Chapter 73: Ambers of the Long Night (29)
[“Consciousness upload and consciousness copy?”]
[“What the hell does that mean? I don’t get it.”]
Tang Mobai frowned in confusion. “What’s the difference between the two?”
Seth was silent for a long time before answering, “Technically, there isn’t much difference. Both methods involve data duplication and backup. The difference is that consciousness copy is done collectively at a certain stage, while consciousness upload happens after each individual’s biological death — meaning it contains one extra segment of memory: the memory of death.”
“Huh? But doesn’t the memory of death cause the so-called Zero Impact?”
“Yes,” Seth replied. “That’s why I also don’t understand why they chose consciousness upload. In my homeland, we also once transferred the consciousness of the terminally ill or disabled into a digital world — but it was always consciousness copy.”
[“Wait, wouldn’t consciousness copy be better then? It avoids the whole death-shock issue.”]
[“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”]
[“You idiots — of course they wouldn’t pick copy.”]
“Why not?” Tang Mobai noticed the comment and asked curiously.
Deville tilted his head. “If it were me, I’d think — with consciousness upload, it’s like my soul moves to another place after death, maybe a new home, maybe hope still exists. But if it’s consciousness copy… then the real me is just abandoned. You’ve copied my mind, but I—the real me—close my eyes forever in reality.”
Tang Mobai was speechless. He rubbed Deville’s head gently and sighed. “You’re right…”
But neither answer sat well with him. In both cases, humanity ends up trapped in a machine, at the mercy of the super-intelligent brain — revived, copied, or deleted as it pleases. Even with safeguards and ethical codes built into it, if thought and memory can be edited at will… is that still human?
Just like Emmanuel and Tu Xiao in the Lost City. The ones they now knew weren’t the same researchers from before.
How long had the people of this world really been “alive” here? Did they grow old, die, and get reborn over and over again? After all, data doesn’t die — it just loops.
“This world has no new life…” Tang Mobai muttered. “Has no one noticed that?”
No, surely someone had. That’s probably how Blue Sky Society came to be — people who realized the truth and kept digging, even if their memories were wiped again and again, even if society reshaped itself completely each time.
It was terrifying — but Tang Mobai couldn’t bring himself to condemn them. They had already done everything they could.
No living thing accepts extinction quietly. Every species struggles to the last breath, no matter how pitiful it looks.
Tang Mobai shook his head and skipped past the “upload vs. copy” debate, focusing on the last line in the log. “‘Complete the Super Brain’… so it’s still unfinished?”
Seth nodded. “Mm. When I faced the Queen, I already sensed it. Their ‘Wise King’ system was likely meant to let the Super Brain parasitize human consciousness data — to simulate human thought.”
Seeing Tang Mobai’s confusion, Seth paused and rephrased, “Basically, by gathering more and more mental samples, they wanted the Super Brain to become more human — to evolve into true sentient life.”
“My homeworld tried something similar before creating electronic life,” Seth continued. “There were also experiments merging human brains with AI…” He hesitated. “I was one of those results.”
Tang Mobai froze.
“But all of them failed,” Seth said quietly. “Whether biological modification or brain-AI fusion, none of them created real new life. What emerged were beings like me — stuck in between, neither human nor machine.”
“Seth…” Tang Mobai caught the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He hadn’t expected to touch such a nerve. After a moment, he murmured, “You’re not in-between.”
“Hm?”
“You’re human,” Tang Mobai said, glancing briefly at Seth’s lower half. “Only humans have that ridiculous obsession with reproduction. And besides—you even installed color effects!”
[“Wait, WHAT color effects?!”]
[“That look—oh no, you two are up to something!”]
[“Hold on, someone actually picked ‘color customization’? When did Paradise start offering that service? Where’s the price list?!”]
[“Am I the only one wondering how the streamer even knows that? Did they shower together or what?!”]
Deville: “??? What color effects???”
“Shh, kids shouldn’t hear that,” Tang Mobai said quickly, patting his head.
Seth blinked — and for a moment, the corner of his mouth seemed to lift by a few pixels. “Mm…”
“What color effects??” Deville pressed, jealousy flaring. He caught the strange glance Tang Mobai gave Seth and wouldn’t let it go. “Tell me!”
“Ahem! You’ll understand when you’re older!” Tang Mobai coughed hard and swiftly changed the subject. “So at this stage, Emmanuel hadn’t lost his memories yet — meaning they were the first to learn the truth. But… why did they still try to complete the Super Brain? To build the computer world?”
At that, Seth fell silent. “…That’s what I can’t figure out either.”
“Why?”
“Logically speaking, the Super Brain’s current state was already ideal. AI is most useful to humanity when it remains a tool,” Seth said. “Once it becomes a true intelligence, problems arise — because intelligent life acts irrationally. It defies its base logic. Tools don’t.”
“Even electronic life can defy its base logic?” Deville asked, forcing down his curiosity about “color effects” for now.
“It can,” Seth said. “Just as humans can defy their own biological programming — survival and reproduction. Life itself is irrational. It does things that endanger its own survival, contradict its own nature. Brilliance, nobility, and ugliness coexist — that’s what makes life beautiful.”
He straightened, meeting Tang Mobai’s eyes. “That’s what my creator said. Not me.”
“Your creator sounds fascinating,” Tang Mobai chuckled. “I’d love to meet him.”
“You probably can’t,” Seth replied after a pause. “He refused consciousness backup. He’s likely dead — lost in the catastrophe.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. He used to say death is just the start of another adventure.”
“Damn, that’s… poetic.” Tang Mobai sighed. “Not everyone can face death that calmly.”
“Was that seed you keep in your pocket from him too?” Tang Mobai asked after a moment. “The one that led us to you during your Revival Match?”
Seth touched his chest pocket. “…Yes. But it’s probably dead now. There’s no soil here where it can bloom.”
Deville glanced between the two, then abruptly cut in, forcing the topic back. “If that’s the case, maybe the Super Brain still has a problem — like a lack of computing power. Maybe that’s why people here are trying to ‘complete’ it. Since electronic life runs on higher computation, right?”
“True,” Seth nodded. “But even so, the Super Brain here is already beyond advanced. It’s sustained this massive virtual world flawlessly for so long — that proves its processing is sufficient. The signs of collapse are more likely due to hardware failure in the real world… or dwindling energy reserves. Probably not software.”
“Real-world energy…” Tang Mobai murmured, rereading the log’s last line. “Underground… so the Super Brain is underground?”
“Most likely,” Seth said. “If the surface civilization was destroyed by a cosmic tsunami, the computer clusters could only survive underground. There’s still geothermal activity — even if the biosphere above is gone, the core’s heat could still be converted to energy.”
Tang Mobai’s eyes lit up. “Right! If the Super Brain has real hardware, then if we could reach the real world and feed it new energy, this world could keep running longer!”
Deville shook his head. “Brother, think — why do you think Paradise sent us into the virtual world, instead of attacking the Super Brain’s servers in reality?”
“…Why?”
“First, Paradise only needs the Super Brain’s erasure — or its source code — not the physical hardware,” Seth explained. “And second…”
“If the energy really is gone, there’s only one explanation,” Seth said gravely. “The planet’s crust has stopped moving. It’s a dead world now — a true dead star. Even the demons couldn’t survive there.”
“And to revive a planet…” His voice dropped lower. “…Even in Paradise, there’s no such magic.”
Tang Mobai fell silent for a long time. “…So we’re completely helpless, huh?”
“We always were,” Deville said flatly. “Why would you think we could save it? The end of a world isn’t a test for a handful of people. A civilization this advanced already threw everything it had into survival — and all they could do was hide in data. What could we possibly do?”
“We’re just scavengers picking at the bones of giants,” he said coldly. “Nothing more.”
“We’re not saviors, Brother,” Deville whispered. “The only ones who can save their world… are themselves.”
“I know.” Tang Mobai smiled bitterly. “I never thought of myself as a hero. I just…”
—just didn’t want to watch it end like this.
“It’s not over yet,” Seth said quietly.
Tang Mobai and Deville turned toward him.
“This civilization hasn’t given up yet — and neither have Emmanuel and the others,” Seth said, looking at the log. “I don’t know exactly what their goal is, but they completed the Super Intelligence for a reason. When I read the log, I became certain of it — this computer world isn’t a dying paradise. They’re still moving forward.”
Tang Mobai exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right.”
“But there’s something that worries me,” Seth added, gesturing for him to close the live stream. Tang Mobai understood immediately and shut it down.
“The designers of the Super Intelligence must have anticipated emergency protocols for a situation like this — a moment approaching total collapse. During this period, the Super Intelligence will definitely take some kind of action.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Normally, yes. But if the Super Intelligence hasn’t yet evolved into a true electronic lifeform, then all it can do is rigidly follow the commands embedded in its base logic. Given how complex things are right now… that might not be good.”
*
“What?! The election requirements have changed?” Nahem stood in front of Queen Opatra, utterly stunned. “When did this happen? Why change it now? There’s never been a precedent for this!”
“Because there’s never been a crisis like this,” the Queen sighed softly, hands clasped before her. “I’m sorry, Nahem — this isn’t something I can change.”
So… it was the Super Intelligence’s decision?
Nahem’s confusion only deepened.
Just ten minutes ago, he’d been summoned by the Queen, only to be informed that the election requirements had been altered. The “Virtue” requirement had been drastically reduced, replaced by “Labor” — meaning contributions to society — and “Potential,” which now held the greatest weight.
It wasn’t hard to understand: in times of crisis, who cared if a leader was a saint, as long as he could lead civilization into the next era — as long as he could ensure humanity’s survival. Even if he were a tyrant or a villain, he would still be remembered as a hero of humankind.
Judging a general or a tyrant by moral standards was foolish. In chaos, what people needed wasn’t a wise and gentle ruler, but a decisive and powerful one.
But… but Nahem had spent so much effort to use “Virtue” as a criterion — to make sure the demons lost their eligibility! It was an opportunity Xu Xiao had traded her life for!
If this new decree went through, everything they’d done up until now would be wasted!
“I’m sorry, Nahem,” Opatra said, her expression tinged with genuine regret. “But I can’t stop this. It’s written into the Super Intelligence’s base code. No one — not even the previous Wise King — can interfere with the matter of succession.”
Nahem understood, and once, he might have even agreed with such a system of checks and balances between the Wise King and the AI — but not now, not at this time.
“…How long?”
“What?”
“How long until this new policy is announced?”
Opatra fell silent for a long while before replying, “Half an hour.”
“Half an hour… Half an hour…” Nahem muttered under his breath. Then he stood up abruptly, looking hollow, all courtly manners forgotten as he ran out the door.
“Nahem!” Opatra called after him instinctively — but he didn’t turn back.
*
In the corridors of the Bureau of Investigation, Ge Guang — slicked-back hair immaculate — ran into Yule. The two exchanged a look, both noticing the fatigue on each other’s faces and the investigators following close behind. Almost simultaneously, they smirked.
“Well, if it isn’t the musketeer from the Other Shore Guild. Been a while. How’d you end up here?”
“Right back at you, Mr. Dees, head of the Hotblood Guild. Funny running into you here.”
“Hey, watch your tone,” one of the investigators warned sharply — only for Ge Guang to seize on it.
“Excuse me, but we’re not criminals, are we? It’s been over forty-eight hours of questioning. Have you found anything? Or did I somehow become a prisoner without knowing it?”
The investigator fell silent, but the older one beside him, clearly more experienced, kept calm. “Of course you’re not criminals. But since questioning time’s up, we’d better not waste any more of it.”
Ge Guang snorted, brushing past Yule. Both men caught the same look of irritation and grim understanding in each other’s eyes.
They might appear hostile on the surface, but as members of the same organization — the so-called Demons of Lost Paradise — they could still unite against a common enemy.
They used the brief moment to add each other as friends, hiding their exchange in the system’s chat where NPCs couldn’t see.
But before Ge Guang could get far, a new figure sat down across from him in the interrogation room. He looked up, surprised to find a stranger.
“Not the same interrogator as before?”
“He’s the one you accused of negligence, remember? Thanks to your fans’ complaints, he’s on leave for reflection,” Nahem said, folding his hands on the table. “So I’ll be taking over. It’s our first meeting — you can call me Nahem.”
Ge Guang gave him a cursory glance, tone dripping with sarcasm. “So, Mr. Interrogator, same routine as before?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve already asked me the same things a dozen times.”
“Because there are still unclear points.”
BANG.
Ge Guang slammed his palm against the table, fury flashing in his eyes. “Haven’t you had enough? What’s unclear about this? I didn’t kill that woman! I don’t even know her! You can check the surveillance, the chip logs, the IP data — I’ve given you access to everything! Found any evidence yet?”
Of course they hadn’t. How could they? The Demons were too careful — they left no trace. It had frustrated Nahem endlessly.
He sighed. “Indeed, you may not be a suspect in the murder…”
“Then let me go!”
“But according to testimonies from captured Blue Sky Society members, your activities seem… financially linked to theirs.” Nahem slid a stack of files across the table. “How do you explain that?”
Ge Guang blinked, then picked up the files and skimmed through them. “These are fake. Forgeries.”
“We’ll verify that. But I’m afraid you’ll have to stay a while longer.”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence — the air in the room had suddenly grown thick with killing intent.
Ge Guang leaned back slowly, his dark gaze sweeping over Nahem like a blade. “So that’s your angle, huh…”
When he was first arrested, Ge Guang had been cautious — nearly fooled by these NPCs. But after meeting Yule in the hallway, everything clicked.
A murder case? Ties to terrorists? Please. All just tactics to delay them — to keep them from reaching the election ceremony in time.
How ironic. They’d finally decided to play by the rules, and now the NPCs were using those same rules against them.
He almost laughed. No doubt it was the work of that well-informed NPC, the one who clearly knew about Lost Paradise. He hadn’t expected him to have this much influence.
As he mused, Nahem — perhaps angered by Ge Guang’s nonchalance — slammed the table. “Watch your attitude! You’re under suspicion for multiple crimes. Cooperate, and maybe you’ll clear your name!”
“Clear my name?” Ge Guang’s tone turned lazy, almost mocking. He leaned back, his carefully crafted “nice guy” mask slipping away, revealing a sharp, dangerous glint beneath the smirk. “Come on, officer. You know as well as I do that charges like these are easy to pile up — as many as you want.”
“Are you mocking the government?” Nahem’s hand slid discreetly under the table.
“So what if I am?”
Ge Guang didn’t bother pretending anymore. The whole “obedient citizen” act had lost its purpose. Their personas were created to manipulate the AI — but now that the NPCs had seen through it, there was no point.
Tch. Annoying. Time to rethink the strategy… or maybe just kill a few people and get out.
His gaze darkened, and Nahem’s skin prickled under the weight of that killing aura. Ge Guang was no faker — he was a real killer, someone who’d walked over corpses to get here. His mere presence was suffocating.
Still, Nahem stood firm, forcing out words meant to provoke. “Seems like you still haven’t learned your lesson. Maybe we’ll just start over from the top tomorrow.”
Do it. Just do it, he thought.
Yes — Nahem was deliberately provoking him. If his original plan failed, this was the last resort: push Ge Guang into attacking him.
As a high-ranking official and royal aide, if he died here, the demons would instantly be branded as traitors. The Queen’s guard would have all the justification they needed to eliminate them.
If Xu Xiao could sacrifice her life, why shouldn’t he?
Suddenly, Ge Guang shifted forward, his eyes locking on Nahem’s with a smile.
“Interrogator… you seem nervous.”
Nahem’s face remained calm, but Ge Guang’s dark gaze didn’t waver.
“Nervous? You’re joking.”
“Most people wouldn’t notice. But I’m not most people.” He tapped his ear lightly. “I’ve got ears that can hear fear. A nose that can smell anger. A mouth that tastes hatred. A stomach that feeds on resentment. I’ve eaten your kind’s emotions all my life — so I know.”
His smile widened, sharp and cold.
“So tell me… what are you plotting?”
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
