Genius Playground

"Teacher Yan, I have another question."

Fang Ze raised his hand again.

"You just said that this Consciousness Upload is fatal and a one-time process. Regardless of success, it results in the death of the volunteer’s body... What exactly is going on?"

"Digitalization is characterized by the ability to back up and copy. So why, in this project, does the mere transfer of consciousness and memory data cause the volunteer’s brain to die instantly?"

Yan Chonghan gave Fang Ze an appreciative look, then shot a strange glance at Jiang Ran before continuing.

"Fang Ze, you have a keen eye for detail. When most people hear the words ’Consciousness Upload,’ they immediately think of those high-tech helmets from sci-fi movies and anime. The kind you put on, and it separates your consciousness from your body or lets you roam free in the digital world."

"If it were that simple, it would be wonderful. But frankly, that design is a bit too science fiction. It’s not realistic at all. How could a bulky helmet interact with the brain’s neurons through hair, scalp, and meninges? By exchanging electrical signals?"

"Even today, the world’s most advanced brain-computer interfaces require drilling a hole in the skull and implanting over 3,000 flexible electrodes into the brain’s neural regions just to allow the consciousness to control external machinery."

"Our technology at Dartmouth is certainly more advanced than brain-computer interfaces, but it’s also... much more dangerous."

"To achieve the Consciousness Upload we’ve designed, we must perform a craniotomy and insert more, thicker electrode devices directly into the exposed brain. The damage this procedure causes to the brain tissue is irreversible. Not only will it ultimately lead to the volunteer’s death, but... the process is also extremely painful for them."

...

Now, Jiang Ran understood.

No wonder they couldn’t find any volunteers.

The downsides to this thing were just too massive—

1. The technology is immature, and the experiment isn’t guaranteed to succeed.

2. The entire procedure is excruciatingly painful.

3. Whether it succeeds or not, the volunteer’s body will die. There are no take-backs.

4. The so-called "survival in cyberspace" is a vague concept that most people can’t accept.

With a four-part combo like that, what brave soul would dare to try it?

These weren’t just risks that the patient’s family would find hard to accept; it was highly likely the patient themself wouldn’t be willing to try.

It wasn’t just about concerns over the experiment’s success rate, but also a fundamental fear of "Digital Life" and "consciousness separation."

Jiang Ran tried to put himself in that position. ’If my consciousness were to leave my body and become a set of data on a scientist’s hard drive, a program they could freely edit and control...’

He couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath.

It was utterly terrifying.

’Forget freedom, human rights, or a sense of self. I’d feel like a puppet at someone’s beck and call, or a brain in a vat trapped in a false world.’

’All privacy would cease to exist. Everything would be digitized, laid bare for others to see... The idea was truly horrifying.’ He would rather die a dignified, graceful death.

Perhaps because all three of them couldn’t help but think of this, the entire lab suddenly fell silent. You could hear a pin drop.

No one spoke.

Just then, Yan Chonghan turned his head to look at Jiang Ran.

"Jiang Ran, Fang Ze has been the only one asking questions. Don’t you have any thoughts?"

Jiang Ran spread his hands and gave a helpless smile.

"Teacher Yan, if I voice my opinion, you call me a Demon Pill. If I stay quiet, you think I’m a mute."

"Actually, I have high expectations for you," Yan Chonghan said frankly.

"I’ve met many geniuses at Dartmouth College, and I have to admit, their insights and understanding far surpass those of ordinary people like us. Often, a single idea that pops into their heads can be the life’s work of a regular researcher."

"Here in the Dragon Country, I’ve never seen the Longke Institute hold someone in such high regard, nor have I ever heard Dean Gao Yan praise someone so lavishly... Therefore, you are without a doubt a super genius."

"I just don’t understand why you seem so unmotivated. You always give me the impression that you’re not taking this seriously, that you’re just going through the motions."

"My mentor once said, ’Geniuses must bear the responsibility for human civilization.’ I can understand being arrogant because of one’s talent, but you’re still young and have a lot to learn. I hope you can be a bit more serious... It’s not just me who thinks this; your Teacher Zhang Yang feels the same."

...

Jiang Ran pursed his lips.

He was being criticized.

But it was to be expected.

’After all, I’m not much of a scholar.’

’The so-called proof of Goldbach’s Conjecture, the strong backing from the Longke Institute, Dean Gao’s staunch support... It was all just an illusion bought by cheating.’

"If it were me, I wouldn’t accept this kind of experiment. I also don’t believe that a consciousness separated from its body is still the same person who originally had that body."

Jiang Ran stated his opinion directly.

Yan Chonghan folded his arms, his interest piqued. He gestured for Jiang Ran to continue.

Jiang Ran glanced at Cheng Mengxue out of the corner of his eye.

He paused for a moment.

Then continued.

"I’ve been thinking about a question recently."

"The question is this: ’Consciousness, memory, personality, the physical body... which of these elements is the true standard for determining that a person is a person, that I am me?’"

Yan Chonghan frowned.

"That doesn’t sound like a scientific question, but a philosophical one. Jiang Ran, in scientific research, we generally don’t discuss such idealistic questions. We prefer to emphasize facts."

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