Chapter 261: Return

Outside a three-story, antique-style restaurant, luxury cars were parked in clusters along both sides of the road. This was the most famous restaurant in the city, yet it normally never had so many luxury cars; some bold onlookers stood around, staring at vehicles they'd never dared to dream of owning.

Grouped beside the cars were two factions: one in neat, uniform suits, ties, and polished leather shoes; the other in colorful, casual attire, keeping a clear distance from each other—obviously divided into several separate groups. Clearly, the suited men carried more weight; their outward aura was unmistakably superior by more than a margin.

This was northern Wan Island, the provincial capital of North City.

The restaurant had been fully booked; only the largest private dining room on the top floor held guests.

Inside the private room, seven people sat at the dining table, while four or five others stood behind them, watching the diners eat, drink, and exchange cups.

Those seated at the table were naturally Wang Yan, Long Jiwen, Long Chengbang, Zhou Jisheng, and other local gang bosses who had come to accompany them. These three accompanying gang bosses were no ordinary men—they were the heads of the "Zhulian," "Fengdan Sihai," and "Tiandao" organizations. The men standing behind were their second-in-commands. Before Wang Mou, their status was insufficient; they could only stand.

Wang Yan wiped his mouth: "Alright, gentlemen, we've met, we've eaten enough—speak plainly." These men had spent the entire meal flattering him, showering him with praise—it was no small feat for a bunch of uneducated thugs.

He had just landed from a flight when Long Chengbang and Zhou Jisheng brought him here. He could ignore Zhou Jisheng, but because of Long Jiwen's connection, he owed Long Chengbang at least some face.

Still, Long Chengbang had gotten a bit too bold, meddling too much. Most likely, Zhou Jisheng had begged on his behalf, and with some flattery and benefits thrown in, Long Chengbang had agreed to take the job.

"Fine, Brother Yan, you're straightforward—we won't beat around the bush," one said. "These days, making money isn't easy. You know the principle that harmony brings wealth—I'm sure you understand. If Long Teng steps back, just name your terms."

"Brother Yan, if it's possible, we'll do it without hesitation."

The three gangs spoke in unison. At this banquet, they represented the majority of local forces on Wan Island.

In truth, in sheer numbers, any one of them was no weaker than Long Teng. After all, Hong Kong is tiny—its population pales compared to Wan Island's. Yet even so, they'd still lost to Long Teng. Beihai had been caught unprepared, stolen right out from under them; Nan Shi had fallen too—there was no excuse left to boast.

It wasn't that they were weak—it was just that Wang Mou was too ruthless. Long Teng's security staff had trained for years; their physical fitness still exceeded the standard. Combined with the battle formations he had once cultivated, street brawls with sticks and clubs were practically their specialty. But in the United States, it wouldn't work—there, everything turned into small-scale gunfights, and it all came down to who had better-trained men.

"Name your terms."

"Anything we can do!"

Wang Yan smiled: "What about the cities you've taken—Beihai and Nan Shi?"

"Long Teng took them by strength—they're rightfully Long Teng's. We ask only that, with the current borders as they stand, we all live in peace from now on."

"Hmm…" Wang Yan nodded, pausing. "Today, both Director Long and Brother Ji are here—I'll spare you the face of the monk, but not the Buddha's. Three hundred million U. S. dollars."

"No problem."

They all froze for a moment, stunned by how easygoing Wang Yan was. The money would be a stretch for any single group, but if every force on Wan Island pooled together to buy their safety, it was more than enough. Yet their agreement came hesitantly—after all, even Long Chengbang and Zhou Jisheng combined didn't have this much influence. They couldn't tell what Wang Yan truly meant… and they dared not ask.

After the meal, the gang bosses paid a small sum and secured their guarantee. Zhou Jisheng and Long Chengbang gained face, and with Wang Yan backing them, the gangsters on Wan Island were truly safe. Long Jiwen was overjoyed that the man had shown her father such respect. Everyone was satisfied—perfect.

After parting ways, Wang Yan spent the night resting at Long Chengbang's hilltop villa with Long Jiwen, listening to Long Chengbang ramble for hours about his past. The next day, he left Long Jiwen behind to recuperate and returned directly to Hong Kong.

Though Long Chengbang had reservations about Long Jiwen becoming Wang Yan's concubine, he had no face to complain. Besides, Wang Yan was so powerful—just getting his face was enough; pushing too far would only invite trouble.

As for letting the gangsters off lightly, it was mainly a matter of pragmatism—he didn't want to create more trouble for himself. Besides, if he pressed further, they couldn't pay anyway—it wouldn't be worth it.

Now that Long Teng had seized the two southern cities, it could slowly consolidate its hold. By the next election, it would surely have its people in place. Over time, it might even be possible for the southern cities to surpass the north in development. After all, Long Teng controlled vast numbers of votes and had money—pushing up two officials was no problem. As for municipal affairs, given enough time, they'd all become Long Teng's people.

After all, Wan Island's golden age was only these past two years. Since entering the 1990s, it had been slowly declining. With Long Teng's strength, infiltrating every corner of the two cities, influencing—and even controlling—municipal affairs was not impossible.

Three months later, Fang Ting returned to Hong Kong with her child—a son. Wang Yan named him Fan. That same month, Wang Yan and Seeing Ruan Mei moved with the old lady and two one-year-old children into a newly built hilltop estate in the North District. Seeing Ruan Mei couldn't sit idle—she naturally had to work.

Though the hilltop estate was being perfected, some housing units in the North District had already been completed and purchased by Long Teng employees. Nearby, of course, there was a school—most students were children of Long Teng staff—and Seeing Ruan Mei continued teaching elementary students there.

Nine months later, Long Jiwen returned to Hong Kong with her daughter. Wang Yan named her Xin.

At this point, Wang Yan settled completely, spending his time mostly in Hong Kong's few known places. Aside from occasionally overseeing Long Teng's development, he either accompanied his women and children or participated in research in the lab.

As for company growth, Long Teng was a "three-high" enterprise: high profit, high debt, high investment. Its flagship product, Qiang Shen Wan, made money relentlessly. Using this, it continuously borrowed from banks to leverage its capital, then invested in expanding various industries, while persistently increasing R&D funding.

Though targeted by Western capital and facing many troubles—making it hard to spend his money—he was still their most loyal supporter. For their own and their families' health, they bought it anyway—official, authentic versions. By now, counterfeiters had emerged, specifically targeting foreigners…

Of course, being besieged brought many inconveniences, but this situation changed when the dearly beloved Old Su passed away.

No major event happens suddenly—there are always prior inevitabilities. In 1990, Long Teng had already begun trading with Old Su, acquiring advanced equipment, scientific personnel, and more—this was the largest transfer Wang Yan had ever taken over. After years of preparation, the supplies were abundant, and since Long Teng didn't rely on smuggling for profit, everything was kept.

The most impressive was in 1991, amid chaotic circumstances, after massive efforts and heavy spending, Wang Yan bought a "Kuznetsov" supercarrier at a high price. After removing its weapons and key components, it was brought back in late 1992, along with stacks of blueprints, and moored near Tuen Mun Port. He treated it as a giant yacht—when idle, he'd take his wife and children out to fish. Maintaining the supercarrier was a massive task—not just in cost, but in manpower: hundreds of people worked on it daily…

This ship was originally meant to be Russia's later vessel. Due to the chaotic situation and economic hardship, Russia had no spare funds—even if kept, it would have just gathered dust in the base. Long Teng's offer was simply too good to refuse, so it ended up in Wang Yan's hands.

In truth, with Long Teng's strength, building a 100,000-ton vessel was no problem—purely in terms of money. They could've even raised twice the purchase price and still had enough left over for weapons. But the process was too arduous. The actual cost of buying the ship was only slightly above market value—the real expense was all the bribes and payoffs. There was nothing to be done but dream about it—they had no technology, only money, which was useless.

Originally, Wang Yan had set his sights on the nuclear-powered supercarrier under construction at the Ukrainian shipyard. But it was unfinished, the timeline too long, too many variables. After negotiations, he couldn't get it. The seller was willing, and he was willing to buy—but whether he could bring it back was another question. Given the current situation, if it got sunk halfway, he'd have no recourse…

As for other research areas, the new materials and ternary balance were just as they were.

Research into new materials wasn't urgent. The experts under Long Teng had published plenty of cutting-edge papers, but none yielded practical results.

In fact, those papers weren't requested by Wang Yan—they were published by the researchers as performance metrics. After all, spending money without results was hard to justify, and there was also a desire for fame and recognition. But Wang Yan didn't care—he'd let them research slowly.

His main focus remained on carbon-based materials to replace silicon-based. Looking ahead thirty years, he knew all nations were researching carbon-based materials and had made some progress—he just needed to follow along; success might come any day.

Regarding ternary computing, by the year 2000, after fifteen years of research, the first prototype of a small computer was finally built. Wang Yan named it "Hundun." All components on the computer were independently developed by Long Teng. As a first-generation device, it still lagged behind contemporary binary computers. But Wang Yan's goal wasn't to compete with them—he wanted to understand where ternary computing was superior to binary, and whether it could surpass it.

Discussions about binary and ternary computing had always been theoretical—without physical comparison, it was always lacking. Now that a prototype existed, direct comparison showed it was indeed superior in energy consumption and computational efficiency. Whether it enhanced artificial intelligence remained unknown.

Because the computer they built was fundamentally different from binary. This prototype wasn't the "Yin Yang Wu" he'd originally envisioned, built on the "Yi" foundation, nor was it another system incorporating binary. It was an independent, entirely new, unrefined computer. The system was newly developed, with no visualization interface yet, no defined programming language—all still incomplete.

Of course, ternary computing still used chips—it was still integrated circuitry. But due to its performance advantages, the chip requirements were far lower than those of binary computers. After years of buying from everywhere, spending heavily, and internal research, they could now produce their own chips. Though their precision was far behind Western nations, it was sufficient for their own use—and allowed for iteration.

Since Wang Yan never intended to sell computers for profit, even with insufficient chip precision, he could simply enlarge the chips and etch more circuits. After all, everything was self-designed—there was no cost constraint; anything went.

By 2005, after nearly twenty years of research and technological iteration, the first true finished machine was finally successful. A few hundred units were produced, along with matching servers and one supercomputer. Wang Yan kept unit number one for himself and handed the rest to the AI research team, who formed a new group to relearn and develop.

He himself, after adapting to the new computer and mastering its programming language, reorganized all the old low-level code he remembered, restructuring it by function and logic. With constant adjustments, adaptations, and assistance from numerous R&D staff, he spent seven years rebuilding it.

Because they couldn't connect to the internet to scrape data or enable self-learning, many tests were inadequate. But based on overall performance, its upper limit was higher than binary—but still far from achieving strong AI. It was still a dumb system. Perhaps due to hardware limitations, perhaps software—either way, the road ahead remained long.

Artificial intelligence, by definition, means independent thinking, summarizing, learning, and abstract reasoning like a human. To achieve this, something akin to a human soul—the "Ling"—was essential.

Even if Wang Yan's technology reached seamless human-machine interaction, indistinguishable from talking to a real person, it was still useless. At its core, it was merely high-efficiency information retrieval and feedback from accumulated big data—no deeper understanding.

With a true prototype now available, future development, though still stumbling blindly—even without stones to feel—had a clear direction: pursue higher efficiency, faster processing, better systems. High efficiency and speed depended on high-precision, high-performance chips and hardware—these could be studied slowly. The greater focus remained on continuously iterating the system to seek breakthroughs.

His original idea—that ternary computing could include binary—was finally realized in 2014, after twenty-eight years of research. But as he'd expected, it was useless—a half-baked idea.

In 2018, after exactly thirty-two years of research, they finally developed the first computer based on "Yin Yang Wu" and built upon the "Yi" foundation. Of course, "Yin Yang Wu" was still just "-1, 0, 1" in practice. Further up, a group of Confucian masters and Yi scholars together developed a simplified character set, altering storage methods, operational logic, and more.

Because everything was entirely different from before, it took another two years—until mid-2020—for the system to be preliminarily perfected. Though they hadn't recreated AI, when configured identically to the iterated "Hundun," this new computer's performance was significantly higher. Naturally, the name "Hundun" was transferred to the new computer.

This point alone confirmed Wang Yan's resolve to pursue this new "Hundun."

He didn't bother redeveloping AI to test it again because time was running out. He'd assumed he'd leave in 2019, but on New Year's Eve, he received no system prompt. He guessed that, since a year had passed in reality, the end would come on New Year's Eve 2020—so he didn't waste effort redeveloping AI.

The previous, relatively simple system had taken seven years to build. This new computer's complexity was certainly not something that could be completed in ten or even twenty years—it simply wasn't worth the trouble.

So many years had passed, and naturally the fates of the others had changed quite a bit as well.

With Wang Yan's strength so formidable, Ruan Mei had never had the thought of joining Dragon Soar; she'd been a primary school teacher all the way until now.

The old lady passed in the year 2000, having lived an extra fifteen years. She saw her granddaughter get married, watched her great-grandson and great-granddaughter grow up—she could be considered without regrets.

Luo Huiling, meanwhile, had opened a flower shop. Every day she tended to her flowers, read books, and occasionally looked after her grandchild. Past fifty, she was living quite comfortably.

Fang Ting used the money Wang Yan had given her to start her own company; she was a career woman now.

Long Jiwen had long since gone into business, so naturally it was the same. Only after her daughter grew up did she hand the company over to her daughter; when she had nothing to do, she'd take a walk, have a look around—pretty good too.

As for Wang Yan and Ruan Mei's children, they all worked at Dragon Soar, having long since married and had children. Middle-of-the-road talent, but passable enough, one supposed.

Fang Zhanbo cooperated well with Chen Taotao, but during the financial crisis of the nineties he took a tumble. After another twenty years of hard struggle, he could be considered to have achieved success and fame—an upper-class figure with assets of several billion.

Fang Fang, meanwhile, married an honest colleague from work and lived in a Dragon Soar house in the North District, her life a happy one.

After graduating, Fang Min went straight into Dragon Soar. The girl was quite capable—she'd risen to the high rank of Level Eleven at Dragon Soar. She married a college classmate and had children; not bad either.

As for the Dings, father and sons—they'd died long ago.

The old lady of the Ding family passed in '95; Wang Yan had someone inform them of the news. Upon hearing it, they showed no reaction at all—long since numb, walking corpses.

It wasn't until the winter of '98, perhaps truly having had enough, or perhaps having awakened, that in the end it was Ding Xiaoxie who was ruthless enough. On a rainy morning, he mixed poison into a pot of congee; the whole family, neat and tidy, found their release.

In fact, after the old lady died, Wang Yan no longer sent people to watch the Dings, father and sons. Because by then, they were living without any semblance of human dignity—merely existing.

Other commercial developments and changes to society were, of course, commonplace—no need to elaborate further.

New Year's Eve of 2020, the top floor of the Dragon Soar headquarters building in the North District of Hong Kong Island.

Wang Yan stood before the large window, gazing out at the lights beyond, silent for a long while.

Fifty-six-year-old Ruan Mei walked over and came to a stop beside him: "Why aren't you asleep yet? Something on your mind?"

Turning his head to look at Ruan Mei—whose face, though lined with wrinkles and slack-skinned, her youth long gone, still faintly showed traces of the girl she'd once been—Wang Yan said: "What could possibly be on my mind? I was just thinking about some research matters, that's all, mulling them over. Don't mind me—at our age, you should go get some sleep."

"You say it as if you're very young." Ruan Mei shot Wang Yan a sideways glare and, with practiced ease, threw a punch his way: "You go to bed early too, will you? I know your health is good, but you're already sixty, do you hear me?"

Wang Yan chuckled and took hold of Ruan Mei's shoulders, turning her around: "Yes, yes, I'll sleep in a bit. Off you go now."

"Stiff old man, still calling me old..."

Ruan Mei, unchanged through the years, kept up her muttering as she walked back to the bedroom.

Wang Yan shook his head, confirmed Ruan Mei was gone, turned his head to once more gaze down from on high at the world outside,

pulled up the panel, operated the selection,

a soft blue light flashed...