Chapter Twelve: Mutual Love and Reciprocal Benefit

“We are all real, and now, the ‘seed’ of internal skill has truly emerged... I have seized it.”

Xiang Shan looked pleased.

Of course, relying on a single halt command to penetrate all virtual realities would be to seriously underestimate the advances of human technology.

If he were truly just a brain immersed in a vat, the computer connected to his brain could, through memory management alone, eliminate any simulation machine likely to consume massive resources.

Visually, this would mean a “Turing machine disappearing.”

But such a sudden disappearance would be far too abrupt.

If the “virtual reality connecting to the brain” were designed more intelligently, it might instead manifest as “a missile, meteor, or rioter suddenly destroying the Turing machine.” Every time you tried to construct the Turing machine, some unexpected event would cause failure.

Yet, if the Turing machine kept facing these “final destination” style mishaps, even the dullest observer would suspect something was amiss.

A more intelligent approach would be for the virtual reality to give you an illusion, making you believe “the verification has succeeded, so I dismantled the Turing machine myself.”

If local computational resources held an overwhelming advantage, imposing this would not be impossible.

All these possibilities exist.

Moreover, the Turing machine Xiang Shan built did not possess such capabilities—it was merely a prototype, not fully developed.

Therefore, besides understanding the Turing machine, a crucial skill Xiang Shan possessed was the ability to visualize it.

By reconstructing an ancient visualization method, mastering internal consciousness, he could directly build the halt command within the biological brain.

The mathematical structure of the biological brain possibly surpasses that of the Turing machine, so the Turing machine cannot directly hack into the brain; it can only deceive the brain through existing “input terminals”—that is, the sensory perception nerves.

For Xiang Shan, who had lost his memory, this was a necessary ritual.

He manually assembled the machine, retrieved the visualization object from past memories, and reconstructed it within his subconscious.

The final result was the product of this visualization—this was the seed of internal skill.

Or rather, the true halt command that broke through the illusion was not the heap of scrap metal before Xiang Shan, but the “seed of internal skill” he constructed through this mechanical Turing machine.

At the instant the mechanical Turing machine “got stuck,” this seed reignited within Xiang Shan’s spirit. If this were virtual reality, the world before his eyes would certainly have faltered at that moment.

All that remained was to obtain a high-efficiency integrated chip to serve as the core, uniting intent with instrument, instrument with spirit; code would generate itself, and divine power would naturally arise.

A virtual reality no more advanced than human civilization could never deceive a swordsman who had mastered internal skill.

Xiang Shan reopened his hearing and sight.

The world remained unchanged.

“Almost everything that needed to be done outdoors is done. Let’s go back.”

Xiang Shan said.

“Oh...” Yuki nodded, then paused in surprise, “Is that all?”

***

“Yeah, that’s right.” Xiang Shan nodded, preparing to leave.

Yuki hurriedly grabbed him, “Xiang Shan, wait, shouldn’t we talk more about being a swordsman?”

“We just did,” Xiang Shan replied.

Yuki stomped impatiently, “No, no, I mean! Me! You’re not going to teach me anything?”

Xiang Shan turned his head, looking at Yuki with a playful expression, “What I taught you just now is enough to serve you for a lifetime, kid. The world still has the network; if you master it, in a few years, you might have the chance to become a martial artist yourself—what else do you want?”

Yuki gritted his teeth, “I want to become a swordsman too.”

Xiang Shan asked with interest, “Why?”

“Because...” Yuki clenched his teeth, “Because swordsmen are cool! They’re powerful.”

“Oh.” Xiang Shan nodded. Obviously, that answer did not impress him.

That was merely seeing the swordsman’s swagger, without witnessing the hardships they endure.

From what the tax officer had said, the conflict between the government and swordsmen in this era was severe. In most cases, swordsmen were weaker than the authorities.

Yuki thought again, “Becoming a swordsman might help me and my mom live better!”

Xiang Shan smiled, “Then I advise you to abandon that thought, kid. Becoming a swordsman doesn’t necessarily make life better for those around you.”

Those forced into desperate situations are seldom gentle and humble. Among swordsmen, disloyalty, filial impiety, and cruelty are common—even Xiang Shan himself wasn’t sure what he once was.

It’s an inevitable truth.

Yuki frowned, “I just want to be one!”

Xiang Shan crossed his arms, “No reason? That won’t do. Becoming a swordsman is a lifelong commitment. Once you bear the mark of ‘swordsman,’ to the government, it’s a stain that never washes away.”

“But, I suddenly feel like if I can’t be a swordsman, then... then...” Yuki held his head, “I can’t even explain it, but after listening to you just now...”

“Why is that?”

The boy frowned deeply, “You told me not knowing internal skill is a big problem, but I never felt that way... but now, I think it might really be a big problem? If I never saw it as a problem...”

Xiang Shan wanted to smile, but he had no facial muscles.

Very well.

This kid truly has potential for education.

“Then, let’s sit down first.”

Xiang Shan looked at Yuki, wanting to say something. At that moment, so many thoughts surged through his mind that he didn’t know where to begin.

“There’s a lot to say.” Xiang Shan held his forehead, “I need to think about what to tell you first...”

When teaching others, one must first understand what exactly they want to convey. Simply thinking you understand something isn’t enough; only when you can express it clearly in language and fully communicate it to another person have you truly mastered a concept.

***

Therefore, teaching is itself a deeper form of learning for the teacher.

This is why many scholars immersed in research still willingly teach at institutions called “universities”—partly due to institutional requirements, but also because “teaching” helps scholars organize their thoughts.

Xiang Shan was currently in such a state. Many things in his mind had awakened; many were only vaguely present. He could not grasp these chaotic concepts.

Teaching others required him to use “language” to capture these unclear meanings and turn them into something expressible.

Teaching Yuki some skills had elements of “repaying kindness” and “nurturing,” but it was also greatly beneficial to Xiang Shan himself.

This was also why he wanted to “train an assistant.” It was his form of “rehabilitation therapy.”

“Yuki, what I’m about to tell you will take you into a completely different realm. I’m unfamiliar with this era and can’t tell you exactly what it means. After hearing these words, it might be difficult for you to live as calmly as before—once you know certain truths, you cannot imagine life without that knowledge.”

This is the “curse of knowledge.”

Some knowledge can compel a person to act in ways incomprehensible to the ignorant fool.

Philosophers of the classical era wanted people to remain ignorant for this reason.

Yuki showed no hesitation, “I want to know!”

“You must think carefully; this is your last chance, kid.” Xiang Shan spoke. “Living in ignorance in a peaceful world, unaware of the suffering endured, may not be so bad. Chasing a lofty ideal while trapped in endless hardship is not necessarily better.”

“Xiang Shan, what you say today is hard to understand,” Yuki scratched his head. “But I still feel that knowing a little more is really good. I know you’re a good person, and I know swordsmen are not complete thugs—these are things I didn’t know before. It makes me happy. It’s like... I can’t explain it. It’s like I have a choice to live a life different from my mom, or Dr. Schultz, or anyone else. That kind of life might be... might be...”

“Free?”

“Yes! That’s the word! Freedom!” Yuki applauded. “That word is so rare! Although it’s in the chip’s built-in electronic dictionary, I hardly ever used it.”

“Good. Since you’ve chosen freedom, then maybe you’re truly suited to be a ‘swordsman’!” Xiang Shan nodded. “‘Swordsmen’ are a group born for freedom.”

Yuki’s eyes lit up, “Swordsmen do whatever they want?” But quickly he felt embarrassed, “That might not be very good, Xiang Shan...”

“That’s the first concept I want to explain to you, Yuki.” Xiang Shan closed his eyes. An echo from the past reverberated in his mind, urging him on.

—Why... is there such... honor and pride...

“Swordsmen do not exist to do whatever they want. Swordsmen exist for the freedom of all.”

Xiang Shan spoke from memory, eyes closed. “I don’t deny that many swordsmen choose this path for their own reasons. But the birth of swordsmen is for the freedom of the many.”

“Since ancient times, powerful forces have bullied the weak. The flesh of the weak is food for the strong. Some say this is human nature, like strong animals hunting the weak. But this is wrong. Since entering civilization, humanity has built communities of the spirit, pooling material strength to become an undeniable force of nature.”

“In other words, humans follow the rules of civilization.”

“However, the essence of might makes right tramples on these imagined communities, which is wrong. For a long time, the world did not perceive this error; humanity was torn by division and war, suffering greatly.”

“At that time, a very, very remarkable person stood up. His name was Mo Di. He said this is wrong—we must love all people and engage with mutual benefit—that is ‘universal love and mutual benefit.’”

“Mo Di?” Yuki was surprised. “So Mo Di was a real person?”