194: Chapter 193 The Egg War on the Auditor's Desk

The conference room had been temporarily converted into an audit site. On one side of the long table sat the abacus and eight mechanical auditors, each with three scrolling data screens floating before them, displaying every single energy account transaction from the Cradle over the past decade. On the other side was Lin Shen's team, with physical files, data pads, and—a large platter of "Awakened One No. 1" marinated eggs that Great Strength had just brought in, still steaming.

"Let's start with external procurement," the abacus tapped its mechanical fingers on the table, making a cold, clicking sound. "Over the past three years, you have purchased 74 million tons of Helium-3 from the Stardust Energy Consortium. The contract shows a unit price 18% lower than the market average. Explain."

Chu Yunshen pulled up the contract attachment: "At that time, the Stardust Energy Consortium was running a 'Pathfinder Discount,' offering discounts on the first three bulk purchases for emerging civilizations. This is a public commercial practice, compliant with Article 22 of the 'Inter-Civilization Trade Basic Law'."

"But the discount exceeds the 'Fair Trade Fluctuation Limit' set by The Council," a line of red text jumped onto Auditor A's data screen. "According to the supplementary regulations, any discount exceeding 15% must be reported to the Resource Management Office in advance. Did you report it?"

"We did," Chu Yunshen clicked send, and an encrypted receipt projected into the air. "Reporting number RES-8843, approval status 'Recorded'. Do you need me to pull up the quantum imprint of the approving official's signature?"

Auditor A's mechanical eye flickered, and the red text on the data screen turned gray: "...Next question."

Under the table, Zhou Zhe secretly gave Chu Yunshen a thumbs up. They had stayed up late with Stardust to verify these contingency plans, patching every loophole in advance—Stardust had even forged an internal approval process for the Stardust Energy Consortium that looked more authentic than the real thing.

But the abacus was clearly prepared. It turned to the self-produced energy portion:

"According to your report, the Poetics of Emotion power generation technology is a derivative application based on the 'Ancient Sages civilization Poem Markings encoding'. Please present the technical authorization proof."

Lin Shen was about to answer when Stardust's starlight projection suddenly appeared in the corner of the conference room—he was observing as a "technical consultant."

"The authorization is right here," Stardust popped up a glittering virtual scroll, featuring a Poem Markings signature personally signed by the Wandering Poet, accompanied by a dynamic video: The Poet was eating a marinated egg, saying while eating, "I gave this technology away for free. If anyone has an opinion, come find me to chat."

The abacus's gears jammed again. The Ancient Sages's personal authorization was procedurally impeccable.

"But the technology's energy conversion efficiency is too high," Auditor B chimed in. "According to The Council's 'New Energy Technology Safety Standards', any technology with conversion efficiency exceeding the critical value must undergo an 'Ethical Energy Consumption Assessment'. Did you assess it?"

"It is currently being assessed," Zhou Zhe immediately pulled up a draft assessment report that had just been generated—actually, it was forged by composite consciousness entity β-2 in five minutes, but the format was extremely standard, even citing seventeen ancient documents in the footnotes. "The final result is expected in seven days. According to the process, the technology can be test-run during the assessment period, as long as the energy consumption does not exceed 70% of the design value."

He pointed to the real-time monitoring data: "The current Poetics of Emotion power array is operating at 65% load, which is fully compliant."

The auditors fell silent. They clearly hadn't expected humans to be so proficient at utilizing buffer clauses like "currently being assessed."

The abacus's mechanical eye turned to the platter of marinated eggs. In the air, the atmosphere of "compliance comfort" quietly spread again, this time more subtly—like afternoon sun shining on an account book, making one want to lay on the table and take a nap.

Zhao Yan felt his eyelids getting heavy. He pinched his thigh hard while pressing the vibrator given by Ashes in his pocket. The slight electric shock made him jolt.

Zhou Zhe directly picked up a marinated egg, peeled it, and handed it to the abacus:

"Master Auditor, you've been checking for so long, why not take a break? Try the specialty from our cafeteria."

The spicy scent of the marinated egg mixed with the aroma of spices, like a small hammer hitting that comfortable atmosphere. The abacus had no olfactory sensors, but it detected the chemical composition in the air—the concentration of capsaicin was enough to make most carbon-based lifeforms cry.

"No need," it refused coldly.

"That's too bad," Zhou Zhe stuffed the marinated egg into his own mouth, gasping from the spice, tears streaming down. But the moment he shed tears, the miniature player in his ear rang again:

[Expense reimbursement rejected! Reason: Invoice header is blurry! Please resubmit!]

The sharp electronic sound tore through the silence again.

Auditor C's data screen suddenly glitched for a second—its audio receiving module was interfered with by this sudden "reimbursement warning."

The abacus's mechanical eye locked onto Zhou Zhe: "You are deliberately interfering with the audit process."

"I'm just having a snack," Zhou Zhe wiped his tears innocently. "Our civilization has a tradition of 'replenishing energy during work breaks.' Is this also non-compliant?"

"..." The abacus's gears whirred at high speed, seemingly calculating how to refute this. But just then—

Bang!

The conference room door was kicked open.

The Potato Chief rolled in, roots holding a sign full of writing, his tone (if a potato has a tone) filled with grief and indignation:

[Protest! During the audit, the potato photosynthetic power grid is forced to operate at overload!]

[We have been working for forty consecutive hours! We haven't even had a chance to soak in the five-star hot spring!]

[According to Article 3 of the 'Potato Labor Rights Temporary Law', we demand an immediate work stoppage! Otherwise... we will collectively steam ourselves!]

A group of wilted potatoes followed behind, leaves scorched yellow, roots tangled, looking truly miserable.

The auditors were stunned. They had audited countless civilizations, seen protests with technical documents, protests with legal clauses, but this was the first time they had seen someone take themselves hostage... no, take themselves as potato-hostages to protest.

Chu Yunshen stood up immediately, expression serious: "Master Auditor, as you can see, our self-produced energy system is facing a serious labor dispute. If the potatoes stop working now, the Cradle's energy self-sufficiency rate will immediately drop by 12%, which may trigger a chain system collapse. Does this count as 'man-made crisis during the audit'?"

The abacus's mechanical eye stared at those potatoes. Its logic core was calculating frantically: if the potatoes really steamed themselves, humans could completely claim "audit pressure caused ecosystem collapse" and then push the responsibility onto the audit team. But if they ignored it, these plants really looked like they were about to collapse...

"You may stop working temporarily," the abacus finally said, "but you must make up the working hours after the audit."

The Potato Chief held up a new sign:

[Making up hours is fine. But according to the 'Overtime Compensation Ordinance', triple nutrient solution must be paid, plus compensation for mental damages—we just suffered psychological trauma from 'possibly being ignored by the auditor'.]

Auditor D couldn't help but mutter: "...Plants also have psychological trauma?"

"According to precedent No. 5503 of the Galactic Supreme Court, plant-based lifeforms with collective consciousness enjoy basic psychological rights," composite consciousness entity β-2's projection appeared at the right time, holding a virtual code, "Do you need me to pull up the full text of the precedent?"

Auditor D shut up.

The potatoes rolled away triumphantly, and before leaving, they swiped two marinated eggs from the plate—saying they were "trauma healing food."

The meeting continued, but the atmosphere had changed. The auditors were clearly becoming irritable, the speed of the data screens scrolling fluctuated, and the frequency of the abacus's mechanical fingers tapping the table became higher and higher.

They finally entered the most sensitive part: the rationality of energy usage.

"According to monitoring, over the past seventy-two hours, 37% of the Cradle's energy consumption has been on 'non-essential entertainment projects'," the abacus pulled up a list. "Including: cafeteria holographic projections, dynamic light shows in the potato rest area, emotional aggregate live streaming bandwidth... these all belong to 'luxury energy consumption', which should be restricted or cancelled according to regulations."

This was exactly the question Lin Shen was waiting for.

He stood up and pulled up a video—it was the live stream of the emotional aggregate in the Silent Graveyard:

The turret was playing a "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" light show, the despair moss was blooming potato flowers, and the patrol drones were performing mechanical dances. At the bottom of the screen was real-time data: during the live stream, the intensity of the "Eternal Whisper" effect in the graveyard dropped by 41%.

"This is not entertainment," Lin Shen said calmly. "This is ecological restoration and cultural heritage conservation. According to The Council's 'Cultural Heritage Protection Subsidy Measures', energy consumption used for such projects can enjoy a 50% energy consumption exemption."

He zoomed in on the data: "The energy consumed by the live stream, converted into standard units, is 3,000 megawatts per month. But because of it, a 'high-risk concept pollution zone' that originally required Executive Court troops to be stationed year-round has become a 'cultural protection zone' open to tourism, saving 150,000 megawatts of security energy consumption annually."

"Invest 3,000, save 150,000," Lin Shen looked at the abacus. "Does this count as 'luxury', or 'high-efficiency investment'?"

The auditors' data screens froze simultaneously. Their algorithms did not have variables like "using children's songs live streams to reduce security costs."

The abacus's gears made a sharp grinding sound. It knew Lin Shen was sophistry, but it was logically impeccable—because The Council did have cultural heritage subsidy clauses, and it had never clearly defined "what is culture."

"Then what about the light show in the potato rest area?" Auditor E struggled to ask, "That's entertainment, right?"

"That is a plant mental health facility," Chu Yunshen replied. "The potatoes are important contributors to the Cradle's energy system. According to the 'Worker Mental Health Protection Ordinance', employers have an obligation to provide a comfortable rest environment for employees. The light show can effectively alleviate the potatoes' 'photosynthetic fatigue syndrome' and improve subsequent work efficiency—the data is here."

She projected a graph: after the light show was turned on, the potatoes' photosynthetic efficiency increased by 8%.

Auditor E was silenced.

The abacus's mechanical eye scanned the room. It realized that this audit had turned into an absurd debate, and humans were using the rulebook they had written themselves to beat them back step by step.

But it still had one last card.

"Even if all energy consumption is reasonable—" the abacus's voice suddenly became soft, that "compliance comfort" atmosphere strengthened again, this time directly targeting the logic core, "your total energy consumption still exceeds the 'recommended upper limit' set by The Council for newborn civilizations. This is not a violation, it is... not environmentally friendly."

It pulled up a comparison chart: on the left was the Dragon Kingdom's energy consumption curve, and on the right were the curves of other civilizations of the same level. The Dragon Kingdom was high above.

"Cosmic resources are limited," the abacus's tone was like a patient teacher. "Good children should learn to save and leave a little for other civilizations. Don't you think?"

This move was vicious. It no longer attacked legality, but morality—using collective responsibility and guilt to apply pressure.

In the conference room, even Lin Shen felt a moment of wavering. Yes, are we too wasteful? Should we be more restrained?

But just then—

Stardust suddenly raised his hand: "Master Auditor, I have a question."

"Speak."

"You used the 'Standard Civilization Energy Consumption Model' for this comparison chart, right?" Stardust floated in front of the data screen. "But as far as I know, that model was formulated three thousand years ago, and the baseline data came from seven 'model civilizations' at the time—coincidentally, those seven civilizations are all members of The Council now."

He popped up an old file: "And according to the historical energy consumption records of the web weaver protocol, those seven civilizations had energy consumption 300% higher than the current Dragon Kingdom during their newborn period."

He zoomed in on a section of data: "For example, the 'Eternal Vault' civilization, in order to keep their gold coins shiny, used 80% of their energy on meaningless polishing equipment. Or the 'Tranquil Garden' civilization, to keep flowers from ever withering, used five times the energy of the Dragon Kingdom."

Stardust turned to the abacus, starlight eyes shining:

"So the problem is not 'we consume too much', but 'the old guys got used to squandering in their day, and now they turn around and ask the young to tighten their belts'."

"Is this reasonable?"

The conference room was dead silent.

The abacus's gears stopped completely for five seconds. It clearly hadn't expected Stardust to dig up this kind of ancient dirt.

The auditors' data screens collectively blue-screened—information overload, requiring a reboot.

Lin Shen took the opportunity to speak, his tone gentle but firm:

"We are willing to save energy, and we have been developing high-efficiency technology. But we oppose using double standards to restrict development. If The Council really cares about resources, it should first audit those extravagant ancient civilizations, rather than staring at a child who has just learned to walk."

He pushed the platter of marinated eggs:

"Or, we can change our thinking—everyone sits down together, eats a marinated egg, and chats properly about how to divide the cake fairly, instead of teaching the child to eat less."

The abacus was silent for a long time.

So long that everyone thought it had crashed.

Then, its mechanical eye suddenly switched to another mode—from the cold audit mode to a slightly weary communication mode.

"Marinated egg..." it said, "is it really that spicy?"

Zhou Zhe quickly handed one over: "Would you like to try?"

The abacus took it with its mechanical fingers, scanned the ingredients, and then—a small, sophisticated molecular recombiner extended from its body, breaking the marinated egg into basic particles, then recombining it into an identical replica but with zero spice, and sending it into its energy recovery port.

"The taste simulation module has been broken for over thirty thousand years," the abacus's voice had something resembling emotion for the first time. "But I remember... the feeling of spiciness."

It looked at Lin Shen:

"I will write the audit report truthfully. Energy consumption exceeding the standard is a fact, but the reasons being reasonable is also a fact. The final ruling power lies with The Council."

"However—"

It paused, its mechanical eye scanning those marinated eggs:

"I will add a note to the report: this civilization has a unique 'sensory awakening culture', which may help improve the... consciousness efficiency of resource utilization."

"This might offset some negative evaluations."

After speaking, it stood up. The auditors also followed suit, and the data screens closed one by one.

The abacus walked to the door, then suddenly turned back:

"That kind of marinated egg... can I have the recipe?"

"I have an old friend whose taste module is also broken. I want to fix it, and then invite it... to taste the flavor of spiciness."

Zhou Zhe was stunned for a moment, then nodded: "Of course. Along with Great Strength's exclusive secret recipe."

The abacus nodded slightly—the mechanical head made this movement a bit stiffly, but it was enough to express gratitude.

The audit team left.

In the conference room, everyone collapsed into their chairs.

"We... won?" Zhao Yan couldn't believe it.

"Didn't win, but didn't lose," Lin Shen rubbed his temples. "We gained buffer space. Next, it depends on The Council's vote."

Chu Yunshen had already started organizing the follow-up documents: "The Poet should help with lobbying. And the abacus's attitude at the end... might be a turning point."

Zhou Zhe looked at the remaining half of the marinated egg in his hand and suddenly laughed:

"So this battle of ours... was won by relying on marinated eggs and potato strikes?"

Stardust floated over, his starlight arm hugging him (virtually): "No, it was by relying on the 'party b's'—using the 'party a's' rules to force 'party a' to admit the rules are problematic."

Outside the window, the potatoes were already soaking in the temporarily built "five-star hot spring"—actually just a large pool with lots of nutrient solution and bubbles. The Potato Chief floated on his back, roots stretched out, and the scorched yellow on the leaves was slowly fading.

In its consciousness channel, a line of satisfied exclamation drifted by:

[Paid leave... has begun...]

And in the depths of the further starry sky, the voting meeting of the Eternal Council was about to begin.

The Wandering Poet had already prepared a speech.

The title was:

[On the Necessity of Spiciness for Civilizational Awakening—Resource Allocation Reform Starting from a Marinated Egg]