Chapter 6: The Trolley Problem

The rooftop nurse station did indeed have a printer, and Xiao Wu managed to print the documents without much effort. After printing, he set it to produce multiple copies and handed the freshly printed materials to Director Yang.

The documents contained exactly what Director Yang had requested: the equipment configurations of the meteorological stations where infections had appeared, as well as those where no infections had been reported. To ensure Yang fully understood the purpose of each device, the paperwork explicitly described the function and parameters of the meteorological equipment.

It seemed that during Director Yang’s report, the higher-ups were already aware of his intentions.

Only two devices on the list were specially highlighted in bold: the meteorological radar and the display monitors in the control room. These two were among the best-equipped devices in the country’s meteorological stations. The monitors, in particular, were massive, high-resolution screens that could cover an entire wall.

“If the infection is really spread through images, then these two devices must be the problem,” Xiao Wu observed. He nodded thoughtfully. “So, the patients only showed symptoms after viewing the high-resolution typhoon images?”

“What exactly is ‘high-resolution’?” Director Yang asked.

“Oh, it means very clear, detailed screens,” Xiao Wu explained, pausing briefly before pointing to a monitor on a nearby desk. “Even clearer than this one.”

“But the entire hall saw the images, not just the patients. Why didn’t the others get sick?” Director Yang wondered.

“Exactly, why?” Xiao Wu echoed, and the two exchanged a silent look. They had solved one mystery only to be trapped in a deeper one.

This information was quickly reported upwards. Though the higher authorities might have already suspected, Director Yang insisted on confirming that they were fully aware of the situation.

Following Xiao Wu’s suggestion, Director Yang requested an ultra-high-resolution monitor and a computer capable of displaying original typhoon wind field data.

...

“Ding—”

Xu Chen furrowed his brows and looked toward Song Tian. “Something’s ringing, isn’t it?”

Song Tian paused the video he was watching, removed his headphones, and listened for a moment. “Are you kidding me? Isn’t that your phone?”

Xu Chen was startled and frantically searched for his phone before finally finding it beneath his pillow. The strong vibration motor caused the phone to shake with the ringing, like a dying fish gasping for breath.

The phone belonged to Grandpa Yang. Xu Chen thought for a moment—he hadn’t seen him in nearly ten days. Ever since the alert was lifted and classes resumed, he hadn’t run into him in the office either.

“Hello? Grandpa Yang?”

“Xu Chen, listen carefully. I’m going to ask you three questions.”

For some reason, Grandpa Yang’s voice was agitated, almost scolding.

Xu Chen was taken aback and glanced at Song Tian, who was still watching the video with headphones on. He then moved to the balcony and closed the door.

“Okay, Grandpa, I’m listening. Ask away.”

“Good. You’ve probably heard of the trolley problem. There’s a railway track where five people are tied down, and a side track where one person is tied. A runaway trolley is speeding toward them. You’re standing next to the lever that controls the tracks. If you pull the lever, the trolley will switch to the side track. What would you do?”

Xu Chen was momentarily speechless. He had indeed heard of the famous trolley problem, a subject of fierce debate among philosophers, thinkers, and psychologists, still unresolved to this day. The question probes deeply into moral judgment, often framed around the principle of maximizing benefit for the greatest number.

Xu Chen hadn’t thought too deeply about it. Besides the typical internet joke answer—pulling the lever to make the trolley drift and hit six people instead of five—he did have his own answer. However, he didn’t understand why Grandpa Yang was asking.

“Grandpa, why are you asking this?”

“No nonsense. Just tell me!”

The voice on the phone remained agitated, but Xu Chen instinctively sensed something was off. He had never heard Grandpa Yang so irritable before.

“I wouldn’t pull the lever. I’d let the five people die.”

Silence followed on the line, only the sound of breathing.

“What’s wrong, Grandpa Yang?”

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. So, what do you think? Are you afraid to take responsibility?”

Finally, his tone softened.

“No, I just believe that saving one person’s life shouldn’t come at the cost of another’s.”

“Excellent. That’s my first question. Now, for the second: If you were tied to the railway yourself, and the five people were on the side track, with the lever beside you, would you sacrifice yourself to save them by pulling the lever?”

Xu Chen frowned. “No, I wouldn’t sacrifice myself. I would pull the lever.”

“Why? Do you also believe you shouldn’t sacrifice yourself to save others?”

“Yes,” Xu Chen admitted frankly. “If death is certain, I won’t sacrifice myself. I’m afraid of dying.”

“What if the number of people on the railway was twenty times more? Say, a hundred people?”

Xu Chen was shocked. Who’d dare tie a hundred people to the tracks? Even a runaway trolley would stall trying to crush them all. But he understood the point of the question: increasing the stakes numerically. Still, was he willing to sacrifice himself for a hundred people? He pondered, unable to give an answer.

“You seem stuck. Is it too difficult? What if there were a thousand people on the tracks? Would you be willing to sacrifice yourself to save them?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“Good. What if there were ten thousand people?”

Xu Chen thought for a moment and smiled wryly. “I’d at least want some time to say my goodbyes.”

“Alright. The third question: If your family were tied to the railway, and a family of four strangers were on the side track, what would you do?”

Xu Chen was dumbfounded and retorted, “Grandpa, are you just picking on the trolley problem?”

“Enough nonsense. Answer!”

The voice grew agitated again.

Xu Chen was at a loss. The trolley problem is famously difficult, not only because of the sharp moral dilemma it poses, but also due to its many variants that challenge people to make agonizing ethical choices.

Despite his confusion, Xu Chen gathered himself and replied, “I would pull the lever.”

“Oh? What if there were a hundred people on the side track? If you pull the lever, they would all die because of your one family member.”

“Even if it were thousands, I would pull it. I’d sacrifice others’ lives to save my family.”

“Didn’t you say earlier that saving others shouldn’t come at the cost of someone else’s life? Were you only saying that?”

“I’m willing to sacrifice myself, but not my family,” Xu Chen said through gritted teeth. “Family is my bottom line. I can give up everything else.”

“Very good…”

Suddenly, the call went silent.

Xu Chen stared blankly at his phone, which showed the call had ended.

He had come to this world as a baby, and memories from his previous life were faint unless he deliberately recalled them. His family in this life overlapped with his past life’s family, having raised him from infancy, filling their bond with deep affection.

...

Elsewhere, Director Yang was ecstatic. He studied the psychological analysis of Xu Chen’s voice during the call, sent by a large team of psychologists who had examined every word, every pause, and the underlying mental state.

If Xu Chen could see it, he would be amazed at how thoroughly it revealed his inner self.

Director Yang, however, only focused on the first character tagged for each sentence: “True.”

This indicated that Xu Chen’s words were sincere, likely reflecting his genuine feelings.

“He’s telling the truth. His logic, humanity, chaotic and confused as it may be, is above average. If he becomes an anchor point, it will be sturdier than normal, resistant to being washed away—resistant to being washed away—”

Xiao Wu looked at Director Yang in alarm. “Director Yang, calm down. There are only two of us left on the support team. If you collapse, there’ll be no one to save us.”

At that moment, the office was filled with doctors in white coats, all slumped in their chairs, seemingly unconscious, murmuring incessantly.

Tai Hao.

Director Yang cast a nervous glance at Xiao Wu, nodded thoughtfully, and sighed, “You’re right. Us old comrades… sigh… all our souls have been drawn away by Tai Hao.”

Xiao Wu immediately covered Director Yang’s mouth in panic. “Shh, don’t say that name. You’ve said enough today already. I’m scared.”

Director Yang shrugged off his hand irritably. “Don’t worry. Tai Hao is just a warning. The urgent matter is something else.”

Xiao Wu watched Director Yang busy himself, his expression pained, and muttered, “Director Yang, haven’t you noticed? You’re showing signs of delusional speech.”

He held another printed psychological report—this one analyzing Director Yang’s own voice during a recent conversation. Large swaths of orange marked the text, along with warnings and recommendations.

At the bottom was the conclusion:

Mild anxiety symptoms, paranoid personality disorder, suspected early signs of delusional speech.