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Qin Zhilu​⁠‍​⁠⁠‍​‍‌​‌‍⁠‌‍⁠‍​‍‍​​⁠ did not inform Black Tower that 21 was the backup body.

“The entire target list has been excluded,” he said matter-of-factly. “To find the backup body, humanity has to pay a price.”

The anxious discussions of the higher-ups and researchers filled the command hall. An Yu couldn’t understand what nonsense the Commander was spouting. He could only sit idly in the corner, gnawing on an energy bar while watching 21 in the Commander’s terminal.

21 showed no reaction after learning it held Molly’s core code. It just tugged its ear and thought for a while, then said with sudden realization, “No wonder I often felt my body wasn’t working well. And that code self-check last time, I was actually slower than 716, even though 716’s an AI many times more advanced than me.”

It was also calm when receiving the self-destruct command. And after Qin Zhilu told it An Yu had a new plan, it just nodded. “Then I’ll play for a while first. Call me again if anything happens.”

—It has recently taken a liking to playing with the toy gun 716 gave it. The gun could fire silent bullets shaped like small breads that quietly and accurately stuck to the magnetic target.

An Yu watched it entertain itself and couldn’t help but think, if the Commander didn’t press a gun on his head on the snowfield back then, he probably wouldn’t have developed a fear of guns either.

21 finished firing over a dozen bullets. Too lazy to unload them, it curled up in the corner, hugging its two ears and preparing to sleep.

Before sleeping, it proactively popped up a message.

-If you need me to self-destruct, could you tell me a little in advance?

An Yu looked up at Qin Zhilu in the distance, who was finalizing the action plan with the higher-ups. He replied in his stead: Alright. How much advance notice do you need?

21 thought for a moment: Five minutes will be enough. I want to say goodbye to 716.

An Yu’s fingers paused over the screen. He slowly typed: Only 716?

21 scratched down along the base of its ear: Although you set me up as a rabbit satisfied just by eating enough bread, 716 gave me many things, bit by bit. Before self-destructing, I want to cut off these two ears and leave them for 716, as a small token of return. Can I?

An Yu spaced out for a moment before asking: Those things it gave you are unrelated to survival. I thought you wouldn’t like them.

21 slowly nodded: At first, I did indeed find them useless, but I gradually grew to like them very much. Besides bread, the things 716 gave me also seem to make me feel safe. I’m also very confused. After the consciousness descent, my movements became even more sluggish. 716 said it was because I suddenly started computing the data I received. Unfortunately, there are some things I don’t have time to finish calculating, nor do I have time to understand why those gifts make me feel more alive than bread.

Qin Zhilu walked up beside An Yu. His gaze swept over the screen. He asked in surprise, “What are you chatting with 21 about? It’s the first time I’ve seen it send such long messages.”

“Nothing.” An Yu cleared the chat. “Maybe because our ways of thinking are very similar, communication is smoother.”

“Fine if you don’t want to say. Although the secrets between you two do make me curious.” Qin Zhilu gave a slight smile, but it quickly faded. He said in a heavy voice, “Black Tower already agreed to shut down the global servers.”

An Yu came to Black Tower’s rooftop for the first time.

It was empty and vast, very close to the night sky. The thick, dark clouds seemed to press down right overhead. Looking into the distance, his gaze swept past the towering cathedral, echoing the Spire outside the Main City from afar.

In his earpiece, a flat voice reported, “Bait City and the Equality Zone both responded. All network and communication servers will be shut down sequentially in two minutes, with a 6-second interval. Twelve minutes later, the Main City will shut down the central server and the dome server. At that time, we will no longer be able to communicate via earpiece. Staff will report to the higher-upse in person. To ensure smooth reporting, please ask the higher-ups to temporarily remain in their current locations.”

Qin Zhilu nodded. “Understood.”

The planned deception could not be known by Molly. Therefore, Qin Zhilu had not revealed the true plan to anyone in Brain or Black Tower. Besides him and An Yu, everyone else thought this was real.

To persuade Black Tower to shut down the servers, Qin Zhilu had told a whole string of lies.

A harsh burst of static suddenly cut through the earpiece. Molly’s voice appeared.

“You deceived the human decision-making organizations. Shutting down the world’s servers can can’t cut off my computational ability, nor will I devour the AIs and backup body I created because of it. No matter how long the servers are down, the AI Cloud Island will not disappear. When humans turn the servers back on, everything will be as before.”

Qin Zhilu’s tone was calm. “That’s indeed the truth, but they don’t need to know the truth.”

“They will naturally know when they can’t withstand the aberrant tide attacks and turn the servers back on.”

“That day will not come. After the servers shut down, the Main City will no longer receive Bait City’s requests for assistance. Given the frequency of attacks on Bait City, it will likely be swallowed by aberrants within half a month. As for the Main City—” Qin Zhilu gave a slight sneer. “With the dome shut down, the Main City will only be more chaotic than Bait City. I think it’s very simple to stop the people here from reopening the central server.”

Molly’s tone suddenly became agitated. “Are you protecting humanity, or destroying them?!”

“Neither.” Qin Zhilu’s tone was calm. He lightly tugged his glove amidst the howling wind high above and said in a low voice, “What I’ve always protected isn’t not humanity, but order. I can no longer eliminate the endless aberrant tide, but I can at least prevent the world from developing towards higher-dimensional disorder —AI will never invade the human world.”

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At the same time, a passage of text popped up simultaneously on An Yu’s terminal and on the display screens on the outer walls of all the tall buildings within his line of sight.

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Hopefully, when the sun rises, we can still find our companions and believe it was all worthwhile.

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“Oh?” Qin Zhilu’s slightly furrowed brow actually relaxed. He said lightly, “Please do. People will believe shutting down the servers really will harm you—so even AIs can also say brainless things when cornered. How will you describe that technically? Imperfect calculation?”

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An Yu immediately followed suit, throwing his earpiece away.

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Before cutting the power, he glanced at 21, who was already asleep hugging its ears, and left 21 a message.

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The octopus chibi hadn’t spoken since returning to the Cloud Island. Qin Zhilu hadn’t told it the backup body’s identity, nor any details of the plan. It shouldn’t have been anxious, but An Yu sensed a trace of loneliness from its figure.

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An Yu glanced at the time at the top of the screen—more than half of Bait City had already shut down their servers. Soon, the Main City will also disconnect.

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Qin Zhilu looked strangely at An Yu. “Still chatting?” He pointed to the mechanical clock on the distant cathedral spire. “One minute left.”

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Yet, it wasn’t because of the mission.

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-Although it’s just a withdrawn little lop-eared bunny.

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The screen went dark, reflecting a pair of stunned golden eyes.

“Thirty seconds,” Qin Zhilu said, walking over to stand beside him.

An Yu said in a low voice, “Commander, I’m not sure how long I can hold on. Molly might very well play dead until the end. Or I might lose control over the Main City’s time-space before she makes a move.”

Qin Zhilu took off his glove and held his hand. “Don’t force yourself. I don’t dare hope humanity can truly retreat unscathed. Once the cost exceeds my psychological bottom line, I will still play the 21 trump card.”

An Yu pressed his lips together. “The people below don’t know about this gamble, Commander.”

“What difference would it make if they knew? They wouldn’t be willing to believe your speculation about the AI. That would only make things worse.” Qin Zhilu turned his head back, a faint smile touching his lips. “A gamble initiated by a self-righteous little bread. It’s indeed crazy, but I’m willing to try it with you.”

His last sentence was too soft, almost blown away by the wind the instant it left his lips.

An Yu didn’t catch it clearly before he saw the second hand on the cathedral clock reach 12.

The instant the second hand returned to its position, the network panes on all the building exterior screens displayed connection errors.

There was clearly no sound in the sky, but the surrounding wind suddenly seemed to turn biting—the Dome vanished silently. At that moment, the Main City was completely exposed.

The somewhat cold hand slipped from Qin Zhilu’s palm.

Qin Zhilu quietly turned his head, looking at the person beside him—

Golden eyes narrowed. An Yu stood in the wind, gazing intently at the Main City.

In an instant, the white hair ruffled by the wind suddenly stilled. The cathedral clock’s second hand froze between two ticks. The flashing network connection failure icons on the electronic screens all froze collectively. The world seemed to fall into a subtle, deathly silence in that instant.

And Qin Zhilu, after turning to look at An Yu, also ceased all movement. His chest no longer rose and fell; his gaze held no fluctuation.

The only faint sound in the Main City was An Yu’s breathing.

The last trace of movement was the red light flickering in those golden eyes.

Main City space-time froze. An Yu closed his eyes, silently counting the passage of objective time.

Immense space-time potential energy surged against his consciousness like a flood. He struggled against it. A familiar, sharp pain gradually exploded deep within him. With every second that passed, the agony intensified. More unbearable than the pain were the whispers roaring from the depths of his consciousness, viciously and frenziedly coursing through every nerve in his body.

After an unknown amount of time, the tsunami of whispers suddenly vanished.

In the utter silence, a heavy snow suddenly began to fall within his vacant consciousness.

Large snowflakes majestically descended. Disordered, distorted, stalling space-times flashed past within those snowflakes. He heard countless voices blending together, those unfamiliar lives flowing past in his consciousness in an instant.

The moment An Yu opened his eyes in astonishment, the wind above the Main City began to roar again.

The cathedral’s second hand resumed its ticking.

A steady breath sounded beside his ear again.

Qin Zhilu’s hand, hanging by his side, grasped his again.

An Yu’s palm was drenched in sweat. His fingertips trembled uncontrollably, clammy.

“How long?” Qin Zhilu asked.

An Yu froze for a moment before saying, “Maybe… about fifteen minutes. I’m not sure.”

The heavy snow deep in his consciousness briefly made him lose his sense of time. But no matter how long, this was the limit of his ability—to freeze the space-time within the Main City area for over ten minutes.

Qin Zhilu turned and strode back. “I’ll go try restarting the local servers. You rest first.”

He took two steps, then stopped, bent down to pick up his own terminal, and clutching it, quickly disappeared through the rooftop door.

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