Deus Ex Machina: Chapter 42

Chapter 42

He Xun immediately understood what Bai Yunci meant, but the others looked confused. He Xun asked, “Who exactly is Yang Jin?”

Bai Yunci sighed deeply.

“He joined Qianfan in the same batch as I did.” A soft voice sounded behind them all. “What exactly are you suspecting him of?”

Everyone turned to see Zhan Feng.

“Don’t wander around unnecessarily,” Bai Yunci said. “And don’t make presumptuous remarks about others’ thoughts. No one here is suspecting him.”

Zhan Feng’s face was still somewhat pale. He slowly walked over to Bai Yunci, took the tablet from his hand, and carefully examined the test results displayed on it. “It does look a lot like the component of the Star Marker,” he said. “The Star Marker was modeled after Haiyan, and I understand why you might suspect there’s some connection between this and Yang Jin. But have you considered how many years Haiyan existed before Yang Jin’s time? When Haiyan was developed, Yang Jin hadn’t even been born yet. We’ve all injected Haiyan—would you dare analyze your own blood? Can you be sure this isn’t a remnant of Haiyan?”

Bai Yunci didn’t argue with Zhan Feng but said, “The priority is to find Yang Jin and Yi Xi. The two of them couldn’t just disappear into thin air.” He walked over to the window, gazing at the city that, once radiant, had fallen into desolation in just a few dozen hours. It was sobering. He said, “Before the real crisis hits, this is all we can do.”

Yang Jin gradually woke up.

He had slept deeply for a long time, and upon waking, he no longer felt weak; instead, he felt a surge of strength, as if he’d been reborn. He slowly sat up, and the blanket slid off, revealing his toned physique. As he moved slightly, he felt warm breaths by his side.

Shi Yixi was sleeping by his bedside.

“Wake up.” Yang Jin gently patted Shi Yixi’s face. Shi Yixi, being a light sleeper, opened his eyes almost immediately.

“Are you better now?” Shi Yixi rubbed his eyes hard, as if to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He lifted his head with a bit of delight and asked, “Does it still hurt anywhere?”

Yang Jin shook his head and, almost unconsciously, reached out to pat Shi Yixi’s head. “I’m fine.”

“Then…then I’ll go call them.” Shi Yixi stood up, intending to alert the others, but quickly realized that this appeared to be a sealed space with no visible door. Fortunately, at that moment, a gap opened on one side, and Yu Chen entered, carrying a set of clothes for Yang Jin. As he casually tapped at the screen, he smiled at Yang Jin. “You should be good now. Put on some clothes and come eat. Xi Zai, you’ve been here for a while; aren’t you tired?”

Shi Yixi shook his head.

Yang Jin asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Not that long,” Shi Yixi replied softly.

“How long is ‘not that long?'” Yang Jin pressed.

Shi Yixi thought for a moment and said, “There’s no concept of time here; I can’t feel it.”

This answer left Yang Jin speechless. He could only say, “Wait outside for me. I’ll get dressed.”

Shi Yixi got up and left.

Yang Jin dressed quickly and soon joined the others. Yu Chen, Yang Jian, and Shi Yixi were seated around a round table laden with steaming food.

“Do you all need to eat, too?” Yang Jin asked dryly.

“Technically, no,” Yu Chen replied. “But Yixi has to eat. He can’t just rely on photosynthesis, can he?”

Yang Jin silently pulled out a chair and sat down, directly across from Yang Jian. He slightly raised his chin and glanced at Yang Jian, who also looked at him. Yu Chen could tell from Yang Jian’s expression that he seemed a bit unhappy. Yu Chen couldn’t help but sigh; no matter how many years passed, this man’s domineering and self-important nature would never change. He remained aloof and unyielding, refusing to accept any provocation.

Even if that person shared the same genes as him.

“Let’s eat first.” Yu Chen, wanting to avoid the awkwardness, had spent enough time around Yang Jian to know he needed to break the ice occasionally. “You’ve slept for ten hours, and Yixi has been by your side for ten hours. You should at least let him eat something and have a drink, right?”

“Yeah, let’s eat first,” Yang Jin said. “After we finish, we’ll leave. I have something very important to do and don’t have time to play house with you all.”

“Important things?” Yu Chen snapped his fingers. “Is this what you mean?”

The screens in the distance closed in like phantoms, each displaying the news of the moment, all focused on the Aurora incident and the Holy Land. The voices of analysis and questioning were numerous, and no one knew what the truth actually was.

But everyone was clamoring for a truth.

“While you were resting, I reorganized this AI system called ZZ and retrieved the logs from the past three months. I don’t know if it’ll help you,” Yu Chen said. “Although I’m not sure what happened, it seems… quite thrilling.”

Yang Jin asked, somewhat surprised, “You decrypted it?”

“Yeah, it was a piece of cake,” Yu Chen replied. “And I found two other systems in its framework that don’t belong to it—one is an annoying little thing that just cries all the time, and the other is much more complex than ZZ. It has its own consciousness and refuses to let anyone touch it.”

“Fan Fan is still around ah?” Shi Yixi said. “That’s great.”

But Yang Jin was more interested in the other. “Do you know the name of that more complex AI?”

Yu Chen replied, “ZZ calls it Pony.”

Yang Jin tensed and grabbed Yu Chen, asking, “Can you restore it?”

Yang Jian impatiently interrupted and pushed Yang Jin away. “Mind your words and actions.”

“This is very important!” Yang Jin insisted. “This concerns the lives of thousands! They can’t just die without any explanation!” As he spoke, he reached out again, but Yang Jian immediately jabbed Yang Jin’s hand down onto the table with a pair of chopsticks.

“Ugh!” Yang Jin was taken aback, pain instantly radiating from his hand, leaving a patch of crimson beneath. Seeing this, Shi Yixi jumped up and pointed the chopsticks at Yang Jian.

“Keep your distance from him,” Yang Jian said to Yang Jin with a blank expression.

“…” Yu Chen rubbed his forehead and pressed his hands down, signaling, “Let’s talk it out instead of fighting. Yang Jin, what are you frozen for? Hurry up and pull the chopsticks out; the wound will heal in no time.”

Shi Yixi quickly pulled the chopsticks out for Yang Jin, causing him to wince in pain, unsure of who to curse at that moment.

However, Yu Chen wasn’t wrong; Yang Jin’s wound was visibly healing at an astonishing rate, something he had never experienced in his twenty-plus years.

“It’ll only get faster from now on,” Yu Chen remarked.

Shi Yixi’s gaze fell on Yang Jin’s palm as he softly asked, “Does it still hurt?”

Yang Jin shook his head, forcibly suppressing his anger towards Yang Jian. He said seriously, “Can we continue talking about Pony? If not, I need to leave. I have no interest in your affairs.”

“The Pony you mentioned is currently in a dormant state,” Yu Chen said. “It has its own consciousness, and waking it up requires decrypting its dormant program. While that’s not a problem for me, why should I help you? Yang Jian and I aim to take you home, not to accompany you in saving the world here.”

At the mention of Yang Jin being taken away, Shi Yixi couldn’t help but tense up. Yang Jin was certainly formidable, but the capabilities of the two before him were clearly beyond what they could gauge. If a fight broke out, the outcome was uncertain.

He loosened and tightened the hand resting on his knee, instinctively glancing at Yang Jin.

“I’m not trying to save the world,” Yang Jin stated. “I just want to know the truth.”

“This person? Guan Jincheng? I’ve heard you mention him.” Yu Chen pulled up an image displaying Guan Jincheng’s stern face. It showed he had arrived at the Intercontinental Alliance headquarters a week after the explosion at Qianfan, but there were no further records.

No underground laboratory, no explanation for why Guan Jincheng was alive.

Similarly, there were no records about Yang Jin.

“How many doctoral degrees does this guy have?” Yu Chen read Guan Jincheng’s resume aloud, “He joined Qianfan at fourteen, started participating in significant research projects at the Prometheus Laboratory at sixteen, and has since elevated human gene evolution capabilities several levels. He took part in the Haiyan upgrade plan and became one of the Qianfan supervisors at twenty-five, continuing to this day.” He finished by summarizing Guan Jincheng’s numerous research achievements and contributions, adding, “He’s truly an impressive scientist.”

“But this person is very dangerous,” Yang Jin said. “He attempted to study me, but there were no clear results. When he left, he took half of my blood; I don’t know what he intends to do with it. No, wait… he mentioned an experiment from twenty years ago…” He fell into deep thought. “What experiment? Is it the one He Xun mentioned?”

Shi Yixi said, “Before we came to find you, Meng Die also mentioned ZZ. It’s possible that Guan Jincheng bypassed ZZ, which is why there are no records.”

Yang Jin pondered for a moment, feeling that many answers were within reach, like jellyfish floating around him—he could touch them with just a gentle nudge.

But as his thoughts tried to advance, the extended fingers found those jellyfish were electrified.

No, it wasn’t an illusion.

“You’ve lost a considerable amount of memory,” Yang Jian, who had been silent, finally spoke. “Think carefully about it. What’s the earliest memory you can recall?”

Yang Jin recalled diligently and realized he could only remember his life after Qianfan. It shouldn’t be like this; how could a person have only a few years’ worth of memories? Before that, he had only a vague impression—his Qianfan resume clearly stated he had been without parents from a young age and was sent to Qianfan, eventually becoming a formal member after extensive training.

Why did he have no recollection of his childhood? What was that training experience like?

As Yang Jin traced back through his past, he found that the first person he could remember was actually Guan Jincheng!

“Your memories have been artificially altered; someone has implanted a consciousness in your brain,” Yang Jian said. “What we can tell you is merely superficial. You arrived on Earth fifty years ago, but after your arrival, you lost contact with us. We spent some time looking for you; for us, it may have been just a few minutes, but we are definitely not aligned on the same timeline. What happened during that time and how it relates to the truth you seek is something you will have to uncover on your own.”

Yang Jin was silent for a moment before asking, “If what you’re saying is true, then why did I come to Earth?”

“To help them,” Yang Jian replied. “To assist these pitiful and ignorant people in surviving a coming doom.”

Yang Jin sneered. “So, shouldn’t a superior civilization come to Earth to colonize or exploit resources? Are you here for charity? To help humanity?”

“This question is difficult to explain, but we once had a very close relationship with humanity, in ways they do not know,” Yang Jian said. “We used to be very close to Earth. But as human technology developed, they continuously explored the outer world, constantly sending signals into the universe, which severely disrupted our world. To protect ourselves and humanity, we had to leave the solar system.”

“Why not let humanity discover your existence?” Yang Jin asked.

Yang Jian said, “If an ant comes to the city and sees tall humans, can it transform into a human itself? It still has to live underground, waiting for humans to accidentally step on it. If ants discover humans, humans will likewise discover ants, but they won’t care about the ants; they won’t even know when they’ve stepped on them. Given that, why wouldn’t ants prefer to live in their natural environment? The relationship between civilizations in the universe is similar; you never know who you will encounter, who will take that first step, and whether the other party lives or dies doesn’t really matter. If that’s the case, why not live comfortably in a closed world and never meet unknown strangers whose intentions are unclear?”

His voice was cold, making his words seem even more devoid of human emotion. Or rather, the term “human emotion” belonged only to sentimental humans, not to their kind of advanced civilization.

“But ants will feel lonely,” Shi Yixi said. “Loneliness… is the most terrifying thing.”

“Naïve,” Yang Jian scoffed.

“So you decided for humanity?” Yang Jin said. “You put them in a closed environment—why?” His tone was very unpleasant, and Yu Chen worried he might clash with Yang Jian again, so he hurried to explain, “It’s for their own good. Human civilization is nothing but a speck of dust in the universe; any random civilization could send a pawn to destroy them. The only contribution we could make before leaving was to make them believe they are the only civilization in the universe, to stop them from sending signals outward, and allow them to live safely on Earth so that their civilization could continue. Yang Jin, you’ll never understand how immense human curiosity is; they won’t truly give up until they’re completely disheartened.”

After digesting this for a moment, Yang Jin suddenly let out a mocking laugh, his expression strange, as if he was mocking both Yu Chen and Yang Jian or perhaps mocking himself.

People have proudly declared countless times that they have conquered the universe, transforming from lonely figures in the cosmic hall into jubilant children. After all, if there’s nothing more interesting outside, they might as well lock themselves in a splendid room and play by themselves.

There have never been any divine beings, monsters, or aliens—no higher life forms or civilizations.

Only humans; humans are the masters of this universe, and humans are their own gods.

They have always believed this.

Until today, when they discovered the truth was not so. You believe there are no gods in this world because gods need you to believe that.

For lower civilizations, advanced civilizations are nothing more than unattainable deities.

Ants do not understand until their death what they did wrong to incur humanity’s punishment. But in truth, humans know nothing; they don’t even realize they’ve stepped on ants.

Ant colonies never understand why their homes are flooded and shaken to the core, their family members buried and decomposed, and their offspring yet to be born. Is this a punishment from heaven?

No, it’s merely a game of entertainment for bored human children digging into ant hills.

Between them, there is neither enmity nor grievance.

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