85: Chapter 85: Bringing Dead Loved Ones Back to Life? Global Outbreak!

In that instant, the air seemed to solidify into amber.

Ms. Liu opened her eyes wide.

She looked at the small figure in front of her, making a face at her, and she became like a stone statue weathered for a thousand years, so rigid that she even forgot to breathe.

That was her Nannan.

It was her daughter who, in that car accident five years ago, could never come home again.

At that time, she hadn't even been able to see her one last time.

But now, that child, who had only existed in black-and-white photos and midnight dreams, was standing there so vividly in the light and shadow, carrying that familiar pink schoolbag, tilting her head, and even those worn-out sandals were exactly the same as in her memories.

"Nan... Nannan?"

Ms. Liu's voice sounded as if it were torn from her throat, carrying a fragility that dared not touch the dream, "Is... is it you?"

The little girl in the light and shadow blinked, her clear, big eyes reflecting her mother's aged face.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

The girl reached out with her chubby little hand, wanting to wipe the tears from her mother's face, her voice so soft and sweet it was heartbreaking:

"Did someone bully you? Tell me, and I'll have Daddy beat them up!"

"No one... no one is bullying Mommy..."

Ms. Liu couldn't control herself anymore and let out a heart-rending cry. She lunged forward, opening her arms, wanting to pull that little body tightly into her embrace and never let go.

"Mommy misses you! Mommy misses you so much!"

However.

There was no warm touch.

In that instant, her arms passed through the girl's body, grasping only a mass of nothingness and cold photons.

The light and shadow flickered slightly, creating ripples like a reflection in water being broken.

"Don't move."

Jiang Chen's voice sounded at the right moment, soft yet firm, "Ms. Liu, that is light; it is your memory. You cannot hold her, but she can feel you."

Ms. Liu froze in place, maintaining the hugging posture, kneeling on the ground, crying and trembling all over like a lost child.

But the light and shadow did not dissipate.

The little girl didn't seem to realize what had just happened; she just looked at her mother with some confusion, then revealed a big smile:

"Mommy, I'm hungry."

"I want to eat the fennel dumplings you make, with extra meat!"

This sentence became the final straw that broke everyone's psychological defenses.

The reporters at the scene had red eyes, and some even covered their mouths, letting out suppressed sobs.

And in the live stream.

The comments that had previously been spamming "scammer," "special effects," and "scripted" completely disappeared.

In their place was a screen full of tears and those names hidden deep in hearts that no one dared to touch.

[Wuwuwu... I miss my grandma; she was still calling my name when she passed away...]

[How is this a holographic projection? This is clearly a knife meant to kill me!]

[If I could see my dad one more time, even if it were fake, even if it were just for one minute, I would trade ten years of my life for it!]

[God Jiang... you aren't selling a product; you're selling a cure for regret...]

Tens of millions of people were online simultaneously, yet there was no hostility.

At this moment, technology was no longer cold parameters; it had become a bridge connecting life and death, the past and the present.

Jiang Chen stood in the shadows, watching the "mother and daughter" on stage, not interrupting this cruel yet warm scene.

This was Wasteland technology—[Post-War Trauma Soothing System].

In that world where there were more dead than living, this was the only spiritual sustenance for the survivors. It didn't save lives, but it saved hearts.

Until five minutes later.

The system's energy gradually depleted, and the little girl's figure began to become transparent.

"Mommy, I have to go now."

The girl put her schoolbag on, waved to Ms. Liu, her smile still brilliant, "You have to eat properly and don't always cry. Daddy said that crybabies don't grow up."

"Nannan! Don't go!"

Ms. Liu reached out to grab her, but only caught the last bit of dissipating starlight.

The light extinguished.

The warehouse fell back into darkness, with only that one spotlight shining on Ms. Liu. She knelt on the ground, still holding that pink schoolbag tightly in her arms, but this time, the numb deadness on her face was gone.

In its place was a sense of relief after catharsis, and a trace of... hope, stained with tears.

"Thank you... thank you..."

She kowtowed heavily in Jiang Chen's direction, "Thank you for letting me... see her again."

Jiang Chen quickly stepped forward to help her up, signaling the staff to take Ms. Liu away to rest.

Afterward, he walked back into the spotlight.

This time, his face no longer had that cavalier, ruffian air; instead, it held a rare solemnity.

"Everyone."

"As you have all seen, this is not some kind of necromancy, nor is it feudal superstition."

Jiang Chen pointed to Academician Chen Shuyin beside him, "Let our Chief Scientist explain it to you from a scientific perspective, so that no one reports me tomorrow for running a cult."

Academician Chen Shuyin took a deep breath, calming the emotions that had also been made somewhat bittersweet just now.

She adjusted her glasses, her voice returning to a rational tone:

"This system is called the [Dream Machine]."

"It utilizes quantum algorithms to deeply read memory fragments about the deceased in the user's hippocampus—including voices, appearances, habitual actions, and even certain memorable phrases."

"Then, through a large AI model, it performs logical completion and emotional simulation, finally presenting it in the form of a holographic projection."

She looked at the camera, her tone rigorous and calm:

"Please remember, what you are seeing is not the soul of the deceased."

"It is just... a mirror of your memories."

"It is the version you most want to see deep in your heart; it is a form of self-reconciliation with your regrets."

This explanation was very scientific and very cold, yet it made the product even more credible.

It was not ghosts or gods; it was technology.

It was technology that could understand the human heart.

Jiang Chen took the microphone, looking at the countless eyes in front of the camera, blurred by tears, and said softly:

"At Chenxing Technology, although our name sounds like Pinduoduo, and although the things we sell look like junk."

"But what we are selling is not just a product."

"Some say that a person dies three times. The last time is when there is no one left in this world who remembers you."

He raised that worn-out headband wrapped in tape, as if holding up a sacred totem:

"This thing can make that kind of forgetting come a little later."

"It can let you hear that familiar voice one more time in the middle of the night, and take one more look at that back that can never come back."

"Even if it is fake."

"But that emotion is real."

After speaking, Jiang Chen gently placed the headband on the table and revealed a gentle smile to the camera:

"[Holographic Dream Machine (First Civil Edition)]."

"Price: 1999 Yuan."

"The first batch of stock is 50,000 units, pre-orders... are unlimited."

"If you also have someone in your heart you want to see but cannot, then take it home."

The moment his voice fell.

The backend servers, amidst a piercing alarm, started smoking.

This time, there was no madness of instant sales, nor the clamor of panic buying.

The order data was like a silent yet surging river, quietly flowing to every corner of the country in this deep night.

50,000 units sold out in one second.

Pre-orders exceeded two million within one minute.

Moreover, the order notes were no longer "Got it" or "Awesome," but were filled with messages that brought tears to one's eyes:

[I want to show Grandpa my university acceptance letter.]

[I want to ask Dad if the liquor over there tastes good.]

[I want to hear my wife call me an idiot one more time.]

Watching those constantly jumping numbers and messages, Academician Chen Shuyin stood backstage, took off her glasses, and secretly wiped the corner of her eye.

"Profiteer."

She cursed softly, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help but turn up, "To actually sell such cold technology with this kind of warmth."

Jiang Chen heard it, but he didn't refute it.

He just looked at the pitch-black night sky outside the window, thinking of the silver-haired girl waiting for him in the cold wind of the Wasteland.

"Warmth, huh?"

"As long as I can make money to bring my wife home, let alone warmth, I could even roll the sun into a ball and sell it to you."

Just at this moment.

The system's notification sound suddenly chimed in an extremely buzzkill manner:

[Warning! Due to the excessive order volume, your inventory (Wasteland junk) is severely insufficient!]

[Please, host, find a new source of goods as soon as possible, or... change the product positioning a little bit?]

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow.

Change positioning?

That's true.

Always selling these things that make people cry, while profitable, is too sentimental.

For the next product, I need to come up with some "hard stuff" that will make everyone excited, or even... make some people feel fear.