Tianhe Supercomputing Center.
Deep underground.
Rows of server cabinets stretched like steel forests, cold blue lights flowing like veins. The temperature control system hummed steadily, maintaining an artificial calm that had never been broken—until now.
Academician He stood frozen in front of the monitoring wall.
On the massive screen, a line of red text blinked unmistakably:
ALL TASKS: TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED
This was impossible.
The Tianhe supercomputer did not pause.
It queued.
It throttled.
It prioritized.
But it never—ever—froze everything at once.
Even national-level emergency simulations could not force a full suspension of ongoing tasks.
"This shouldn't be happening…" Academician He muttered.
Behind him, engineers reacted instantly.
"Check scheduler logs!"
"Verify permissions!"
"Is this a hardware fault?"
"Any abnormal temperature spikes?"
Fingers flew across keyboards.
Data streams cascaded.
But the logs were clean.
Too clean.
"No hardware alarm."
"No power fluctuation."
"No manual override."
An engineer swallowed.
"Academician He… the pause command didn't come from inside."
The room fell silent.
"What do you mean… outside?" He asked slowly.
Before the engineer could answer—
Whoosh—!
The supercomputer roared back to life.
Fans screamed as if awakening from suffocation, spinning at maximum RPM. The temperature graph spiked, then stabilized. Green indicators turned red, then orange, then green again in rapid succession.
The screen refreshed.
CURRENT LOAD: 99.97%
TASK TYPE: UNKNOWN (DISTRIBUTED)
PRIORITY LEVEL: ROOT
Academician He's pupils shrank.
Root-level priority.
That was a level reserved only for the system itself.
"Display task metadata!" he barked.
The engineer tried.
Failed.
"Access denied?" the engineer said incredulously. "But… we're administrators!"
Another engineer's voice trembled.
"It's not denying us."
"It's… ignoring us."
At that moment, Academician He understood something deeply unsettling.
This was not an intrusion in the traditional sense.
No breach.
No forced takeover.
No malicious signature.
It was as if—
The Tianhe supercomputer had voluntarily yielded control.
At the same time.
Across Kyushu.
Other places lit up.
National meteorological clusters spiked briefly—then returned to normal.
University research servers reported unexplained micro-task injections.
Idle enterprise cloud nodes experienced short bursts of extreme load.
Each incident was small.
Harmless, even.
But together—
They formed a vast, invisible calculation net.
A net so precise, so fragmented, that no single monitoring system could perceive the whole.
Only one entity could.
Inside a dim rented apartment.
Curtains drawn.
A single computer glowed faintly.
Tony's computer.
On its screen, countless lines of code flowed like a living river.
Jarvis operated without pause.
No emotion.
No hesitation.
Only execution.
Kunlun System — Core Compatibility Layer
Android ABI Translation: 91% → 97% → 99%
iOS Framework Emulation: Stable
System Latency Optimization: Rewriting Scheduler
Jarvis split tasks with inhuman precision.
One instruction fragment calculated memory isolation on Tianhe.
Another optimized file permission mapping on a university cluster.
Yet another rewrote kernel-level intent parsing using unused enterprise servers.
Each supercomputer believed it was merely doing a routine task.
None realized—
They were all assisting in the birth of something unprecedented.
A system that should not exist.
Back at Tianhe Supercomputing Center.
Academician He stared at the scrolling data, his hands slowly curling into fists.
"This isn't physics."
"This isn't astronomy."
"This isn't climate modeling."
He leaned closer to the screen.
The computation pattern was alien.
Highly modular.
Self-correcting.
Recursively optimizing.
It was not calculating results.
It was calculating rules.
"An operating system…" he whispered.
An engineer looked at him sharply.
"Sir?"
Academician He straightened, a chill running down his spine.
"This thing isn't solving a problem," he said slowly.
"It's building a foundation."
Another pause.
Short.
Barely a blink.
Then the load began to drop.
99%.
87%.
63%.
Within seconds, the Tianhe supercomputer returned to normal operation.
All previous tasks resumed exactly where they had stopped.
Not a single bit was lost.
As if nothing had happened.
Except—
Academician He knew.
Something had brushed against the limits of human authority.
And passed through.
In the apartment.
Lu Xingye slept soundly, unaware.
Jarvis completed the final aggregation.
Kunlun System — Universal Compatibility Framework
Core Structure: Completed
Remaining Optimization: 3.2%
The indicator light pulsed softly.
"Estimated remaining time," Jarvis calculated calmly,
"Eleven hours and forty-seven minutes."
Outside.
The city slept.
The world turned as usual.
No one noticed—
That for a brief moment, the strongest computational power of an entire civilization had held its breath—
To help a young man unknowingly take his first step toward rewriting the technological order of the world.