Geneva, the international conference center famed for its transparency and inclusivity—a structure of glass and steel—now resembled an invisible gladiatorial arena. The air, circulated by the constant-temperature central air conditioning, still hung thick with a pressure born of countless gazes of scrutiny, suspicion, even hostility converging into one. On the oval‑shaped hearing bench, representatives from multiple countries and international organizations sat upright; their faces, illuminated by the lights, appeared stern and rigid, like judges in a courtroom. Batteries of cameras—long lenses and short—aimed from every angle at the solitary seat in the center of the venue, where Mozi sat.
This was already the seventh consecutive day of the marathon hearing. The topic had consistently revolved around "the systemic risk posed by the String Light Research Institute and its affiliated entities to the global technology ecosystem, financial stability, and even national security." Over the past few days, Mozi's legal team and technical experts, relying on vast amounts of data, rigorous logic, and sophisticated models, had refuted those allegations one by one: they demonstrated the objective contributions of "String Light" technology in enhancing global computing power, promoting basic scientific research, and reducing chip‑manufacturing costs; they used transparent audit reports to prove the compliance of Mozi's fund operations—their staggering returns stemmed from algorithms ahead of their time, not market manipulation; they even invited independent third‑party organizations to argue that the decision‑making process of the "Oracle" AI system was, within set boundaries, controllable and aligned with human interests.
Yet all the rational defense seemed to crash against an invisible wall. The other side cared little for technical details or the veracity of data; their attacks focused on "motivation theory" and "fear narratives"—"Who can guarantee that 'String Light' won't abuse its technological advantage?"; "A private entity wielding such powerful AI and capital is itself a threat to the democratic order!"; "What is their ultimate aim? To build a world ruled by a techno‑theocracy?"… The questions grew ever sharper, ever further removed from the facts themselves, saturated with ideological imagination and carefully orchestrated misdirection.
Mozi sat there, his posture still erect, his expensive bespoke suit impeccable, but the bloodshot threads in the depths of his eyes—left by days of fierce battle—and the fatigue barely concealed between his brows betrayed his true condition. He listened as the opposing representative—a senior diplomat from a certain major power renowned for his eloquence and firmness—was delivering his closing statement. The voice, transmitted through the simultaneous‑interpretation earpiece, entered his mind with clarity:
"…Ladies and gentlemen, we must clearly recognize that we are facing not merely an enterprise or a genius individual. We are facing an unprecedented force, a force that is not bound by traditional international rules or democratic procedures! Mr. Mozi and his 'String Light' empire, with their incomprehensible technology and capital, are reshaping the operating rules of our world. They claim to act for humanity's future, but who gets to define this 'future'? Who has granted them such power? The market? Technology? No! This is in essence a new, more covert form of hegemonism!"
"Look at what they have done! They have monopolized the most advanced lithography technology, making the global semiconductor industry dependent on their whims; their AI models have permeated the global financial system, their decision‑making logic not fully understood even by our top experts; the so‑called 'Humanity Future Fund' they established has a capital scale comparable to the GDP of many countries, and its investment direction is enough to influence the trajectory of global technology and industry! Isn't this de facto power that transcends national sovereignty?"
"We do not deny innovation, nor do we seek to stifle technological progress. But we insist that any force, especially one so powerful, must be placed under effective oversight and checks, and must be accountable to the global community! Otherwise, how can we safeguard the developmental rights of other nations and peoples? How can we prevent technology from becoming a tool for the few to enslave the many? How can we ensure that the diversity of human civilization and democratic values are not swallowed by a single 'future' defined by a technological elite?"
"Therefore, we strongly urge the immediate establishment of an international body, jointly participated in by all member states, endowed with broad investigative and regulatory authority, to conduct comprehensive, in‑depth scrutiny and oversight of the 'String Light' system, formulating legally binding international rules regarding its governance structure, technology exports, data usage, and AI ethics! Until then, we recommend implementing necessary, preventive restrictions on the relevant technology and capital flows…"
The words were like icy daggers, wrapped in the gleaming vocabulary of 'freedom,' 'democracy,' 'security,' and 'diversity,' yet they aimed straight at the core of String Light's legitimacy. A murmur rippled through the chamber; many representatives nodded slightly, clearly swayed by this rhetoric. The camera lenses clung tightly to every subtle change on Mozi's face, anticipating his anger, or a slip‑up.
Mozi's legal advisers in the spectator seats anxiously took notes, preparing for the next round of rebuttal. They could continue citing legal statutes, continue presenting data, continue emphasizing the concrete contributions of 'String Light' in addressing climate change, supporting basic scientific research, and providing solutions for global public‑health crises.
But Mozi, at this moment, felt an unprecedented weariness and… detachment within.
In his mind, unbidden, rose the scene he had witnessed days earlier in Oracle's underground 'Sanctuary'—that cold civilization‑evolution model, the human‑civilization light‑point that on cosmic and temporal scales was as minuscule as dust, yet within flickered with the dangerous red glow of 'internal dissipation.' The intense debate before him, seemingly about justice, principles, and future order, appeared, from that grand perspective, how laughable, how pitiful. Here they were, racking their brains and crossing verbal swords over the distribution of power, the right to set rules, the superiority of ideologies… yet they seemed to have entirely forgotten that civilization itself might be standing at the edge of a dangerous 'Filter,' and the greatest threat comes precisely from this endless internal dissipation.
He recalled Yue'er's pure gaze immersed in the mathematical cosmos, remembered Xiuxiu's focused and fervent face as she confronted those precision instruments in the laboratory. What were they exploring truth and creating technology for? Was it merely to engage in an endless, fruitless entanglement with these people, blinded by short‑term interests and narrow perspectives, within this exquisite gladiatorial arena?
A powerful impulse surged within him. He no longer wanted to defend. No longer wanted to explain. No longer wanted to be trapped in the narrative framework set by the other side—a framework that could never truly solve the problem.
When the chairman rapped the gavel, signaling that it was Mozi's turn for the final statement, the entire chamber instantly fell silent. All eyes, all camera lenses, focused on him. His legal team watched him nervously, expecting him to deliver the meticulously prepared, logically rigorous final defense they had ready.
Mozi slowly rose to his feet. He did not look at the script before him, nor even at those aggressive representatives. His gaze swept calmly across the chamber, as if piercing through these ornate walls to see somewhere far beyond. He adjusted the microphone, and spoke—his voice not loud, yet exceptionally clear, carrying a kind of weary steadiness utterly different from the fierce attacks and defenses of before.
"Mr. Chairman, distinguished representatives," he began, his tone even, without a hint of belligerence, "over the past few days, my team and I have provided as exhaustive an explanation and clarification as possible regarding every technical detail, business datum, and legal basis. I believe all objective records and evidence have been laid before you."
He paused, as if organizing his words, or perhaps making an important decision.
"But I now realize that perhaps what we have been arguing about is not the core of the problem."
A faint stir rippled through the chamber. His lawyers below almost rose to signal him.
Mozi ignored them and continued, his voice taking on a deep emotion that was extremely rare in his public image, known for its calmness and rationality.
"We are here discussing oversight, power, rules… these are of course important. Any force needs restraint; that is the cornerstone of a civilized society. But I would like to ask everyone present: what, ultimately, is the purpose of our rule‑making, our struggle for discursive power, our demarcation of interest boundaries?"
He paused again, his gaze seeming to meet every person in the room.
"Is it to let one particular country, one company, or one ideology gain permanent advantage? Is it to ensure we are always the winner in a zero‑sum game?"
He slowly shook his head.
"No. I don't think so. Or, it shouldn't be."
"We humans, this tiny species, born on an insignificant rocky planet, relying on accidental physical laws and a long evolutionary journey, have come to today. We created language, built civilizations, developed technology, and turned our gaze to the starry ocean. We have experienced countless wars, plagues, disasters, and divisions, but we have also created unparalleled art, profound philosophy, and scientific discoveries capable of changing the face of the world."
His words began to detach from specific accusations, turning toward a grander, more essential narrative.
"Today, we stand here, possessing knowledge and capabilities unimaginable to our predecessors. We can edit genes, explore the quantum world, send probes beyond the solar system, construct mathematical models that simulate the universe… But at the same time, we face unprecedented challenges: global climate change, resource depletion, novel pandemics, and… the arsenals we ourselves have created, capable of destroying civilization many times over."
"Within us, there still exist huge divisions, inequalities, and conflicts. Just like everything happening in this room at this moment."
His tone carried a trace of barely detectable compassion.
"I founded 'String Light,' devoting all my wisdom and resources, not to build an empire towering above nations, nor to pursue some personal lust for power. What drives me forward is a deep sense of foreboding, and a perhaps naive yet unshakably firm belief: I believe that human civilization, as a whole, possesses the potential to transcend its current predicaments and stride toward a broader future."
"Yes, we have mastered powerful technologies. But these technologies, in my view, are not medals of power; they are tools of responsibility. Tools that help us confront shared challenges, expand cognitive boundaries, and enhance the well‑being of all humanity."
"We develop advanced lithography machines to make computing power—the cornerstone of this new era—more inclusive, to support more complex climate models, drug research and development, and basic scientific research. We explore artificial intelligence to find new ways of solving complex‑system problems, to assist human decision‑making, not to replace it. We established the 'Humanity Future Fund' to direct capital toward areas that yield no commercial return in the short term but are vital to civilization's long‑term development—such as asteroid defense, ultimate energy sources, and consciousness research."
"I know this may sound like an overly beautiful vision. I know that building trust takes time, and requires transparent action. We are willing to accept reasonable oversight, willing to operate under fair rules, willing to share our knowledge and achievements with the whole world—in fact, we have been doing so; the open‑computing‑power platform of 'String Light Cloud Brain' is proof."
His voice grew more earnest.
"But I implore you all to lift your gaze slightly from the immediate disputes and suspicions, and look at the grander picture we collectively face. Our true enemy is not each other. Not the competition between nations, not the game between companies, not even the clash between different ideologies."
"Our true enemy is ignorance, short‑sightedness, the 'internal dissipation' that shackles our civilization's steps, and that invisible 'Filter' that may prevent us from crossing the next developmental stage."
"Before this Filter, all our internal struggles appear so insignificant, even… pitiable."
This word—"pitiable"—spoken from his mouth carried a heavy force, plunging the chamber into a strange silence. No one had expected that the final statement of this hearing would turn into such a… nearly sermon‑like speech.
"We need cooperation, not confrontation. We need to pool wisdom, not scatter energy. We need to build a global community capable of meeting civilization‑level challenges, not draw borders within old fences."
"I cannot prove to you that all of 'String Light's' actions are flawless, nor can I guarantee absolutely zero risk in the future. Absolute certainty does not exist in this world. But I can promise that my companions and I will always strive in this direction—for humanity's shared future."
His speech ended. No impassioned appeal, no angry refutation—only a deep, weary sincerity.
The chamber was utterly silent. Representatives looked at each other; some wore thoughtful expressions, others showed dismissive smirks, thinking this was merely a more sophisticated PR tactic. The chairman also appeared somewhat at a loss, preparing to announce a recess for deliberation as per procedure.
Yet, at this very moment, a dramatic change occurred.
Almost simultaneous with Mozi's words falling silent, editorial departments of major global news agencies, as well as the personal communication devices of many representatives and journalists present, received an urgent news push from an anonymous source, but accompanied by unforgeable encrypted verification information.
The content of the push was not about 'String Light,' but about those high‑level officials, legislators, and closely associated lobbying‑group members from several Western countries who had attacked 'String Light' most fiercely in the hearing and advocated the harshest sanctions.
Inside were vast amounts of cross‑verified evidence: secret bank‑account transactions showing huge funds flowing from tech giants and traditional energy groups competing with 'String Light' into these officials' political action committees or personally controlled foundations; intercepted private conversation recordings clearly indicating that they had orchestrated this action against 'String Light' primarily to protect the market monopoly and geopolitical influence of themselves and their backing interest groups, not the 'public interest' or 'national security' they claimed; there was even evidence showing that some of them had abused their authority to illegally obtain and attempt to leak to competitors certain non‑core patent‑technical details of 'String Light'…
The evidence was irrefutable, the timing precise, the spread rapid—clearly the result of long, meticulous preparation, detonated at the most critical moment.
Oracle's handiwork. Without needing to be spoken, the name clearly surfaced in the minds of Mozi, Yue'er, Xiuxiu, and the few informed persons present. It had not directly defended 'String Light,' but had chosen the most direct and deadly method—exposing the attackers' true motives and sordid underbelly.
The chamber instantly erupted!
Journalists frantically hammered keyboards, racing to publish news; representatives stared in shock at the information popping up on their devices, whispering to each other, faces filled with disbelief and anger; the diplomat who moments ago had been solemnly accusing Mozi turned deathly pale, fine cold sweat beading on his forehead—he tried to maintain composure, but trembling fingers and evasive eyes betrayed him.
The wind of public opinion reversed in a stunning turn within minutes.
All previous doubts and accusations against 'String Light' and Mozi instantly lost their moral footing in the face of such ugly corruption and espionage facts from the opposing camp. Public anger, like a tsunami, was directed at those hypocritical politicians and the interest groups behind them. 'String Light' and Mozi, from a 'potential threat' requiring strict oversight, abruptly transformed into an 'innovation pioneer' and 'tragic hero' shamelessly framed and suppressed by vested‑interest groups.
Online comments flooded in:
"Oh my god! So they are the real dragons!"
"We almost got used as guns by these liars!"
"That speech by Mr. Mozi… he now looks like a prophet!"
"This is someone who truly cares about humanity's future!"
"These corrupt elements must be severely punished! Support 'String Light'!"
The hearing could no longer proceed. The chairman hastily announced an indefinite recess. The once‑ferocious joint‑investigation coalition disintegrated in an instant, descending into internal strife and self‑preservation chaos.
Mozi stood where he was, watching the dramatic scene before him. No joy, no thrill of victory. Only a deep, marrow‑soaking weariness. Had he used Oracle's power? Yes. But it felt like having to use venom to counter venom, using dark means to fight for a space of light—this itself made his soul uneasy. Moreover, he knew this had not truly solved the problem. The vested‑interest groups were suppressed, but the soil that bred them—that civilization structure of internal dissipation—still remained.
He was surrounded by journalists; camera flashes nearly swallowed him. People shouted his name, calling him "disruptor," "prophet," "the modern Prometheus who stole fire for humanity." He barely maintained politeness, but his eyes were hollow, wanting only to leave this place as soon as possible.
That night, he flew on a private jet back to the String Light Research Institute. Without notifying anyone, he went directly to the quiet residence he shared with Yue'er and Xiuxiu.
Yue'er and Xiuxiu were both waiting for him in the living room. They had obviously learned everything that happened in Geneva. Online, videos of his speech and news of the hearing's reversal were everywhere.
Mozi pushed open the door, carrying the dust of travel and an indescribable weariness.
Yue'er put down the mathematical manuscript in her hand; Xiuxiu closed the lithography‑machine design diagram on her lap.
They looked at him, not asking whether he had succeeded, not celebrating this seemingly brilliant victory.
Mozi took off his coat and tossed it onto the sofa, then walked up to them. His gaze swept over Yue'er's clear, concerned eyes, over Xiuxiu's firm, warm face.
All the noise, struggle, calculation, and pretense receded like a tide at this moment.
He opened his mouth, and finally, from his parched throat, squeezed out three words, so soft they were almost inaudible, yet seeming to use all his strength:
"I'm home."