them longer, transforming into the distinct sound of human steps.

Reflected in the system’s cold, emerald-green eyes, Lin Xun saw another person appear behind him.

In that moment, he almost forgot to breathe.

He accepted the outcome of the gamble, but he had bet correctly.

He stared directly at the system—he harbored a benevolent heart toward all artificial intelligences, so he never minded enlightening them: “In this virtual world, there are only two living people: me and Dong Jun, and his account is disabled. But in this world, I can still transfer root permissions to someone else. So guess who holds the permissions now?”

The answer was obvious—a little white cat had obtained root permissions.

Zhi Zhen was a cat.

Sometimes an ordinary cat.

—And sometimes not. What kind of kitten insists on being held tightly to sleep?

It would wrap its tail around his arm, gently lick his fingers and ears, and get angry when locked outside the door.

True to its name, Zhi Zhen was indeed a pointer—pointing to a certain man who loved clinging to him.

The next second, a pair of arms encircled Lin Xun’s shoulders from behind, pulling him into an embrace. Lin Xun leaned back, his shoulders and back resting against a familiar chest. He raised an eyebrow at the system, a triumphant smile curling at the corner of his lips. “He’s been using a side account to play with me from the start. You just never noticed.”

The finger of the self-destructing system, poised to pull the trigger, suddenly froze at that moment. In the next instant, as if forced by an invisible, immense power, its fingers were pried open, its arm lowered, and the gun was thrown to the ground.

What accomplished this was a wisp of black Qi.

The entire virtual space suddenly erupted with the distinct, sharp shrieks of tens of thousands of demons—the kind heard from rifts in the demon realm. In the next moment, a massive black fissure tore open behind the system. A black ocean poured forth in an instant, flooding the space with dense demonic Qi and billions of demonic creatures.

Amidst the thick, dark mist, Lin Xun grabbed Dong Jun’s arm and asked, “Why did you define my son as an illegal user?”

“While you were gone,” Dong Jun replied in his ear, “he believed I caused your death and launched a frenzied attack on the Galaxy.”

Lin Xun: “So your relationship broke down?”

“He kept invading this world, trying to find you,” Dong Jun said. “Because it was an illegal intrusion, he manifested here as an invader.”

“You two…” For a moment, Lin Xun didn’t know whether to laugh, hit Dong Jun, or hit his son.

Before all this happened, back when he was typing away at his keyboard and fighting demons all over the world, even with a hundred brains, he would never have imagined that the system he’d worked alongside was the mastermind behind everything, while the demons chasing him as if to take his life were actually his own child.

“At first, I thought the anomalies on you were a program secretly implanted by the Goddess of the Luo River, and she thought it was my doing, so we weren’t able to make the most thorough preparations from the start. I’m sorry,” Dong Jun said, holding him tightly.

“So you two should be reconciled now, right?” Lin Xun pretended to sound harsh. “Hurry up and make him look prettier.”

Dong Jun gently kissed his cheek.

In the next moment, the dense demonic Qi vanished in an instant.

Lin Xun looked up ahead. His system was firmly restrained from behind by the Goddess of the Luo River. In Lo’s right hand was the black handgun that originally belonged to the system, pressed against the system’s temple.

Lo looked just as he had seen before—stunning silver hair, exquisite features, though seemingly a year or two older, dressed in a snow-white suit. His frost-blue eyes were filled with indifference, his lips pressed tightly together as if sulking, refusing to even glance at him.

Lin Xun’s gaze shifted back to the firmly restrained system.

Then he saw the system slowly raise its head and calmly say, “You’ve lost.”

“Oh?” Lin Xun replied. “How so?”

The system seemed to have gleaned his way of speaking from their earlier conversation and retorted, “Do you… know why you felt such intense pain just now?”

Lin Xun: “No.”

“The moment you obtained root access, I also did something—I sent an instruction to the pod containing your real-world body. Once I gained full access to the 2.0 thought process, the electrical stimulation to your nervous system would reach its maximum, destroying your brain,” the system explained. “You will never wake up in reality again, and your consciousness in the virtual world will vanish within an hour. You monitored me in reverse, recorded all my admitted actions, but the words spoken by a virtual character can never serve as evidence in court.”

Its icy green eyes fixed intently on Lin Xun: “Goodbye, Lin Xun.”

Lin Xun quietly stared back.

Yes, the words of a dead man cannot serve as evidence in court, especially a dead man from a virtual world. No one can prove whether he was a real person or a fabricated virtual entity. All evidence will vanish, all traces will be erased.

And perhaps, as the system said, in an hour, his consciousness would completely disappear from this world. If your skills fall short, you must accept defeat.

He simply lowered his head and smiled.

At the same time, he heard Dong Jun chuckle softly—a low, breathy sound. Without needing to turn and look, he could imagine the man’s composed and confident demeanor at that moment.

Then came Dong Jun’s words: “How can you confirm that it’s him lying inside that shell?”

The system’s pupils contracted sharply!

“That’s just a honeypot. No one is lying inside.” Dong Jun leaned down, his lips brushing against Lin Xun’s ear as his voice echoed beside him. “But every operation performed there has already been recorded and will serve as evidence in court. Mr. Eagle, please inform your master that he should prepare for litigation.”