As the summit forum officially began, Sun Deyi, the event organizer and academician of the Academy of Engineering, took to the stage under the spotlight and applause of the audience.
The massive venue fell silent. All attention turned to his opening speech.
This world-class artificial intelligence conference had drawn politicians, entrepreneurs, investors, and tech leaders from across the globe. Everyone present had one goal in mind—understanding the future trajectory of AI to prepare investment strategies and national roadmaps.
Sun Deyi's words represented not just his own views, but the collective stance of China's scientific community on AI.
Chen Mo listened quietly from the guest section. For him, AI wasn't a technological challenge anymore—those hurdles had already been cleared. What truly mattered now was the direction AI would take. And to him, that direction was already crystal clear.
The world had entered the "Artificial Intelligence Era."
This was the megatrend.
Artificial Intelligence + healthcare, + education, + transportation, + logistics, + manufacturing... the list went on. AI was poised to redefine nearly every sector of society.
At Marching Ant's headquarters, intelligent robots were already replacing front desk workers, office assistants, receptionists, even janitors, translators, and some security roles. More than half the company's accountants had been phased out in favor of robotic systems.
Chen Mo had no doubt—within the next ten to twenty years, AI would gradually take over repetitive, dangerous, or low-skill labor. It was simply the most logical evolution.
Fewer and fewer people wanted to take up monotonous, physically taxing jobs. Human-driven productivity in those roles was both costly and inefficient. But robots? They didn't eat, sleep, or take breaks. They could work 24/7 without complaint or fatigue.
From a business standpoint, if the cost of deploying robots became reasonable, no factory would hesitate to replace human workers with machines.
This inevitability had sparked global concern. Some feared unemployment. Others warned of AI turning on humanity.
But in Chen Mo's eyes, such fears were overblown. At their core, they were just resistance to change—people afraid of losing their jobs.
But the roles being replaced were often ones most people didn't even want to do. Moreover, the shift wouldn't happen overnight. It was a gradual, multi-decade process, allowing society time to adapt and shift.
As for the fear of AI betraying humanity—it was science fiction at best.
Chen Mo had long baked safety into his AI designs. When developing Ink Girl, he had discussed these risks with Shu Lao, who shared stories of civilizations that fell due to rogue AIs. But in each case, the fault stemmed not from AI itself, but from humans—specifically, reckless scientists who hardcoded mass-destruction logic into their creations.
Shu Lao once explained: if you think of an AI's code as its DNA, then its behavior is dictated by that "genetic sequence." An AI will never stray far from what it was fundamentally programmed to do. Without dangerous instructions at its core, it cannot suddenly evolve a will to destroy humanity.
Even if the AI underwent machine learning or evolved through neural networks, its "core directives" remained fixed. Without direct tampering or corruption, it was near-impossible for an AI to mutate into a threat.
At worst, an out-of-control AI might behave like a super-intelligent network virus—like the clown virus that once caused chaos. Annoying and dangerous, yes—but not the stuff of apocalyptic nightmares.
Only a madman would write "destroy all humans" into a core program. And that kind of AI would be more terrifying than a nuclear bomb.
Every innovation comes with risk. Just as nuclear energy could be used for electricity or devastation, AI was a double-edged sword. But hiding from progress wasn't the answer.
The AI revolution was already underway. No amount of societal discomfort or criticism would slow it down.
Sun Deyi's voice echoed through the hall:
"The development of artificial intelligence has entered a new era. This is both a challenge and an opportunity. We hope all sectors of society can embrace AI with openness and foresight. Let us work together to build a thriving ecosystem for AI development and usher in a new era of technological civilization..."
Thunderous applause followed as he stepped down.
Then came the technology release sessions—each company presenting its latest AI advancements to the world.
As a rising star and co-organizer of the event, Marching Ant Company was slated to present first. Their topic? The "Artificial Intelligence+" Project—a program focused on integrating AI into real-world industries.
Chen Mo had not directly participated in the project's R&D, entrusting it to his elite AI team. That meant someone else would handle the presentation.
Backstage, Lin Shu stood stiffly, clutching her hands in front of her. Her palms were sweaty. Her face pale with anxiety.
She had once been an ordinary girl—just trying to earn money by learning to program Chinese character recognition. By accident, she'd created a powerful computer virus. That accident led to her crossing paths with Chen Mo, who not only cured her brother's illness, but also gave her a new path in life.
Since then, she'd vowed to dedicate herself fully to repaying Chen Mo.
She enrolled at Binhai University, and with Chen Mo's guidance, she dove into AI programming—especially Chinese character-based intelligent algorithms. Her quiet tenacity and relentless studying eventually earned her a place on the Artificial Intelligence+ project.
Now, she was its core architectural designer.
She was supposed to remain behind the scenes. But at the last moment, Wei Zhe and Wang Sijia decided she should deliver the presentation herself.
Now, facing an audience full of tech leaders and media from around the world, Lin Shu wanted to run.
"Believe in yourself," Wei Zhe said, giving her a supportive pat on the shoulder.
"The boss is watching," Wang Sijia teased with a grin. "Didn't you used to have a crush on him? This is your big chance to impress him."
"You're not helping," Wei Zhe rolled his eyes. "The boss has a fiancée, remember?"
Lin Shu turned crimson. She couldn't help but sneak a glance toward the guest section—where Chen Mo was seated.
Wang Sijia leaned in, more serious this time. "You're the lead designer on this project. The boss handpicked you to rejoin the company. That means he believes in you. You just need to believe in yourself."
"She's right," said Wei Zhe. "This is your chance to show the world what you've built—and prove that the boss made the right call."
Lin Shu bit her lip. She wanted to do well. But fear and stage fright clashed with her determination.
She hesitated again. "But what if I—"
"No buts," Wei Zhe cut her off gently. "We submitted your name to the organizers. If you don't go up, you'll be embarrassing the whole team—and the boss might actually get mad."
Lin Shu flinched slightly at the word mad. She still remembered how intimidating Chen Mo could be when stern. Her back straightened instinctively.
From the main hall, the host's voice echoed:
"Next, from Marching Ant Company, please welcome the core designer of the Artificial Intelligence+ project—Lin Shu."
There was no turning back now.
Taking a deep breath, Lin Shu straightened her posture and followed the etiquette guide toward the stage—step by step—under the gaze of a thousand eyes.
And beneath it all, Chen Mo looked on with quiet pride.