The World Artificial Intelligence Competition (WAIC) officially kicked off in Geneva.
One defining feature of this competition was the prohibition of pre-trained models.
Its core objective was to test algorithms' real-time learning capabilities and resource efficiency.
Global tech giants gathered under flashing camera lights, the air thick with the scent of code and ambition.
The "Pangu Lab" team from Yuanlong Technologies, a startup from Xia Country, initially drew little attention.
But everything changed once the group stage began.
Led by Lu Ruoxi and Su Yang, the team emerged as the darkest of dark horses, advancing relentlessly.
Their submitted "Nuwa" model demonstrated performance far exceeding expectations across multiple test categories.
Whispers and discussions about Yuanlong began circulating both inside and outside the venue.
The team successfully broke into the finals.
Their opponents were two behemoths:
One was the "Odin" team from international giant Stellar Corporation—a technically profound squad widely considered the favorite to win.
The other was "Aegis," a team from a top-tier university in Country A.
The final round's format was brutal and straightforward:
A 24-hour extreme challenge.
All teams would connect to the competition's unified data platform to perform real-time optimization on a brand-new, highly complex urban traffic model.
The champion would be whichever model could most quickly and stably reduce the system's congestion rate.
As the starting bell rang,
the atmosphere in Yuanlong's rest area was tense yet orderly.
"Nuwa model successfully connected."
"Initial parameters stable."
"Commencing first-phase optimization—target congestion rate reduction: 5%."
Su Yang's fingers flew across the keyboard as he monitored the data stream, issuing command after command.
Meanwhile, Lu Ruoxi stood before a massive electronic whiteboard, her gaze fixed on the real-time feedback curves like a general strategizing a campaign.
For the first six hours, everything went smoothly.
The Nuwa model even outperformed expectations, briefly surpassing both Stellar and Aegis in optimization efficiency.
Then, in the seventh hour—
disaster struck.
On the large screen, the curve representing Yuanlong's model stability suddenly began fluctuating wildly and without warning.
"Alert! Abnormal data flow detected!"
"Model output generating massive erroneous solutions!"
"Congestion rate increasing instead of decreasing! Our system is creating chaos!"
Pandemonium erupted in the rest area.
Su Yang's face turned deathly pale.
"Impossible! I reviewed the code—there are no flaws!" He rushed to the main console, frantically typing.
Yet no matter how he searched, he found no issues.
The code was perfect.
But the model was behaving like it had gone mad.
"It's data poisoning," Lu Ruoxi said, her voice icy and clear.
She pointed to a nearly overlooked sub-data stream on the screen.
"Someone exploited a loophole in the competition platform's rules to feed us 'contaminated data' that conventional logic can't detect. The data itself doesn't violate rules, but it's designed to misdirect our model toward faulty optimization."
Su Yang understood instantly.
This wasn't a technical attack—it was a rules-based assault.
The method was diabolically sophisticated.
Like adding a colorless, odorless drop of poison to clear water.
In Aegis's rest area, a man in gold-rimmed glasses watched Yuanlong's plummeting ranking, a cold smirk playing on his lips.
As time ticked away,
Yuanlong's ranking sank to the bottom of the finals bracket.
At this rate, within three hours, their system would crash and force their elimination.
Despair crept across the young researchers' faces.
"Abandon this approach," Lu Ruoxi suddenly declared, her quiet voice cutting through the noise.
She strode to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and swiftly erased all existing formulas.
"If the old logic can be contaminated, we'll build a new one."
The team froze.
Reconstructing their core algorithm—on the spot?
It was unthinkable!
"There's no time..." Su Yang murmured.
"There is," Lu Ruoxi countered, turning to lock eyes with him. "Su Yang, do you trust me?"
He stared into those eyes—
devoid of panic or fear,
burning only with absolute confidence and genius-level brilliance.
All hesitation vanished.
He nodded firmly. "I do."
"Good."
Without another word, Lu Ruoxi turned back to the whiteboard,
her world narrowing to just her and the blank slate before her.
A brand-new, never-before-seen multidimensional chaotic mathematical model took shape under her marker—
not an optimization,
but a creation.
A divine temple rebuilt atop ruins.
The entire team held their breath, witnessing what seemed like a miracle.
Thirty minutes later, Lu Ruoxi set down the marker.
Before them stood a flawless, self-consistent model shimmering with mathematical elegance.
"Now it's your turn," she told Su Yang.
His blood ignited.
"Mission accepted!"
Returning to his computer, his mind operated at unprecedented speeds, translating the whiteboard's formulas into precise lines of code.
Inspired, the team rallied into coordinated action.
The despair had lifted.
Back home, deep into the night,
Yuanlong Technologies' top-floor office remained brightly lit.
Lu Chenyuan sat before a screen, calmly observing the flatlined curve representing his team's performance.
Lin Yuan stood behind him, palms sweating.
"President Lu, should we activate the contingency plan?"
"Not yet." Lu Chenyuan's voice remained steady. "We haven't reached the end."
He trusted Lu Ruoxi.
He trusted Su Yang.
He trusted the people he had personally chosen.
Sure enough, hours later,
the lifeless curve began a faint but determined ascent.
Lin Yuan exhaled in relief.
Yet Lu Chenyuan's brow remained furrowed.
He knew it wasn't enough.
The new model was too powerful, too advanced.
With the competition's provided CPU cluster computing power,
there simply wasn't enough time left to unleash its full potential.
They needed a blade to sever the hardware's shackles.
Lu Chenyuan opened an encrypted communication channel
and typed a single line before sending it off.
Geneva, competition venue.
Su Yang's team hit another bottleneck.
Though formidable, the new model ran too slowly—
a god-tier intellect trapped in a feeble body.
"We're compute-bound! The CPU architecture is crippling us!" a researcher cried in despair.
Just then,
an encrypted notification popped up on Su Yang's private terminal.
He opened the message.
It contained one sentence:
Attempt abandoning CPU clusters entirely. Switch to GPU parallel computing.
Boom.
The words struck Su Yang's mind like lightning.
GPU.
Parallel computing.
In that instant, he understood.
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
ions, keeping it grounded and realistic】 After quitting his job, office worker Su Yang accidentally binds with the "Enjoy Life System." As the name suggests, simply by indulging in life's pleasures, he can earn random rewards from the system—no need to spend money on beautiful women or grovel before anyone. Just enjoy, and the money follows, making it all about effortless fun. The system comes with a scanning feature, allowing him to establish a favorability bond with women rated 85 points or above. Every 20-point increase in favorability unlocks additional rewards. After suffering through over twenty years of hardship, Su Yang trembles with excitement, his dull eyes suddenly gleaming with newfound hope. "Enjoy life? How hard could that be?"
end. Thus one must continue to cultivate, and become a saint or great emperor, in order to prolong one's life. Chen Xia, however, completely reversed this. Since his transmigration, he has gained immortality, and also a system that awards him with attribute points for every year he lives. Thus between the myriad worlds, the legend of an unparalleled senior appeared. "A gentleman takes revenge; it is never too late even after ten thousand years." "When you were at your peak I yielded, now in your old age I shall trample on you." - Chen Xia
uld barely embark on the path to immortality. Just as he was on the verge of death, his golden finger awakened. No matter whether it was poison, drained blood and vital energy, diminished lifespan, or any other physical debuff caused by paying a price—once midnight passed, everything would be refreshed. From then on, whenever someone asked what kind of person Chu Ran was, the answer was simple: Forbidden arts that other cultivators dared not learn? Chu Ran would learn them. Prices that even demonic cultivators dared not pay? Chu Ran would pay them. Lifespan that even righteous cultivators dared not burn? Chu Ran would burn it. All the blood essence in his body? Take it. Want both his hands and feet? He would cut them off and send them to you. You say he’s finished? He wasn’t built to sit idle. You think he’s gone mad? No—he was simply waiting for midnight. From that day onward, Chu Ran would respect neither Heaven nor Earth, bow to neither gods nor ghosts. He had only one wish: For midnight to arrive a little sooner.
