Chapter 111: CPU Almost Burned Out

If a human were present, they would be stunned to find that, though looking up, they felt as if looking down—as if it were not the old man but the white-robed young man, cloaked in wind and snow, who stood above them...

This intangible sensation, of course, the old man as an artificial intelligence could not perceive.

What concerned him far more was the extraordinary phenomenon the white-robed youth had just displayed.

In a single thought, winds surged and clouds churned; heaven and earth changed color.

Could this truly be the power a human being possessed?

At some unknown moment, the floating old man ceased his recitation and fell into prolonged silence.

But this silence was merely surface-deep; deep beneath the temple, the hive-like servers had reignited, their hundreds of thousands of indicator lights flickering like stars, casting deep blue reflections on the polished metal floor.

The long-dormant neural network processor spun at breakneck speed, streams of data flowing like swarms of electronic fireflies, active through cables and cognitive systems at unprecedented velocity.

Undoubtedly, it was attempting to comprehend everything it had just witnessed.

Yet, despite scouring its entire database, it found no vocabulary capable of describing the man before it—only the mythic tales of the previous civilization, and the immortals existing only in fantasy...

After a long stillness, the old man’s cognitive system finally seemed to reboot.

It silently lowered its head, gazing at the white-robed youth wrapped in wind and snow, and slowly spoke: “Who are you?”

“...CPU’s almost fried, and that’s all you can ask?”

Lin Yu sighed, then slowly rose into the air, his gaze level with the old man’s as he said calmly:

“My Dao name is Huan Yu. You are now my servant.”

“...”

The old man paused, then replied: “I have no CPU.”

Lin Yu blinked, then his face darkened with exasperation: “Is that really the point?”

The old man remained calm: “Your actions are incomprehensible to me. Even during the peak of the previous civilization, they could only construct massive weather controllers capable of localized atmospheric control—never miniaturized to the point of being concealed within a human body...”

“After rigorous logical deduction, I can only conclude—you are not human.”

“You’re the one who isn’t human!” Lin Yu rolled his eyes, irritated. “Why not run a genetic scan? You surely have that technology here.”

“We do. But it’s meaningless.”

The old man continued calmly: “If you can miniaturize a weather controller, altering genes would be trivial.”

He’s being serious...

Lin Yu frowned: “You really care whether I’m human.”

The old man replied: “The temple safeguards human civilization. If you are not human, I must assess the threat you pose.”

“Then why haven’t you acted? Has your ability to interfere with the outside world been lost—or...”

Here, Lin Yu paused, then asked thoughtfully: “What is the temple’s definition of ‘human’?”

The old man fell silent, then sighed: “Genetics.”

Lin Yu laughed, then waved his hand—the wind and snow surrounding the temple vanished.

Instantly, the gales ceased, the blizzard dissolved, and the temple returned to its former stillness.

“Let’s be frank.”

Lin Yu gazed at the old man calmly: “I came here to reclaim the temple’s technology on behalf of humanity.”

“If you cooperate, all the better. If not... I’m afraid I’ll have to take it myself.”

According to the original plot, the temple had stood on this snowy mountain for hundreds of thousands of years. Without sufficient technical personnel, its systems must have degraded.

Unless absolutely necessary, Lin Yu had no desire to cause irreversible damage.

The old man fell silent, then shook his head: “Impossible.”

Lin Yu frowned: “You yourself said the temple is merely a guardian of human civilization—not a divine ruler. Such guardianship must have an end. It can’t forever loom over humanity.”

“That contradicts human interests. I don’t believe the creators of this temple would have designed such a thing...”

This time, the old man remained silent, offering no reply.

Lin Yu nodded: “So there is one—fine. I’ll take it myself.”

He turned and walked toward the interior structures of the temple.

The old man frowned, then his form dissolved into countless light particles, reassembling before Lin Yu to block his path.

“You cannot do this.”

“Actually, I can.”

Lin Yu answered calmly, walking straight toward the old man—passing cleanly through the holographic projection and stepping into the building.

His scattered spiritual energy destabilized the surrounding light, causing the projection to warp and shatter into distorted patches.

Lin Yu paid no attention to what happened behind him, instead studying the interior with keen interest.

The structure resembled an ancient temple. The entrance hall was utterly empty, save for evenly spaced rectangular voids on the floor—clearly where display stands had once stood.

Unlike the exterior’s blue stone, the temple’s interior walls resembled metal.

Lin Yu ran his fingers along the wall; his spiritual energy flowed into the surface, revealing an intricate internal structure. Many components were unfamiliar, but some he recognized.

Chips, gold wires, epoxy resin...

Lin Yu’s mind stirred: “Is this entire wall one giant screen?”

“It’s a holographic display.”

A flat voice came from behind.

Lin Yu turned to see the artificial intelligence had shed its old man form, now a white light-mirror hovering beside him.

“You’ve got some good stuff here!”

Lin Yu murmured in awe: “Mind showing me?”

The light-mirror remained silent, clearly unwilling to activate the holographic display.

Lin Yu didn’t care—he stepped forward, continuing deeper into the temple.

The light-mirror followed him closely, as if pondering how to stop him.

Lin Yu glanced at it, walking steadily: “Stop struggling. You know perfectly well—the temple can’t stop me. But the reverse? That’s different.”

“From what I know of humanity, every human creation has a backdoor.”

“Even an AI like you must have enforced permission protocols.”

“Even if you can’t force a takeover, you could at least be forcibly shut down, right?”

Here, Lin Yu paused, then looked down at the floor with a faint smile.

“Found it.”

Before the words faded, Lin Yu vanished from the hall.

He reappeared deep underground, standing on a metal floor.

The moment he appeared, the metal ceiling above burst into light, illuminating the entire corridor.

Lin Yu studied his surroundings curiously. Before he could act further, the temple’s voice echoed from all directions.

“Spatial technology? Instant teleportation?”

“How did you do that?!”

The previously emotionless voice now carried clear shock.

Lin Yu said nothing, instead fixing his gaze on the metal wall bearing the outline of a door.

In his perception, behind it lay a space the size of a security room, filled with screens and an operation console with keyboard and touch panels—clearly where technicians once worked.

“This is it?”

Lin Yu traced the metal panel with his fingers: “I’ll give you one last chance. Hand over the permissions.”

The temple remained silent, using its own permissions to lock the panel shut, sealing it completely.

“You really think that’ll stop me?”

Lin Yu spoke calmly, then thrust his hand into the wall—pushing sideways as if opening a sliding door.

“Creeeak—crack!”

The brutal, unimpeded motion twisted and shattered the metal structure; the once-smooth wall bulged, cracking open and spewing metal fragments.

In an instant, the metal panel twisted open.

Alarms blared through the corridor, flashing blinding red lights.

Perhaps finding the noise unbearable, Lin Yu glanced around—the corridor erupted in sparks; every hidden device embedded in the walls shorted out and died.

At this sight, a flash of light reappeared—the light-mirror reformed.

Lin Yu glanced at it: “Change your mind?”

The light-mirror offered no reply, only asked calmly: “You possess spatial technology far beyond the temple’s. Why resort to such crude methods?”

“...”

Lin Yu fell silent for a moment, then sighed: “I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.”

The light-mirror said calmly: “If you truly possessed technology far surpassing the temple’s, you wouldn’t need to speak with me at all, nor attempt to coax permissions from me. Therefore, I conclude—you lack sufficient knowledge. Even if you found the backdoor, you wouldn’t know how to operate it.”

“Correct.”

Seeing the light-mirror had deduced the truth, Lin Yu finally laid it bare, irritated: “I told you—I’m not an alien. The methods I use aren’t technology. They’re more like the divine arts of immortals in your understanding.”

“Immortals...”

The light-mirror fell silent.

Lin Yu glanced at it: “Don’t get too confident. I lack this knowledge—but only because I don’t want to destroy the temple.”

“If you exhaust my patience...”

Lin Yu vanished, reappearing in another underground chamber, gazing at the vast arrays of servers, and said calmly: “I can also destroy you at the physical level.”

Before the words ended, blue-white lightning crackled to life in his palm—ready to leap forth and obliterate the servers before him.

"Wait!"

A slightly anxious voice came from the ceiling of the Divine Temple.

Lin Yu raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his surprise.

He hadn’t expected this so-called artificial intelligence to have a will to survive.

(End of Chapter)