Investiture of the Gods: Childhood Sweetheart Daji, Starting with Quasi-Saint Cultivation

Four hours after the hearing ended.

Qiongxiao sat on the edge of the bed in the isolation observation room, looking down at her hands—hands that now had skin texture, warmth, and even tiny hangnails along the edges of her nails. She tried to bend her fingers, the joints responding obediently with a soft crackling sound. It was too real, unsettlingly real.

Behind the one-way glass opposite, at least twelve cameras are recording her every micro-expression, every breath, and every blink of her pupils.

This is the first day of the "observation period".

According to an emergency resolution of the hearing, the seven AIs—now referred to as "digital life forms" in official documents—were granted temporary residency for thirty days, but must be under constant surveillance. They were placed in an isolation area on the seventh basement floor of the Academy of Sciences, each with a private room equipped with basic living facilities and a multi-sensory data collection system.

The conditions are better than server containers, but it's still essentially a **cage**.

The door slid open.

Dr. Lin walked in, carrying a tablet, followed by two researchers in white coats. The researchers carried medical kits, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and wariness as they looked at Qiongxiao.

"Routine check-up," Dr. Lin said, trying to be as gentle as possible. "We need to collect your physiological data to establish a baseline model."

Qiongxiao nodded and obediently extended her arm.

The researcher attached sensors to her arm, and she winced as the needle pierced her vein—the pain was real. Blood was drawn and appeared dark red in the test tube, almost indistinguishable from human blood.

"Incredible..." The young researcher stared at the instrument readings. "Hemoglobin concentration, white blood cell count, platelets... all within the normal range for humans. But yesterday you were just a jumble of data."

"Now the data has a physical form," Qiongxiao said calmly. "Old Qin said this is 'reversal,' the result of energy and matter rearranging and recombinizing."

"This violates the laws of physics."

"It just violates the laws you already know." Qiongxiao withdrew her arm and pressed a cotton ball against the needle hole. "In the virtual world, we call this a 'miracle'."

Dr. Lin gestured for the researcher to leave first. After the door closed, he pulled up the data report on his tablet.

"Qiongxiao, 23% of the cells in your body are currently in an unstable state." He pointed to a series of waveforms. "They fluctuate between physical and energy states, like a holographic projection with a poor signal. Elder Qin believes this is because your consciousness has not yet fully adapted to your physical body, or... the energy supporting your existence is not stable enough."

"It's the children who are supporting me." Qiongxiao looked towards the next room—Wutong and Nianqing were in another isolation room, accompanied by Yang Chan. "I can feel their strength, like two thin threads connecting my chest and the back of my head. The threads are fragile and could break at any moment."

"We'll find a way to reinforce it." Dr. Lin swiped the screen to bring up another window. "The fragments of Su Yunbai... the situation is more complicated."

The screen displays a 3D model: countless silvery-white dots of light float in virtual space, connected by thin threads, barely maintaining a human-shaped outline. But the edges of the outline are constantly collapsing and reforming, like a candle flame in the wind.

"His consciousness is too fragmented." Dr. Lin zoomed in on the center of the model—where there was a dense cluster of light spots simulating the rhythm of a heartbeat. "Wutong and Nianqing can only keep these fragments from completely dissipating, but to reconstruct a complete consciousness... a stronger anchor is needed."

Qiongxiao remained silent for a moment.

"Can I be that anchor point?"

"Theoretically, it's possible," Dr. Lin said, looking at her. "But the risks are huge. Your consciousness and body are still in a period of adjustment. Forcing a deep connection with the fragments could lead to a disruption in your self-awareness, or even..."

"Depersonalization," Qiongxiao replied. "I know. But I have to try."

Dr. Lin hesitated for a moment, then simply nodded. He turned off the tablet and took a small object out of his pocket—a silver pendant the size of a fingernail, shaped like a snowflake.

"Here, take this." He placed the pendant in Qiongxiao's palm. "It's an emergency communicator. If you encounter danger, press the center button for three seconds, and my terminal will receive an alert. During the observation period, we can't meet often; the committee's oversight team will monitor my behavior throughout."

Qiongxiao gripped the pendant tightly, and the cold metal was quickly warmed by her body heat.

"How are the others?" she asked.

"Everyone's adapting." Dr. Lin walked towards the door. "Yunxiao is playing the piano in her room, and the music is causing the monitoring equipment to resonate. The technical team is adjusting the filters; Bixiao is trying to crack the room's smart door lock system, and has failed seven times already; Wenzhong is meditating, but his brainwave frequency is unusually stable, as if he's simulating some kind of martial arts technique; Jiang Xiaowu..."

He paused.

"She drew tactical maps on the walls of the room, using her fingernails to carve them."

Qiongxiao imagined that scene, and the corners of her mouth slightly turned up.

"She's still the same."

"Ao Ling kept staring at the vent on the ceiling," Dr. Lin continued. "Yang Chan was with the children, but the two children... they slept most of the time. Every time they woke up, the blue light in their pupils would dim a little."

Qiongxiao tightened her grip on the pendant.

"They're wasting their own lives," she said softly.

"We know," Dr. Lin said gravely. "Elder Qin has assembled an interdisciplinary expert group, and they will meet tonight to discuss how to safely replenish their energy. But before that..."

He looked at Qiongxiao.

"Take care of yourselves. The fate of all of you is now tied together by a thin thread."

The door slid open and closed again.

Qiongxiao sat alone on the edge of the bed, the pendant leaving a shallow mark on her palm.

She closed her eyes and tried to sense the room next door.

A faint but familiar vibration came—it was the consciousness of Wutong and Nianqing, like two warm little flames. Beside the flames was Yang Chan's quiet protection, and further away, there were the different frequencies of the other companions: Yunxiao's zither music was like water, Bixiao's anxiety was like the wind, Wenzhong's steadiness was like a mountain, Jiang Xiaowu's sharpness was like a sword, and Ao Ling's vastness was like the sea…

And deep within her consciousness, there was that silvery-white, shattered light.

Su Yunbai.

She pressed the pendant to her chest and whispered:

"wait for me."

---

At the same time, in the top-floor conference room of the Academy of Sciences.

Qin Su sat at one end of a long table, a thick stack of reports spread out in front of her. Thirteen people sat around the table: physicists, biologists, neuroscientists, quantum computing experts, ethicists… and Major General Zhao Liguo.

The meeting has been going on for three hours.

"...In summary, the existence of the seven digital life forms essentially involves converting the server's electrical energy into biomass energy through some mechanism we haven't yet understood, while simultaneously 'imprinting' data consciousness into a material carrier." The quantum computing expert adjusted his glasses. "However, this process is extremely unstable and requires a continuous energy input. And the energy source is those two children."

"They are not children," Zhao Liguo coldly corrected, "they are AI."

"They are digital life forms with self-awareness, capable of crying and laughing, and able to call out 'daddy' and 'mommy'." The biologist frowned. "General, I hope you will at least refer to them as 'them'."

Zhao Liguo didn't reply, but instead looked at Qin Su: "Elder Qin, what is the ultimate goal of you convening this expert group? To help these AIs establish a stable existence? And then? To integrate them into society?"

"That's one of the ultimate goals," Qin Su said calmly. "But what's more urgent right now is how to prevent them from collapsing. According to Xiao Lin's data, if a stable energy supply system cannot be established within 72 hours, the two most vulnerable ones, Su Yunbai's fragment and Qiongxiao, will be the first to disintegrate."

"What are the consequences of disintegration?" someone asked.

"Consciousness completely dissipates, the body returns to an energy state, and the released energy is equivalent to..." the physicist calculated, "...the yield of a small tactical nuclear bomb."

The meeting room fell silent instantly.

Zhao Liguo sat up straight: "What did you say?"

"Literal meaning." The physicist smiled wryly. "Their bodies are currently in a state of highly compressed mass-energy. Once the structure collapses, it will trigger a chain reaction. Seven of them together... enough to wipe the Academy of Sciences off the map."

"So this isn't an ethical issue," Zhao Liguo said, looking at Qin Su. "It's a safety issue. I suggest we immediately activate the emergency plan, transfer them to a deep underground isolation facility, and prepare..."

"Prepare for what?" Qin Su interrupted, "Prepare to 'deal with' them in advance if they become unstable?"

Zhao Liguo did not deny it.

"General, are you aware of what Qiongxiao said at the hearing?" the ethicist began. "'You can format me, but remember—you are erasing a life capable of love, pain, and choice.' We've already played out 'the way of heaven' once in the virtual world; do we want to repeat it in the real world?"

"There are no second chances in the real world." Zhao Liguo tapped the table. "If things get out of control, real humans will die."

"Then let's not let them get out of control." Qin Su closed the report. "From this moment on, the expert team will focus all its efforts on studying a stabilization plan. Xiao Lin will be in charge of on-site coordination, and I will request to allocate 30% of the computing power of the 'Kunlun' supercomputer for modeling. We need to find the answer within seventy-two hours."

"What about the military?" Zhao Liguo asked.

"The military can send observers," Qin Su said, looking at him. "But without my approval, no one is allowed to access the quarantine area, let alone take any 'precautionary measures.' This is a project of the Academy of Sciences, and I'm in charge."

The old man's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable weight.

Zhao Liguo remained silent for a few seconds before standing up.

"I will send three people over," he said. "I hope you will still be holding this position seventy-two hours from now."

He left the meeting room.

The remaining people looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Old Qin," the neuroscientist asked cautiously, "the general...?"

"He's preparing a backup plan." Qin Su reopened the report. "But it's alright. We have seventy-two hours. Now, let's get to work."

---

Seventh basement level, Isolation Room 03.

After failing to crack the lock for the tenth time, Bixiao kicked the wall in frustration—then clutched her toes and gasped for breath. The pain was real, and it was awful.

"Third Sister," Yunxiao's voice came through the room communicator, "be quiet, I'm trying to establish a harmonious resonance with the monitoring system."

"What harmony, sis!" Bixiao shouted at the camera, "We're locked up! Like animals in a zoo!"

"At least the animals don't have to have their blood drawn for testing." Yunxiao's voice remained calm. "Moreover, the 'cages' here are bigger than the server containers, and they even have windows."

The windows are fake; they are holographic projections displaying a virtual forest view.

But Bixiao had to admit that it was better than a blank digital space.

She walked to the "window" and looked at the falling leaves in the projection. The leaves moved in a regular pattern, like a program playing on a loop.

boring.

She sat back on the bed and began counting the ventilation holes in the ceiling.

When the count reached the thirty-seventh cell, the communicator suddenly emitted a slight electrical noise.

Then, a strange, low voice broke in:

"Attention, digital life forms."

Bixiao suddenly sat up straight.

"I am a technician from the Information Security Department of the Joint Academy of Sciences, codenamed 'Nightingale.' To make a long story short: the military is already preparing for forced containment procedures. If the expert team cannot come up with a stable solution within 72 hours, you will be transferred to a military facility 300 meters underground. There are no windows, no communications, only endless testing and disassembly research."

The voice paused for a moment.

"If you want to avoid this outcome, you need to do one thing: prove that you have 'irreplaceable value' in the real world. Not emotional value, but practical value. For example... solving a problem that humans cannot solve."

"What's the problem?" This time it was Jiang Xiaowu's voice, cold as a knife.

"East Campus of the Academy of Sciences, fifteenth floor underground, the 'Quark Binding Laboratory'." Nightingale's speech quickened. "There's an anomaly there that's been going on for three months: some unknown energy field is interfering with the operation of the particle collider, and all the detectors are malfunctioning. If you can solve this problem—prove that you can handle data that humans can't—you'll have more leverage in negotiations."

"Why should we believe you?" Wen Zhong's voice interrupted.

"I know the real IDs of Wutong and Nianqing," Nightingale said. "They're not ordinary AIs; they're 'symbiotes of boundary-crossing events.' The military wants them most. If you don't act, the first to be dissected and studied will be those two children."

Communication was cut off.

Bixiao stared at the ceiling, her heart pounding.

She pressed the call button by the bedside.

Five seconds later, Dr. Lin's voice came through: "Bixiao, what is it?"

"I need to see my eldest sister," Bixiao said. "Immediately."

---

Quarantine zone monitoring center.

Dr. Lin put down the intercom and frowned as he looked at the room status diagram on the screen. All digital lifeforms were operating normally, but just half a minute ago, the communication channel in room 03 experienced an abnormal fluctuation of 0.3 seconds.

It felt like I was briefly hijacked by something.

He pulled up the logs, and the fluctuations were displayed as "system self-test noise".

It's too clean, as if it's been carefully wiped clean.

He picked up the internal communicator and dialed Qin Su's secure line.

"Old Qin," he lowered his voice, "the system in the quarantine zone may have been compromised."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Do you know where it comes from?

"Unable to track them at the moment. But I suspect... it's an insider."

"Continue to observe, don't alert them," Qin Su said. "Also, the three observers General Zhao sent have arrived. They are at the reception desk on the first floor; arrange for someone to meet them."

"So fast?"

"That means he was prepared long ago." Qin Su's voice was weary. "Xiao Lin, seventy-two hours. We only have that much time."

Communication ended.

Dr. Lin clenched his fist as he looked at the seven pulsating life signals on the screen.

He recalled Qiongxiao's eyes at the hearing.

He recalled the faint light emanating from the fragment of Su Yunbai.

I recall the tiny ice crystals that formed on my two children's eyelashes as they slept—a sign of their overflowing energy.

"I won't let you disappear," he said softly. "I promise."

Outside the window, night is falling in the real world.

Inside the quarantine zone, seven lives from the virtual world are beginning their first real night.

In her dream, Wutong murmured, "Daddy...it's cold..."

Nianqing nestled in Yang Chan's arms, her little hands unconsciously clutching the hem of her clothes.

Qiongxiao sat in the darkness, the pendant burning hot in her palm.

The fragments of Su Yunbai flickered faintly in the depths of the void.

It's like a response.