Chapter 294

Zhao Xing just returned from the torch scene, his palm still a bit numb. He took off that silver wrist ring and placed it on the desk; the matter of the flame hasn't been cleared up, and his mind now has an echo of a bell sound.

Zhao Jianguo sat at the monitoring console eating instant noodles, slurped a mouthful, looked up at the screen, "What are you standing there for? Come in."

Zhao Xing walked into the laboratory, the door automatically closed, "Dad, that fire... is there a problem?"

"Definitely." Zhao Jianguo put down his fork, "But it's not something you can investigate now. Handle the immediate matter first."

Outside the laboratory the lights were on; Sha Zhu Company was about to release a new product. Several desks were set up in the hallway, with people waiting for testing seated. There was a child wearing a hearing aid, a veteran leaning on a cane, and a woman with her eyes covered in gauze, clutching a paper with her name and medical history written on it.

Zhao Chen was checking the wiring in the equipment area. She connected the three main units together, plugged in the power, and the green lights lit up in sequence.

"The first batch of eight users." She said, "They all signed consent forms and we recorded their brainwave baseline data."

Zhao Yang crouched in the corner helping a boy adjust the head ring, "Don't be scared, it's just like wearing headphones, it doesn't hurt."

The boy nodded, his lips moved, but he made no sound.

Half an hour before the launch, Zhao Jianguo went backstage and glanced at the main control screen. Signal flow was normal, data packets transmitted steadily, but he noticed a segment of the neural feedback curve jumping oddly—as if someone had given it a slight push.

He said nothing, just gave Zhao Chen a look.

Zhao Chen understood, quietly opened the backend recording mode.

The first to go on stage was a young person in their early twenties, mute since childhood, communicating via a writing board. He put on the brain‑machine interface head ring, sat down, and gripped the chair arms tightly with both hands.

The system startup sound played.

A few seconds later, the speaker emitted broken sounds: "I... want... to sing."

The whole venue fell silent.

Then came applause, some eyes reddened.

The young person themselves was stunned, lowered their head to look at their mouth, then lifted it toward their mother. The woman covered her face, tears seeping through her fingers.

"He spoke!" she shouted, standing up, "My son can talk!"

The second was the blindfolded woman, formerly an elementary school music teacher, blinded three years ago in an accident. Her hand trembled as she put on the visual reconstruction device.

"The color you're seeing now is called spring." Zhao Yang said softly from beside her.

The woman suddenly widened her eyes, "I... I see light."

She pointed ahead, "Is that bright cluster a lamp?"

"Yes." Zhao Yang smiled, "You see it."

The children's side was even livelier. Several hearing‑impaired kids put on the device and heard their mothers call their names for the first time. A little girl suddenly turned and flung herself into her mother's arms, wailing.

"Mom!" she cried, "I hear you!"

Family members held up signs they had prepared in advance, reading "Thank you," "We can hear now," "It's great to be able to see." Cameras captured the scene, and the live‑stream comments flooded with "teary-eyed."

Zhao Chen stared at the backend data, fingers flying over the keyboard. She pulled up the brainwave spectra of three different users and discovered that at a certain point, all their devices received an identical encrypted pulse signal.

She walked over to Zhao Jianguo, voice low, "Dad, something's off."

"What's wrong?"

"That recent batch of commands wasn't issued by us. Someone slipped something into the equipment."

Zhao Jianguo frowned, "What kind?"

"Like a probe for permission control." She glanced at the main control screen, "They're testing whether they can remotely take over."

Zhao Jianguo immediately stood up, "Notify Sha Zhu Company to suspend all network‑sync functions."

"Already done." Zhao Chen nodded, "Now everything runs offline, firmware version locked."

Outside, celebrations continued. Journalists surrounded the patients who had regained sensation, interviewing them amid constant laughter. A little boy clung to his head ring, refusing to take it off, saying he wanted to hear birdsong again.

Zhao Jianguo stood behind the glass wall, watching all this, not smiling.

He knew that once this technology hit the ground, no one could stop its spread. But precisely because it is so useful, it is also the easiest to exploit.

Zhao Chen returned to the operation console, reopened the log recording. She compared the raw data of the eight users one by one and finally found an anomalous nesting on a tiny timestamp—a piece of code disguised as a system update hidden in the visual calibration program.

She whispered, "This isn't an ordinary vulnerability. It was deliberately designed to evade detection."

Zhao Jianguo approached, "Can we trace the source?"

"No. The signal went through three hops, ending at a null address."

"That shows they knew we would investigate."

The two fell silent for a moment.

Outside came cheers; another blind person, using the device, recognized a relative's face on the spot and dropped to their knees, kowtowing. Relatives couldn't hold them back.

Zhao Chen looked at the screen where eight green connection lights were all lit. She knew these lights represented hope behind them, but they could also be a trap.

She opened the comms channel, connected with Sha Zhu Company's technical director, "Effective immediately, halt factory shipment of all new devices. Units already deployed must maintain basic functions and are prohibited from auto‑updating."

The other party asked why.

She said, "Wait for notice."

After hanging up, she turned to Zhao Jianguo, "We can't cut the network entirely. If we do, they'll know we've found out."

"Then leave it." Zhao Jianguo nodded, "But we need to change the rules."

Zhao Xing walked in at that moment, glanced at the main control screen, "Are you handling that signal?"

"You sensed it?" Zhao Jianguo asked.

"It feels a bit like the disorientation when a flame flickers." Zhao Xing reached out and touched the edge of the display, "This thing... was it planted long ago?"

No one answered.

Zhao Chen sat back down, opened the recording function.

"Log 295, the brain‑machine interface project has entered first‑level protection status." She said, "The interference source hasn't been cleared, but we can win."

She pressed the confirm key, and a golden prompt popped up on the screen:

【Solving a major social issue, reward【Medical Technology Specialty】】

A new stream of information surged into consciousness. This time it wasn't combat data or a spacetime model, but an entire set of the human nervous system's operational logic, electrical signal transmission pathways, cerebral cortex response mechanisms… clear, direct, usable.

She closed her eyes to adapt for a few seconds; when she opened them, her gaze had changed.

No longer a mere technician, but someone who could truly see the gap in the connection between machine and person.

Zhao Yang came in from outside, holding a printed user feedback form, "The kids all say they feel fine, no dizziness or nausea."

Zhao Chen took the form, turned to the last page, and saw a line of small print: **During use, they once heard a segment of unfamiliar audio, content a string of numbers, lasting about two seconds, then disappeared. **

She jerked her head up, "Who is this user?"

"East Area third bed, hearing-impaired little girl, six years old."

Zhao Chen immediately called up her device number and checked the log. Sure enough, at 11:07 a. m., there was an unauthorized data injection, disguised as an audio calibration packet.

She quickly marked that device as a high-risk sample, and at the same time sent an isolation protocol to the remaining seven units.

Zhao Jianguo stood behind her and asked, "Can we trace it back?"

"Can't locate it directly." Zhao Chen shook his head. "But it left a trace. The structure of this code…… is very similar to the fluctuation on the day of the Olympic torch."

The air suddenly grew heavy.

Zhao Xing leaned against the wall, slowly clenching his fists.

It turned out not to be a coincidence.

They thought they were benefiting humanity, but in fact someone had been waiting for this moment from the very beginning.

Zhao Chen stood up, walked to the main control console, and his finger hovered over the "Remote Erase" button.

If pressed, all devices would automatically clear the potential threat module, but it would also cause the system to reboot, and patients currently using them would temporarily lose assistive function.

She hesitated.

Children's laughter came from outside the door, and someone was singing a nursery rhyme they had just learned.

She withdrew her hand.

"We can't act now." she said. "We have to wait until they're asleep."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, "Then let's set a time."

"2 a. m." she said. "Everyone will execute simultaneously."

She reopened the log, adding a final entry:

"**Plan activation countdown: four hours. We will not let anyone take away their voice and light. **"

The screen reflected her face, her fingertip still resting on the confirm key.

Outside the window, the city lights blazed, countless families gathered before their televisions to replay today's press conference.

A mother held her daughter, repeatedly kissing her ear, saying, "You can finally hear Mommy love you."

And in the depths of the laboratory, Zhao Chen's finger finally fell.

The key lit up with blue light.