Chapter 164: Lingxi

Chapter 164: Lingxi

“Who are you?”

Chen Jian’s voice trembled slightly; in that instant he could not suppress the surge of excitement within him.

Undoubtedly, the voice came from three centuries past.

Its very emergence signified far more than words could convey.

He was unsure whether his “answer” was proper, yet it was clear that this instinctive mode of communication achieved its intended effect.

“I am Lingxi.”

“I am a dedicated artificial intelligence spearheaded by intelligent machinery and co‑developed by several smart‑machine firms.”

“My mission is to dominate production within a limited domain, assist research, and usher humanity toward a fully automated future.”

“I bear the people’s lofty hopes for communism and will steadfastly walk this path.”

“If you have any questions, please communicate with me promptly.”

“I will provide whatever assistance lies within my power.”

A calm, steady voice, echoing with a faint emptiness, faded into the vast hall; the few Saint‑Blood warriors behind Chen Jian stood frozen, their terror, awe, and astonishment intertwining so tightly they almost forgot their own existence.

Yet the four men from “that era” listened as if to celestial music.

Familiar phrasing and cadence awakened their memories, and they, almost simultaneously, could not wait to speak.

“Report your specific functions!”

“Do other AI systems exist?”

“What lies within Project 095?”

“Turn on all the lights!”

Four different commands were issued at once. Chen Jian had expected the AI named Lingxi to falter, but after a brief pause the hall resonated with its reply.

“My imaging system has detected eight individuals of distinct identities; according to the image‑database index, you may include four professional soldiers and four ordinary civilians.”

“Allow me to withhold answers for now, for my preliminary assessment suggests you may be facing a severe survival crisis.”

“I will first seal Project 095—please advise whether to proceed.”

“Proceed!”

Chen Jian gave the decisive order; with the clatter of machinery, the massive doors of Project 095 slammed shut.

Immediately, Lingxi’s voice prompted again.

“The air‑filtration system is operating normally; the fresh‑air system is functioning properly.”

“Oxygen Module 1 has failed; Module 2 has been activated.”

“Environmental monitors indicate that the interior conditions are presently suitable for human habitation.”

“Please feel free to sit.”

“Everyone, have you eaten?”

That familiar question coaxed a long sigh from Chen Jian.

There was no doubt this contraption was the work of the people he knew.

At least its linguistic flexibility in Chinese was something no imitator could match.

A simple “Have you eaten?” is a warmth etched into the very marrow.

No matter the crisis, meals come first.

Thus, after a slow breath, Chen Jian steadied himself and replied:

“We haven’t eaten yet—anything available?”

“Certainly.”

Lingxi’s voice rang out once more.

“The Food‑1104 storage unit has been opened for you; it employs vacuum‑temperature control to preserve a variety of richly flavored provisions.”

“Based on the current date, the food will remain safe for another 114 years.”

“Please help yourself.”

A buzzing sound filled the hall; following it, Chen Jian saw a storage box illuminated by an indicator light.

Contrary to Lingxi’s claim, the box did not open automatically.

He approached; the lock was indeed disengaged, but after so many years the spring had lost its tension, leaving the lid ajar only a sliver.

Even so, the intelligence of this facility left Chen Jian in awe.

“What’s inside?”

Shen Yue leaned in, curiosity bright in his eyes.

“Good news, it’s abundant.”

“Bad news, it’s the same old fare.”

“Special braised pork, red‑braised beef, fermented‑bean herring, Beidaihe luncheon meat—all canned, but there’s also canned yellow peach, so the nutrition is balanced.”

Chen Jian rummaged through the box, pulling out each item; the others, including Lei Jie and his companions, watched with eyes alight.

Though in their own time they might have scorned such fare, this was the apocalypse.

Being able to eat anything at all was, in essence, a luxury.

Zeng Yi, who had arrived, picked up a can from the opened box and asked curiously:

“Is this food from centuries ago? Is it still edible?”

“Absolutely.”

Before Shen Yue could answer, Lingxi intercepted the query and replied:

“Theoretically, as long as the can’s seal remains intact, these provisions can be preserved indefinitely.”

“The expiry date exists only because Project 095’s design imposes a service‑life limit.”

“Feel free to use them, but monitor the flavor during consumption.”

“If you notice spoilage, off‑tastes, or bulging cans, discard them promptly.”

“No problem.”

Chen Jian sliced open a canned yellow peach; the sweet, slightly tart juice burst into his mouth, reviving him instantly.

This was true disaster‑preparation infrastructure.

A facility lacking even canned peaches is hardly a facility at all.

In that moment, the prestige of 7025 sank noticeably in his mind.

A powerful sense of security enveloped the group, and Chen Jian even lowered the urgency level of the “Hunt the Monsters” mission for a time.

After all, relentless high‑intensity combat had left the squad exhausted; they truly needed a high‑standard reprieve.

Perhaps Lingxi also saw this.

Therefore, it did not answer the questions Chen Jian and his companions raised, but patiently guided them to the stored pots, stove, and fuel.

When the aroma of cooked food spread through Facility 095 and was drawn out by the exhaust system, and when everyone gathered around the makeshift table fashioned from storage crates, picking up bowls and chopsticks, Lingxi finally spoke again:

“A gentleman says not to speak of food while eating nor of sleep while sleeping, yet in my view, mealtime often makes an excellent occasion for conversation.”

“Perhaps I may take this chance to answer the questions you raised earlier?”

“Answer the questions.”

Chen Jian spoke decisively; after receiving permission, Lingxi continued.

“Then allow me to clear up any doubts for you all.”

“First, as introduced, I am a dedicated artificial intelligence, primarily employed in industrial production and resource management.”

“My mission is to liberate laborers as far as possible from relatively low‑level tasks, and, with the assistance of other AIs and educational systems, help them partake in higher‑grade work.”

“Specifically, the tasks I can perform can be divided into several domains.”

“Such as resource management, material dispatch, production planning execution, and so forth.”

“Of course, executing these tasks requires cooperation from other systems.” “For instance, to carry out a production task, I need an automated workshop equipped with intelligent devices.”

“Facility 095 stores such an automated production workshop on its fourth level.”

“If needed, you may follow my guidance to assemble the equipment inside the workshop and, once powered, bring it into operation.”

Automated production workshop.

Chen Jian could not help but set down his bowl and chopsticks.

He swallowed two mouthfuls of the scalding twice‑cooked pork and then asked:

“What kind of workshop? What can it make?”

“It is an industrial mother‑machine workshop; in theory, it can fabricate anything.”

Lingxi replied:

“But to integrate with my system, it must be equipped with the appropriate intelligent modules.”

“Unfortunately, Facility 095 does not have a sufficient stock of such modules, so this workshop may not be able to fulfill all the tasks you require.”

“Never mind, having a mother‑machine workshop is already a good start.”

Chen Jian did not feel particularly regretful; after all, Facility 095 itself was an unexpected boon—could one ask for more?

“Please continue—what else is inside Facility 095?”

“Very well.”

“The equipment and devices stored within Facility 095 are numerous, broadly classified into five major categories.”

“Survival supplies such as food and medical goods; production supplies such as tools and mechanized equipment; educational supplies such as paper books and databases; security supplies such as weapons and ammunition; and consumables that keep the facility’s intelligent operations running.”

“Among these, consumables constitute the largest share, reaching 35 % of the warehouse’s total capacity.”

“Over the long passage of time, 65 % of these consumables have been used up; the remaining stock can keep the facility operating at minimal capacity for 114 years, or at full load for 77 months.”

“Understood.”

Chen Jian exchanged glances with the others, thinking silently: this truly is a turning point.

A shelter capable of 77 months of full‑power operation alone would be enough for them to stake a foothold on the wasteland.

Moreover, the scale of this facility seems far larger than that of 7025, so the volume of other stored goods must be correspondingly greater.

“What weapons do you have?”

He Shuo spoke up suddenly; he had expected Lingxi to answer at once, but the AI proved more cautious than he had imagined.

“Weaponry is classified as sensitive, controlled material; before granting access, I must ask you a few questions.”

“Understood, ask.”

He Shuo answered without hesitation, and immediately Lingxi’s voice rang out.

“May I ask whether you possess a resident identification number? If so, could you provide it to me?”

The words hung in the air, leaving Chen Jian and his companions dumbfounded.

He had certainly assumed that this intelligent facility would have a verification protocol, but he did not expect the verification to be so blunt and crude.

Identification number?

Damn, if the newcomers aren’t us but other survivors of the great cataclysm on the wasteland, where would they find an ID number?

They might not even know what an ID number is, right?

Chen Jian’s eyes flickered; he stopped He Shuo from answering and replied himself:

“We don’t have one, nor do we know what it is.”

“Understood.”

Lingxi’s synthetic voice showed no fluctuation, merely continuing:

“May I ask what you intend to use the weapons for?”

“To counter external threats and ensure our own safety.”

Chen Jian gave a brief reply, and Lingxi went on:

“A reasonable motive. Then, where do these threats you speak of originate?”

“From the myriad monsters roaming the wasteland, and from other hostile human groups.”

Chen Jian’s expression remained unchanged; he was not taking a risk, merely seeking confirmation.

There must be underground facilities like 095 elsewhere on the wasteland; besides ourselves,

are there any others capable of fully exploiting such a facility’s potential?

After a slight, almost anthropomorphic pause, Lingxi spoke again.

“Struggle is the perpetual main theme of human society, yet not every participant in struggle represents justice.”

“Then, may I ask, what is the purpose of conflict between people?”

“Conflict is a means of uniting; unity is the purpose of conflict.”

Chen Jian’s answer was almost instinctive; he had intended to see what further questions Lingxi might pose, but to his surprise the line of questioning abruptly halted.

“Verification passed.”

“All weapon‑related permissions have been granted to you; the third underground level of Facility 095 is now open, and its contents may lend you a hand on your onward journey.”

“That’s all?”

Chen Jian asked in astonishment:

“Is it really over?”

Chen Jian had expected the verification process to be far more intricate; lacking precise identity information, he thought at least a standardized questionnaire would be devised to assess the qualifications of weapon users.

Yet in reality, the verification consisted of only a handful of sentences.

Chen Jian does not know what criteria Lingxi uses to judge—

If the standards are truly this lax, the situation of other disaster‑prepared facilities may be far from optimistic.

Yet in the next instant, Lingxi's voice rang out again.

“‘It is the essence, not the quantity, that matters; your answer has already spoken everything.’”

“‘My judgment is not drawn from a fixed response template, but from a holistic analysis.’”

“‘According to the comprehensive analysis, your credibility stands at ninety‑five percent, and your alignment with the standard profile reaches eighty‑four percent, thereby satisfying the pre‑set criteria for granting access.’”

“‘Perhaps you deem such standards overly lax, yet they align perfectly with my mission description.’”

“‘Understood.’”

Chen Jian did not press further, but silently swallowed the last slice of twice‑cooked pork in his bowl.

He still did not know what degree of sentience the so‑called dedicated AI named “Lingxi” had achieved, yet for now it seemed to be functioning admirably.

Still, a question lingered.

Does it know what kind of world we now inhabit?

Does it comprehend what these people, its creators, are confronting?

With that thought, Chen Jian asked:

“‘How much do you know about the outside world?’”

“‘Very little.’”

Lingxi replied:

“‘It has been three hundred and thirty years since the last activation of Project 095, and I have never received any signal from the outside, nor from any other similar installations.’”

“‘Yet, based on the directives I received before the facility sealed and on the environmental monitoring data, I have drawn the following inference.’”

“‘Human civilization has encountered a grave catastrophe, perhaps due to an irresistible force, and the population has plummeted dramatically.’”

“‘In human terms, this is the “apocalypse,” and you are the survivors of that apocalypse.’”

“‘From this deduction I have automatically switched to contingency plan two, lifting restrictions tied to nation, ethnicity, and culture, retaining only the original immutable conditions.’”

“‘That may be why you consider the criteria for granting permissions overly permissive, does it not?’”

“‘.Indeed.’”

Chen Jian let out a long sigh, then asked:

“‘Before the facility sealed, what command did you receive?’”

The hall fell into a hush; after a moment, Lingxi’s voice resonated once more.

“‘What I received were not standardized orders but a series of colloquial commands.’”

“‘Synthesizing them, I discerned the core mission: to employ the optimal strategy to aid the successors in perpetuating human civilization.’”

(End of Chapter)