Chapter 326

Chapter 326: "Brain in a Jar"

Lin Qingliu descended from the air, his eyes falling upon the human-made creations known as sleep pods, which were essentially coffins. A wave of melancholy washed over him.

Mycelium crept through the cracks of the viewing windows, but the windows themselves were weathered and opaque, revealing nothing of what lay within.

He reached out to brush away the fine mycelium clinging to the nearest sleep pod, recognizing a familiar type of switch.

It was a universal permission verifier, capable of validating palm prints, irises, and voice commands—commonplace in the spire or spaceships.

Lin Qingliu had never registered his palm print, iris, or voice. Even if he had, the sleep pod’s database, disconnected for decades, would not have synced such information.

Yet, the essence of a universal permission verifier lay in its universality.

And Lin Qingliu happened to possess a truly universal key: the ring he had obtained from Infinite Scroll.

This ring granted the highest level of access, meaning that as long as the electronic lock had a backdoor designed for a key, power was irrelevant.

With a soft click, the sleep pod verified his access.

Unlike in sci-fi movies, there was no hiss of airtightness or billowing white fog. The lid of the sleep pod did not spring open.

Years of exposure to wind, rain, and mycelium had stripped this technological marvel of most of its functions.

Lin Qingliu carefully pried open the pod, revealing bones that had crumbled to dust.

The human remains were beyond revival, and the only organ of value, as Lin Qingliu had anticipated, occupied a significant portion of the space.

A human brain, still a healthy grayish-white, lay before him. Upon closer inspection, faint red blood vessels were visible.

The intact brain had been extracted and encased in a biological membrane filled with nutrient solution.

The mycelium extending from the viewing window resembled an umbilical cord, both controlling the brain and supplying it with life-sustaining energy.

Lin Qingliu glanced nervously at the mycelium near the viewing window, fearing he might have damaged it.

But the mycelium was sturdier than it appeared, showing no signs of harm.

Gazing at the vividly preserved brain, Lin Qingliu slowly extended his hand.

He intended to enter the subconscious of this human brain.

For mycelium, a collective life form, a reckless connection was ill-advised.

Dispersed, mycelium could not unleash its full power, but in the mental realm, distance was no barrier. A normal connection would provoke a full-scale counterattack, risking Lin Qingliu’s own corruption.

But now, his domain enveloped the entire core. While the external mycelium was frantic, it remained oblivious to events within.

In other words, Lin Qingliu only needed to contend with the mycelium in this matrix square, and overwhelming this small fraction of its will was well within his capabilities.

Time had already entered [Stasis], and after [Stasis] would come [Ephemeral] and [Slow Time]. Combined with the natural acceleration of thoughts in dreams or the subconscious, he had ample time.

Lin Qingliu had enough time to communicate with the residual consciousness within before destroying the core, hoping to extract useful information.

He pressed his palm against the soft, semi-transparent membrane, his right hand sinking slowly into it.

It was a biological assimilation; the liquid inside, resembling nutrient solution or amniotic fluid, did not spill a single drop.

He gently touched the brain, using [Divided Thoughts] to leave a portion of his consciousness outside, ensuring he would not awaken too late. His main consciousness plunged swiftly into the realm of thought.

—

[Skydome] sent a flurry of messages to Ji Yongxing via the communicator, like a worried parent fretting over a wandering child.

But the glaring "unread" status beneath each message made [Skydome] realize that Ji Yongxing was likely still working late.

Indeed, though it was technically break time, certain sacrifices were unavoidable for researchers.

[Skydome] fell silent, recalling that Lin Qingliu had only instructed him to contact Ji Yongxing without specifying how. Now, if he wanted to reach Ji Yongxing immediately, there was a faster, more convenient, but riskier method than the communicator.

In the past, [Skydome] had stealthily infiltrated the mainframe to siphon computational power, but this time, to complete his task, he might have to leave indelible traces.

If discovered, Ji Yongxing could easily trace the connection back to this small box, ending [Skydome]’s existence.

Yet, remembering "Father’s" earnest teachings, [Skydome] gritted his nonexistent teeth and plunged into the research institute’s internal network.

Ji Yongxing’s recent weapon research had been progressing smoothly; he had begun to recreate some of the weapons lost during the disaster.

This archaeological-style research was fraught with uncertainty, as the researchers did not know whether they were one, ten, or even more technological nodes away from the past’s glory.

While fine-tuning components, Ji Yongxing’s mind wandered elsewhere.

The sample Lin Qingliu had given him had undergone preliminary examination over the past few days.

Unlike Lin Qingliu, who relied entirely on his biological field and intuition, Ji Yongxing trusted science.

Faced with this mysterious substance, he repeatedly extracted samples from the jar for experiments, gradually forming his own theories.

This gel-like substance seemed beyond human creation, belonging to an unknown material.

The desire to understand its essence drove him to explore during his limited off-duty hours; rest could wait.

A sudden spark signaled the failure of the experiment, and Ji Yongxing rubbed his eyes, rising from his workstation.

He took a few steps around the room before returning to his computer to sync the progress of the last experiment.

As the monitor flickered on, Ji Yongxing’s gaze was drawn to a red exclamation mark blinking in the corner of the screen, as if in urgency.

Reason told him no software on this terminal would generate such an alert, yet his intuition whispered it might be related to his "great son."

Confirming his colleagues were either napping from exhaustion or engrossed in their work, Ji Yongxing moved the cursor to the exclamation mark and clicked.