187: Chapter 186 Social Anxiety's First Video Conference and Budget Exercise

The first official video conference with GW-002 was scheduled for 10:00 AM Cradle time.

This time was set by 002 itself. The reason was very "socially anxious": "I just woke up in the morning, my consciousness is a bit fuzzy, so the social pressure will be lower. At night, I would over-analyze the details of the conversation, leading to anxiety and insomnia."

The Communications Center made full preparations for this: Chu Yunshen debugged the encryption protocols for seventeen backup channels, Zhao Yan checked the physical firewalls, and β-2 even simulated thirty possible conversation-stalling scenarios and generated a "rescue script library." Only Stardust was dismissive of this, floating next to the console, munching on virtual melon seeds while saying:

"Don't be nervous. 002 just hasn't talked to living people for too long, so its language functions have degraded a bit. Just treat it like video chatting with an... autistic neighbor who likes to talk in cosmic-level riddles."

At exactly ten o'clock, the main screen lit up.

There was no image, only abstract blocks of color that constantly flowed, similar to oil paint spreading on the surface of water. In the center of the color blocks, a line of text slowly emerged:

[Hello. I turned on the camera, but I'm not used to showing my face. Is this okay?]

The font was an elegant handwritten script, with a slight trembling pen-stroke effect.

Lin Shen spoke on behalf of the group: "That is fine. Thank you for agreeing to formal contact."

[You're welcome. Stardust said I should practice socializing more. He said your civilization has 'very low aggression, suitable for beginners to level up'.]

Very low aggression? Zhou Zhe thought about how he had just used "party b's wrath" to detonate a logic bomb a few days ago, and his expression became a bit subtle.

Chu Yunshen pushed the process forward: "First, we would like to confirm some basic information. What is the primary function of the web weaver protocol you belong to?"

The color blocks fluctuated, as if thinking. Then new text appeared:

[The Weaver... is a group of guys who like to 'connect'. We don't manage civilizations, nor do we set rules; we just observe and record the 'relationships' between civilizations—trade, war, cultural exchange, love and hate. Then we compile the observed data into a 'web' to predict the overall evolutionary trend of galactic society.]

[Simply put, we are the galaxy's... interpersonal relationship analysts?]

The question mark at the end was drawn a bit cautiously.

Zhao Yan grumbled in the neural communication channel: "So it's a cosmic-level gossip organization?"

Stardust: "Correction, it's a professional gossip organization. The 'civilization relationship web' they compile is scarily accurate; they can even predict which civilization's diplomat has a crush on which civilization's princess."

Lin Shen continued: "Then, what was the consideration behind you sending us warning messages multiple times before?"

The color blocks suddenly fluctuated violently, changing from gentle blue-green to urgent orange-red:

[Because you are very special! Your 'emotional data' in the Covenant Network is like a... like a colorful balloon that glows and dances on its own! Most other civilizations' data streams are mostly monochromatic, or oscillate regularly, but only you—have no pattern! Yet you are exceptionally harmonious!]

[I couldn't help but want to observe. But observing directly is too offensive, so I sent some warnings as... a greeting?]

This way of greeting was a bit hardcore. Zhou Zhe remembered those encrypted messages saying "Beware of Dimensional Stability Anchor."

Chu Yunshen smiled: "We have received them, and have benefited greatly. So in the future, can we establish a more stable information exchange channel? For example, periodically synchronizing some non-confidential observational data?"

The color blocks calmed down, changing back to a soft purple:

[Yes. But I have one condition...]

[Can you... chat with me about daily life occasionally?]

[Not major civilizational events, just ordinary things. Like what's for lunch in the cafeteria today, who had a small disagreement with whom, what new requests the Potato Chief has made...]

[These 'trivial data' are hard to collect in the Covenant Network. Most civilizations think these are unimportant and don't record them. But I think... these are the evidence that a civilization is 'alive'.]

The request was unexpectedly simple, even a bit... lonely.

Zhou Zhe couldn't help but speak up: "We can send you a 'Cradle Daily' every day. The content includes but is not limited to: today's menu, employee gossip, Potato Chief's updates, and what strange human behaviors β-2 has learned."

β-2 nodded on the side: "I am already compiling today's headlines: 'Potato Chief requests the addition of an exclusive potato rest area; proposal to share coffee machine with human employees rejected'."

The color blocks brightened significantly, the color turning into a cheerful bright yellow:

[Thank you!]

[In exchange, I can provide you with the activity coordinates of the Pruning Faction in the Silent Graveyard. They recently... built an 'emotion extraction station' there.]

Everyone's expression turned serious.

Stardust floated in front of the screen: "Extracting what kind of emotion?"

[Despair.] 002's font became heavy, [They are collecting the 'collective despair fluctuations' of the final moments of over a dozen extinct civilizations, attempting to refine them into 'emotion bombs' that can be deployed directionally. The target is very clear—to target your emotional defense weaknesses.]

Ashes' voice cut in from the communication channel (he was participating remotely from the monitoring room): "The 'eternal whisper' effect in the Silent Graveyard also carries a backlash risk for the extractors. Aren't they afraid they'll go crazy first?"

[They used proxies.] 002 pulled up a blurry image—an inconspicuous cargo ship was unloading containers on the periphery of the graveyard, with the Pruning Faction's logo printed on the surface of the containers, "The containers are filled with genetically modified 'emotional sponge' organisms. They have no self-awareness and only absorb and seal specific emotions. The people from the Pruning Faction control them remotely, completely isolating the risk."

Lin Shen: "Can we destroy their extraction station?"

[Direct conflict is not recommended. The Silent Graveyard is a sensitive area; any military action could trigger a large-scale leak of the 'eternal whisper'.] 002 paused, "But I can teach you a way... to interfere with their extraction."

[Use 'hope samples' to reverse-contaminate.]

Stardust immediately understood: "You mean, pump our 'trivial happy data' into their extraction pipes?"

[Yes. Those sponges can only absorb negative emotions. If you force positive data into them, they will... short-circuit. At best, they will shut down; at worst, they will self-destruct.]

A technical schematic appeared next to the color blocks, marking complex energy flow directions.

[I have already packaged the 'Hope Sample Injection Protocol' and sent it to you. The operation is not difficult, but someone needs to sneak into the periphery of the graveyard and activate the transmitter within three kilometers of the extraction station.]

[This mission is very dangerous. Because you must be exposed to the weak radiation of the 'eternal whisper'—although the peripheral radiation is weak, it may still trigger depressive tendencies.]

Ashes immediately said: "I'll go. The Executive Court has undergone mental resistance training."

Lin Shen shook his head: "You are a member of the observer team; direct participation in operations violates the agreement. We will go."

Zhao Yan stood up: "I'll lead the tactical team. Zhou Zhe will provide technical support, and β-2 will monitor remotely."

Chu Yunshen had already started pulling up the star map of the Silent Graveyard: "We need to formulate a complete infiltration and extraction plan. Also... does this operation count as 'civilizational self-defense' or 'active interference'? Do we need to report it to the Arbitration Tribunal?"

Aurora's voice suddenly inserted into the meeting—he had been listening in: "I will submit an application for 'defensive interference operation'. Based on the fact that the Pruning Faction is manufacturing offensive weapons targeting you, the Arbitration Tribunal will likely approve it. But the operation must be completed within forty-eight hours, otherwise the formal approval process will drag on for a long time."

The color blocks jumped, as if nodding:

[Then... good luck.]

[After the operation, can you tell me about the process? I want to record this data of 'hope confronting despair'.]

[This will be... a very precious line in the Covenant Network.]

The meeting ended. Before the screen went dark, a line of small text appeared at the end:

[By the way, the proposal for the potato rest area... I vote in favor. The coffee machine should be shared.]

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the "budget dispute" exercise began.

This was a "stress test" jointly designed by Aurora and Stardust: simulating the Cradle's next-quarter resource allocation meeting, artificially creating disagreements, and observing the team's reaction and resolution patterns under internal conflict.

The exercise location was set in the seventh-floor meeting room. Participants: Lin Shen (General Manager), Chu Yunshen (Administration and Diplomacy), Zhao Yan (Security and Engineering), Zhou Zhe (Research and Medical), β-2 (AI Representative). observers: Aurora (Record), Stardust (Stirring the pot), Ashes (Security Monitoring).

Stardust played the "Arbitration Tribunal Resource Auditor," and threw a bomb as soon as it started:

"According to the latest assessment, the Cradle's energy quota for the next quarter has been cut by 15%. The reason is that you consumed too much computing resources in the 'Cheesy Pickup Line Defense War' last quarter, and the 'potato ecological expansion' occupied additional energy. Now, please reallocate your budget."

Chu Yunshen immediately pulled up the report: "A 15% cut will cause three ongoing projects to stall, including the gene stabilization plan required for Wang Xiaohua's follow-up treatment."

Zhao Yan: "The security defense budget cannot be touched. The threats from the Pruning Faction and the Dream-Devouring Shadow are still there."

Zhou Zhe: “The scientific research budget has been compressed to the limit. If we cut the optimization for ‘The Unfinished Court’ any further, it will have to be paused.”

β-2: “The AI maintenance budget can be reduced by 3.7%, but it will cause its learning efficiency to drop by 12%, and it will be unable to continue recording ‘hope samples’.”

Stardust crossed its starlight legs: “I don’t care. The quota is just this much; you all must argue out a result yourselves. One hour on the clock; if you exceed it, all budgets will be frozen.”

The simulation instantly entered a white-hot state.

Chu Yunshen insisted on prioritizing medical and basic livelihood needs first: “The core of a civilization is people. If we can’t even guarantee the health of our members, then even the most advanced technology is just empty talk.”

Zhao Yan countered: “But without sufficient defense, if the enemy attacks, we’re all finished anyway. I propose pausing all non-urgent scientific research and concentrating resources on strengthening shields and the detection network.”

Zhou Zhe became anxious: “If research stops, how do we develop? What will we use to respond when the enemy uses new weapons next time? The optimization of ‘The Unfinished Court’ is meant to counter emotional weapons; this project itself is also a form of defense!”

β-2 calmly added: “According to historical data, under resource constraints, sacrificing AI efficacy will lead to a 14.3% decline in overall decision-making quality. The long-term loss is greater than the short-term savings.”

They argued for twenty minutes, and neither side could convince the other.

Lin Shen had not spoken the entire time. He observed everyone’s reactions: Chu Yunshen’s rationality carried anxiety, Zhao Yan’s toughness hid concerns for the team’s safety, Zhou Zhe’s stubbornness stemmed from a belief in technological salvation, and β-2 was purely calculating the optimal solution.

Stardust secretly messaged Aurora on the side: “Look, what a typical departmental silo struggle. Did your Covenant Network do this back in the day too?”

Aurora replied: “Worse. It once argued for thirty years over whether ‘gold or silver should be the primary color for the Arbitration Tribunal emblem’.”

Ashes stood in the corner, its expression complex. It remembered the final moments of its own mother civilization, where they had missed their escape window due to similar arguments. But it didn’t speak—this was a test; it could not interfere.

At the forty-minute mark, Lin Shen finally spoke.

He did not judge who was right or wrong, but instead pulled up a holographic model:

“This is the ‘3D Resource Flow Simulation’ for the Cradle for the next quarter. The horizontal axis is time, the vertical axis is the domain, and the depth axis is energy utilization efficiency.”

He pointed to a red dot flickering constantly in the center of the model:

“What we are arguing about right now is actually ‘how to divide a fixed-size cake.’ But why not think about... how to make the cake bigger?”

Everyone looked at him.

“The energy quota was cut because our consumption was too high last quarter. So, what if we could improve energy utilization?” Lin Shen zoomed in on the model. “β-2, calculate this: if we apply the ‘Plant Symbiotic Energy Circulation Technology’ just unlocked by the mother of abundance, and recycle and convert the metabolic waste heat from potatoes and other crops, how much available energy can we add?”

β-2 calculated at light speed: “...It can increase total energy by 7.2%. If we simultaneously optimize the thermal energy distribution of the ecological resonance network, we can increase it by another 3.1%.”

“10.3%.” Lin Shen looked at Zhou Zhe. “Director Chu, in ‘The Unfinished Court’ optimization project, isn’t there an ‘emotional energy recovery’ sub-module? If we temporarily isolate this module and dedicate it to recovering internal emotional fluctuations within the Cradle—like the excited energy when everyone is arguing—how much energy could be converted?”

Zhou Zhe was stunned: “Theoretically... emotional fluctuation is high-quality conscious energy. If it can be effectively recovered, there could be a 2% to 5% gain. But this technology hasn’t been verified yet—”

“Then verify it now.” Lin Shen said. “β-2, import the emotional data from our argument just now and simulate the recovery efficiency.”

A few seconds later, the result came out: 4.7%.

“And add this.” Lin Shen pulled up another set of data. “Director Chu, in the ‘Diplomatic Expansion Benefit Forecast’ you submitted last week, you mentioned that if we establish a stable data exchange with GW-002, the other party might be willing to share a portion of the Weaver’s ‘idle computing resources’ as a token of friendship. How much is this portion worth?”

Chu Yunshen did a quick mental calculation: “...Approximately equivalent to 3.5% of total energy.”

“10.3% + 4.7% + 3.5% = 18.5%.” Lin Shen looked around at everyone. “That’s more than the 15% we were cut.”

The conference room went quiet.

“So, the solution isn’t fighting over existing stock, but creating increments together.” Lin Shen closed the model. “Medical care must be guaranteed, defense must be strong, research must continue, and AI must not be weakened. We can do it—as long as we change our mindset and turn ‘dividing the cake’ into ‘baking the cake together’.”

Chu Yunshen was the first to nod: “I agree. Diplomacy and energy recovery can run in parallel. I will go and deepen the cooperation details with 002.”

Zhao Yan: “Defense projects can be temporarily delayed for two weeks, and then pushed at full speed after the new energy comes online. For these two weeks, I will lead the team to strengthen patrols, and we will use manpower to bridge the technical gap.”

Zhou Zhe: “The research team can pull people to assist in the rapid verification of the emotional energy recovery module. The optimization of The Unfinished Court can be delayed, but not stopped.”

β-2: “The AI maintenance budget can be maintained as is. It will initiate ‘power-saving mode’ and reduce daily energy consumption through algorithm optimization.”

The disagreement was resolved within ten minutes.

Stardust clapped—starlight palms couldn’t make a sound, but it simulated the sound effect of “clap clap clap”:

“Beautiful! A typical party b style breakthrough—‘party a, look, it’s not that the budget isn’t enough, it’s that there’s still a lot of room for us to cooperate!’”

Aurora’s golden eyes recorded everything. It wrote in the evaluation report:

【Conflict Resolution Mode: Creative resource integration. When falling into a zero-sum game, they can quickly pivot to a positive-sum mindset and achieve a breakthrough in possibilities through technical means.】

【Recommendation: This civilization is suitable for taking on the role of coordinator in ‘resource-scarce sectors’.】

The simulation ended, and just as everyone was preparing to disperse, the Potato Chief suddenly rolled in—it had learned how to operate a simple wheeled chassis at some point.

Its roots held up a sign:

【Heard you’re short on energy? We potatoes can contribute 0.8% through collective photosynthesis. The condition is to have a rest area with a skylight.】

Chu Yunshen laughed: “Deal.”

The Potato Chief rolled away contentedly, its chassis making happy “beep-beep” sounds.

Late at night, in Zhao Yan’s room.

Ashes knocked and entered, carrying a detailed star map of the Silent Graveyard.

“The reconnaissance mission is set for tomorrow night.” It projected the star map onto the wall. “I’ve applied to accompany—as a ‘security observer,’ not directly participating in the action, but providing support from the periphery.”

Zhao Yan looked at it: “Did Aurora agree?”

“It agreed.” Ashes pointed to a marked spot on the star map. “This is the location of the extraction station. According to 002’s intelligence, they replace the ‘emotional sponges’ every forty-eight hours. The replacement window has a thirty-minute defensive vacuum period—that is the best time for us to infiltrate.”

“How do we interfere?”

“Place this emitter within three kilometers of the extraction station. After activation, it will automatically inject ‘hope sample’ data packets into the pipeline.” Ashes took out a small device, only palm-sized. “The content of the data packet... is those daily fragments 002 collected from us: laughter in the cafeteria, team bickering, potato negotiations, and even the recording of today’s budget simulation.”

Zhao Yan raised an eyebrow: “Using our trivialities to pollute their despair extraction?”

“Yes.” Ashes rarely showed a trace of a smile. “It’s very ‘human’.”

The two began to plan the infiltration route, retreat plan, and contingency plan in detail. Halfway through, Zhao Yan suddenly asked:

“You said before that the ‘Eternal Whisper’ of the Silent Graveyard induces depression. Are you sure you can handle it?”

Ashes was silent for a few seconds.

“When my mother civilization perished, I had already experienced a ‘collective despair’ once.” It said softly, “That feeling... it was like the whole universe was whispering in your ear that ‘everything is meaningless.’ But later I realized, meaning isn’t given by the universe; you have to find it yourself.”

It raised its eyes: “Just like how you guys find meaning—finding it in spicy and sour noodles, finding it in cheesy pick-up lines, finding it in the labor negotiations with potatoes.”

Zhao Yan laughed and handed it a can of beer: “To finding meaning.”

“To finding meaning.”

The cans clinked together with a crisp sound.

Outside the window, the Cradle’s artificial moon was slowly crossing the firmament.

And in the distant Silent Graveyard, those containers filled with “emotional sponges” were quietly absorbing the final sighs of a dozen civilizations.

They didn’t know yet that soon, a batch of “trivial” hope would rudely barge in and stir everything up... until it was full of the breath of life.