novelraw Chapter 133 The Answer of 42
Chapter 133 The Answer of 42
“Professor Guan, I still have one more question.”
Fang Ze raised his hand again:
“You just said that this kind of [consciousness upload] is fatal and one-time—no matter whether it succeeds or fails, it will lead to the death of the volunteer donor… what exactly is going on here?”
The defining feature of digitization was that it could be backed up and copied. So why, in this project, where it was supposedly just a transfer of consciousness and memory data, would it immediately cause the volunteer’s brain to die?
Yan Chonghan gave Fang Ze an approving look, then inexplicably glanced at Jiang Ran before continuing:
“Fang Ze, your focus is very meticulous. When most people hear the words [consciousness upload], what they imagine is something like what appears in science fiction films or animated series…”
“If it could really be like that, of course that would be ideal. But to be honest, that kind of design is still too science fiction—it’s simply unrealistic. A bulky helmet, separated by hair and the skull…”
“At present, even the most advanced brain–computer interfaces in the world still require drilling a hole into the skull and implanting more than 3,000 flexible electrodes into the neural regions of the brain. Only then can the brain’s consciousness control external machinery.”
“Our technology at Dartmouth is certainly more advanced than brain–computer interfaces… but at the same time… far more dangerous.”
“To complete the kind of consciousness upload we’ve envisioned, a craniotomy is required. More and thicker electrode devices must be inserted directly into the exposed brain. The damage this causes to brain tissue is irreversible. Not only will it ultimately lead to the volunteer’s death, but… the process itself is extremely painful for the volunteer.”At that point, Jiang Ran finally understood.
No wonder they couldn’t find volunteers.
The drawbacks of this thing were simply too extreme.
First, the entire surgical process was extremely painful.
Second, death was inevitable.
Third, even surviving within cyberspace was a vague concept that ordinary people could not accept.
With risks like these, let alone the patient’s family—most patients themselves would probably refuse to try.
It wasn’t just about concerns over experimental success rates, but also a deep fear of “digital life” and the stripping away of consciousness.
Jiang Ran tried to put himself in that position. If his consciousness were separated from his body, turned into a set of data stored on a scientist’s hard drive—a program that could be edited and controlled at will—
He froze.
A cold breath escaped him.
It was terrifying beyond words.
Forget freedom, human rights, or selfhood—he would feel like nothing more than something at the mercy of others, or a brain trapped inside a fabricated world.
Perhaps all three of them had reached the same thought, because the laboratory suddenly fell silent.
Not a single sound.
No one spoke.
At that moment, Guan Suohan turned his head and looked at Jiang Ran:
“Jiang Ran, it’s been Fang Ze asking all the questions. Don’t you have any thoughts?”
Jiang Ran spread his hands and gave an awkward smile:
“I’ve seen many geniuses at Dartmouth. I have to admit that their insights and understanding far surpass those of ordinary people like us. Many times, a single spontaneous idea of theirs is something we could spend an entire lifetime chasing.”
“In Dragon Country, I’ve never seen the Academy of Sciences value someone this highly. Academician Gao Yan has never praised anyone to this extent… So there’s no doubt that you are a super genius.”
“It’s just that I don’t understand why you always seem so unmotivated. You give off the feeling of not taking things seriously—almost perfunctory.”
“My mentor once said, [Geniuses must bear the responsibility of human civilization]. I understand arrogance, but you’re still young. There’s still much for you to learn. I hope you can take things more seriously… And it’s not just me who thinks this. Professor Zhang Yang feels the same way.”
Jiang Ran pressed his lips together.
But it was to be expected.
After all… there really wasn’t much “substance” inside him.
“…I don’t believe that consciousness separated from the body is still the same person who once possessed that body.”
Jiang Ran stated his view plainly.
Yan Chonghan crossed his arms, interest piqued, and gestured for him to continue.
After a brief pause—
“Recently, I’ve been thinking about a question.”
“[Consciousness, memory, personality, the body… which of these elements actually determines that a person is who they are—that I am myself?]”
Yan Chonghan frowned:
“That isn’t really a scientific question. It’s a philosophical one. Jiang Ran, in scientific research, we generally don’t discuss such idealistic issues…”
“Then what counts as fact?” Jiang Ran asked sincerely.
“…In reality, isn’t it because the experiment causes irreversible damage to the brain, effectively ‘killing’ the original volunteer?”
“So it’s not that consciousness cannot be copied…”
“Of course, I acknowledge that your experiment is forward-looking. And I agree that for terminally ill patients or those on the brink of death, it could be a form of salvation. I have no intention of denying that.”
Jiang Ran took a breath and spoke slowly:
“[I believe that only consciousness and memory carried by a corresponding physical body can be considered true life—can be considered a real person.]”
The laboratory remained silent.
Only the ticking of the clock cut crisply through the air.
After a long while—
Yan Chonghan clapped his left hand against his right, producing slow, scattered applause.
“Very good.”
He nodded.
“Jiang Ran, I hope you can continue like this.”
“Class dismissed.”
He came and went like the wind, acting entirely on impulse.
At the same time, the bell rang right on cue.
“T-that was way too efficient!”
Cheng Mengxue stared wide-eyed in amazement.
“It feels like the professor hates teaching even more than we hate attending class… He just ends it when he says it’s over and leaves immediately—no buildup at all!”
Jiang Ran sighed, resting his chin on his hand.
“For classes like this, it’s not like attendance is mandatory. If you don’t want to teach, just don’t… Why make it seem so forced?”
The next day, early morning.
Jiang Ran arrived at the Film Camera Club activity room ahead of time, preparing to return to the prison in 2045 to push things forward.
As if by tacit understanding—
He didn’t immediately climb through the window. Instead, he leaned over the windowsill and looked out at the flowerbed.
Sure enough.
“Morning, Xiao Jiang. I knew you’d be climbing through the window around this time.”
Jiang Ran waved back with a smile.
Bracing himself on the windowsill, he hopped over, then very naturally picked up the spare broom from the tricycle and started sweeping alongside Old Tian…
After watching Old Tian ride away on the tricycle, Jiang Ran coordinated with Chi Xiaoguo and once again activated the Positron Cannon, heading twenty years into the future.
Everything proceeded smoothly—the exact same sequence of events.
After gathering all his teammates, Jiang Ran arrived at the execution ground as agreed, squeezed into the frenzied crowd, and made his way to the closest position before the execution platform.
His eyes locked onto the two figures kneeling on the platform.
Amid the sea of shouting voices, the formally dressed official finally finished reading the execution order and yanked off the hood from the Magician’s head.
A worn, weathered face.
Matted, tangled hair and beard.
A familiar face—yet aged.
Jiang Ran stared at the middle-aged Qin Feng from twenty years in the future, inhaled deeply—as if drawing in air that had crossed two decades—and shouted with all his strength:
“42! What exactly is it?!”
“Tell me! What is 42?!”
Qin Feng paused slightly.
Then his gaze became firm, filled with light:
“42 is correct!!”
His voice resounded just as powerfully:
“Believe in 42!! Follow 42!!”
Jiang Ran was stunned.
You… do you really have to say those two lines first?!
“Don’t let him speak! Execute him immediately!”
The formally dressed official’s face turned pale as he frantically urged the executioner.
Thud—
The heavy execution blade fell with unstoppable force. In a spray of blood, Qin Feng was beheaded.
Jiang Ran locked eyes with the severed head as it rolled to the edge of the platform.
He couldn’t understand it.
Qin Feng had always been so intelligent—why, even at the moment of death, did he insist on saying those two lines first? Couldn’t he just say the final answer?
The next day, he tried again.
“Qin Feng!!!!”
Standing at the same position before the execution platform, Jiang Ran shouted with all his might:
“I know 42 is correct! I know we have to follow it! Just tell me directly—what exactly is 42—”
“Don’t let him speak! Execute him immediately!”
The official urged again.
Slash!
Blood sprayed. Qin Feng’s head fell.
Jiang Ran fell silent.
This time, he himself had been too wordy. The question had been too long—Qin Feng hadn’t even had time to answer before he was killed.
“…Tomorrow again.”
Over the following days, he kept trying.
None of the attempts succeeded.
There were two reasons.
First, both the official and the executioner were deeply afraid of the Magician.
It was as if the moment he spoke, he would unleash a world-ending forbidden spell and destroy everything.
So the time Jiang Ran had to communicate with Qin Feng was limited to a mere two seconds. The moment the official and executioner reacted, the blade would fall immediately—silencing him by force.
Two seconds…
That simply wasn’t enough for effective communication.
Second—
Qin Feng would always say those two lines:
“42 is correct.”
“Follow 42.”
Even if Jiang Ran asked first, Qin Feng would still say those lines before anything else.
Jiang Ran understood.
Qin Feng was far too intelligent to act without reason.
Which meant—
In Qin Feng’s eyes,
[Those two lines—“42 is correct” and “follow 42”—were more important, more critical, than what 42 actually was.]
“So that’s why he always puts those two lines first.”
That was Jiang Ran’s conclusion.
But—
This couldn’t remain unresolved.
He had to hear the final answer!
“I need to find a way to keep Qin Feng alive longer… slow down the executioner’s blade.”
In an instant, he thought of a solution.
Another day.
Sirens blared, uniforms swelled, and the automated alarm systems activated. In the distant corridor, drones approached slowly.
Jiang Ran pulled the spare pistol from the officer’s belt and asked the Killer:
“How do I use this?”
The Killer disengaged the safety for him:
“No time to teach you properly. Just turn off the safety and you can fire.”
Jiang Ran raised the pistol, imitating the stance he’d seen in games and movies, and fired two shots into the air.
Bang! Bang!
The recoil was manageable. As for accuracy—that would depend on luck.
But at close range, hitting the target wouldn’t be a problem.
He reloaded a fresh magazine and waved at the Killer:
“Thanks. See you later.”
Then he sprinted toward the execution ground once more.
This time, Jiang Ran had figured it out.
Instead of compressing himself, he would eliminate the obstacle.
On the execution platform, the only thing that could kill Qin Feng was that execution blade.
If he shot the executioner—even if he didn’t kill him outright, knocking him down would be enough to prevent the execution.
That would extend Qin Feng’s survival time, long enough for them to communicate.
No problem.
The familiar sequence repeated.
The crowd roared, drowning out the official’s speech.
Once finished, the hood was torn away.
Jiang Ran seized the moment and shouted:
“Qin Feng!!!!”
The shout immediately drew Qin Feng’s attention.
“42!!!!”
Qin Feng still shouted those same two lines first:
“42 is correct!! Follow 42!!”
Jiang Ran raised the pistol and aimed directly at the executioner—
Bang bang bang bang bang bang!
He steadied the recoil and emptied the magazine.
“Ahhhhhh!” The official fled in terror, the executioner collapsing to the ground.
The surrounding crowd screamed and scattered.
No one had expected that someone would actually dare to storm the execution ground.
“42 is—”
Bang.
A dull shot rang out, striking Qin Feng in the throat. His kneeling body tilted violently.
“Qin Feng!”
A sniper!
From past experience, Jiang Ran instantly realized—snipers were hidden here as well.
He didn’t hesitate.
Grabbing the edge of the execution platform, he leapt up and threw himself over Qin Feng, blocking the sniper’s line of sight!
Bang. Bang.
Two more shots rang out, sparks bursting from the stone platform.
Jiang Ran ignored his own wounds and shielded Qin Feng with his body:
“Say it!”
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold on:
“42! What is it?!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three more sniper rounds.
Jiang Ran felt his body being pierced—one struck his shoulder, the immense force slamming him down onto Qin Feng.
Pinned beneath him, Qin Feng coughed up blood, his neck pouring with it.
Yet he still clenched his teeth.
Lifted his head.
And with all his remaining strength, brought his mouth close to Jiang Ran’s ear—
Bang!
A bullet struck the back of Jiang Ran’s head. His consciousness began to fade.
Still, he forced himself to endure, pressing his cheek closer—
“2…”
Qin Feng’s voice, faint as a dying breath, flowed into his mind:
“[42 is… yourself.]”