Chapter Sixty-One: Mu's Question

Mu suddenly fell silent, leaving Ye Chong flustered and at a loss. Every time something happened to Mu, Ye Chong found himself helpless, unable to offer any real assistance.

The only thing Ye Chong could do was wait—wait for Mu to awaken once more.

Could it be that the energy comb was depleted? Ye Chong sprang up and hurriedly checked Mu’s energy comb. No, that wasn’t it! There was still 80% energy remaining. So what was the problem? Ye Chong racked his brains but could come up with nothing. All he could do was sit quietly by Mu’s side and wait.

Ye Chong remained beside Mu for the entire afternoon, but Mu didn’t move at all, showing not the slightest sign of waking.

Time slipped by quietly, and before Ye Chong realized it, the afternoon had faded away. From outside the house came Grandpa Qian’s voice—there were guests! Ye Chong looked up at the clock. It was already evening. He gave Mu a deep look, then turned and went out to work.

His spirits low, Ye Chong’s movements were sluggish and weak. Grandpa Qian asked more than once if he was unwell, but Ye Chong always shook his head. Grandpa Qian’s face was full of concern.

Finally, all the guests had left. Ye Chong ate only two bowls at dinner before stopping, which worried Grandpa Qian even more. The boy had never eaten so little before.

Listlessly, Ye Chong returned to his room. Just as he closed the door, Mu’s voice suddenly called out, “Yezi!”

Ye Chong froze in his tracks, his eyes lighting up with joy. A smile curved his lips. “Mu, are you all right? That’s wonderful!”

Excited, Ye Chong leaped onto Mu’s knee. “You really scared me just now! Are you okay now?”

After a pause, Mu replied, “Based on current data, the probability that the situation is under control ranges from 58.5% to 61.2%.”

Ye Chong was taken aback. “What exactly happened? Mu, you seemed to have changed a lot recently,” he said after a moment of thought. “But now you seem to have changed back!”

Mu replied coolly, “Your assessment is not inaccurate, at least to some extent.”

Ye Chong, still confused, asked, “What’s really going on, Mu?”

Calmly, Mu explained, “There was an unknown program in my data system that had always remained dormant. I have been trying to activate it, believing it likely contained information about my past, but I never found a way. However, during our escape from the Scrap Planet, the violent impact activated the program. I discovered it was a light-based simulated intelligence.”

Seeing Ye Chong’s bewildered expression, Mu continued, “A light-based simulated intelligence is an autonomous decision-making program that inevitably arises when an optical brain reaches a certain advanced stage. Each such intelligence has its own characteristics and style, and they are highly exclusive. In essence, I am one such program.”

“This program has an 86.9% probability of having been the dominant intelligence of my previous optical brain. For some unknown reason, it was forced into dormancy. Later, when you, Yezi, activated me, the optical brain produced a new simulated intelligence—me.”

“We are both products of the same optical brain, sharing the same learning mechanism and decision-making system. Thus, it is impossible for either of us to destroy the other; we can only vie for control over the optical brain. The previous impact caused me to fall into a passive state, allowing the other intelligence to seize control. However, my characteristics are more aggressive, giving me an 8.5% to 11.2% higher chance of prevailing. That’s why today I was able to suppress the other intelligence. But this advantage will gradually diminish until we are evenly matched.”

Ye Chong’s expression showed partial understanding, so Mu added mercilessly, “Given your level, your chance of comprehending a problem of this complexity is only 21%.”

Ye Chong let that comment slide, then suddenly realized, “So, you’re saying there are two… um… what was it called?” He frowned, thinking hard.

“Light-based simulated intelligence,” Mu supplied.

“Yes, that’s it! But the other intelligence didn’t seem hostile to me. Even though you seemed different for a while, I never felt like you were someone else.”

“That is correct,” Mu agreed. “Since we share the same data source, all my assessments are also his. Thus, his attitude towards you is essentially no different from mine, though our characteristics and styles may differ.”

Ye Chong rubbed his head, troubled. “So complicated… Anything related to optical brains is always so dull!” That was his final judgment, utterly disinterested in anything involving optical brains.

“For you, that’s probably true,” Mu said calmly.

Seated in Mu’s cockpit, Ye Chong resumed the work he hadn’t finished that morning. As for Mu’s problem, Ye Chong knew he was powerless to help; Mu would have to resolve it himself.

Ye Chong carefully studied the image of the white mecha that Mu had retrieved from the database.

Pure white mechas were rare, much like all-black ones. Its slender form had not a single sharp edge, every contour rounded and blunt, leaving none of the usual menacing aura typical of mechas. In its hands, it held a similarly pure white, oddly shaped gun, which, judging by its caliber, could as easily be called a cannon. To an ordinary eye, this mecha was the very image of luxury and elegance, noble and graceful like a swan among birds.

But Ye Chong felt none of that. What he sensed was a profound danger.

Although the white mecha appeared as refined as an aristocrat, Ye Chong would never underestimate its threat. That strange weapon alone spoke volumes; it was clearly no simple tool. Moreover, Ye Chong’s sharp eyes counted at least thirty-two concealed firing ports on the mecha’s body, which left him utterly stunned.

This—this was excessive! Was it really necessary to have so many? Could a pilot even control all those at once? And what of the energy consumption? Was it meant for a single volley before retreating?

In any case, Ye Chong could not believe this was just an ordinary high-grade mecha. He was convinced it was far more advanced than his own F-58. No matter how good the F-58 was, it was still only a training mecha; its weapon configuration was simply no match.

Why would someone want to kill him? Ye Chong wracked his brain.

His only known enemies were the Reno Society, but would the Reno Society have such a mecha? Ye Chong doubted it, and besides, they had no way of knowing his whereabouts. Then could it be Blackhorn? If Blackhorn bore him ill will, it was possible—but this mecha’s style was entirely different from Blackhorn’s, so that seemed unlikely.

Who could it be? Ye Chong pondered desperately.

The other side had intercepted him en route, when he was piloting the F-58. The opponent probably hadn’t known his identity, so the only thing they could have recognized was his mecha. Could it be that using the F-58 had caused them to mistake him for an enemy? Wait! The F-58 was Blackhorn’s training mecha, which meant the opponent must be familiar with it, and know it was exclusive to Blackhorn. In that case, had they mistaken him for a member of Blackhorn and targeted him as an enemy? If so, the opponent was most likely an enemy of Blackhorn!

The more Ye Chong considered this, the more reasonable it seemed. That must be it—they’d mistaken him for someone from Blackhorn! It was the only explanation that made sense.

Mu’s voice sounded as well: “Based on current data and calculations, there is a 71% probability the other party is an enemy of Blackhorn; the remaining data is insufficient for further analysis.”

Indeed, Mu’s calculations matched his own reasoning.

So, if that was the case, what should he do next?