The lab monitor had noticed Bian Ziyuan's unusual behavior early on and detected the virus program he had implanted. According to Mei Yiqiu's basic policy, as long as it did not affect the security of the entire local area network, any program was allowed to run on the local area network, even a virus. If the lab observers intervened, it would be easy to cause the experimental results to go in the expected direction, thus losing objectivity.
But Mei Yiqiu never expected that there would be such a computer genius among the students of Three Wu University.
When staff discovered that the mini-program implanted by Bian Ziyuan might affect other testers, they attempted to block its spread, but the virus inexplicably bypassed their attempts. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late; all the devices had already connected to the game server.
Mei Yiqiu watched almost helplessly as Bian Ziyuan turned this Turing Test for local area networks into a beta test of his game program.
Mei Ziqing suggested disconnecting Bian Ziyuan's computer and deleting all the games and viruses he had installed on the server. Mei Yiqiu, however, stopped them. Looking at the game interface filled with dialog boxes, he suddenly became interested in this young man named Bian Ziyuan.
The test concluded with results showing that 71.4% of the inputs were 0, far exceeding the 30% threshold of the Turing Test. In other words, out of the 3,000 test participants, 2,172 were unable to distinguish whether they were speaking to a machine or a human.
The virus program didn't launch, and the local area network escaped unscathed. But everyone knew that this test proved nothing more than that the person who worked with the Tushu's Bian Ziyuan, was a sophisticated hacker and that the game's built-in bot possessed a remarkably high level of artificial intelligence. In short, the experiment failed.
"Professor, what's next?" Mei Ziqing asked. Only she knew the professor's overall plan; the other staff members were simply doing their jobs.
"Keep that student named Bian Ziyuan behind; I want to talk to him alone," Mei Yiqiu said, puffing on his pipe. "Everyone else, you can leave."
Just as Mei Ziqing was about to turn and leave, Mei Yiqiu called her back.
"Oh, right, turn off all the monitors, unplug the keyboard, mouse, webcam, headset... basically disconnect everything that allows the server to receive information. Remember to physically disconnect it from the outside, not from the system, and don't break the drivers."
Mei Yiqiu finished speaking, she turned to look at Qingmu, raised her eyebrows, and gave a helpless smile. "Our only hope is here. Go sit in the server room for a while; hopefully the air there won't make you uncomfortable."
Qingmu chuckled, "I hope this guy's dreaming."
The laboratory's computer room was very large, with dozens of blue and white phone booth-like cabinets neatly arranged, reminiscent of the public phone booths with IC cards from twenty years ago.
Mei Ziqing asked Qingmu where would be a good place to sit. Qingmu found a relatively empty spot and said, "This place will do. It's spacious here; I can smoke here, right?"
Mei Ziqing smiled and said, "According to the computer room regulations, it's not allowed, but since your situation is special, please do as you wish."
She asked the server room administrator to turn off the smoke alarm, then brought over a chair, and also gave Qingmu bottled water and an ashtray.
"Mr. Qingmu, thank you for your hard work! Please have a seat for a moment; disconnecting the external physical connections to three thousand computers will take some time."
After Mei Ziqing left, Qingmu sat in the machine room smoking. The smoke was quickly absorbed by the purification equipment, leaving no trace.
The server room is temperature-controlled, with a pleasant temperature and no discomfort. The noise reduction is also good; the slight noise is so faint that you might mistake it for tinnitus if you don't listen carefully. The only downside is the dryness—so dry that you can't feel any moisture or life. Standing there for a while can make you feel like you're a machine yourself.
After finishing a cigarette, Qingmu felt a bit choked up. He opened a bottle of mineral water, took a sip, and felt a little better, then closed his eyes.
The deaf are good at seeing, and the blind are good at hearing. As soon as the eyes are closed, the noise in the ears becomes clear, buzzing like a swarm of mosquitoes. The shadows of those computer cases are heavy and persistent in front of the eyes.
After an unknown amount of time, Qingmu felt the noise in his ears gradually diminish until it disappeared completely. The entire computer room fell silent. This sudden silence was very unsettling for his ears, and he started to experience tinnitus, sometimes chirping, sometimes chattering, sometimes like cicadas, sometimes like crickets.
Qingmu knew that the server's connection to the outside world had probably been severed, like someone being given anesthesia or sleeping pills and unable to perceive the outside world. Of course, drugs would affect the central nervous system, but the server was not affected at this time. Theoretically, the server should not be "asleep" at this time, because only the limb connections were severed, while the "brain" was still awake.
However, if a person feels nothing at all, they will probably fall asleep quickly, or enter a state close to sleep. Monks meditate and Daoists sit in meditation, pursuing this state of mind without attachment and body without sensation, thus achieving the effect of sleeping without sleeping. But how difficult it is to actively cut off nerve perception! Even if you close your eyes and plug your ears, there's still your nose, skin, and internal organs!
What is difficult for humans to do, machines can do very easily: unplug the network cable, mouse, keyboard, monitor, webcam, and headset, and the computer is left with only its "brain" on.
Qingmu is currently in a server room with the brain of this local area network, which is no longer able to obtain any information from the outside world. Of course, that brain should be unaware of his presence.
Qingmu rubbed his ears, trying to adjust to the extremely quiet environment, and the tinnitus gradually subsided. In Qingmu's perception, there was nothing left in the server room; the shadowy computer cases and the buzzing vibrations had become vague memories.
However, at that moment, he sensed a slight fluctuation. It wasn't something his body felt, but rather something in his mind, deep within his consciousness. This fluctuation was somewhat similar to, yet not entirely the same as, the complex biological wave frequencies emitted when a person is dreaming.
Qingmu saw a black domain, like a black bubble in the pitch-black universe. Theoretically, black within black should be invisible, but Qingmu did see it. The bubble was not round, but rather expanded and contracted in an irregular shape in any direction, expanding and contracting... as if a primordial life was gestating inside, searching for a path to break free of its gestational sac.
Qingmu's consciousness also entered into boundless darkness.
No, that wasn't darkness, that was nothingness. Qingmu knew this was the process of consciousness traversing space. Just as Professor Mei had said, consciousness needed to pass through a zero-dimensional point to enter another space. He was currently in this point, and that black amniotic sac was another world. Zero-dimensional space had no time; he had never experienced such a long journey before, like eternity, with no beginning or end in sight.
He gently reached out his hand, yet he couldn't see it—consciousness has no hand, after all. But the instant his thought arose, the amniotic sac ruptured...