Chapter 113: Artificial Soul 40
There weren’t many “ports” at Kui Xin’s home; the only electronic device that could connect to the “net” was a smartphone. However, when she looked up, she found that the walls of her house concealed the “net” and “lines” for data transmission.
Her old residential area had undergone wall renovations a few years ago, hiding many wires within the walls, and the outer walls were equipped with optical cables.
Kui Xin withdrew her consciousness from the smartphone, attempting to bypass the electronic device and directly connect her consciousness to the “net” within the optical cable, but she failed.
She noted down a memo: consciousness can only connect to the data world’s “net” through a “door” or “port.” Without a “door” or “port,” it was like standing at the entrance of a mall but being blocked by a glass door—no way to enter for “shopping.”
However, data could also be transmitted through electrical signals. By connecting her consciousness to the smartphone, she essentially turned herself into a signal receiver, allowing her to access various devices through the airborne electrical signals to achieve control.
Her consciousness floated high above, traversing the city on the information highway, her body sitting still while her soul entered another wondrous world—a data realm filled with numbers, letters, and symbols.
She was dazzled by the constantly changing characters, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed in no time.
Every moment, data was being sent away and sent back; the data world was ever-changing. If she wanted to manipulate or reconstruct data, she needed to capture the correct data stream.
After much practice and attempts, Kui Xin finally gained a concrete understanding of the extraordinary ability known as “data manipulation.”
Data manipulation turned her into a supercomputer; she herself was a “port,” a “door,” but if she didn’t connect to the “net,” then she would be a supercomputer that wasn’t online, unable to touch the dazzling world of data within the data net, and unable to achieve data interaction like a normal computer. Without data interaction, her capabilities would be naturally limited.
Upon realizing this ability, Kui Xin’s first thought was—what a great ability; it would be a pity not to use it for learning.
Her brain acted as a central processor, directly using her extraordinary ability to summarize online learning materials into data and imprint them in her mind, achieving an alternative form of “photographic memory.” However, she worried that receiving too much data at once could overheat the central processor, causing her brain to be unable to process so much information.
Determined, Kui Xin went for it, copying several gigabytes of English audio translation packages downloaded on her smartphone and stuffing them into her mind.
The massive stream of information forced its way into Kui Xin’s brain, causing her vision to blur and her legs to weaken, and she had to grip the edge of the bed. Her head felt heavy, and she noticed a ticklish sensation in her nose… she touched it and found her hands covered in blood.
“The amount of data transmitted to the brain at once shouldn’t be too large, or it will cause discomfort; spreading it out over multiple sessions should be fine…” Kui Xin wiped her face with a piece of paper, noting down her second ability memo, “If the amount increases, will the side effects worsen?”
She decided not to try again for the time being, as stuffing several gigabytes of English materials into her brain felt as uncomfortable as completing two hundred sets of math papers in a row.
It turned out that Kui Xin had indeed underestimated the side effects of data manipulation. After washing her face in the bathroom, she barely made it there before bending over the toilet to vomit uncontrollably.
No wonder He Gaoyi worked as a secretary in the Investigation Bureau instead of using this extraordinary ability to rapidly learn and become a research master or develop in other fields.
While the capacity of a supercomputer could fill an entire building, the “processor” of the human brain was only so small, weighing just over 1 kg. When the central processing unit was already strained, adding that much information at once was bound to cause a blowout.
Once she was done vomiting, Kui Xin clearly recognized one thing—what limited this ability of data manipulation wasn’t its level, but the human body. The human body had too many limitations; no matter how much the brain was developed, it was hard to compare with a supercomputer.
Superchips developed by people in the Second World were only as thick as a sheet of paper and the size of a fingernail, yet they could store massive amounts of data. The structure of the human brain limited it to a finite capacity; no matter how hard one tried to remember or cram information, the brain simply couldn’t hold more than a chip.
Abilities need to be practiced more to exert their maximum effect.
Kui Xin practiced data manipulation at home for several hours, stopping only when her head began to throb.
After hours of research, she grasped the essentials of using the ability.
First, be a data processor and data explorer, not a data receiver; otherwise, the brain could encounter problems like an overheated processor.
Second, when using data manipulation, only capture the target data stream and avoid interfering with other data streams; otherwise, data chaos could arise.
Third, it’s best to use a medium when utilizing data manipulation.
The medium could be a smartphone or a computer. Kui Xin used these electronic devices as intermediaries, temporarily storing captured data in the smartphone and computer, letting them act as “data receivers” to avoid overwhelming her brain. Such intermediaries functioned like a data transfer station, alleviating the pressure on the final stop, even if it would complicate the processing path, it significantly mitigated the risk of her brain being unable to process the data.
Wow, what a complex ability.
This was definitely the most complex ability Kui Xin had encountered and possessed so far. Even after several hours of exploration, she still hadn’t fully grasped the rules and essentials of using the ability.
Before she knew it, it was noon. Just as she was about to make lunch, her phone suddenly rang, and she received a call from Su Rong’s mother.
“Hello? Xiao Xin?” A gentle voice came from the other end of the line.
“It’s me, Auntie. Is there something wrong?” Kui Xin replied.
“Thank you for staying with Rongrong last night. I just got home and found that she hasn’t woken up; I touched her and realized she has a fever,” Su Rong’s mother said. “You don’t need to come to teach her for the next couple of days. Let her rest; she’s been putting in a lot of effort lately.”
“She’s sick?” Kui Xin furrowed her brows, adding, “I’ve noticed that Rongrong seemed a bit down lately. Is there something bothering her?”
Su Rong’s mother said, “It’s possible. I’ll find a time to talk to her about it… Xiao Xin, take a good rest for the next few days. I’ll hang up now and take her to the doctor.”
“Okay, goodbye.” Kui Xin hung up the phone.
She thought for a moment and opened the social media app, sending Su Rong a simple message wishing her a speedy recovery.
Su Rong must have encountered some troubles in the Second World that caused her emotional fluctuations, leading to her illness… Unfortunately, Kui Xin couldn’t help her.
In the First World, Su Rong had a happy family and supportive relatives during hardships, while in the Second World, Su Rong was a star, too far removed from Kui Xin, who was busy with her own affairs and unable to provide assistance.
After lunch, Kui Xin picked up her phone to continue browsing the forum but suddenly recalled something.
Yu Qiwen had once told Kui Xin that the game forum was unhackable; he had attempted to invade that website but had failed.
Now that she possessed the ability of data manipulation, should she try what Yu Qiwen had attempted?
Focusing her gaze on the forum page, Kui Xin activated data manipulation, plunging her consciousness into it and invading the forum along the data pathways.
Her spirit extended like tentacles, and just as she was about to touch that data door, the phone buzzed, sparking and overheating, exploding on the spot and leaving a scorch mark on the table, with a hole burned in the tablecloth.
Kui Xin: “…?!”
She opened her mouth, stunned.
Her second-hand smartphone, which had accompanied her not long, had thus been rendered obsolete!
Kui Xin held her forehead and picked it up, carefully examining the once-functional device now out of commission.
Just now, it felt like a strange force had suddenly appeared to stop her from continuing her exploration…
She couldn’t help but recall what He Kangshi had said in his video: “This game is not a game; even if it’s a game… it is a game created by deities.”
In ancient times, people often attributed natural phenomena they couldn’t understand to deities; however, this wasn’t divine power but rather natural occurrences that could be explained by science. Yet, the existence of “Crimson Soil” was something humans could not explain scientifically. This game existed in a form comprehensible to people, but the experiences players went through once entering the game couldn’t be described as a game at all.
Two worlds, two gaming arenas, where people struggled to survive… Was this merely a game created by deities for their own amusement?
Kui Xin sighed, crushing her now-defunct phone with her hands and tossing it into the trash. She changed her clothes and went downstairs to the bank to withdraw money for a new phone.
Xie Gankqing had transferred her a compensation of one hundred thousand yuan; such a large sum of money should definitely be used. While Kui Xin maintained a frugal habit, it didn’t mean she had to deliberately deprive herself. Especially since her situation in the Second World was uncertain—she could face peril at any moment, so it was only right to enjoy a bit more when her financial situation allowed.
Kui Xin acted quickly, and thirty minutes later, she picked up a new smartphone and got a new SIM card.
Now that she had mastered data manipulation, she undoubtedly had more capabilities, allowing her to better hide herself and operate behind the scenes.
With such favorable conditions in place, it was time to take action.
Kui Xin’s fingers glided over the screen of her new smartphone as she hacked into the backend of the website where He Kangshi had uploaded his video, effortlessly slipping through the weak firewall and obtaining his information, locating the coordinates from when he posted the video.
Information technology in the First World was lagging far behind that of the Second World, with vulnerabilities in firewalls everywhere; she completed the invasion easily. If it were in the Second World, the intrusion might not have been so smooth.
In a dim rental room, He Kangshi was slumped over the table, resting. He hadn’t had a break in the Second World for several days, nor in the First World; he was constantly under mental strain. Now, utterly exhausted, he had collapsed onto the table, asleep.
At that moment, his phone began vibrating.
He opened his bloodshot eyes and reached for his phone.
On the screen, a single message displayed: “Are you interested in starting a collaboration?”
He Kangshi jolted awake in an instant, startled.
Author’s note: Kui Xin: Following the network cable to find you.
