Real world, h country.

Many buildings here do not have artistic beauty, but when these precisely measured geometric bodies are perfectly planned together, a practical and concise feature born from functionalism also has a shocking tension.

Perhaps it is precisely in order to neutralize the coldness hidden by this tension that the central brain of H country, "Frankenstein", has included the painting of the exterior walls of the building on the work schedule.

Colors and patterns, from a psychological point of view, have the most efficient hints to the viewer's mood.

This early spring in March, the humid airflow from the ocean brings another rain, and the leaves sound lightly in the rain, and a battle for warmth was launched with the exterior walls of the building painted in bright yellow.

Dr. Walton walked out of the elevator and saw the young people scattered throughout the lounge.

Lunch break.

Before he frowned, Dr. Walton took the lead in finding a reason to calm himself down. He glanced at the sleepy young men, looked up at the high glass patio, and probably guessed the theme of today's lounge.

He has already spent two-thirds of his life in the country of h and is working hard to compete with the death to double the numbers of the numerator and denominator.

The lounge of their building is an open-plan, large holographic experience room.

Walking through an invisible wall, what the young people are enjoying is sitting in front of the warm fireplace, listening to the crackling of firewood and the sound of rain, and being lazy and separated from the current environment and time, as if no one is around, it is enviable.

Dr. Walton doesn't like these lazy young people.

He also admitted that he was jealous of these young people, jealous of the time they could have to spend to put their laziness.

But this jealousy is not a bad thing, at least Dr. Walton doesn't think it's a bad thing.

Every morning, when he opens his eyes, he is looking forward to an unknown new day, allowing some projects ongoing in the country to burst into a miraculous breakthrough, giving him a chance to despise aging and death.

This inevitably made him slide into the arms of religion and pray to the gods for a scientific miracle.

This reminded him of a project a few years ago, and occasionally he would substitute himself into it to explore the possibility of his aging body surviving in that project.

Dr. Walton turned around and decided to complete a short nap before returning to the office to continue working.

Just as he turned around, a fellow passerby following him passed by his thoughts, passed by, and hurried into the elevator.

Dr. Walton stopped, returned to his senses slightly, and focused his attention and replayed the appearance of the person just now.

That was also a young man, and the kind he didn't like very much.

Albert, the leader of the consciousness upload project team, is currently the most advanced and most capable of "game" project in the world.

Is he coming again?

"Ah, Dr. Walton, noon."

Dr. Walton slowly moved his gaze to show that he was neither distracted nor slow to react, but was just calmer - relative to this young man who greeted him.

"good afternoon."

The young man opposite was holding a cup shaped with a biodegradable material in his hand. The unique sweet taste of cocoa floating out of the gap in the lid indicated that this was not a drink to refresh.

"Then I'll go and have a rest." The young man pointed to the hall and smiled politely.

"Yeah—wait!"

Dr. Walton's call was too fast and his tone was a little urgent. The young man unconsciously stopped his steps, and the hot cocoa in his hand slightly over the small mouth on the lid of the cup.

"PhD?"

The young man was also nervous. Although Dr. Walton was so serious that he was unkind, he rarely spoke so urgently.

"You have a good personal relationship with Albert?"

Dr. Walton was not used to this kind of conversation about inquiring about private affairs and still used a tone of inquiry.

"Yes, yes, we two of us in different classes in the same school and worked together on the same topic during our studies."

The young man was a little embarrassed, and he became even more uneasy when he thought of Albert's frequent inquiries recently.

"He seems to be coming to you a lot lately." Dr. Walton said calmly.

This is a positive sentence, but both he and the young man knew that this was the opening remark of the question.

"He, he," the young man pursed his lips and sighed, "He came to me for the little girl named Nian a few years ago."

It was a crushing defeat, the only failure of the perfect experimental product. He felt sorry for the funds and manpower invested in that project, and for the somewhat naughty little girl.

"What did you say to him?"

When Dr. Walton's eyes were also a little dim when he heard this name.

"I didn't say anything about the details of the project, but," the young man struggled for a moment, confessed in a responsible attitude, "he seemed to have asked a lot of details from other places."

"What did he say to you?" Dr. Walton warned.

It was not an experimental project that perfectly followed humanitarian dogma, the whole thing was buried deep in the heart of "Frankenstein".

After the experimental subject died unexpectedly, Dr. Walton rarely lost his composure and tried every means to save the dissipated consciousness. This attracted the attention of other project teams and exposed some of the unknown cruelty to the air.

Some things, secretly hearing and publicly knowing, will lead to two completely different attitudes.

Especially, when the independent consciousness replaced by machine transformation has the ability to sneak into the "Frankenstein" structure to directly talk with him, many threat theory speculations have spread, postponing Dr. Walton's application to restart the project to today.

That's not a bad boy who wants to rule the world.

Dr. Walton argued so deeply in his heart, but he did not dare to say it out.

What they dare not say is the deep intersection between Pascal and the child, and the once debate between Pascal and him.

"He...I didn't tell him this, but he seemed to find it out from somewhere," the young man shyly distanced himself from. "He wanted to apply to view some of the operating details and related conclusion reports of the expansion of the nervous system, especially the part about the misalignment and lack of sensory information..."

Because of the irreversibility of this expansion operation, the experimental reports in this regard are in a confidential stage of limited review. Even Albert is the head of one project team, he does not have the right to cross another project team to view it.

As the young man in front of him, he is not qualified to view or even share these data. His suspicion has indeed been cleared.

Theoretically, the only person who has the right to review these reports is Dr. Walton and the person he personally authorized, and from the actual situation, he is the only one.

Dr. Walton waved his hand, and the young man walked away in relief and headed straight to the rest hall, intending to enjoy a nap where he could forget everything.

Standing there, Dr. Walton's eyes were shaking with a low look. He turned around again and headed straight for his office, his pace was not as strong as the elderly.

His office is very ordinary, just the style that a rigorous scholar should have, but there is an inexplicable hint of cyberpunk madness.

This madness comes from the transparent container that occupied half of the wall, and the pink liquid that kept bubbled in the container.

Suspended in the liquid is a gray-white brain tissue. The milky white translucent meninges tremble with the oxygen circulation in the liquid like breathing, and it is like constantly sucking nutrients in the liquid.

From the real-time monitoring screen below the container, we can see that this is a brain that is still alive in the biological sense, and the weak but tough biological current is still running among those nerve cells.

Dr. Walton stood in front of the container and stared for a long time, but his eyes seemed to have no place. His hand gently and nervously touched the outer wall of the cold container, murmured:

"Child, after playing for so long, it's time for you to go home."

......

The meeting between Qi Youfeng and the City Lord Stein was a joyful host. The two expanded their knowledge through eating, drinking and enjoying each other and established a deep friendship.

Qi Youfeng enthusiastically introduced the infrastructure undertakings that are being carried out on the other side of the Snow Mountain, and proudly evaluated the strength and foundation of these Cultivation Sects.

Appreciating the city lord's uncertain expression, Qi Youfeng assumed a pioneering plan that was still in the womb, and couldn't help but sigh at the wonders of this world.

When those sects of cultivation chose to settle in the front line of the snow-capped mountains in order to avoid secular disputes, have you ever thought that they would become the first line of defense against foreign tribes?

Maybe...it's really there?

Based on the spirit of unity that is inherited from Chinese culture, Qi Youfeng sighed secretly.

When the city lord had no choice but to accept that the other side of the snow-capped mountain was not a homeless land that was allowed to be plundered, he was worthy of being the generous lord of a city and still made friends with Qi Youfeng, an oriental friend. He hoped that he would help more in the future, and promote the dwarfs' hospitality more, and invite more oriental friends to come here to visit.

Qi Youfeng neglected to forget the fact that he was an abandoned disciple of the Mo family, and agreed to the city lord's "joking" that expected him to act as a bridge of cooperation, and then called him brothers enthusiastically.

Nian Nian, who was hiding in her cloak, curled her lips, and was frustrated by the smell and atmosphere in the room, and wanted to jump off the tower and end it.

Qi Youfeng also estimated that he had patience every year, and soon expressed his intention to say goodbye and led him back to the ground every year.

A friend of the city lord was also called by him to help Qi Youfeng solve his resettlement problems every year.

This also made Nian even more depressed. She could only continue to dress up her silent NPC, stand in place and let her be content with her, and resist the urge to beat the man to death.

"Let me see," the dwarf tried to tiptoe, looking at Nian Nian's face, "What's going on with this mask? Is it disfigured?"

"No, I'm just afraid that I'll attract too much attention along the way." Qi Youfeng smiled, his tone very gentle.

"Well, that's good. I'm also your guide, accompanying you in the dwarf territory and finally send you to the city of Usher. I just happened to go there to do some business."

The guide is named Tristan, an ordinary dwarf knight who claims to be a senior trader, but the business scope he introduced himself is just a middleman who resells the business.

Buy the raw materials of the human race at a low price, and then sell the finished products of the dwarf craftsmen at a high price. The main stage of this business is Urser City, a commercial hub of Sanwuguan.

"Dwarves are not very rich in mineral resources? Isn't it troublesome to resell like this?" Qi Youfeng asked knowingly.

"Haha, this is the fun, there is nothing to bother or not." Tristan generously avoided the key to the problem.

"This is also an interesting thing. I also know many players who like to do business." Qi Youfeng nodded in understanding.

"That's just right. If you have the chance, why not introduce us to meet us." Tristan was very interested in such a fellow friend.

"They are all in the Feathers Forest and may not leave in a short period of time. If you have the chance, you will definitely let you get to know each other." Qi Youfeng responded.

"Fathers Forest..." Tristan's eyes flashed with envy and jealousy, "You should remind them to bring more good things, after all, it's just this opportunity to get money."

"Thank you for your reminder." Qi Youfeng smiled.
To be continued...