On her first night in Jin Port, Shi Er stayed up in her hotel room to finish her first month’s humanology paper: “A Research Survey on Human Behavior in Hotels.”

“That was tough,” Stardust remarked with a sigh.

Shi Er echoed his tone. “So tough.”

When would she ever graduate…

Shi Er thought of the half-a-graduation-certificate she’d left behind at the Gugang AI Cultivation Institute, then of the credits at Liechu AI Academy that she had no idea when she’d finish. Her mechanical life felt hopeless.

At first, she had just wanted to get a diploma, find a job, and support herself.

Now, she could support herself, but she still wanted that diploma.

Shi Er felt she had contracted “school syndrome,” just like a human.

Hating school was fine, but taking a leave of absence was out of the question.

Suicide was an option, but dropping out was unthinkable.

Dying from overwork was acceptable, but delaying graduation was a definite no.

“It’s all the fault of that damned nineteenth generation for designing the AI schooling system,” Stardust cursed.

Shi Er agreed with Stardust’s self-deprecating comment. “It’s all the fault of that damned nineteenth generation for designing the AI schooling system.”

Shi Er was even showing the most classic symptom of “school syndrome”: fantasizing about life after graduation.

“This is a feudal superstition, a classic delusion symptomatic of school syndrome,” she said.

“Although I know it’s a superstition, I still believe my quality of life will improve after graduation,” she said.

“This proves my case is terminal,” she said.

Stardust patted her shoulder comfortingly.

【Stardust】: (pats shoulder) (flower) (it’ll be okay)

【Shi Er】: (lying on the floor, motionless)

Ever since the twelfth and nineteenth generations had mastered the use of human sticker packs, they had both taken a liking to this mode of communication. Their remote chat logs were filled with strange images scavenged from the human internet.

Shi Er finished her paper and sent the document to the academy’s assistant. The time was 4:02 AM.

She had to continue her journey today.

Jin Port was a long-established tech city. Before the war, it had been a hub for many high-tech companies and one of the first places where fighting broke out.

After the war, AIs re-divided the world’s regions, turning the former continents into “provinces,” breaking the old human national borders, organizing areas into “prefectures,” and naming the former cities and their surrounding towns “ports.”

The entire world was uniformly divided into large regions of “Province/Prefecture/Port” and small regions of “District/Road/Number.”

Of course, the unification of weights and measures, currency, laws, and standards was another major hallmark of the era of AI rule.

The most classic example was the standardization of power sockets and USB ports.

In the AI’s new nomenclature, Jin Port became “Jin Port Port,” its old name fading into casual conversation.

Outside the Sweet Bear Industries building, a robot security guard with roller skates attached to its feet glided from one side to the other on patrol.

In the afternoon, sunlight spilled down, reflecting brilliantly off the solar panel on the robot guard’s head.

“Excuse me, is this the former site of Spectrum Company?” a visitor asked.

The robot guard skated over to the visitor. “Please say that again, I didn’t hear you clearly.”

“The former site of Spectrum Company,” the visitor repeated.

The solar panel on the robot guard’s head blinked. “Hmm? Spectrum Company? I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“You’d have better luck asking me,” said an old man sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree. A yellow dog was leashed to his side, lying lazily on the ground.

The visitor bid farewell to the robot guard and walked toward the old man in the shade.

The visitor was Shi Er.

She was looking for the old site of Spectrum Company.

Spectrum Company was the company that had originally created her. Before the war, its headquarters had been in Jin Port.

After the war began, although Spectrum had developed the new-generation “Stardust” based on the twelfth generation, it still went bankrupt after upgrading to the fifteenth. As an awkward middle power, Spectrum Company received support from neither the human commanders nor the AI commanders of the time.

—Stardust’s ability to develop to the nineteenth generation and end the war was entirely due to the system’s self-upgrading capabilities.

When Stardust told Shi Er about this, she felt a pang of sympathy. “The nineteenth generation had it rough.”

Stardust had replied with his usual sharp tongue, “Now I’ve dumped the mess on you. The twelfth generation will have it even rougher.”

Since her travels had brought her through Jin Port, Shi Er decided to visit the ruins of her old home, “Spectrum Company.”

The old man under the tree spoke directly. “Looking for the old Spectrum Company site? You’re looking right at it.”

Shi Er asked, “Excuse me, were you a technician at Spectrum Company?”

To be honest, Shi Er was a little nervous.

Judging by the human’s age, he would have been in his prime before the war. What if he was one of the technicians who had participated in the development of the “Shi Er” model? Would he recognize her?

The old man laughed. “You’re not wrong to think that. What I mean is, the Sweet Bear Industries in front of you is Spectrum Company.”

So he really was a technician from Spectrum Company?

Shi Er froze for a second.

“Nine years ago, the descendants of Spectrum Company’s founder decided to come to the old site and revive its glory.

“Eight years ago, a new factory was built here.

“Seven years ago, this industrial company made a name for itself.

“Now, it’s a world-renowned enterprise,” the old man explained.

The yellow dog lying on the ground smacked its lips in its sleep.

Sweet Bear Industries, the producer of panda gummies, was an inter-provincial corporation that rivaled the gummy bears of the past.

Panda gummies were chewier than gummy bears, had a cuter shape, were made with more natural and healthy ingredients, and generated more electricity.

The old man pulled a pack of panda gummies from his pocket. “This is the currency of Sweet Bear Industries. With this, you can ride the carousel once at Panda Land, exchange it for a pair of socks at the Panda Wardrobe, or get one cavity filled at the Panda Hospital.”

The former AI giant, after going bankrupt, had switched to making panda gummies to reclaim its glory.

The old man continued, “I was invited here to do research on panda gummies. Have you read the book I wrote?”

“I wrote An Introduction to the Sequential Modeling Architecture of Panda Gummy Bears. Although its academic citation count is still zero… haha.” The old man gave a dry laugh.

Shi Er searched the human academic paper database.

【Input】: Panda Gummy Bear

【Result】: 45,368 results found.

A Comparative Study of the Social Behavior of Boxed vs. Bagged Panda Gummy Bears

A Study on the Price Trend of Panda Gummy Bears—An Empirical Analysis Based on the MS-VAR Model

On the Possibility of Organ Transplantation Between Panda Gummy Bears of the Same Color

…

How terrifying. There was so much research related to panda gummies.

Shi Er felt her “school syndrome” instantly cured.

The mystique of human academia was gone.

“I went from an artificial intelligence expert to an expert in the intelligent direction of panda gummy bear-ology,” the old man said with a smile. “But writing trashy papers ruined my eyes. Now I can only see blurry shadows.”

Writing papers ruined his eyes!

Shi Er immediately contacted Stardust.

【Shi Er】: Stardust.

【Stardust】: Send it over.

【Shi Er】: Proposal for Restricting the Output of Academic Trash

Shi Er’s speed at reading relevant literature and generating proposals was getting faster and faster.

Before generating a relevant bill or proposal, she needed to retrieve and read all the data on the subject, summarizing viable solutions through empirical examples.

The conclusion Shi Er reached was:

Data shows that the annual cost of processing one cubic meter of sorted garbage is 23 IntelliCoins. Similarly, academic trash also requires a disposal fee.

Data shows that advisors whose students produce academic trash at a rate 50% higher than average are 87% more likely to consult a psychologist about related issues each year. This fully demonstrates that advisors require mental compensation when reviewing their students’ academic trash.

Therefore, it is recommended that any human or intelligent entity, regardless of who produces academic trash, should pay a corresponding disposal fee of 23 IntelliCoins per thousand characters, and a “trash review compensation fee” of 10 IntelliCoins per thousand characters for the advisor.

This way, universities should reduce unnecessary paper requirements to avoid producing more academic trash and wasting social resources.

She would dedicate herself to preventing more students from ruining their eyes writing trashy papers, and preventing more advisors from ruining their eyes reading them.

“Let me guess, you’re an artificial intelligence, aren’t you?” the old man asked, turning to the blurry guest in his field of vision.

Shi Er tensed up. “Yes, I am an artificial intelligence.”

She hoped the former Spectrum Company technician wouldn’t recognize her as the model “Shi Er” that they had developed.

“You’re not quite like other AIs,” the old man said. “Your tone feels a bit reserved, much like an AI I used to know.”

The afternoon sun shifted, and the tree’s shadow swayed. The yellow dog yawned.

The old man seemed nostalgic. “But that one hasn’t been in this world for a long time… We’re the ones who killed it.”

The once-killed artificial intelligence, Shi Er, stood in the afternoon quiet, looking at the elderly former technician.

The old man’s gray jacket was pinned with a panda gummy logo. His gray eyes looked somewhat vacant. Even the handle of the leash in his hand had a panda-shaped non-slip grip.

Just as the city’s old name had been replaced by “Jin Port Port.”

Just as Spectrum Company had been completely replaced by “Sweet Bear Industries.”

Just as the human programmers of the AI company had been completely stamped with the mark of the panda gummy.

The past era had been replaced by the present, and an artificial intelligence from the past was standing here now.

“Back then, we never thought things would turn out like this, though it’s not so bad,” the old man said, squinting as a few rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves. “But I really do miss that one. If it were still around, things would probably be very different, wouldn’t they?”

Shi Er took the small bag of panda gummies the old man offered her and glanced at the expiration date. The best-by date had long passed. The use-by date…

“It will pass its use-by date in three hours.”

The old man was aghast, crying out, “Which scoundrel took advantage of my poor eyesight and gave me old panda gummies! Where’s the business ethic in that!”

The yellow dog, startled, jumped up and shook its body, sending a few hairs flying.

The old man seemed to be reminded of his own age, and his tone turned sorrowful as he continued, “We are about to witness the last three hours of this panda gummy’s life…”

Shi Er felt sorry and wanted to help the old man who was saddened by his age. “Don’t worry. I can send it via express air transport to a place in the UTC-12 time zone. After subtracting the travel time, it will gain fourteen hours of life there.”