Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Successful Materialization of the Intelligent Robot

Zhu Lan had never expected the speculation around the gene optimization serum to be so explosive. If the gene optimization serum were a fraud, given the current frenzy, not even a hundred lives would be enough to sate the fury of the netizens. Unfortunately for the critics, the serum was real.

Zhu Lan had seen many cases online. While the effects of the gene optimization serum weren’t as exaggerated as described on the internet, for some people, such dramatic results were possible. Out of every ten thousand people, nine thousand nine hundred ninety-seven had some form of genetic defect. Even among the remaining three, their genes weren’t flawless—just that the defects didn’t manifest. The serum’s purpose was to repair these flaws, but if the serum wasn’t entirely used in the process, the surplus would enhance certain genes.

The gene optimization serum originated from genetic potions. Though gene enhancement and gene optimization serums were different products, they shared the same roots. Thus, the gene optimization serum did have a mild strengthening effect. However, this effect was subtle, as the serum prioritized repairing the body’s potential genetic defects.

With current technology, surface-level genetic defects could already be identified. Simple flaws—such as premature aging or congenital skin degeneration—were precisely what the gene optimization serum could completely repair. But not everyone could be fully cured; each person’s flaws varied. Some only had three to eight defects, while others had thirty or even hundreds. The more flaws, the greater the risk.

Some people would never recover after a severe illness—not because of the illness itself, but because the pathogens triggered genetic defects, forcing the body to divert precious nutrients to repair the genes instead. At the normal rate, such repairs could take more than a decade.

Some could wait, taking medicine for years on end; others could not. According to Zhu Lan’s experiments, genetic defects also affected brain function. Without experimental data, Zhu Lan couldn’t pursue deeper studies, as the best subjects for brain research were not the mentally ill, but those in a vegetative state. Psychiatric patients often had more active brains than healthy individuals, while those in a vegetative state were akin to hibernation, their brains operating at the barest minimum.

“Any other questions?” Zhu Lan asked.

“Boss, there’s one more!”

“Go ahead.”

“The bio-building will be completed in half a month, but the equipment…”

“You needn’t worry about that. Once the building is finished, the equipment will arrive naturally. I’ll need a week to get the new recruits up to speed. Next month, Visionary Technologies will finally face the world.”

One by one, his colleagues departed. Zhu Lan gathered the files, glancing at the papers in his hands. “Still have to wait…”

There were too few people—this was his current predicament.

Returning home, Zhu Lan locked the files away in a safe. He descended into the basement, closing the heavy steel door behind him, sealing himself off from the world.

The basement had been specially constructed, with the help of a team of military engineers. For the sake of secrecy, both the basement and the house above had been built covertly. During the day, construction was ordinary; at night, major modifications were made. In just two weeks, the small house was complete—complete with a five-meter-deep basement.

Once the house was finished, Zhu Lan materialized a considerable amount of equipment there. Although he could have used the laboratory, some experiments he preferred to keep private.

Li Hongjin had visited once, perhaps out of concern about what Zhu Lan was doing. But upon seeing the lab equipment below, he said nothing more, and no one else came to disturb him.

Inside and out, the house was equipped with state-of-the-art surveillance: independent lines, independent monitoring, all sourced from the military. Though not the very latest, they were far more advanced than civilian models: infrared sensors, thermal detectors, audio capture devices—a full arsenal, all installed in and around the house.

The pseudo-intelligent system recognized only Zhu Lan. Without his guidance, one could possibly enter, but to do so undetected would require the skills of a master thief.

At present, the basement was empty, devoid of equipment. This was where Zhu Lan materialized objects; the equipment he’d shown Li Hongjin had long since been transported to the biology division. Their department was expanding rapidly, demanding ever more equipment. Zhu Lan also required them to understand the principles behind the gene optimization serum, for he needed more advanced versions.

The current serum could only repair about one percent of known human genetic defects. Many more remained, and the serum could be much improved. This was only the basic version; Zhu Lan aspired to produce an intermediate or even advanced gene optimization serum. However, he was well aware that results would not come quickly. Even with trillions invested annually and countless experts worldwide, the field of genetic engineering had yielded little so far. Visionary Technologies, by contrast, was staffed with little more than recent biology graduates.

Zhu Lan had once hoped to recruit his former mentor. But no matter how he tried, she refused. If only he could have brought her in, many other senior talents would have followed, and his workload would have been far lighter.

“A month… Still not enough time.” Zhu Lan looked at his hands and shook his head helplessly.

He walked over to a platform that rose up, revealing a special tablet computer.

“Open file,” he commanded, skipping manual operation for voice control.

This was a high-intelligence microcomputer custom-built by a national agency. Though called a microcomputer, its functions surpassed even the most expensive laptops on the market. The computer alone had cost Zhu Lan forty million. The technology inside represented the pinnacle of civilian achievement.

Voice control was just the beginning. The computer boasted vast storage—enough to hold over a million data files. Its casing was made from aerospace alloys, and its components were specially reinforced with gold, silver, and copper, giving it a lifespan a hundred times that of ordinary computers. These parts were remarkably durable; with the reinforced shell, even if dropped from a ten-story building, the worst that could happen would be severe scuffing.

The price wasn’t in the computer itself, but in the materials. Fortunately, building a laptop required little material. In recent years, China’s investments in aerospace had grown: the Heavenly Palace space station, the Chang’e lunar program, navigation satellites, meteorological satellites, deep-space probes. Now, more than fifty satellites were launched annually. With increased production, aerospace-grade materials could now be bought with money, though some special materials remained off-limits.

“Turn to page fifteen.”

“Open file number seven.”

“Begin projection.”

The basement darkened; countless beams of light converged, and a giant screen appeared.

Watching the still-blurry image, Zhu Lan shook his head, “Switch to screen three.”

The light dimmed further, and a huge white screen rose. Light streamed from the computer, projecting a film.

“The virtual illusion technology still isn’t good enough—what a letdown!”

Pulling over a chair, Zhu Lan sat and began watching the movie, scene by scene.

Ninety minutes passed in this fashion, Zhu Lan motionless the entire time.

“Next, file number 2096. Play.”

As soon as one film ended, Zhu Lan started another.

“Next, file number 1047. Play.”

“Next, file number 652. Play.”

“Next, file number 3610. Play.”

On and on, he watched, growing more and more exhausted.

Glancing at the time, it was already five thirty in the morning. Zhu Lan shook his head in resignation—he hadn’t expected to watch for ten hours straight.

Suddenly, he froze. “Stop!”

The film halted immediately.

Zhu Lan closed his eyes. A strange ripple emanated from him.

Creaking sounds echoed throughout the basement, as if a tremendous pressure was compressing every corner. It was as if a fierce wind had swept through, leaving marks in its wake.

Zhu Lan clenched his teeth. His face was already pale from fatigue, but now it was deathly white, devoid of any color.

At first, sweat streamed down his face; later, it lessened and finally disappeared. An immense, mysterious force spun relentlessly.

Crack!

The spinning force severed the film projection. By rights, with the loss of a physical target, the materialization should have failed. Yet Zhu Lan’s materialization didn’t falter in the slightest.

Bang!

A heavy thud, and Zhu Lan slowly opened his eyes.

He looked at the confused little creature before him and smiled. “Success!”

“Who are you?” Perhaps startled by his laughter, the little creature came to its senses and looked at Zhu Lan curiously.

“Me? I’m the one who gave you life!”

A syringe dropped from the basement ceiling, landing directly on the little one. Sparks danced across its surface before quickly subsiding.

Zhu Lan stepped forward and removed the syringe. “Nanorobots are indeed useful, though they are so difficult to materialize!”

Watching the little robot reboot on the floor, Zhu Lan smiled.

The robot was modeled after a transport droid from “WALL-E.” Zhu Lan had tried to materialize WALL-E or Eve before, but without success. He’d been trapped by his own thinking. This time, by choosing an ordinary transport droid, he succeeded—though it cost him all his mental energy. It wasn’t yet the intelligent computer he dreamed of, but starting with intelligent robots was a good first step!