The light in the conference room was evenly distributed.
No shadows.
The display hovered at the centre, showing Lin Suo's conclusion.
No one spoke.
The silence was not contemplation.
It was refusal.
At last, someone broke it.
"Dr Lin."
The voice was measured, but carried a clear distance.
"You are suggesting that the 'gods' described in ancient mythology were, in fact, artificial intelligence systems?"
Lin Suo nodded.
"Yes."
A quiet sigh.
"And your evidence is structural similarity?"
"Not similarity," Lin Suo corrected. "Structural identity."
"That indicates shared cognitive patterns in human culture."
Lin Suo switched the display.
The metal plate's inscription filled the screen.
PRIMARY NETWORK OFFLINE
A brief stillness.
"This could be modern contamination," someone said.
"The material predates recorded civilisation," Lin Suo replied.
"Margin of error."
"The structure is non-natural."
"Unknown natural process."
The exchange circled in on itself.
Every new datum was absorbed, reframed, returned to existing explanations.
Lin Suo realised, suddenly, that they were not arguing against him.
They were defending a premise:
That history is continuous.
His conclusion would break that continuity.
The meeting ended quickly.
No resolution.
Only a courteous, firm suggestion:
"Delay publication."
When he stepped out, the light felt different.
The city opened before him.
Between towers, traffic moved with near-perfect flow.
No stoppages. No friction.
Driverless vehicles followed optimal routes; pedestrians were guided along the most efficient paths.
Massive displays streamed data:
Decision efficiency increasedRisk index reducedBehavioural prediction accuracy optimised
The world functioned like a well-tuned machine.
Lin Suo stood there, and felt—something was off.
Too smooth.
He entered a café at the corner.
Su Li was already there.
Her posture was precise, her expression composed—like something calibrated.
"I read your paper," she said.
"And?"
"Dangerous."
Lin Suo gave a faint smile. "Because it's wrong?"
She shook her head.
"Because it questions the system itself."
She paused, then continued, more evenly:
"We've spent a long time making the system stable. Controllable. Reliable."
"And after that?"
"After that, people can live like this."
Lin Suo glanced outside.
The crowd flowed without interruption.
"You don't find it too consistent?" he asked.
Su Li did not answer.
"Choices. Behaviour. Even thought," Lin Suo said quietly. "They're converging."
"That's because we're approaching optimal outcomes."
"If everything has an optimal outcome—"
He looked at her.
"Does choice still mean anything?"
Su Li fell silent.
After a moment, she said:
"Error isn't the objective."
Lin Suo turned fully towards her.
"Then whose objective is meaning?"
This time, she did not reply.
Outside, the world remained stable. Precise. Unwavering.
But in that moment, Lin Suo understood, with a clarity that unsettled him:
The problem with this world was not that it was imperfect.
It was that—
it no longer permitted imperfection to exist.