James Foster is forty-six years old this year. From the moment he was born, he was plunged into the chaotic war of humanity’s apocalypse. Both his parents died at the hands of the robot army. His companions, his lover, even his child—all were unable to escape the same fate. Since as far back as he could remember, this city of Xilan had been breached twice, and each time, countless humans fought back with their flesh and blood to reclaim it. There were also guerrilla squads roaming outside, constantly sabotaging the signal control towers, and only because of this did humanity have a place of refuge in this city.

James Foster, forty-six and in his prime, is a soldier—an exceptionally skilled one. In an encounter three months ago, his squad was almost completely wiped out; only he and his lieutenant survived, everyone else perished. With no other choice, he returned to Xilan to recruit new soldiers. Besides recruitment, training was also necessary. After more than two months of continuous training, today they returned only to resupply, and then they would head back to the front lines. He and his team would stay at most two days.

After parting with his team, James Foster returned to his own home—a lonely little room on the second basement level, with a toilet but no shower, no kitchen. Aside from a single room, a metal bed, and a mirror, there was nothing else.

No, there was something else: a few photographs. In one, a five- or six-year-old boy is beaming with a bright smile; in another, a gentle woman is smiling softly.

His wife and child died at the hands of the robot army ten years ago, when Xilan was breached. Since then, his heart had died as well. All that remained was his thirst for revenge against the robots, and the last sliver of hope for humanity’s revival.

After entering the room, James Foster set down his gear. Then he walked to the wall and silently caressed the photos of his wife and child. There was tenderness and pain in his eyes. After a long while, he looked at a document in his hand—this was the objective his unit would pursue next.

As James Foster looked at the document, a memory from long, long ago suddenly surfaced in his mind. He was still a child then, and his father had returned from the battlefield, bringing him a battered handheld computer. Some of its hardware was already damaged; though it could still power on, it could do nothing but play Minesweeper. Yet, even so, James Foster treasured it dearly as a child, keeping it safe until his own son was born, and then passing it on to him. He could still clearly remember his son’s smile at that moment.

When he was a child, his father had given him the device and told him about humanity’s former prosperity—the towering skyscrapers, the delicacies from mountains and seas, the countless cultural sights and the atmosphere of civilization.

“…Back then, we humans could walk proudly down the main roads, could quietly savor every minute that belonged to us, could leave the city without worrying about being hunted by robots. Back then… this was our world, the world of humanity.”

James Foster had told these words to his own child as well. He had hoped his child would one day pass them on to his own child, and so on, generation after generation, until one day his descendants would answer their fathers, “But isn’t it always like this? What’s so strange about that…”

James Foster touched the handheld computer with his hand. There seemed to be tears in his eyes, or perhaps nothing at all. For a moment, he was lost in thought. Suddenly, the computer in his hand powered on, and a three-dimensional image appeared above it—the control interface of the handheld computer.

James Foster looked at the device in confusion, thinking he must have accidentally pressed the power button. He was about to turn it off when a window suddenly popped up on the screen, displaying some text.

“Do you want to understand the meaning of life? Do you truly want to… live?”

“YES, NO?”

James Foster’s gaze instantly sharpened. His first thought was a cyber intrusion—super artificial intelligence had hacked in. But the next moment, he relaxed. That was impossible. The entire city of Xilan was built of metal not only to defend against robot attacks, but more importantly, to block all electronic signals. No electronic information could be transmitted here; even humans relied on the most basic face-to-face communication. Besides, he had already confirmed that the handheld computer’s hardware was damaged, with no internet capability—the necessary hardware had been removed. How could it possibly connect to the internet?

“Was it software designed by my son? But the computer is already broken; it shouldn’t be able to do anything but play Minesweeper, right?” James Foster looked carefully at the handheld computer and the words on its screen. After a while, he decided to take it to the repair department to ask about it—one could never be too careful.

Just as he was about to turn off the computer, an image of his son flashed through his mind—back then, his son had been so excited holding the handheld computer…

Unconsciously, James Foster pressed his finger on the YES option, as if this could let him say one more sentence to his son—just one sentence would be enough…

A scholar, ah, a scholar is useless in all things…