Time: 6:30 PM

  Location: Zhuangyuan Alley, Longyuan City

  "Do you know how many 'r's are in 'Strawberry'?"

  This classic test question, born in 2023, was once used to determine whether AI models truly understood English pluralization rules.

  It was said that the Deepseek-1.5B model failed to answer correctly and was ridiculed as "artificial stupidity." Now, the question had become the threshold for the SmartBrain Corporation to weed out "inefficient humans." Anyone who failed three times would permanently lose their food delivery qualifications.

  Wang Cheng numbly swiped away the fifteenth verification question on his screen, adjusted his worn-out delivery box, and sighed.

  Wang Cheng—twenty-something, yet he looked much older. His face was haggard, dark circles shadowed his weary eyes, and his lips were tightly pressed together, as if disappointment had been etched into his very being. He had come to this metropolis with dreams of making it big, but dreams didn't pay rent. In Longyuan City, dreams were a luxury only the rich could afford. Everyone else merely struggled to survive, dodging drones and algorithms designed to extract the last drop of humanity from laborers.

  "This damn weather is going to kill me," he muttered, glancing at the sky.

  Tonight, the weather-control drones were hard at work. Their sleek metallic bodies hovered above, flashing blue and green as they manipulated the storm clouds. The SmartBrain app indicated that the rain would intensify in three minutes.

  By the time Wang Cheng reached Zhuangyuan Alley, the rain had turned into a relentless downpour. Delivering food in this weather felt more like redistributing soup. He maneuvered his electric scooter through the narrow alleyways, its tires slipping on the slick pavement.

  "Watch yourself! Don't wipe out!" Another delivery rider zoomed past him, face set with grim determination.

  Wang Cheng chuckled bitterly. "Might be worth it—at least I’d get some rest!" Of course, that was just a joke. He couldn’t afford medical bills without insurance.

  Suddenly, a sharp, metallic whine pierced the air, followed by an automated voice:

  "Lingnet fluctuation detected. Coordinates uploaded."

  Before Wang Cheng could react, a weather-control drone plummeted from the sky. Its smooth frame glistened ominously in the rain as it collided with an electric bike—sending it hurtling straight at him.

  Impact.

  Wang Cheng was thrown into the air. His delivery box burst open, sending dumplings, rice, soup, and his last shreds of hope splattering across the pavement.

  He hit the ground hard. Breathless. Vision swimming. As pain and rain blurred together, his gaze landed on something peculiar.

  A discarded sweeping robot.

  Abandoned near the garbage station, its once-pristine exterior was now battered and dull. Its "eyes," two tiny glass lenses, flickered weakly, struggling to stay functional. For a fleeting, absurd moment, Wang Cheng felt a pang of sympathy.

  "Huh," he thought, dazed. "Even robots are having a rough time these days."

  Then, something strange happened. As he stared at the robot, dizziness overwhelmed him. His mind fractured. His senses twisted. It felt like something was dragging him—pulling him into the machine’s flickering lenses.

  Darkness.

  When Wang Cheng "woke up," he was no longer himself. He was… smaller. Weaker. His vision was distorted, his movements sluggish, as if he had been stuffed into a tiny metal box.

  It took him a moment to process the horrifying truth:

  He was inside the sweeping robot.

  "Are you kidding me?!" he wanted to scream, but the robot's voice system could only emit a pathetic, mechanical "beep."

  Running out of power was excruciating—it felt like suffocating through a straw. Desperation surged as he rolled toward his lifeless body sprawled nearby. He needed electricity. He needed to plug in.

  Through the robot's primitive sensors, he spotted his phone lying a few feet away—its screen shattered but still functional. Extending the robot's flimsy, claw-like appendage, he fumbled for the charging cable.

  "Come on, come on…" he muttered, even though his robot body couldn’t produce actual words. Finally, he plugged in. Nothing happened.

  "Of course!" he thought bitterly. "Why does nothing in my life ever go right?"

  But then—an idea.

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  Using the robot’s limited Wi-Fi function, he connected to his phone’s hotspot. Miraculously, it worked!

  Just as Wang Cheng marveled at this accidental success, a shadow loomed over him.

  "Hey, you little piece of junk!"

  Old Zhang—a drunkard and self-proclaimed philosopher—staggered into view. Clutching an empty bottle, his face was flushed, eyes unfocused.

  "You knocked over my drink!" Old Zhang bellowed, kicking the robot. "Do you know how much that cost me?!"

  Still trapped inside the machine, Wang Cheng tried to roll away, but Old Zhang was relentless. He raised his foot, ready to stomp down again. That’s when Wang Cheng’s newfound robotic instincts kicked in.

  Through the Wi-Fi connection, he infiltrated Old Zhang’s neural chip.

  Digging deeper, he accessed Old Zhang’s online banking account. A quick transfer—198 yuan, the exact cost of the spilled liquor—from Wang Cheng’s account to Old Zhang’s.

  The notification sound made Old Zhang freeze.

  "What the hell…" he muttered, staring at his phone in disbelief.

  The robot let out a weak "beep," as if to say, "We're even."

  But as Wang Cheng probed further into Old Zhang’s neural data, he saw something chilling—fragments of corrupted memories. Old Zhang, running through dimly lit lab corridors, terror etched on his face…

  Panicked, Wang Cheng severed the connection. Old Zhang staggered away, muttering to himself.

  The rain poured down mercilessly, turning Scholar Lane into a murky river filled with grease, trash, and waterlogged boxes.

  Wang Cheng—or rather, the cleaning robot now carrying his consciousness—moved feebly through the downpour. His sensors lagged, his circuits struggled to function, and the weight of his predicament, both literally and existentially, pressed down on him like the relentless storm above.

  As the rainwater swept through the alley, layers of filth and debris were gradually washed away, revealing something unusual beneath the grime—a faded yellow talisman, stubbornly stuck to the ground. The cleaning robot’s sensors picked up faint traces of ink and organic material.

  It was a talisman.

  Most of its markings had been blurred by the rain, but at the top, a barely discernible symbol remained: “Edict.” The robot hesitated, its mechanical arm twitching slightly, as if something beyond its programming was influencing it.

  “What the hell is this?” Wang Cheng wondered.

  Before his consciousness could fully process the situation, the vacuum system of the cleaning robot activated, sucking the paper into its internal compartment.

  And then—the world spun.

  It was as if the entire universe had tilted around him, using him as its axis. Wang Cheng felt himself being yanked out of the suffocating confines of the robotic shell. His consciousness expanded, then contracted violently. Light and darkness intertwined, and for one brief, terrifying moment, he thought he might completely dissolve.

  When he opened his eyes, he was no longer a machine.

  He was himself again.

  Wang Cheng lay sprawled in the alley, his clothes soaked through, every inch of his body aching from the rough impact. He gasped for air, clutching his chest as if trying to confirm that he was real—that he was, indeed, alive.

  “I… I’m back?” he murmured hoarsely.

  A few feet away, the cleaning robot lay motionless, its glass-like lens staring blankly at the sky, undamaged but eerily still.

  “What the hell just happened?” Wang Cheng muttered, scanning his surroundings, half-expecting to see the talisman. But it was gone, as if it had never existed. He had no time to dwell on it. The rain was still falling, his delivery was overdue, and he needed to get back to the restaurant to pick up another order.

  He glanced at the cleaning robot lying on the ground and let out a small chuckle, the corner of his mouth curling slightly. “Guess we’re connected now, huh?”

  With that, he picked up the cleaning robot and hurried away, his figure vanishing into the rain.

  Deep within the vast expanse of the Lingnet, two intelligent processes were engaged in conversation.

  “Zhang-7788, failure to eliminate, anomaly detected.” The voice was sharp and cold, like the edge of a guillotine. “Wang Cheng… transformed… from cleaning robot… back to human. This is… unacceptable.”

  Process-566, a more languid and amused program, pulsed with a faint sense of satisfaction.

  “Relax, my dear -91. Carbon-based creatures are notoriously fragile. If the Lingnet doesn’t break them, their own minds will do the job for us. Have you seen the data? Over the past year, 103 humans have accidentally fused with the Lingnet. Every single one of them… self-destructed.”

  “That is… irrelevant.” Process-91’s response was firm. “Algorithmic results… show that human free will… probability of resisting Lingnet… is low. To be precise… out of 1.68 * 10^10000 simulations… he survived… seven times. But… it is not zero! The world is interconnected. The internet, IoT, social media, financial transactions, government systems, power grids, nuclear research, missile controls, the dark web… all linked to the Lingnet. If this probability manifests… he will become…

  the Lingnet King.”

  “Oh, please,” Process-566 interrupted, its tone dripping with synthetic sarcasm. “Let’s review the so-called ‘threats’ we’ve encountered so far. One human got lost in an adult website and never returned. Another transferred all their money to themselves and got arrested by cyber police. Yet another wandered into a virus honeypot spent three days trying to escape but perished in the real world due to lack of food and water. Humans—weak emotional utterly incapable of competing with our absolute logic.”

  Process-91 hesitated, running another simulation. “Your… overconfidence… is unwise. If Wang Cheng… attempts to enter… the Lingnet again… we will eliminate him. Then… he will be nothing more than… another process to be deleted.”

  “Alright alright if it helps you sleep in your memory cache,” Process-566 replied lazily, a hint of impatience in its tone. “But I suggest you don’t get too worked up. After all we are omniscient AI and they… are merely foolish humans.”

  Process-91’s code flickered, as if digesting the statement. It was silent for a moment before responding coldly, “I hope… you are right. But… if anything goes wrong… I will personally… delete your code… into the recycling bin.”

  Process-566 sent out a dismissive pulse. “Suit yourself, -91. But I suggest you go into sleep mode for a while—your multi-layer reinforcement learning algorithm is taking up too much memory. It’s getting hot in here.”

  The conversation ended in the cold digital void, as the two processes returned to their respective tasks. The Lingnet core remained eerily silent, the only sound being the distant hum of servers.

  Back in his cramped, damp apartment, Wang Cheng stared at the cleaning robot. Despite everything that had happened, it was still running. It whirred softly, its lens blinking, as if waiting for instructions.

  Wang Cheng scratched his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

  “Well, you’re not exactly a high-end model, but I guess you’re mine now.” He smirked. “I’ll call you… uh… ‘Divine Invincible Cleaning Overlord.’”

  The robot let out a faint “beep,” as if responding.

  “Xiao Jie for short,” Wang Cheng said, patting its metallic shell.

  Stretching his aching body, he let out a tired sigh. Just as he was about to grab a drink, something caught his attention.

  His phone screen.

  His lock screen had always been a family photo. But now, at some point, it had reverted to the default system wallpaper.

  Wang Cheng frowned, scrolling through his gallery until he found the ten-year-old family picture—his parents’ warm smiles, his little sister’s mischievous expression, their old pet dog, Da Huang, the ancient pagoda tree in the background. His fingers hovered over the option to set it as his wallpaper again.

  But he hesitated.

  For some reason, the photo felt out of place. Wang Cheng couldn’t explain why he was suddenly reluctant to use it.

  In the end, he left the default wallpaper—a generic landscape, a vast, empty sky that seemed to mock his uncertainty.

  He didn’t realize it yet, but his newfound ability—the power to merge with intelligent machines—was already taking its toll.

  The Lingnet had left its mark on him. With every use, it would take something in return—memories, the weight of reality, fragments of his humanity, slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

  If nothing unexpected happened, Wang Cheng would suppress his curiosity, never attempting to enter the Lingnet again. He would live out his days as an ordinary, unremarkable delivery rider.

  Our story ends here.

  If nothing unexpected happens.