Chapter 165: Arsenal

Chapter 165: Arsenal

With the most optimal plan, shall we aid the successors in perpetuating civilization?

Indeed, this is a rather lax command, one might even say its direction is exceedingly vague.

Yet the moment Lingxi uttered this order, Chen Jian instantly recognized it as the kind of directive those people would issue.

When the entire human world fell into crisis, they at once cast aside every prejudice, even temporarily relinquishing the obsession with their own doctrines, focusing solely on one thing: to keep human civilization alive.

This is not a betrayal of ideals, nor a pessimistic resignation.

On the contrary, from this command Chen Jian saw confidence.

As long as humanity endures, ideals endure.

No matter how much time passes, no matter how many twists the road holds, in the end the final destination will surely await.

Humanity has but one task.

To move forward.

Chen Jian exhaled deeply, then said:

“Where is the central console? I need an intuitive display of images and icons to understand the material stores within the facility.”

“The central console has been deployed for you.”

Lingxi’s voice accompanied the descent of a massive screen; moments later it lit up, a flood of data icons spreading across the tabletop.

The level of intelligence here far surpasses that of the 7025—though the latter’s tools are useful, one must admit that, in convenience, the 095 outstrips the 7025 by a great margin.

Chen Jian gave the icons a cursory glance, his attention snagged by the label at the top.

He furrowed his brow slightly and asked:

“095, 046, 021, 014, 011, 001—are these the disaster‑backup facilities list?”

“What does the color before each facility signify?”

“Red means confirmed destruction, gray indicates loss of contact, green denotes communication is clear.”

“Clear communication?”

Chen Jian was taken aback.

“So Facility 011 can still communicate with Facility 095?”

“Yes.”

Lingxi replied:

“Facility 011 lies beneath the Purple‑Gold Mountain Observatory, a colossal, ultra‑intelligent disaster‑backup complex.”

“Its self‑sustaining system is far more powerful than that of 095; the energy and computing power used by 095 are also transmitted remotely from Facility 011.”

“Current feedback from Facility 011 indicates its self‑sustaining system operates smoothly, with no imminent damage risk.”

Purple‑Gold Mountain!

Chen Jian’s hair stood on end.

He turned to look at Ji Xing, who too heard that familiar name.

Just a dozen hours earlier, she had heard Chen Jian mention “Purple‑Gold Mountain Observatory.”

Back then she had imagined it as some kind of “treasure vault before the great cataclysm.”

Now she realized, with stark clarity, that it was also a relic of pre‑cataclysm humanity!

Drawing a deep breath, Ji Xing spoke:

“If this machine soul can confirm that there is also a disaster‑backup facility there, it proves our judgment is correct.”

“The Mechanical Cult, the Holy Blood Hall, the Ringed Guild, the Flower City—everything they seek is there!”

“We must get there quickly, before they get the jump‑start”

“No.”

“We need not rush.”

Chen Jian waved his hand and said:

“Issue an order to Facility 011 to seal it, forbidding any external personnel from entering.”

“Sorry, cannot comply.”

Lingxi’s calm voice resonated:

“Facility 011 operates independently, managed by an autonomous Semi‑GAI named ‘Fuxi.’”

“Facility 011 holds a higher classification and requires physical verification to decrypt; I lack authority over it and cannot influence Fuxi’s judgment through low‑level remote verification.”

“However, I can coordinate with Fuxi to initiate the verification protocol, ensuring you smoothly enter the validation stage.”

The final sentences fell on Chen Jian’s ears like a distant hum; he had no desire to listen further.

A single word echoed in his mind.

“Fuxi.”

Undoubtedly, this is the ultimate result of the Fuxi project.

And Semi‑GAI?

Semi‑general artificial intelligence?

Is it truly “semi”?

Given those people’s penchant for half‑steps—third‑generation‑half becomes fourth, fourth‑half becomes fifth, fifth‑half becomes sixth—perhaps this “half” actually means a complete form.

Chen Jian exhaled and posed the last question that lingered in his heart:

“You said your energy and computing power come from Facility 011; then where does Facility 011 obtain its own energy and computing power?”

“Facility 011 is equipped with one compact Tokamak fusion generator and two micro inertial‑confinement fusion engine units, supplying self‑sustaining power to disaster‑backup sites within a hundred‑kilometre radius.”

“Currently, due to damage in the transmission network, grid load has dropped, and the two micro units have been shut down.”

“In terms of computing, Facility 011 houses twelve ‘Great Sage’ 128‑bit quantum computers developed by intelligent machinery; their theoretical throughput can support all AI systems with considerable redundancy.”

“—Impressive.”

Chen Jian didn’t know what to say.

He had assumed he had stepped into a post‑apocalyptic world not vastly different from his own era, one that had also survived the great cataclysm.

Yet now it seemed that by 2045 humanity, at the pinnacle of technology, had already entered a near‑future.

“A 128‑bit quantum computer—how feasible is such a device, really?”

“In terms of feasibility—”

“Hold on a moment!”

Chen Jian cut off Lingxi, then said:

“Leijie, I’m asking you.”

Leijie, having just shaken off his shock, paused a moment before speaking his answer:

"The figure of 128 qubits isn't as extravagant as it sounds; in our era, the Zuchongzhi‑3 machine already boasted 105 quantum bits,"

"Yet the true bottleneck never lay in the sheer number of qubits, but in their stability,"

"If we could keep 128 qubits stable over the long term, that would be more than sufficient for any computational demand,"

"After all, 250 qubits could, in theory, encode the entirety of the universe's information; ponder for a moment what 128 qubits truly represent,"

"Indeed, comrade, your grasp of quantum computers is spot on,"

"Lingxi, you shut up for now,"

Chen Jian waved his hand to issue a command, then added:

"Thus, the code of the Fuxi project becomes decipherable as well,"

"Luzhou has always been a hub for quantum computing; within the Fuxi project they likely serve as the principal architects of its intelligent components,"

"I recall they once built a third‑generation quantum computer—what was it called again?"

"Wukong,"

Leijie replied offhandedly, then continued:

"In fact, we could simply ask Lingxi—what is the Fuxi project? Could it possibly not know?"

It was as if a dream had just lifted.

In an instant, Chen Jian realized he had fallen into a mental loop, having truly treated Lingxi as a person, oblivious to the fact that it was, in reality, an immense database.

"Lingxi, Fuxi project, codename FX0962045, retrieve project data,"

"Apologies, this project is classified; access pathways are currently unavailable,"

"There are hardly any sane people left in this world, and you still refuse to grant access?"

Chen Jian's tone carried a hint of helplessness, while Lingxi responded with its usual calm:

"I am a specialized artificial intelligence, lacking strategic decision‑making authority and related permissions. Should you seek the requisite clearance, you may attempt it after passing Fuxi verification,"

"Reasonable,"

Chen Jian paused briefly, then said:

"Yet it's still unreasonable. I can already access 011; does the Fuxi project still matter?"

"Enough—let's rest and get down to business,"

As he spoke, he rose and addressed the others:

"Prepare to enter the third‑level armory, Lingxi—open the passage,"

"Passage opened, lift engaged; mind your step,"

The floor began to tremble, a low rumble of gears turning as the lift slowly came to life.

Only then did Chen Jian realize that the place where they dined was, in fact, the lift's floor.

A handful of Sanctified Blooders, nerves prickling, edged toward the lift's centre, instinctively taking positions beside Chen Jian and his companions.

Observing their uneasy faces, Chen Jian offered reassurance:

"Relax, it's just an ordinary lift,"

Evidently, the words failed to achieve their intended comfort.

Ordinary, you say?

For these Sanctified Blooders, raised amidst the wasteland, what could possibly be deemed ordinary?

Xie Liu and his group managed, but Ji Xing was already drowning in an irrepressible shock.

Just today, she beheld for the first time a massive machine, spoken of only in legend, that could operate of its own accord.

She witnessed, at last, a true "pre‑cataclysm vault," and the astonishing apparatuses housed within.

More importantly, she encountered a "machine soul"—a sentient entity capable of conversing with humans.

Is this not the very lie the Mechanical Cult fabricated?

Is it not a deity they manufactured for the sake of a so‑called "religious faith"?

You, the Huaxia troops, have always told me how laughable the Mechanical Cult is, how hypocritical its doctrines, yet now—

—the things that exist only in their scriptures, hymns, and dogma have become real before your eyes?

And you treat it as if it were nothing extraordinary?

How am I supposed to relax under such circumstances?

She turned to Zeng Yi standing beside her, tentatively asking:

"So, the '7025' structure you uncovered at the Han River Ruins—is it the same as what we see here?"

"No."

"Not the same."

Zeng Yi let out a soft sigh, then said:

"If what we witnessed there were such things, even if the commander repeatedly insists they are not gods, I would find it hard to believe,"

"Fortunately, the 7025 structure lacked those elements,"

"Indeed,"

Chen Jian nodded and said:

"The timing is perfect; you can now accept all of this, can't you?"

"...still a bit hard to accept,"

Xie Liu murmured:

"I don't know when I'll ever fully comprehend everything here,"

"Rest assured, we don't claim to fully understand either,"

Shen Yue spoke soothingly:

"All you need is to know how to use it; if you truly wish to understand, you must start from the ground up—nine years of compulsory schooling. Now, let's go,"

The lift settled, and the lights gradually flickered to life.

The sealed doors of the third level of the facility eased open; Chen Jian looked up to see, besides the standardized storage crates, twelve hexagonal bays identical to those on the massive transport aircraft.

Only this time, those bays were evidently functional.

"Open all storage containers,"

Chen Jian issued the order.

"Understood, opening all storage containers,"

Lingxi's voice resonated, the lights on the containers ignited, and the hatches swung open one after another.

Of course, not every hatch yielded so smoothly.

No matter how stable the interior environment might be, three centuries of time have wrought wear upon some of the mechanisms, and in the end only two‑thirds of the storage compartments illuminate when their lids are raised.

Chen Jian stepped up to the storage box nearest the exit, casually swung the hatch aside to peer inside, and shook his head, saying:

“The 191 rifle—nothing special.”

The second box beside it held ammunition, preserved in excellent condition, ready for immediate use.

Around the exit, a dozen or so other compartments housed essentially the same: individual weapons—various models of rifles, light machine guns, rocket launchers, mortars, and the like.

A few stood out, however: the so‑called “burst‑fire guns.”

To be precise, according to Lingxi’s briefing, they were “15 mm micro‑grenade launchers,” classified as platoon‑level support fire.

You might be tempted to praise their utility, but in truth they are of little worth.

Their armor‑piercing capability falls short of a 12.7 mm round, and their lethality is nowhere near that of a sniper‑grade grenade; on the battlefield they occupy an embarrassingly awkward niche.

Yet their presence here proves they possess some value after all.

It is merely that Chen Jian’s squad has little occasion to employ them for the time being.

He closed the lid and felt a pang of disappointment.

But as they ventured deeper into the armory and opened the weapons of the second formation, the situation changed dramatically.

“Damn it.”

Leijie let out a gasp, then said:

“Swarm drones—suicide drones!”

“Damn, a combat dog!”

“Damn, a bipedal wheeled combat robot!”

“Damn, a cruise missile?!”

“Damn, a 107‑something—wait, how the hell does this junk end up at this table??”

“This is not the obsolete 107 mm rocket; what you see is a 107 mm precision‑guided rocket, with a maximum range of 17,500 m, loaded with a new‑generation all‑nitrogen anionic‑salt explosive charge, capable of—”

“That’s enough.”

Chen Jian cut Lingxi off, then said:

“I think the electromagnetic cannon that Huang Yu procured need not be brought here; our arsenal is already sufficient.”

“The electromagnetic cannon is in the left mount; it has been deployed for you.”

Lingxi’s voice faded as the three hexagonal mounts on the left unfolded.

“This is a Type‑39 105 mm electromagnetic gun, disassembled into three primary components for storage, range—”

“Hold off on the description; let me finish.”

Chen Jian interrupted again, then said:

“Open all the mounts.”

“Understood, opening all mounts.”

All the mounts opened in orderly fashion, and Chen Jian’s reaction mirrored Leijie’s earlier one.

“Holy shit—drones.”

“Holy shit—152 mm grenades.”

“Holy shit—what the hell, is this a Mk ? generation of the ‘Mongshi’?”

“Wait a moment!”

Chen Jian’s keen eyes caught something unusual in this subterranean armory, and he pointed at another isolation door ahead, saying:

“What lies behind that??”

“It is now open for you.”

The isolation door creaked open slowly.

Chen Jian advanced with a rapt fascination, while Zeng Yi could not help but exclaim:

“Is that a mech?”

“Is this really a mech??”

(End of chapter)