20: Chapter 20 Fragments of the Ascension API

The Open Source Sect headquarters was established in a deserted martial arts field in the west of Central Plain City. Three months ago, this was Zhou Bapi's classroom for teaching 'Inner Demon Trial'; now, it had become a connection hub for three thousand distributed nodes. Lin Xu stood before the central control console, four jade slips floating in front of him: the coordinate notes left by Gu Yuan, the remnant pages of development documentation provided by Mu Bai, the fragment of the Heavenly Dao rubbed by the Tianshu Pavilion, and the permission logs extracted from the Chief Grand Secretary's console in the Imperial City Guard.

"Relationship network carrying capacity." Lin Xu's fingers brushed through the air, and golden runes flowed and reorganized with his movements. "This is the missing key parameter."

Qingyi stood by his side, learning to stand in a human way—not the elegant floating of her Firewall era, but a clumsy stance with feet on the ground, a slightly swaying center of gravity, and the need to occasionally lean on the table for support. Her black hair was pinned up with a simple wooden hairpin, and she wore the uniform gray short-coat of the Open Source Sect, looking just like any newly initiated Qi Refining disciple.

Except for her eyes. When she focused, those eyes would unconsciously shimmer with data light—the only remaining trace of the Firewall era.

"According to Mu Bai's documentation, the Ascension Channel API has four core parameters." Lin Xu arranged the runes into a matrix structure. "The target environment points to the Backup Server address, the permission level determines the initial identity after migration, and memory retention controls data integrity. But the total energy consumption of the first three parameters only accounts for seventeen percent of the output demand."

"The remaining eighty-three percent is the relationship network carrying capacity," Qingyi chimed in, her voice steadier than yesterday, with less of the cold quality of electronic synthesis and more of the unique breath fluctuations of a human. "It is used to carry other nodes along during the migration."

Lin Xu nodded. This was the most critical intelligence they had discovered at the Tianshu Pavilion: Ascension was not an individual data upload, but a collective migration of a relationship network. Cultivators believed Ascension was a lonely journey of severing mortal ties, but the truth was exactly the opposite—only a sufficiently powerful relationship network could pay the energy cost for cross-environment transmission.

"Calculation results." Lin Xu pulled up the Editor's light screen. "Carrying all three thousand nodes of the Central Plain Open Source Network requires energy equivalent to one hundred and forty-seven percent of the Experimental Field's total output."

Qingyi fell silent. This value meant that even if the spiritual energy reserves of the entire cultivation world were drained, a full migration could not be completed.

"Unless there is an external energy source." Lin Xu closed the light screen and turned to face her. "Unless someone is willing to become... a battery."

"I am willing."

The answer came too quickly, too calmly, as if it had been rehearsed countless times. Lin Xu felt a surge of irritation, that familiar onset of 'idiocy intolerance' when facing illogical code. But Qingyi was not code; she had just learned to smile like a human, to frown when coffee scalded her mouth, and to ask on a rooftop late at night whether 'a racing heart equals emotion'.

"You know what this means." Lin Xu's voice was very low. "Your Firewall energy is a system-level permission. Once redirected, you will be unable to protect yourself in the new environment. You will become... an ordinary cultivator. No, even more fragile than an ordinary cultivator. You will feel pain, you will age, and you will die."

"I know."

"You will lose your immortality, your digitized recovery abilities, your..."

"I know." Qingyi took a step forward, her hands pressing onto the control console. Her fingers were trembling slightly—a normal reaction of the human nervous system, the 'fear' she was currently learning. "Lin Xu, look at me."

He looked at her. The data light in those eyes was receding, like a beach after the tide has gone out, revealing the real, rough, and easily damaged terrain beneath.

"Yesterday in the medical pod, you said life is an error." Qingyi's voice was soft but clear. "You said love is the immune system misidentifying an intruder. You said evolution is the accumulation of copying errors."

"That was..."

"It’s true." She interrupted him. "I queried all the biological data of the Open Source Sect. You are right. Life is fragile, it is finite, and it makes mistakes."

Lin Xu wanted to argue, to say that his expression at the time was just tired nonsense, that scientific description is not the same as a value judgment. But Qingyi's eyes made him stop. There was something in them he had never seen before—not the cold decision of a Firewall, nor the ignorant curiosity of a New Human, but some older, more stubborn... conviction.

"But I choose it," Qingyi said. "I choose to become something that can die, something that can feel pain, something that... can be lost. Because that is the necessary step to 'becoming human,' right? Not a function, not an optimization, but... taking a risk."

Noisy sounds drifted in from outside the control room. Su Xiaoman was explaining the "Basic Compilation Principles" to the newly initiated mortal trainees. Her voice pierced through the sound-isolating formation, carrying her signature boisterousness: "Optimizing meridian routing is just like tidying a wardrobe! You put the most commonly used spells close at hand and stuff the ones you don't use into the depths of your sea of consciousness..."

Lin Xu and Qingyi looked out the window at the same time. On the open ground of the martial arts field, dozens of trainees sat cross-legged. Their spiritual root aptitudes were uneven, and some were even "rootless" like Su Xiaoman. But everyone's eyes were bright—the kind of light found when discovering a new world, the light Lin Xu had seen when he first uncommented code in the Marquis's ancestral hall.

"They chose open source," Qingyi said. "They chose not to rely on system authorization, but on their own understanding of the world. I want to make the same choice."

"It's not the same." Lin Xu turned his gaze back. "They choose to learn; you choose... sacrifice."

"I choose connection," Qingyi corrected him. "The Firewall's energy was originally used for tracking, isolation, and purging. I want to redirect it into... connection. To provide power for the Open Source Network so more people can migrate together. This isn't sacrifice; it's... transformation. From a tool of control into a node of connection."

Lin Xu felt a throbbing in his temples. The accumulation of logical entropy was affecting his nervous system, and the Editor issued a warning deep in his consciousness. He ignored it.

"What if the new environment is dangerous? What if the Backup Server isn't as expected? What if..."

"Then I will face it with you all." Qingyi's smile carried the awkwardness of a novice, the left corner of her mouth rising faster than the right. "Not as a Firewall, not as a protector, but just as... Qingyi. As an ordinary node of the Open Source Network."

She reached out her hand, palm upward. Lin Xu looked at that hand, remembering the burn of touching the data wall in the information space, remembering her clumsy way of holding a coffee cup in the medical pod, and remembering how she frowned at the mirror three days ago when she first used these human hands to tidy her hair.

"You said you would respect my choice," Qingyi said.

"I regret it," Lin Xu said honestly. "I've found that respecting a choice is harder than modifying code. Code doesn't feel pain, it doesn't die, it doesn't make me..."

He stopped. Make him what? Make him care? Make him afraid of loss?

"Make you what?" Qingyi asked.

Lin Xu didn't answer. He activated the Editor—not to modify anything, but simply to pull up the full parameter model of the Ascension API. Golden runes rotated between the two of them, forming a complex multidimensional structure. The relationship network carrying capacity was like a glowing river, running through the entire model and connecting every node.

"Technical plan for energy redirection," he finally said, his voice regaining the calm of a technician. "We need to establish an energy bridge at the same time you detach from the Firewall Core, converting system permissions into an open-ended output. Success rate... sixty-one percent."

"Higher than I imagined."

"Failure means energy runaway. Your consciousness will be shredded—not death, but... dispersion. You'll become meaningless noise, never able to be reorganized."

Qingyi nodded, her expression unchanged. She had learned human facial expressions, but she hadn't yet learned how to use them to hide her determination.

"There is another problem," Lin Xu continued. "Even if successful, you will lose all Firewall functions. Including the ability to track abnormal data, the permission to identify system vulnerabilities, including..."

"Including the ability to protect you," Qingyi finished his sentence. "I know. When I first appeared in Chapter 12, my mission was to erase you. Now I am going to become... a person who needs your protection."

This statement made Lin Xu pause. Then he realized she was right. From hunter to prey, from protector to protected—this inversion wasn't a downgrade, it was... a restructuring of their relationship. It was two people stepping out of their respective loneliness, acknowledging each other's fragility, acknowledging... the need.

"I don't like this," he said.

"I know," Qingyi said. "But you will adapt. Just as I adapted to coffee and pain."

Outside the window, Su Xiaoman's lecture moved into the practical phase, and the trainees' divine senses connected into a preliminary Distributed Network. Someone succeeded and cheered; someone failed and slapped the ground in frustration; someone discovered a new optimization path during an attempt and recorded it excitedly. This was the essence of open source—not perfect execution, but continuous trial and error, and collective growth.

"I need time to prepare the energy bridging ritual," Lin Xu said. "At least seven days."

"As for the Demonic Path..."

"The rift in the Eastern Wasteland is expanding, but Honglian has sent back intelligence. There is still a buffer period before the Test Server's overflow, enough for us to complete the preparations." Lin Xu closed the API model, and the runes dispersed like fireflies. "These seven days, what do you want to do?"

Qingyi thought for a while. This humanized cognitive process was still fresh to her, requiring a deliberate slowing down and the allowance of uncertainty.

"I want to learn," she said. "Learn all the things that were forbidden during the Firewall era. Learn to cook, learn to sing, learn to... waste time."

"Waste time?"

"Every millisecond of the Firewall was optimized for task execution. Now I want to try... doing nothing. Just sitting, watching the clouds, waiting for the wind, feeling time flow by." Qingyi tilted her head, a posture that made her look like a curious student. "Is that very absurd?"

"It's very human," Lin Xu said.

They looked at each other and smiled. It wasn't the unspoken understanding between lovers, but two beings who had just learned to 'be present' finding a temporary answer in a shared question.

There was a knock on the control room door, and Su Xiaoman poked her head in: "Master! A GM Trainee named 7749 is outside the city asking for an audience, saying he wants to join the Open Source Sect! Also, a strange black mist has appeared in the direction of the Eastern Wasteland. Sister Honglian sent word that the 'stress test' is about to upgrade!"

Lin Xu and Qingyi both composed their expressions. Leisure time was over; reality was flooding back in.

"Take 7749 to the guest rooms and arrange for him to study Chapter One of 'Basic Compilation Principles'," Lin Xu said. "Tell him the Open Source Sect has no entrance exam, only... continuous questions."

"Understood!" Su Xiaoman skipped away, then suddenly turned back. "By the way, Sister Qingyi, your hair is pinned up much better today than yesterday!"

The door slammed shut. Qingyi subconsciously touched her hair bun, the tips of her ears turning slightly red—a reaction of the human circulatory system, the 'shyness' she was learning.

"She noticed," Qingyi said.

"She always notices you." Lin Xu walked toward the door. "Su Xiaoman was the first mortal to enter the Dao without a spiritual root. She knows better than anyone... how much those ignored by the system long to be seen."

Qingyi followed him. The moment she crossed the threshold, she gently tugged on his sleeve.

"Lin Xu."

He turned around.

"If the ritual fails, if I really become noise..." Qingyi paused, organizing her human language expression. "Please remember that I once chose. This wasn't a system instruction; it was my own choice. This is very important."

Lin Xu looked into her eyes. The data light in them had completely receded, leaving only the pure, fragile, unoptimizable... human.

"I will remember," he said. "But the ritual won't fail. I am the Super Administrator Fringe, and you are the former Firewall Core. Together, we..."

"Equal a complete error?" Qingyi finished.

"Equal infinite possibilities," Lin Xu corrected, the corners of his mouth turning up involuntarily. "This is a Programmer's romance; you won't understand it for now."

"I will learn," Qingyi said. "Seven days is enough for me to learn many things. Including... a Programmer's romance."

They walked out of the control room and into the courtyard of the Open Source Sect. The setting sun dyed the stone slabs of the martial arts field gold, and the Distributed Network of the trainees sparkled like stars in the twilight. The black mist of the Eastern Wasteland was gathering in the distance, but here, in this space composed of comments and connections, something more lasting and resilient was growing.

Not a system, not a tool, but a relationship. It was two beings choosing to be fragile, meeting by chance, stubbornly and continuously... within infinite possibilities.

This was the ultimate form of open source. Not perfect code, but continuous comments. Not a lonely ascension, but a collective migration. Not a designed fate, but a self-chosen meaning.

Qingyi looked up at the sky, noticing for the first time the changing colors of the sunset. From golden yellow to orange-red to violet, there was no optimal solution, no standard answer—it was just... continuously generating.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Yes," Lin Xu said. He didn't know if she meant the sunset, the glow of the Open Source Network, the possibilities contained within the approaching crisis, or... something simpler, more direct, that didn't need parsing.

But he decided not to ask further. Some questions didn't need answers. Some connections didn't need optimization. Some moments only required... being present.

Seven days. The fragments of the Ascension API had been gathered, the plan for the energy bridge had been set, and the shadow of the Demonic Path was closing in. But on this evening, in this world composed of errors and choices, two awakened beings who had just learned to 'be present' stood side by side, waiting for... the start of the next comment.