Chapter 325: Brain-Computer Interface Education System·First Experiencer

Zhao Jianguo stepped out of the community hospital's doors as the sky was just turning light. The light from the window at the end of the hallway wasn't bright yet, but it was already long enough to stretch a person's shadow. He glanced at his phone; the screen still showed the message he'd just seen: 'Zhao Gong, the quantum group's data model has finished running—let me know when you can come over to verify.' He didn't reply, just slipped the phone into his pocket and, absent‑mindedly, touched his sign‑in card—it was still there.

The events of last night weighed on him like a heavy stone on his chest. The darkened screen in the square, that cold line 'Do you deserve to talk about a 'community'?', and the girl in the crowd crouched on the ground drawing lines with chalk… these images ran through his mind all night. But now he didn't want to keep chewing over big words. He needed to do something small, something real.

So he came to this community rehabilitation center early this morning.

The equipment was something he had personally carried in last night—a small silver‑gray box bearing the words 'Brain-Computer Interface Education System Test Terminal'. The nurse thought it was a new physiotherapy device and asked whether to register it for storage. Zhao Jianguo waved a hand, 'Just a trial run, not for official filing.' As he said that, he actually had no confidence; the device had only run in simulation before, and this was its first real‑world test.

Sha Zhu's mother lay in bed, a soft‑fabric circular headband on her head with several thin wires leading to the display beside her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady—she seemed asleep, yet also as if waiting for something.

The doctor stood by the bed, holding a notebook, brows slightly furrowed. 'The signal keeps dropping—elderly brainwaves are too weak for the system to pick up.' He finished, then looked at Zhao Jianguo and said, 'Maybe we should call it off today? Wait for a younger volunteer?'

Zhao Jianguo said nothing, walked over and glanced at the waveform on the screen. Sure enough, it was a mess—like the snow on a radio with no signal. He sat down, swiped a few times on the tablet to pull up the parameter settings, switched the default mode from 'Standard Cognitive Training' to 'Elderly Neural Adaptation Protocol', lowered the response threshold by three steps, extended the signal‑capture window to five seconds, and set the feedback frequency to a slow‑release type.

'It's not that the machine can't do it,' he said while operating, 'it's that we never thought about letting the elderly adapt to it; instead we wanted her brain to race ahead to chase the machine.'

The doctor stared for a moment, then nodded. 'You're right,' he said.

Zhao Jianguo turned to the elderly woman on the bed and smiled. 'Auntie, don't be nervous—just like listening to a storytelling, take it slow. I'll play a passage from the Three Character Classic later; just treat it as a diversion, you don't have to memorize it, just let it wash over you.'

The old woman opened her eyes, grinned, and said, 'All right—I loved listening to Shan Tianfang when I was little, a shame I never learned to read.'

'Then let's make up for it today.' Zhao Jianguo pressed the start button.

The line on the screen twitched twice, then gradually steadied. The green progress bar crept forward as the system began streaming the first audio segment: 'At birth, human nature is good. Similar in nature, habits diverge…'

The ward fell silent, save for the equipment's faint ticking and the rustle of someone sweeping outside at dawn.

After about two minutes, the old woman suddenly moved her lips; her voice was low but clear: 'If not taught, nature goes astray. The way of teaching lies in devotion…'

The doctor jerked his head up, his pen almost falling to the floor. 'She's reciting it?!'

Zhao Jianguo remained silent, just staring at the data stream. It wasn't mere repetition—the display showed activation across her language center, memory loops, and feedback pathways all linking together. This wasn't simple information dumping; she was truly 'learning' it.

'Another passage?' he asked softly.

The old woman nodded, her eyes brightening. 'Another passage.'

This time she recited more smoothly, in one breath picking up 'Once, Mencius' mother chose a neighborhood; if a child does not study, she breaks her shuttle.' At the end she laughed at herself: 'Oh, that's exactly what my mother used to nag me with!'

The doctor hurried to jot notes, muttering incredulously, 'Unbelievable… she's not just receiving information; she's linking it to past experience and actively outputting understanding. This isn't assisted learning—it's awakening cognitive ability!'

Zhao Jianguo also smiled, leaning back in his chair and letting out a breath. He knew it had worked.

At that moment, the old woman turned her head to him and said, 'Little Zhao, if this thing had come out earlier, could I have learned to read and write?'

Zhao Jianguo paused, didn't give a direct answer, only saying, 'It's not too late now.'

She didn't ask again, just kept repeating, 'Turns out learning is this simple,' laughing like a child who'd just gotten a candy. Just then a slant of sunlight slipped in, landing on her white‑tinged hair, warm and soft.

The doctor closed his notebook and said quietly to Zhao Jianguo, 'Your system isn't rewiring the brain—it's rewriting fate.'

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond to that, rose and began packing up the equipment. He switched off the terminal, unplugged the cables, moving gently, as if afraid to wake something that had just stirred.

Before leaving, he left the doctor an observation sheet: 'Run a test once a day, record emotional response and retention rate. Contact me anytime there's a change.'

The doctor took the sheet and nodded seriously.

Zhao Jianguo turned and walked out, his steps unhurried but firm. By the time he reached the ground‑floor exit, the outside sky was fully bright. Across the street, the breakfast stall's pot of youtiao was smoking, and a queue formed for soy milk.

He pulled out his phone; the message about the quantum group was still there. He opened the reply box and typed two characters: 'Later.'

Before he could send it, the phone buzzed again—an unread message from the agricultural reporters' group, titled 'Follow‑up on Zhao Chen's rice certification: Can civilian research be incorporated into the national system?' He glanced at it, didn't open it, and just locked the screen.

A breeze swept in from the stairwell, carrying a hint of morning chill. He slipped his hands into his pockets, lifted his gaze to the sky. Few clouds, the sun was climbing.

In the ward, Sha Zhu's mother was already asleep, a smile still touching her lips. The water cup on the bedside table hadn't been moved, but the imprint of her grip remained on the glass—a faint ring of moisture.

The doctor sat beside her, continuing to write the report. The first line on the paper read: 'First experiencer, female, 78 years old, illiterate, first to complete an autonomous recitation of a classical enlightenment text without external prompting, duration two minutes and seventeen seconds.'

The window at the end of the hallway reflected a speck of morning light.