Chapter 113

Chapter 113: Artificial Soul Part 40

Kui Xin didn’t have many “ports” in her house. The only electronic device that could connect to the “network” was a smartphone, but as she looked around, she noticed hidden “networks” and “lines” running inside the walls of the building.

Her old neighborhood had undergone wall renovations a few years back, with lines hidden within the structures, and fiber optic cables attached to the outer walls of the buildings.

Kui Xin withdrew her consciousness from the smartphone, attempting to bypass the electronic devices to directly access the network through the fiber optic cables, but she failed.

She noted down: Consciousness can only link to the network via “doors” or “ports.” Without them, she’d be like being outside a shopping mall; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get inside.

However, data could also be transmitted via electrical signals. Connecting her consciousness to the smartphone turned her into a signal receiver, allowing her to control various devices by accessing the electromagnetic waves in the air.

Her consciousness soared up high, traveling the information superhighway across the city while her physical body remained still. Her soul had ventured into another world filled with digits, letters, and signs—a digital realm.

She was dazzled by the rapidly changing characters, soon becoming dizzy and confused by the array before her eyes.

Data was constantly being transferred back and forth, the digital world changing in countless ways. To manipulate or reconstruct data, she needed to capture the correct data stream accurately.

After long practice and trials, Kui Xin gained a concrete understanding of the extraordinary ability known as “data manipulation.”

Data manipulation transformed her into a supercomputer; she herself became a “port” or a “gateway.” But without connecting to the network, she was like an offline supercomputer, unable to reach the vast world within the data net and exchange data normally. The inability to exchange data naturally limited her capabilities.

Understanding this ability, Kui Xin’s first thought was—if such a good skill wasn’t used for learning, it would be a waste.

Her brain functioned like a central processing unit. Using her extraordinary ability to download learning materials onto her brain data imprint would enable her to achieve something akin to “total recall.” However, she worried that receiving too much data at once would cause her brain processor to overheat.

She acted immediately and duplicated several gigabytes of English voice translation packages from her phone into her mind.

The massive influx of information almost made her faint, causing her to clutch the bed frame. She felt a headache and then a tingling sensation in her nose; when she touched it, her hands were covered in blood.

“Transmitting too much data at once to the brain causes adverse reactions. Transmitting data in smaller bursts should be fine…,” Kui Xin remarked, wiping her face and making a note of her experience, “Will excessive quantities result in severe side effects?”

She refrained from further testing for now. Inserting several gigabytes of English data into her head was akin to solving two hundred math problem sets, which was overwhelmingly burdensome.

It was confirmed that even Kui Xin had underestimated the side effects of data manipulation. Upon going to the toilet to wash her face, she doubled over in front of the toilet and threw up fiercely.

No wonder He Gaoyi never rose to prominence as a scientific great or developed other fields despite his data manipulation abilities at the Investigation Bureau.

A supercomputer could fill an entire building, whereas the human brain, weighing only 1 kilogram, was limited. With data flooding her processor, it was no wonder her brain was overwhelmed and close to exploding.

Once Kui Xin finished emptying her stomach, she realized—her limitation lay not in the level of data manipulation but in her own body. The human body was too limited; no matter how much the brain developed, it would be hard to rival a supercomputer.

Super chips developed in the second world were as thin as a sheet of paper and as small as a fingernail, yet they held immense data storage capacity. Human brains had limits—the more one tried to memorize, the less additional information could be added.

Ability development required much practice to reach its full potential.

Kui Xin practiced data manipulation at home for hours until her head started aching. Only then did she stop.

After hours of studying, Kui Xin grasped the essentials of using her ability.

The first rule: Be a data handler, a navigator, not a receiver. Being a receiver would cause her brain to overheat and malfunction.

Secondly, while manipulating data, focus only on target streams; interfering with other streams could lead to data chaos.

Thirdly, use a medium when manipulating data. A medium could be a smartphone or a computer. Using these devices as mediums temporarily stored data in her phone and computer, so she didn’t need to receive data directly with her brain. This method served as a data relay station, redistributing workload and avoiding brain overload.

Wow, what a complex ability.

This was undoubtedly the most complex ability she had encountered and mastered so far. Even after multiple hours’ trial and error, she hadn’t quite grasped all the rules and techniques.

Unaware of the clock, it was already noon. Kui Xin was about to cook when her phone beeped, receiving a call from Su Rong’s mother.

“Hello? Xiao Xin?”

On the other end, a soft voice responded.

“It’s Aunt Su. Anything important?” Kui Xin asked.

“Thank you for staying with Rong yesterday night. Just got home and found Rong still sleeping, and discovered she has a fever,” said Su’s mother. “Don’t give Rong lessons for the next couple of days, let her rest. She’s been under a lot of pressure.”

“Fever?” Kui Xin frowned. “I noticed Rong seemed down. Is there anything bothering her?”

Su’s mother replied, “Perhaps. I’ll talk to her later… Rest well, Xiao Xin. I’ll hang up now, I’m taking her to see a doctor.”

“Alright, goodbye,” Kui Xin hung up.

Thoughtfully, she opened a social media page and sent Su Rong a simple message wishing for her quick recovery.

Su Rong’s emotional fluctuations must stem from something distressing in the second world, leading to a serious illness. Unfortunately, Kui Xin couldn’t help her.

In the first world, Su Rong had a happy family, supported by her loved ones when facing hardship. In the second world, Su Rong was a star, far beyond Kui Xin’s reach. Kui Xin faced her own problems and could not provide assistance.

After eating, Kui Xin picked up her phone to browse forums again when she remembered something.

Yu Qiwén had mentioned that the game forum was unbreakable, and he had attempted to breach it but failed.

Now with her data manipulation skills, she wondered if she could try what Yu Qiwén had attempted.

Kui Xin focused on the forum page and activated data manipulation, plunging her consciousness into the page to follow the data pathways and infiltrate the forum.

Her consciousness extended out like tendrils just before contacting the gateway when suddenly, her phone buzzed and sparked, burning out instantaneously and leaving a scorched mark on the table. A hole burned through the tablecloth marked the incident.

Kui Xin stared in shock.

Accompany her to her doom…

She widened her mouth, stunned.

The second-hand smartphone she’d been using for a while had met its end!

Covering her face in frustration, Kui Xin picked up the broken phone and carefully examined it.

It was as if some eerie force had abruptly interrupted her attempt…

Subconsciously, she recalled He Kangshi’s words from a video: “This game isn’t truly a game. If it is, it’s a game created by a god.”

In ancient times, people often attributed inexplicable phenomena to deity-like powers. These were not divine forces but natural phenomena explainable through science. However, the existence of Deep Red Soil was something beyond scientific explanation. It existed in a way humans could understand, yet the experiences within it transcended any game definition.

Two worlds, two gaming grounds where people struggled to survive… Was this a game crafted by a deity for their amusement?

Kui Xin sighed, tossing the ruined phone into the bin without effort and changing her clothes to head downstairs to the bank to draw money and purchase a new phone.

Xie Ganqing had wired her one hundred thousand yuan in compensation. The funds weren’t going to waste. Although Kui Xin remained frugal, indulging oneself occasionally was necessary, especially given her precarious circumstances in the second world where she could drop dead at any moment.

After half an hour, Kui Xin had a new phone and got it registered.

With her data manipulation skills, the possibilities had increased significantly. She could now better hide herself and stay behind the scenes.

Now equipped with such advantages, action was warranted.

Kui Xin’s fingers traced the surface of the new phone screen, hacking into the website hosting He Kangshi’s video. She breezed through its weak firewall, retrieving He Kangshi’s information and locating the coordinates of his video release.

Technology in the first world lagged far behind the second. Firewalls were riddled with holes, making it easy to sneak through. Attempting the same intrusion in the second world would’ve been considerably more difficult.

In the dimly lit rental apartment, He Kangshi lay sprawled on the table, exhausted. He had barely slept for days in both the first and second worlds. Always vigilant in spirit and now collapsing from exhaustion.

Suddenly, his phone began vibrating repeatedly.

Still groggy, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes and grabbed the phone. On the screen appeared a single line: “Would you be interested in a collaboration?”

He sprang up, instantly awoken by fright.

Author’s Note: Kui Xin: Tracing the network to find you.