Chapter 65: Artificial Idiot (1)
65 – Artificial Idiot (1)
This group, especially Zhao Jiagou, had been tirelessly disparaging Dong Jun right before they left, yet now their attitudes had shifted so quickly.
—Lin Xun thus also copied a “Hail the Eastern God.”
This wasn’t the first time he had typed these four characters, but all previous instances of “Hail the Eastern God” had been buried among the endless garbage information on the internet.
Today, after bouncing around Dong Jun’s various social media platforms for so long, he—a cheerful lemon—had finally struck gold.
He stole a glance at Dong Jun.
Dong Jun was focused on driving, his concentrated expression quite pleasing to the eye.
He switched to the WeChat chat interface with Dong Jun and, without making a sound, directly input an instruction to his Lo, letting it chat with Dong Jun—he was very interested in this conversational system of Dong Jun’s.
Then, he stopped operating his phone.
A Happy Pointer: Hello.
Dong Jun: ^^
A Happy Pointer: Are you going to become our new member?
Dong Jun: Yes.
A Happy Pointer: But we don’t have any extra space.
Dong Jun: I hope you can come to Galaxy.
A Happy Pointer: Then can I be in your office?
Dong Jun: Sure ^^
Lin Xun: “?”
Lo, what are you saying?
He quickly grabbed his phone, trying to do some damage control.
But it was too late; he saw Dong Jun had already looked at his phone screen.
He defended himself: “It wasn’t me.”
Dong Jun: “Goddess of the Luo River?”
“Mm,” Lin Xun said, “a small module of Goddess of the Luo River.”
Looking at the chat interface, he asked Dong Jun: “What’s your system called?”
“A work in progress, no name,” Dong Jun said calmly. “This project was just put on hold yesterday.”
Lin Xun: “Why?”
“The Bradley coefficient is 1.397,” Dong Jun said.
The Bradley coefficient—an unfamiliar term.
So, Lin Xun continued asking: “What is that?”
“The outcome of that conference in Canada a few days ago. The industry is about to roll out a testing system called Bradley,” Dong Jun’s voice was very gentle, making Lin Xun feel like he was back in his student days, being lectured by a teacher.
He heard Dong Jun continue: “Or rather, an evolved version of the Turing test. The test result is expressed as the Bradley coefficient, indicating the degree of intelligence. The closer it is to 0, the more similar it is to human cognitive and decision-making abilities. 1 is the benchmark; a score less than 1 is considered passing the test, and it is then regarded as a truly independent intelligent entity.”
“Wow,” Lin Xun couldn’t help but exclaim in admiration.
He asked: “What’s the best score so far?”
“As far as I know, no intelligent system has passed the test yet. However, several teams claim they see hope.” At this point, Dong Jun smiled: “Eagle might release a product with a Bradley coefficient less than 1 at the Technology Expo.”
“Have they already achieved it?” Lin Xun looked at Dong Jun: “What’s the key to reaching a score of 1?”
“Hmm…” Dong Jun seemed to ponder for a moment, but then didn’t reveal anything, instead saying: “Are you trying to steer toward passing the test?”
“Since everyone is going to participate in the expo, and they’re similar products…” Lin Xun said softly: “If there’s an information imbalance, then Goddess of the Luo River might be in trouble.”
Dong Jun said: “I don’t want to influence your thinking.”
Drawing on his experience conversing with Butterfly Madam, Lin Xun softened his voice: “It won’t be disrupted.”
Dong Jun glanced at him.
Lin Xun blinked, putting on an innocent expression.
Dong Jun: “I forgot.”
Lin Xun: “…”
Alright.
My idol, you really are that kind of idol.
He gritted his teeth.
A faint hint of amusement seemed to linger in Dong Jun’s eyes.
Ahead, they passed through another intersection—again, the light was green.
Just as their car cleared the intersection, the green light turned yellow.
Every single time along the way, it was like this.
For someone driving manually to achieve this, they must be familiar with the road conditions, remember the timing of every traffic light, and—using the situation at the first traffic light as the initial condition—begin calculating. Then, by adjusting the speed in real-time, they would arrive at every intersection exactly when the light turned green.
Their mind must be incredibly sharp, and their memory undoubtedly exceptional.
Someone like that says they forgot the scoring criteria?
I’d sooner believe in ghosts than believe you.
In his heart, Lin Xun awarded Dong Jun the championship trophy for telling bold-faced lies.
Just as the award ceremony concluded in his mind, the Bentley pulled up at Chaoyang Community, right outside his building.
He looked at Dong Jun: “Well… I’ll head back now.”
“Sleep early,” Dong Jun said. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Lin Xun met Dong Jun’s gaze. He should have opened the car door and stepped out, but at that moment, he felt something was missing.
Perhaps there should have been a goodnight kiss, or something else. Back in his student days, aside from Security Jia Gou, he had a few close friends. They used to enter the library together, leave together, and share breakfast, lunch, dinner, and even late-night snacks—but gradually, those friends drifted away from the group. Lin Xun often saw them tangled like snakes with their girlfriends outside the girls’ dormitory at night, only parting ways just before the dormitory closed, then watching her head upstairs.
After a moment of hesitation, he still did nothing. He opened the car door, stepped out, closed it, and prepared to leave.
Just as the door closed, Lin Xun thought he saw Dong Jun glance in his direction. Their eyes met for an instant, and in the dim light, the man’s silhouette held an indescribable quietness and gentleness, as if waiting for something.
Lin Xun paused by the car door. After a moment, he walked around the front of the car to the window where Dong Jun sat.
The window slid down, and Dong Jun looked at him.
“You… you should sleep early too,” Lin Xun said. “Alright, I’ve said what I needed to say.”
“Goodnight.” Dong Jun’s voice seemed to carry a hint of a nasal tone, making it deeper and more magnetic, like the tip of a feather lightly brushing against Lin Xun’s hearing: “I’ll dream of you.”
Lin Xun: “Then I’ll try to dream of you too.”
Dong Jun smiled faintly: “Go on back.”
Lin Xun: “No, you go first.”
He watched as the window closed, the engine started, and finally, he watched the black Bentley glide into the night before turning to head upstairs.
Fingerprint verification passed, and he opened the door.
As soon as he stepped inside, his ears were filled with music.
An old tune, mixed with some lyrics—he faintly recognized it as a song called “Father,” a popular hit from many, many years ago. He had no idea where they had dug it up from.
Lin Xun: “…”
Zhao Jiagou leaned in: “Have you realized how we felt like worried fathers during your absence?”
Before Lin Xun could respond, Wang Anquan popped up from another direction: “A song titled ‘Father,’ hoping to move you, the rebellious son about to be poached.”
Lin Xun expressionlessly turned off the music.
“I won’t be poached,” he said. “Dong Jun has joined us.”
“Isn’t he after our core technology?” Wang Anquan reacted as if facing a great threat.
“He just wants to write some interesting code,” Lin Xun sat down on the sofa. “What about trust between programmers?”
Wang Anquan: “It vanishes under the threat of capitalists.”
Lin Xun said, “You actually believe it; you just don’t like me.”
“Yes,” Wang Anquan replied seriously. “Your damn algorithm tortured me all day again.”
Zhao Jiagou sat down beside Lin Xun.
“Xun,” he said, “tell me, what did you two do?”
Lin Xun: “We… used depth-first traversal to navigate a maze, then rode a Ferris wheel, had dinner, watched fireworks, and then… that was it.”
Zhao Jiagou: “?”
Zhao Jiagou: “What about the roller coaster?”
Lin Xun: “Didn’t ride it.”
Zhao Jiagou: “The carousel?”
Lin Xun: “Why would I go on a carousel?”
Zhao Jiagou: “The haunted house?”
Lin Xun: “As everyone knows, a firm materialist won’t be scared by a haunted house.”
Zhao Jiagou took a deep breath.
“Fine, fine, fine,” he said. “Then tell me, what did you do the rest of the time?”
Lin Xun: “We… had some computer-related exchanges, the kind that often happens between programmers.”
Zhao Jiagou: “?”
“You know, I really like his code,” Lin Xun said. “Today, he indicated that he likes my algorithm too.”
Zhao Jiagou stared intently: “And then?”
“Our souls resonated in that aspect, so, then…” Lin Xun looked into Zhao Jiagou’s eyes and said seriously, “Then my relationship with him underwent some substantial changes.”
“I…” Zhao Jiagou’s eyes rolled back, looking as if he were about to collapse backward.
“Calm down, calm down,” Wang Anquan patted his back.
Zhao Jiagou: “Anquan, bring my laptop over.”
A laptop opened in front of Lin Xun.
Lin Xun pressed the power button, and a screen appeared with text.
“Boot verification, please answer: Are you a puppy?”
Lin Xun: “What nonsense have you done now?”
“Nothing,” Jia Gou said. “Just select ‘Yes.'”
Lin Xun: “I’m not a puppy.”
With that, he pressed the “No” option.
A new interface popped up.
“Verification passed. You are a stubborn puppy.”
Lin Xun: “…”
Three seconds later, the interface disappeared, and the computer desktop appeared.
Zhao Jiagou: “Open my Java.”
Lin Xun opened it.
Zhao Jiagou: “Is my code beautiful?”
Lin Xun: “Beautiful.”
Zhao Jiagou: “I think your algorithm is very effective too.”
Lin Xun felt utterly unmoved: “So?”
Zhao Jiagou’s expression remained equally unmoved: “So now you can kiss me.”
Lin Xun stared at Zhao Jiagou, put down the laptop, left the sofa, and stepped back.
Holding his rabbit balloon, he moved to the door of his bedroom.
Wang Anquan clapped his hands. “Hurry up, I’ll officiate your wedding.”
Lin Xun replied, “Let’s not.”
He quickly stepped inside, closed the door, shutting out Jia Gou’s howls, Anquan’s laughter, and Jiang Lian’s confusion outside.
Sitting at his computer desk, he began searching for the “Bradley Coefficient,” but half an hour later, he found nothing—unsurprisingly, it would remain a secret until it was made public.
Giving up on uncovering this secret, he took out his external hard drive and sent the ten thousand lines of code for the “Chixiao Longque Sword” to Wang Anquan.
There was no immediate response from Wang Anquan. He shut down his computer, lay on the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Ten seconds later, a piercing phone ringtone sounded. He picked up his phone.
It was an unfamiliar number, showing it came from Chaoyang District.
Very few people called him.
Lin Xun pressed the answer button, and rapid breathing came from the other end.