72: East Union with a sky full of stars

Shen City, Interstellar Peace Corporation Headquarters Building.

Silver Wolf sat cross-legged in front of the holographic projection, her fingertips lightly tapping dozens of data windows suspended in the air. Each window displayed the latest progress of Star AI applications across the Eastern Federation.

“Tsk, tsk, these guys are pretty fast,” she blew a bubble, and a string of code flashed across her goggles. “Bronya, pull up the data for the Eastern Federation’s Southeast region for me to see.”

Bronya’s projection hung upside down from the ceiling, her silver hair flowing down. “Yes, my Lady Silver Wolf~”

“Cut it out,” Silver Wolf rolled her eyes. “Where’s that poker face?”

“She’s in a video conference,” Bronya made a face. “Those old fogies from the Eastern Federation Ministry of Industry and Information Technology are driving her crazy.”

Silver Wolf grinned. “Serves her right for tattling on me.”

The holographic projection switched to a real-time economic heat map of the Southeast region. Cities like Mohudu, Hangzhou, and Ying Tian lit up with dense blue dots, each representing a Star AI application scenario.

“Whoa, it’s only been three months…” Silver Wolf zoomed in on the projection of the Lujiazui area in Mohudu. “The financial street is almost completely taken over by Star AI.”

In the projection, new “Star AI Partner Institution” logos were added next to the logos of major banks. In the stock exchange trading hall, traditional trading terminals had been replaced by Baiyu holographic terminals, and traders gestured various commands into the air.

“The penetration rate of Star Code in the financial sector has reached 87%,” Bronya reported a string of data. “The efficiency of stock trading algorithm optimization has increased by 300%, and the accuracy of risk prediction has improved by 65%.”

“At first, we forced ‘Star AI’ to withdraw its predictions for the financial sector, but then the higher-ups came to Ada Wong. I didn’t understand a long string of arguments, but in short, it was opened up for use.”

Bronya put her index finger on her chin, recalling, “The original words were, since you can’t stop people from praying to gods and doing feng shui anyway, it’s better to leave a more reliable loophole. With more rational people, the higher-ups will have less to worry about.”

“Alright, alright, that’s certainly their style.” Silver Wolf suddenly sat up straight. “Wait, what’s that red dot?”

She pointed to a flashing warning sign on the edge of the projection. Bronya tilted her head to look. “Oh, it’s a sub-branch of Pudong Development Bank. Their risk control AI reported the branch manager.”

“Huh?” Silver Wolf tilted her small head, her eyes wide.

“Star AI discovered abnormal transactions during an audit and reported them directly to the Banking and Insurance Regulatory Commission,” Bronya spread her hands. “The evidence was conclusive, and that branch manager was taken away last night.”

Silver Wolf let out a loud whistle. “Well done! This AI is better than the Dis… Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

Bronya was so anxious she almost materialized, ‘forcibly’ covering Silver Wolf’s mouth with her virtual little hand.

“You can’t say that, the boss will have bad luck~!”

Imperial Capital, Zijin Pavilion conference room.

Zhou Jianjun placed a thick report on the table. “Leaders, this is the social and economic impact assessment of Star AI’s promotion over the past three months.”

The Premier adjusted his glasses. “Just get to the point.”

“Understood,” Zhou Jianjun clicked the remote control, and a holographic chart appeared in the center of the conference room. “Firstly, manufacturing production efficiency has increased by an average of 210%, with the automotive industry showing the most significant improvement.”

The chart expanded, showing a before-and-after comparison of a new energy vehicle factory: a welding workshop that originally required 300 workers now only had 20 technical supervisors and 100 robotic arms controlled by Star AI.

“What about unemployment?” a Vice Premier asked with a frown.

“To everyone’s surprise, it didn’t rise, but fell,” Zhou Jianjun switched slides. “Although traditional jobs decreased by 38%, new jobs created by Star AI increased by 52%. For example, AI trainers, human-machine collaboration supervisors, digital content creators, and so on.”

He showed a video: in the renovated factory, workers wearing smart glasses guided the AI to optimize production processes through gestures. The subtitles showed their average wages had increased by 45%.

“The most surprising is the education sector,” Zhou Jianjun’s tone became excited. “We selected ten impoverished primary schools in the west for a pilot program!”

The screen switched to a simple classroom, where children gathered around a holographic projection, learning science with a virtual teacher generated by AI. When the teacher said “moon,” an image of the moon immediately appeared in each child’s hand. These moons also had dense craters, identical to the one in the sky.

“In three months, the average academic performance of these children improved by two grade levels,” Zhou Jianjun’s voice was slightly choked. “And it required no additional teaching staff investment.”

Low whispers of admiration filled the conference room.

“However…” the economic advisor suddenly interjected. “I’ve noticed a hidden danger. Star AI is rapidly replacing low-to-medium-end intellectual labor, such as copywriting, design, and programming.”

Zhou Jianjun nodded. “Indeed. But our survey shows that among the replaced practitioners, 78% transitioned to higher-value creative positions through retraining.”

He presented a case study of a graphic designer’s transformation: she, who could originally only create simple posters, now used the Star AI toolkit to handle entire brand visual systems, and her income tripled.

“The key is to change mindset,” Zhou Jianjun concluded. “Star AI has indeed taken many jobs, but it has also freed people from repetitive labor to do more valuable things.”

The Premier mused. “So, what is the social acceptance like?”

“Surprisingly high,” Zhou Jianjun smiled. “We conducted surveys on a dozen platforms, and 92% of respondents believe Star AI has improved their quality of life. Especially in the medical field, doctors now have a path towards higher technology.”

The holographic projection switched to the operating room of Peking Union Medical College Hospital in the Imperial Capital. The chief surgeon wore smart glasses, and Star AI real-time marked the positions of the patient’s blood vessels and nerves, even predicting the optimal angle for the surgical knife.

“The overall incidence of surgical complications has decreased by 70%,” Zhou Jianjun proudly announced. “And this system has already been deployed in 832 impoverished county hospitals.”

Shen City, a Starbucks.

Zhang Mingyuan stirred his coffee, watching the continuous stream of holographic advertisements outside the window. In just three months, every corner of the city was tinged with the marks of Titan and Interstellar Peace.

“What are you thinking about?” Wang Lei sat opposite him, holding the latest Baiyu Pro.

“I’m thinking…” Zhang Mingyuan pointed to a passerby at a nearby table who was designing clothes with Star AI. “Are we witnessing a revolution?”

Wang Lei chuckled. “To be precise, we are participating in a revolution.” He lowered his voice. “Do you know? Shen City’s output value this month has already caught up with Mohudu’s average monthly GDP from last year.”

Zhang Mingyuan almost knocked over his coffee. “What?!”

“Don’t make such a fuss,” Wang Lei looked around. “I have a feeling that when the national data comes out at the end of the year, it will shock everyone.”

Shen City, Tencent Building.

Ma Huateng was presiding over an emergency strategic meeting. The projection screen displayed the dismal data of the latest version of WeChat: daily active users down 40%, usage time shortened by 65%.

“Everyone,” he said with a grave expression, “Star AI’s ‘StarSpeak’ social platform has only been online for two weeks, and it has already stolen 30% of our users.”

The product director wiped his sweat and explained, “Mr. Ma, their ‘smart social’ concept is too powerful… Users only need to express their thoughts, and the AI can automatically generate text, images, videos, and even mini-games.”

He demonstrated a competitor’s product: a user said into the air, “I want to share last night’s starry sky with my friends,” and the AI immediately generated a time-lapse video with constellation explanations based on astronomical data, along with an interactive 3D Solar System model.

“What’s more terrifying is this,” the technical director pulled up another set of data. “Star AI can analyze social relationships in real-time and automatically maintain networks… Our core users are being precisely poached.”

The conference room was silent. Suddenly, Ma Huateng’s Baiyu made a special notification sound.

Everyone watched as he opened the holographic projection, and Silver Wolf’s virtual image popped out. “Yo, Little Ma~ Have you made up your mind yet?”

Ma Huateng forced a smile. “Director Silver Wolf, please let me off the hook.”

“The conditions are even better this time~” Silver Wolf’s projection spun around. “In addition to the tailored Star AI, there’s also a brand new server personally designed by me, with five times the performance of what you’re currently using.”

Several executives gasped. This genius girl was truly unreasonably powerful.

“And…” Silver Wolf suddenly lowered her voice. “The boss agreed to open up primary access to ‘Spirit Realm’ for you.”

Ma Huateng suddenly stood up. “Are you saying… the one from your promotions… like in sci-fi movies?”

“Shhh—” Silver Wolf made a silencing gesture. “See you tomorrow at 10 AM in the Interstellar Peace Corporation conference room?”

After hanging up the communication, Ma Huateng looked around at the dumbfounded executives and gently put down his Baiyu. “Alright, don’t just stand there. Remake all those Korean-style aesthetic games for me! Also, tell a few studios to cheer up!”

“One high-difficulty competitive game and one collection game per studio!”

“All salaries tripled! If you can’t deliver, then get out and reflect!”

Late at night, Pierpoint Space Station.

Chen Hao stood in front of the observation deck, gazing at the azure planet below. Bronya’s projection reported beside him:

“Master, Star AI’s penetration rate in the Eastern Federation has reached the first-stage goal. The transformation progress in education, medical care, and manufacturing is 38% ahead of schedule.”

“What about Silicon Valley?”

Bronya pouted. “TalkGPT has been updated again. Its parameters have increased to 10 trillion, and the electricity bill is almost catching up to a small country’s GDP.” She pulled up a comparison video. “But user reviews are still… well… hard to describe.”

In the video, a Nova United States blogger was shouting at the camera. “This broken AI can’t even recommend pizza toppings! I want a refund!”

A few days later, Hanyang City, South Korea Superconducting Materials Research Institute press conference site.

Professor Kim excitedly waved the research report in his hand. “Our scientists in the Great Korea have finally broken through the bottleneck of room-temperature superconducting materials after five years of dedicated research! This completely independently developed technology has absolutely no relation to any AI assistance!”

Under the flashing lights, he displayed a special material sample glowing with purple light. Reporters below frantically took photos, and the live broadcast title of South Korea’s media already read, “South Korea Technology Shocks the World Again.”

“Professor Kim,” a reporter from Nature magazine raised his hand to ask, “Can you explain the theoretical basis of this LK-99 material?”

Professor Kim pushed up his glasses. “This is based on our unique copper-doped lead apatite structure…”

At the same time, Edo University Superconductivity Laboratory.

“Professor, the data released by South Korea…” an assistant rushed into the lab.

Professor Hatoyama adjusted his instrument without looking up. “Immediately order the raw materials they mentioned. I want to verify it myself.”

The same scene was playing out in major laboratories around the world. However, three days later…

Imperial Capital, Eastern Federation Academy of Sciences, Institute of Physics, Superconductivity Laboratory.

“The resistance test results are out,” Researcher Xu took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “They are completely inconsistent with what South Korea claimed.”

Academician Lin stared at the electron microscope image. “Look here, there are obvious impurity phases inside the material. The so-called zero resistance is probably just measurement error.”

“Should we publish a rebuttal?”

Academician Lin shook his head. “Let’s wait a bit longer. MIT and the Max Planck Institute should have results soon.”

Sure enough, the next day, the international authoritative journal Science published a joint statement from seven national laboratories, including the Nova United States, Rhine Empire, and East Ocean: the South Korea LK-99 material does not possess true superconducting properties, and the observed phenomenon originated from copper sulfide impurities in the material.

The press conference at the Hanyang City Research Institute immediately descended into chaos.

“Professor Kim! What do you think of MIT’s statement?”

“Does this mean another fraud incident in South Korea’s scientific research?”

“Will you resign?”

Professor Kim, his face ashen, pushed away the microphone and fled the scene.

As the situation escalated, and just as this farce reached its climax, the live broadcast room of “Hardcore Old Zhang,” a tech UP host on Bilibili, suddenly saw a surge in popularity.

“Brothers, something big has happened,” Old Zhang, with messy hair, pointed to the flashing data screen behind him. “Three days ago, I asked Star AI to help optimize conductive materials, and guess what happened?”

He carefully took out a silver-gray metal sheet from a vacuum chamber.

“This thing… might really be a room-temperature superconductor.”