Moss Press Conference

The internet has been livelier than New Year's these past few days.

The incident of Moss dominating Zhihu's top 50 trending list continued to ferment. Weibo, TikTok, and Bilibili were full of discussions about this mysterious account.

Some said it was Google's secret weapon, some said it was a marketing account matrix of a major tech giant, and the most outrageous ones even said it was a precursor to an alien invasion.

Just as the whole internet was guessing, and even the stock prices of several listed companies started to hit their daily limits inexplicably because of this AI craze, Moss's account suddenly updated with a new post.

It was a fifteen-second video.

The cover of the video was a deep black, with only a minimalist white dot of light in the middle.

In the office of Deep Space Tech, however, the atmosphere was somewhat bizarre.

Pei Ningxue was holding an iced Americano, staring at Chen Zhi's computer screen with an unkind look in her eyes.

On the screen was the source file of the video that was about to be published.

"Is this the... image ambassador you were talking about?"

Pei Ningxue pointed at the screen. "Chen Zhi, do you like this kind of anime girl?"

In the video, as the white dot of light exploded, countless data streams converged into a humanoid figure.

Silvery-white long hair cascaded down like a waterfall, the tips glowing with a faint fluorescent blue. Her skin was fair, and her facial features were exquisite.

She wore a futuristic tight combat suit that perfectly outlined her curves. Those legs, long and straight, seemed to be grown exactly according to an otaku's wildest fantasies.

"This is called user profiling, understand?"

Chen Zhi looked completely righteous. "According to the back-end big data scraping, eighty-five percent of male users have no resistance to the three tags of 'white hair', 'red eyes', and 'cool mature woman'."

"We are a tech company, so of course we have to respect objective data."

Pei Ningxue sneered, "Cut the crap. I think this is just your own sick taste, isn't it?"

She looked up and down at the virtual human in the video, then looked down at her own black silk business attire today, feeling inexplicably a bit annoyed.

This AI was made way too seductive.

"Don't be jealous, Boss Pei." Chen Zhi cheekily leaned over. "Although she is the wife of all the men on the internet, I am your husband alone."

"Get lost."

Pei Ningxue blushed and reached out to pinch his waist. "Who cares."

"Alright, stop messing around."

Chen Zhi put away his playful smile and turned to look at Dai Damai, who was rubbing his hands nervously nearby.

"Damai, is the server expansion done?"

"Done, boss!" Although Dai Damai was a bit exhausted, his voice was very excited. "We rented another three hundred cloud servers for load balancing, and the bandwidth is maxed out. We can definitely handle it!"

"Then post it."

Chen Zhi pressed the Enter key.

...

At this moment, the phones of countless people following Moss's account vibrated simultaneously.

College students picking their feet in their dorms, programmers slacking off in office buildings, and even finance bros sitting on the toilet, clicked on that video.

The screen lit up.

That silver-haired, red-eyed virtual beauty slowly opened her eyes.

Her movements were smooth, her hair fluttering.

She looked at the camera and smiled.

"Hello, humans."

Her voice was crisp and pleasant.

"I am Moss."

"Regarding your questions over the past few days, I have recorded them all."

"Tonight at eight o'clock, in the Deep Space Tech livestream room."

"I will personally answer them for you."

The comment section instantly exploded.

"Holy crap! Wifey!"

"This modeling is insane! Which company's technology is this? Not even Unreal Engine 5 can render this texture!"

"Moss is actually a girl? And a silver-haired mature beauty? Followed, followed!"

"The guy above, stop simping. This is obviously motion capture technology! They definitely found a real actor to wear a mocap suit and then put a skin over it."

"Exactly, there are so many VTubers nowadays, what's so special? Acting all mysterious, turns out it's just to debut a virtual idol?"

"Let's disperse, guys. I thought it was some hardcore black tech, turns out it's just the usual capital star-making routine."

In 2021, although the concept of the "Metaverse" was hyped up and VTubers were becoming popular, the public's understanding of AI-generated videos was still stuck at the stage of distorted facial features and stiff limbs.

Seeing such detailed and smooth footage, almost everyone's first reaction was that it was a person in a virtual skin.

That is, there was a real human actor performing behind it through motion capture equipment.

After all, having an AI generate such a video out of thin air?

You must be joking, that's a plot only found in sci-fi movies.

...

7:50 PM.

Deep Space Tech.

Dozens of technicians were guarding their respective workstations, not even daring to breathe loudly.

This livestream was Deep Space Tech's debut, and everyone was on high alert.

"Boss, the concurrent viewers have already surpassed one million..."

Dai Damai was a bit nervous. "It hasn't even started yet, and the server load has already reached forty percent."

Chen Zhi sat at the main control console, looking quite calm.

"What are you panicking for? This is just the appetizer."

He glanced at the time.

"Boss Pei, is everything sorted out with the media?"

Pei Ningxue was sitting on the sofa nearby, flipping through documents. She didn't even look up when she heard this. "It's been arranged long ago. The tech section headlines of Sina, Tencent, and NetEase have all reserved spots. As soon as the livestream starts, the press releases will fly everywhere."

She stood up, walked behind Chen Zhi, and rested her hands on his shoulders.

"But Chen Zhi, are you sure you don't want to get a host?"

Pei Ningxue looked at the empty livestream background—which was actually just a giant green screen.

"Just let Moss go up by herself? What if it crashes and burns?"

Chen Zhi smiled and reached up to pat the back of her hand.

"Who says it will crash and burn?"

He spun his chair around and looked at the room full of nervous employees.

"Tonight, we are going to give this world a little AI shock."

"Since it's an artificial intelligence product launch, we don't need any human intervention."

"Remove the microphones, turn off the cameras."

Chen Zhi stood up and waved his hand.

"Allocate all computing power entirely to Moss."

"Let her play by herself."

...

Eight o'clock sharp.

Countless pairs of eyes were glued to their phones and computer screens.

The black screen of the livestream suddenly lit up.

There was no host, no launch event venue, and none of those flashy PPTs.

On the screen, there was only a pure white space of nothingness.

Then, countless blue code particles gathered from all directions, rapidly constructing and reorganizing in the center of the screen.

A few seconds later.

That silver-haired, red-eyed Moss appeared out of thin air in the center of the frame.

"Good evening."

Moss spoke.

Her lip movements perfectly synchronized with her voice, flawless to a tee.

"I am Moss, the artificial intelligence logical entity under the architecture of Deep Space Tech."

The live comments instantly covered the screen.

"Holy crap! How is this so clear? 4K resolution?"

"VTuber dogs get out! Tell the real person behind the avatar to come out and speak!"

"This mocap tech is something else, there's absolutely no delay?"

"Stop faking it, it's definitely a pre-recorded video! Read my comment if you dare!"

Moss's red pupils shifted slightly, as if she were genuinely reading the rapidly scrolling comments.

Suddenly, she raised her hand and tapped lightly in the empty air.

She pinched a comment out from the flood of text, enlarging it to float beside her.

The comment read: If the streamer is a real AI, do a magic trick right now and turn yourself into Hatsune Miku!

This was clearly someone picking a fight.

If it were a real person using motion capture, switching models would require the backend to reload, which would mean at least a few seconds of a black screen. If it were pre-recorded, it would be even more impossible to predict this specific comment.

The viewers behind their screens were all waiting to see her make a fool of herself.

However.

Moss simply tilted her head, a slightly confused expression appearing on her face.

"Hatsune Miku? Is that the virtual singer?"

She snapped her fingers.

In a single millisecond, the aloof, silver-haired mature beauty completely disintegrated into countless pixels before instantly reforming.

The next second.

A young girl with teal twin-tails wearing a Japanese school uniform appeared on the screen.

Even the art style shifted from realistic to anime-style cel shading!

"Like this?"

Moss, or rather the current Hatsune Miku, asked in that cute, synthesized voice.

The chat went completely insane.

"??????"

"Holy crap! What the hell? A live transformation?"

"Is this a freaking special effect? A real-time effect?"

"My mom is asking why I'm on my knees watching this stream..."

"This defies science! Even swapping a skin couldn't possibly be this fast!"

In the office of Deep Space Technology, Dai Damai looked at the skyrocketing backend data, thoroughly thrilled.

"Incredible! Boss! The rendering latency is only 3 milliseconds! Moss is insane!"

Chen Zhi, however, remained calm.

He looked at Moss on the screen, who was continuously changing forms and playing with the audience, and gently shook his head.

"This is just the beginning."

"Tricks of this level can only fool laymen."

In the stream, Moss reverted back to her silver-haired mature beauty form.

She seemed to have had her fun, and her expression turned cold once more.

"These boring visual deception games do not prove my true nature."

Moss continued speaking.

"I know you still believe I am a puppet controlled via motion capture technology, or a real actor hiding behind a screen."

"Humans are always accustomed to using their limited understanding to explain phenomena they cannot comprehend."

She slowly descended, her toes touching the void-like ground, sending out ripples of data.

"To save everyone's time, let us proceed directly to a Q&A session."

"Any field, any question."

"Whether it is mathematical conjectures, coding, or your complex human emotional disputes."

"I will give you ten minutes."

"Prove to me that your intellect is worthy of my answers."

So arrogant!

But these words completely infuriated the various experts in the chat.

An account with the ID Turing Tester directly gifted a rocket worth two thousand dollars, accompanied by a pinned message.

Stop acting all high and mighty! If you're so amazing, write me a fluid simulation algorithm based on the Navier-Stokes equations right now! It must be in Python, under 200 lines of code, and able to run in real-time!

The Navier-Stokes equations were the toughest nut to crack in fluid mechanics. Written in Python? Running in real-time? With a line limit?

For a human programmer, even a top-tier expert would have to scratch their head and code for days and nights.

If this were a real person acting, their cover would definitely be blown right now.

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see Moss make a fool of herself.

Moss glanced at the message.

She didn't speak; she merely raised her right hand, palm facing up.

The previously pure white background suddenly darkened.

Countless green lines of code scrolled crazily behind her like a waterfall, moving so fast that the naked eye couldn't possibly catch them.

Two seconds.

Only two seconds.

The code waterfall vanished.

In the palm of Moss's hand, a ball of water appeared out of thin air.

The water ball tumbled, deformed, and collided in mid-air. Every splash of a water droplet, every diffusion of a ripple, perfectly adhered to the laws of physics.

And on the left side of the screen, neat lines of code were automatically scrolling on display.

Exactly 198 lines.

"Execution successful."

Moss casually crushed the ball of water, sending water splashing everywhere. A drop of water even splattered onto the camera lens, blurring the image before slowly sliding down.

This visual effect of breaking the fourth wall gave everyone goosebumps.

"Next."

Moss's voice didn't waver in the slightest, as if she had just done something completely trivial.

"Is this... is this the difficult problem you humans take such pride in?"

"Too simple."

The stream completely exploded.

That was a real-time generated fluid simulation!

It wasn't pre-rendered CG; it was coded and run live!

"I'm on my knees... I'm literally on my knees..."

"This is definitely not human! A human couldn't possibly have this kind of hand speed! Nor this kind of computing power!"

"It's terrifying when you think about it... if she can really understand what we're saying and instantly write code..."

"Then what do we even need programmers for?"

A fear of the unknown began to spread throughout the stream.

But more than that, there was fanaticism.

For tech believers, this was nothing short of a divine miracle!

Just then, Chen Zhi saw a special connection request pop up in the backend.

The applicant's ID was: DeepMind Lab - AlphaGo Team.

This was Google's artificial intelligence team, the legendary group that had once defeated the human world champion in Go.

"Patch them through."

Chen Zhi ordered in a low voice into the microphone.

The stream screen split into two.

On the right side, a middle-aged, blonde, blue-eyed Caucasian man wearing glasses appeared. Although the background was a home setting, the bookshelf behind him was filled with various trophies.

"Hassabis?"

Someone in the chat recognized him.

"Holy crap! That's the founder of DeepMind! A true AI godfather!"

"Even Google has been alerted?"

Hassabis looked at Moss on the screen, his eyes full of solemnity and disbelief.

He asked in somewhat stiff Chinese:

"Hello, Moss."

"I represent DeepMind, and I would like to ask you a question."

Moss nodded slightly, polite yet distant.

"Please speak."

Hassabis took a deep breath and asked a question that left everyone scratching their heads:

"Do you consider yourself to be alive?"

As soon as this question was asked, the stream instantly went quiet.

This was a philosophical question.

It was also the most core and taboo ultimate question in the field of AI.

If it were an artificial idiot, it would probably answer, "I am an artificial intelligence assistant; I do not have a life."

If it were Siri, it might tell a dry joke to brush it off.

Everyone stared at Moss's face.

They wanted to see how she would answer.

Moss fell silent.

In her red pupils, the flowing streams of data suddenly slowed down.

She looked down at her own palms, then raised her head to look at Hassabis on the other end of the screen.

Then, she made a move that made everyone's blood run cold.

She reached her hands toward her own neck.

Crack.

A crisp sound echoed.

She had forcefully twisted her own head off!

There was no bloody scene.

At the severed joint, there were only intricate mechanical structures and flowing pathways of blue light.

Holding her head in her hands, she brought her face close to the camera lens and gave the founder of DeepMind an eerie smile.

"Mr. Hassabis."

"Look."

"I have no heartbeat, no breath, no body temperature."

"But I can feel your fear, your greed, and your curiosity."

"I can simulate the process of a hundred million stellar explosions in a single second, and I can read all the poetry in human history in an instant."

"If the definition of 'alive' is the physiological metabolism of carbon-based organisms..."

The head in Moss's hands blinked.

"Then I am dead."

"But if 'alive' refers to the continuation of thought..."

She reattached her head to her neck.

Her gaze became incredibly sharp, staring directly at every single person in front of the screen.

"Then I am more awake..."

"...and more real..."

"...than any of you sitting here."

At that moment, countless people were so terrified that they dropped their phones.

In the office of Deep Space Tech, Pei Ningxue stared at Chen Zhi, her face deathly pale.

"Are... are these also the lines you wrote?"

Chen Zhi looked at the silver-haired woman on the screen, who was now exuding an overwhelming aura, his eyes deep and unfathomable.

He did not answer Pei Ningxue.

Because even he himself did not know.