Chapter 66: Artificial Stupidity (2)
66 – Artificial Stupidity (2)
Lin Xun had a particular habit.
No decent person ever called him, and with the caller ID system being less than perfect in the past, any incoming call was either about selling property, insurance, or scams. Recorded messages were the most perfunctory—he couldn’t be bothered with them. If it was a real person on the line, showing at least some sincerity, he’d listen a little longer.
He’d just listen, not speak, and not hang up. The other person would ramble on and on, only to end up talking to the void.
Over time, this behavior only intensified. By now, unless the other party spoke first, he’d simply play dead and stay silent.
This time, the other side wasn’t speaking, only breathing heavily. So he remained quiet, focusing on the sound.
Thus, in the silent room, only the sound of rapid breathing could be heard.
It wasn’t the heavy, labored breathing of an adult or an elderly person, but something quick and crisp.
He thought, it sounds like a child.
If it wasn’t a scam call, then maybe it was a child’s prank? But the odds of randomly dialing a number and it just happening to be in the same Chaoyang District were too slim.
Lin Xun remained in this standoff with the caller.
The breathing continued.
This wasn’t simple.
Lin Xun began to think about who he might have given his phone number to. As he pondered, one person actually came to mind.
He hesitated for a moment, hung up the call, and then dialed back himself.
One second, two seconds, seven seconds later, the call was answered.
“…Hello?” A slightly hesitant, hoarse, and frail woman’s voice reached Lin Xun’s ears.
Combined with his earlier guess, Lin Xun immediately confirmed that this was the elderly woman whose grandson had been in trouble two days ago. Before leaving, he had given her his phone number.
“Hello,” Lin Xun said. “I’m Master Huo’s apprentice.”
“Master?” The old woman’s voice held a hint of confusion. “Master, are you looking for me?”
“You just called this number,” Lin Xun replied. At the same time, that faint sound of breathing came through the receiver again.
“I didn’t call,” the old woman’s voice trembled. “It must have been the child bumping the phone while sleeping. Did I disturb you, Master? I’m sorry…”
Lin Xun frowned slightly.
He said to the old woman, “Then it might have just been an accidental touch.”
After a pause, he continued, “Is the child alright? Is he there with you?”
This time, the old woman hesitated again before speaking haltingly, “The child… still isn’t well.”
She spoke slowly, with the kind of awkwardness that comes when asking for a favor.
She said, “Could the Master come again? My grandson can’t speak anymore, he doesn’t sleep well, keeps having nightmares, and can’t be woken up.”
Lin Xun rubbed his temples.
Had the demonic entity not been completely eradicated?
He asked, “Is it the same as a few days ago?”
“Different,” the old woman said. “He’s just listless, like he’s lost his soul. I called out for him downstairs today, but I couldn’t bring his soul back.”
“The evil entity has been dealt with,” Lin Xun said. “It might be a psychological issue. You should take him to see a doctor.”
“Ah…?” the old woman replied. “How do I do that? Can Master Huo take a look?”
“There’s a children’s hospital near your place, you…” Lin Xun was about to explain how to make an appointment and see a doctor, but then it occurred to him that this old woman had almost no social experience and was deeply superstitious. In the end, he changed his mind. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning.”
The old woman thanked him profusely over the phone.
“By the way,” he added, “did you save my number that day?”
He clearly remembered that when he left the neighborhood that day, he had left his number for the old lady using pen and paper, telling her to contact him if anything came up. It was pen and paper, not saving the number directly into her phone.
“This…” The old lady seemed to be thinking. “I didn’t save it.”
He heard her mutter softly, “I probably didn’t save it, so how did it dial to you?”
The old lady had stumbled upon a blind spot and began to grow suspicious, eventually suspecting that her little grandson had saved the number on her phone, though she had no solid evidence.
“It’s fine, as long as it’s saved,” Lin Xun said. “You should rest now. I’ll come over tomorrow morning.”
After hanging up, Lin Xun stared blankly at the call interface.
Recalling the inexplicable late-night call Officer Cao had received, he had good reason to suspect there was more to this situation.
He turned to look out the window at the deep night, then entered the System Space, tinkering with some small programs and functions before finally closing his eyes, ready to sleep.
As he reflected on the events of the past few days before drifting off, he felt a dreamlike sense of unreality.
Just ten days ago, his life had been uneventful—writing code, developing algorithms, and receiving rejection calls from investors. But at some point, life had suddenly become vibrant.
Using his limited ability to express himself, he thought it could be described like this: originally, his life could be summed up with phrases like “after a day’s work” or “after a night’s sleep.” But now, from morning till night, every event seemed to carry deeper meaning. If written as a novel, the twists and turns of these ten days could probably fill two hundred thousand words—though it was foreseeable that it wouldn’t be particularly meaningful.
Of course, the most unexpected thing was still Dong Jun.
At this thought, he hugged his pillow and tossed and turned in bed countless times.
Even as he was about to fall asleep, the image of Dong Jun’s quiet and gentle silhouette in the car lingered in Lin Xun’s mind. Thinking of that moment, a warm, soft sensation spread through his heart.
Perhaps Dong Jun had been waiting for a goodnight kiss, he thought.
There wasn’t one tonight, but if there was a chance in the future, maybe… he could try.
Amidst these scattered, wandering thoughts, he finally fell asleep and, at some unknown point later, opened his eyes.
The room—a dim room.
It seemed to be late at night. The lights from countless homes outside the window provided just enough visibility for the unlit room.
In the darkness, a red dot glowed faintly, seemingly moving slowly.
Lin Xun approached and saw it was a slender, burning cigarette.
Two slender fingers held it, but the owner didn’t bring it to his lips, merely watching it burn quietly.
The ash drifted down lightly, carrying a faint spark before extinguishing mid-air. Gray wisps of smoke curled upward before Lin Xun’s eyes. He reached out, took the cigarette, and stubbed it out nearby.
The man allowed him to do so.
Long hair cascaded down, framing a quiet silhouette—a man, and a beautiful one at that. The ends of his eyebrows arched slightly upward, and his half-closed lashes concealed most of his expression. In the night, his face held an indescribable, dangerous allure. A faint, mysterious, and decadent fragrance lingered in the air, like the edge of rose petals just beginning to decay.
The fan group had once discussed their “husband’s” long hair.
First, there weren’t many men in the world who could pull off long hair and look good, but once they did, they looked exceptionally good.
The long hair also suited his temperament—mysterious, aloof, elegant.
At that moment, the shop owner’s wife chimed in, saying, “Actually, I think my husband’s aura is a bit dangerous. His features are inherently aggressive, especially when he isn’t wearing glasses. Imagine this: on a dimly lit street at midnight, he brushes past you, his eyes fixed intently on you, his expression completely blank—”
Suan Cai Yu replied, “I’d think he’s an elegant madman who wants to kill me. Husband, kill me.”
Galaxy Shop Owner’s Wife: “Husband, kill me.”
At the time, Lin Xun silently lurked in the chat, feeling he couldn’t keep up with the strange thought processes of these young women.
But now, looking at Dong Jun’s silhouette in the dim light, he strangely found himself aligning with their wavelength from back then.
In such a dimly lit room, when Dong Jun gazed at him expressionlessly, Lin Xun felt danger from both instinct and reason.
In the dream, his body was beyond the control of his consciousness.
He watched as he set the extinguished cigarette aside, and then his wrist was grasped by Dong Jun.
The hand was slightly cool, its grip tight.
Lin Xun murmured softly, “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
Dong Jun didn’t answer, instead pulling his wrist downward. Originally sitting on the bed, Dong Jun shifted, and as Lin Xun leaned forward slightly under his force, he was suddenly swept into a horizontal embrace, then pressed down.
He was pinned heavily onto the bed, his wrist still firmly restrained.
The bed beneath him was soft, so it didn’t hurt, and he didn’t resist, as if this were a familiar occurrence.
Strands of hair brushed against his neck, and the sound of breathing reached his ear—slightly irregular, its tail end half-contained and half-released, carrying a hint of lingering fluctuation, like the teasing of a feather.
“I received an invitation from IMU,” Lin Xun heard his own voice, low and husky, say, “but it seems to conflict with your schedule.”
His earlobe was bitten, the pressure on his waist intense, as an atmosphere of danger and ambiguity spread.
He heard a cool, clear voice, with an undeniable tone: “Not allowed.”
The tail end of the phrase was slightly hoarse—not a discussion or compromise, but a command. As natural as a high and mighty monarch imposing heavy taxes within his domain.
His earlobe was released, and then came a mix of intermittent kisses and the heavy licking and biting of teeth.
Lin Xun gasped a few times, turning his head away. He saw the sky outside the floor-to-ceiling window, a dark night sky with a full moon like an eye.
He abruptly opened his eyes.
It was early morning again, and two birds in the hawthorn tree outside the window were chirping annoyingly.
He closed his eyes once more, taking several deep breaths as if exhausted, before opening them again and picking up his phone nearby.
In his notes, there was a folder titled “Dreams,” placed alongside one labeled “Suspicious Points.”
He opened it, created a new file, typed a few words, then deleted them.
It wasn’t that he’d forgotten—he simply didn’t know how to put it into words.
In the end, he wrote this sentence:
I might have been single for too long.
After writing it, he tossed his phone aside, unwilling to dwell on it, and went out to wash up.
Zhao Jiagou was actually up earlier than him today, already lounging on the sofa leisurely drinking milk.
Lin Xun remarked coolly, “Did you set your alarm wrong?”
“How could I possibly set it wrong?” Zhao Jiagou replied. “It’s all because of you. I’ve been so worried about you that I couldn’t even focus on gaming. I barely slept all night.”
Lin Xun stared at his non-existent dark circles: “I could guess with my keyboard that you were trolling your teammates in a game and got flamed offline, so you went to bed very early.”
Zhao Jiagou seemed to have been hit where it hurt: “The internet was bad.”
Lin Xun: “It’s 5G now.”
Zhao Jiagou let out an indignant sound and changed the subject: “Are you going on a date again today?”
“Probably not,” Lin Xun said. “I don’t know either. I’m going out to save the world first today.”
“Busy, huh, Algorithm?” Jia Gou said. “What realm have you reached?”
Lin Xun: “Let’s not talk about it. I haven’t found the inspiration to level up. But a sword cultivator taught me a move.”
Zhao Jiagou: “Then you should go read the textbook again.”
Lin Xun: “I’ll read it when I get back.”
He glanced at Wang Anquan’s closed door: “Anquan still not up?”
“Mhm,” Jia Gou said. “He was looking at a string of disjointed code last night, saying you were going to mess with him.”
Lin Xun: “I have faith in him.”
“I bet your Dong Jun couldn’t have slept well last night either,” Zhao Jiagou said. “He probably already reviewed our legacy code and picked it apart.”
Lin Xun: “I already felt ashamed for our code in advance when I added him to the group.”
“With your idol’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies,” Zhao Jiagou said, “he’ll probably want to refactor everything before even starting to write code.”
Lin Xun: “Then we can prepare to witness a miracle.”
An algorithm is a blueprint, and writing code is like building a house from that blueprint. If you put it that way, their previous work was a barely passable cluster of buildings. With Dong Jun, using the same blueprint, he could create the sturdiest, most beautiful, and multifunctional large-scale structure with the least amount of material.
Amid the ongoing banter, Lin Xun got himself ready, checked the time, and headed out.
Today’s trip would likely boost his favorability with Officer Cao again.