Jiang Lijin walked down the stairs, and the first floor living room had already transformed completely.
The previously empty area was now filled with expensive furniture, the style extremely luxurious.
Tinia was sitting on the sofa, catching his breath. His blonde hair was messy, and the top two buttons of his collar were undone, revealing his pale collarbones.
A brand-new model of material-handling robot stood in the corner, its electronic eyes glowing red, its mechanical arms still fixed in a carrying position.
Rowan was nearby, laughing while hugging a plush cushion, his red hair bouncing with each chuckle.
Tianyan sat on a single sofa by the floor-to-ceiling window, his fingers flying across a virtual keyboard. Tianque stood silently behind him, staying still.
Lijin walked over and lightly kicked Tinia’s shin with her toe.
“What’s your problem with a machine?”
Tinia looked up, aggrieved, pointing at the gaudy pink vase encrusted with rhinestones standing by the entrance.
“It just won’t follow orders! I told it to put this on the coffee table, but it insisted on placing it in the foyer. That’s an antique—my mom paid a fortune for it at auction. What if it breaks?”
Jiang Lijin glanced at the extremely bright-colored vase and rubbed her forehead.
“Putting it in the foyer is fine. It wards off evil spirits.”
Tinia deflated, leaning back against the couch, muttering about giving that robot manufacturer a bad review in the Yúnlán System and maybe acquiring their company. He swiped quickly on his holographic screen as he spoke.
Tianyan didn’t lift his head, his fingers still dancing over the virtual keyboard.
“Boss, the asset liquidation of the old nobility is nearly complete. Su Han moves fast and doesn’t pull punches. He’s already subdued the main troublemakers. But Darren’s private army is sizable—it’s a hot potato. How do you want to handle it?”
Jiang Lijin sat down in the main seat, her posture relaxed.
“Let them starve for two days. Eliminate anyone who resists directly. For the rest, disband their original structure, pull out those with usable physical strength and mental power, and reorganize them into the city defense forces as a suicide squad. As for the ones who can’t be used... check their backgrounds. If they’ve got clean records, let them go.”
She said it all lightly, but in an instant, she decided the fate of tens of thousands of people.
“Understood.”
Just then, Chiron broke the brief, heavy silence.
“A few old-timers in the cabinet have submitted petitions asking to see you. They want to discuss the arrangements for the new emperor’s coronation.”
“Not interested. Keep them waiting.” Lijin didn’t even raise her eyelids. “They’re the ones in a rush, not me.”
As soon as she finished speaking, her wristband beeped softly. It was a message from Baal.
[Has the defense equipment arrived?]
Seeing that familiar name on the screen, the coldness in her eyes unconsciously melted a little. She tapped a reply with one hand.
[It’s here. When will you be done?]
He replied quickly, as if he’d been watching the message window the whole time.
[Soon. Wait for me.]
Looking at those simple four words, Jiang Lijin smiled faintly and turned off her wristband.
…
That night, Lijin changed into silk pajamas and lay in bed. Just as she closed her eyes—
Xiao Yi’s electronic voice appeared in her mind, clearly timid, its electric current unsteady.
[Host, we’re really going to see the main tome-brain tomorrow? What if it is the main system? Could it wipe both of us out?]
Lijin turned over, staring at the dark ceiling.
[If it wanted to wipe us, we wouldn’t still be here. You said its data stream felt familiar to you. Tomorrow, be sharp. See if you can connect to its outer ports and feel it out. Don’t be scared.]
Xiao Yi glitched, and after a long pause, managed a weak reply.
[Huh? Me?... I’ll try my best... But Host, what if it actually is Xiao Er?]
The bedroom went silent.
Jiang Lijin’s breathing slowly steadied. In the darkness, her hand unconsciously gripped the smooth silk corner of the blanket.
[If it is... then we’ll find a way to bring it back.]
Xiao Yi didn’t speak again. Its logic module nearly short-circuited, genuinely unable to figure out a way, within the limits of physics, to “bring back” another system. Was it supposed to copy it onto the memory stick of a broken robot like Xiao Bai?
…
The next morning. Imperial Academy of Sciences.
Lijin followed Chiron down the interior corridor of the Academy. Both walls were made of full radiation-proof alloy plates, with no decoration whatsoever. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, carrying a metallic, hard chill.
They passed through dozens more heavy isolation doors before finally reaching a massive airlock gate.
The door slid open, and an old man stood outside in an old-fashioned white lab coat. His hair was gray and white, his face deeply wrinkled, but he was full of energy.
Chiron nodded slightly in greeting.
“Uncle.”
The old man smiled warmly and waved his hand. His gaze passed over Chiron and settled on Jiang Lijin, sizing her up without any pretense.
He spoke first, his voice gentle.
“Your Highness, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Saien, current director of the Academy, and the daily maintenance supervisor for this old relic.”
Lijin returned the nod with courtesy, neither humble nor arrogant.
“Director Saien, sorry for the intrusion.”
Saien turned and led the way, his footsteps so light they seemed ill-suited to a man his age.
“No intrusion at all. To be honest, I’m rather happy. No one ever comes to see the main brain besides me and a few technicians. The royal family can’t even be bothered to ask about it. To them, it’s just a convenient tool.”
At the end of the corridor was yet another enormous round hatch.
Its surface was covered in dense serial numbers and red warning labels. Saien stepped up and pressed his palm onto the recognition panel.
“Beep—”
Retinal scan, palm print verification, and the deepest level of genetic matching. Triple, top-tier imperial physical authentication passed sequentially.
The hatch slid open slowly to both sides.
A blast of frigid air hit them instantly.
Jiang Lijin stepped inside, her foot pausing the moment she crossed the threshold.
The main machine room was unbelievably vast. The ceiling was at least thirty meters high, and the entire space was filled with a cold blue light devoid of warmth.
In the very center stood a huge, pillar-like structure, extending from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Counters of light flowed across its surface. A low-frequency, faint hum filled the air.
The temperature was terrifyingly cold.
Saien stood nearby, looking up at that pillar of light, his tone carrying a certain technician’s pride and awe.
“This is the physical core of the main brain. It’s been here since the founding of the Empire—older than the Academy itself. As for its computing power... you might not believe this, but we’ve never been able to measure its upper limit.”
Lijin didn’t respond.
She was staring intently at that immense central pillar.
The way those motes of light moved was too distinctive. They flickered on and off, rising and falling in a regular pattern.
It was like... they were breathing?
