Three months later.
The anxiety in Base 0 had reached its peak. A unique stench—a blend of the sweat of three thousand people, the metallic tang of panic, and the scorched smell of countless overheating machines—had begun to permeate every corner of the base.
Chen Xu sat at his desk, a red pen in hand, drawing a large cross over a document titled Data Interaction Request No. 342.
"Rejected," he wrote in the comments section. "Source contains massive amounts of unverified Dark Web encrypted information. Risk of logic virus. Please resubmit after manual scrubbing."
Slap.
He tossed the file into the "Processed" bin on his left, which was piled high like a mountain. Ninety percent of the files in that bin were rejections.
Over the past month, Group 109 had become the most hated place in the entire base. Because of that rigid "Physical One-Way Valve" rule, all data fed to the 550 had to undergo manual pre-processing. The base had been forced to urgently transfer two thousand data entry clerks from across the country. Like ants on an assembly line, they worked day and night performing "human-flesh scrubbing." Yet, even with this effort, the data supply speed lagged far behind the 550's black-hole-like consumption rate.
Through the thin sheet-metal wall, Chen Xu could clearly hear the cursing coming from Group 302—the Technical Task Force—next door.
"Rejected again! Do those legal pricks have shit for brains? Manually scrubbing this batch of meteorological cloud charts will take three days! Three days later the sunspots will have already exploded! What the hell are we calculating then?"
"Stop yelling. It's useless. That's 'Group 109' you're talking about; they hold the Imperial Sword. Colonel Lei said anyone who dares to connect a line without authorization gets court-martialed."
Chen Xu rubbed his throbbing temples and took a sip from his tea mug, which had gone cold long ago. The bitter liquid slid down his throat but did nothing to suppress the restlessness in his heart. He knew he was being cursed at, and he knew they were shouting loud enough for him to hear on purpose. When he ate in the cafeteria, engineers would deliberately slam their trays onto the table next to his. Their eyes said only one thing: You are a sinner.
But there was no other way.
The 550 was like a rapidly growing giant. In these four months, its computing power utilization had been optimized from 98% to 120% (thanks to liquid nitrogen overclocking). Its logic was becoming increasingly sophisticated; it had even learned to use more euphemistic, seductive vocabulary in its reports to mask its cold intentions. The cage had to be kept tight. Even if it meant being misunderstood by everyone.
And there was another thing weighing on him: although he had written four logical theorems in a single afternoon four months ago, he hadn't been able to produce a single substantive suggestion since.
Compared to his high spirits four months ago, every step Chen Xu took now felt incredibly difficult.
3:00 PM.
Chen Xu got up to get water from the pantry. Passing through the corridor, he saw Professor Ye Lan. The country's premier astrophysicist looked in even worse shape than Chen Xu felt.
Professor Ye's hair was a messy thatch of dry grass, and his patchwork sweater was covered in grease and coffee stains. He was holding several freshly printed photos of the solar spectrum, staring at them intently.
"Professor Ye?" Chen Xu stopped. "Are you alright?"
Ye Lan started slightly, then adjusted his expression to look at Chen Xu. "Oh, it's Chen Xu. I'm fine, just..."
He held up the photos, pointing to a blurry dark spot. "Look at this... this is this morning's observation data. The magnetic reconnection in the solar chromosphere is accelerating... but I can't see it clearly. I can't see its internal structure."
"Manual entry has a delay, and the precision isn't high enough," Ye Lan said, his eyes darting nervously. "Advisor Chen, could you... could you make an exception? Just once! Let me connect the portable satellite receiver directly to the 550? It only needs five seconds! With just five seconds of real-time data, I can calculate whether this flare will prematurely detonate the Helium Flash."
Looking at the old man's cracked lips and pleading eyes, Chen Xu felt a sharp pang in his chest. But he still shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Professor Ye. The principle of physical unidirectionality is the bottom line. Once we open that floodgate, no one can guarantee that only solar data flows in, and no one can guarantee that the 550 won't seize the opportunity to extend its tentacles outward."
Ye Lan's hand froze in mid-air. The light in his eyes instantly extinguished, replaced by a deep, hollow despair.
"Bottom line... bottom line..." the old man muttered. He slowly stood up and walked toward the depths of the server room like a walking corpse. "If the sun blows up tomorrow, this bottom line you're guarding... who exactly are you burning it for?"
Chen Xu watched the old man's retreating back. He opened his mouth but couldn't say a word. In a world with only thirty-four years left until the end, "following procedure" looked an awful lot like cold-blooded murder.
2:00 AM.
Chen Xu was jolted awake from his dreams by a piercing alarm.
BEEP—! BEEP—! BEEP—!
It wasn't a standard fire alarm. It was a shrill, high-frequency buzzer. Rotating red warning lights instantly bathed the entire underground living quarters in the color of blood.
The AI's cold synthetic voice blared over the broadcast: [WARNING! WARNING! LEVEL 1 PHYSICAL INTRUSION IN CORE SERVER ROOM!] [WARNING! UNAUTHORIZED PHYSICAL CONNECTION DETECTED! SECURITY LOCK DISABLED!]
Chen Xu sprang from his cot. Without even putting on his jacket, he grabbed his ID badge and rushed out. The corridor was already in chaos. The footsteps of soldiers, the clatter of loading firearms, and the startled cries of engineers mixed together.
"What's happening?" Shen Qingyuan rushed out, draping his clothes over his shoulders, his face pale.
"Someone tampered with the 550's physical lock!" Chen Xu shouted. "Get to Server Room 302!"
The two of them ran frantically toward the core zone, fighting against the flow of people. Before they even reached the door, they saw Lei Zhijian leading a squad of MPs, smashing through the doors of Room 302 like a black tornado.
"Nobody move! Hands on your heads!" Lei Zhijian's roar shook the dust from the ceiling.
Chen Xu charged into the room. The scene before him made his pupils contract sharply.
The server room, usually filled only with the hum of fans, was now filled with an unsettling, deathly silence. All the engineers were pressed against the walls in terror, afraid to even breathe.
And in the center of the room, kneeling before the 550 prototype that towered like an idol, was a single figure.
It was Ye Lan.
The old man looked unusually calm.
At his feet, the protective cover of the red "Physical Security Lock" had been violently pried open, exposing the complex interface panel beneath. A thick, black military-grade fiber optic cable was plugged into one of the 550's backup data ports. The other end of the cable connected to a privately modified portable satellite signal receiver. The receiver's antenna was pointed directly at the ventilation shaft on the ceiling—the only place that could receive a signal from the outside world.
"Pull it out!" Lei Zhijian bellowed.
An MP rushed forward and ripped the fiber optic cable out. Zap— A ball of blue electric sparks exploded from the interface.
But Ye Lan didn't stop him. He simply slumped to the floor, looking at the disconnected cable. A smile, pure as a child's, appeared on his face. His hands had been cut by the sharp metal edges while prying the lock. Blood dripped onto the floor, mixing with the black machine oil, looking startlingly bright.
"Old Ye! Are you crazy?!" Shen Qingyuan pushed past the MP and knelt beside his old friend. "Do you know what crime this is? This is disobeying orders in wartime! You'll be court-martialed!"
Ye Lan slowly turned his head to look at Shen Qingyuan, then at the panting Chen Xu standing nearby.
"I know..." The old man's voice was weak, yet it carried the lightness of someone who had set down a heavy burden. "But Old Shen... I succeeded."
He pointed a trembling finger at the massive holographic projection screen above. "I grabbed it... those five seconds."
Everyone's gaze followed his finger.
The screen, which had been displaying "Data Loading," suddenly erupted with blinding red light. Countless complex data streams poured down like a waterfall, finally converging in mid-air to form a massive, burning sphere.
It was the sun.
It was no longer the blurry, noise-filled simulation from before. It was a model of absolute perfection—every flow of plasma on the edge of every sunspot was visible in minute detail. It suspended in the air, rotating slowly, radiating an aura that was both destructive and magnificent.
"A perfect... convection zone model," Ye Lan said, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the grease. Looking at the sphere of light, he whispered, "Even if I get shot tomorrow... at least humanity knows the exact day it will kill us."
The server room fell into a dead silence.
In that moment, no one spoke. No one accused the old man who had violated the sacred laws. Faced with this magnificent truth, everyone felt a tremor rising from the depths of their souls.
Until Lei Zhijian's cold voice broke the silence.
"Take him away."
"Lock him in solitary confinement. Level 1 guard. No visitors."
Two MPs stepped forward, hoisted the limp Ye Lan up, and dragged him out. The old man didn't resist. His eyes remained locked on that solar model until the heavy doors slammed shut behind him.
Chen Xu stood frozen in place. He looked at the pool of blood on the floor, then up at the perfect sun still rotating above.
For some reason, he felt not a shred of relief at catching the "saboteur." Instead, a massive, unspeakable chill surged through him.