Chapter 22: Initial Value Test of Brain-Machine Synchronization Rate

9:10 p.m., inside the East Gate of the town’s outer wall, at the Armaments Mall.

The Armaments Mall was a round, seven-story tower, each circular floor stacked upward like a fortress, its height nearly matching that of the town’s massive walls. At the top of the tower, four sensor probes emitted a faint glow, jutting outward.

According to Madafu, these four probes featured the latest information-stream imaging devices, offering extremely high resolution and even the ability to detect Void Beasts with optical camouflage. Moreover, the tower’s seemingly smooth surface concealed retractable electromagnetic turrets on every level, their numbers varying by floor. These turrets could deliver high-powered strikes (one shot every ten seconds) or rapid low-powered bursts (ten shots per second).

“Void Beasts below level five—agile, heavy-armored, flying, or terrestrial—can all be riddled like a sieve. Even if hordes of Void Beasts manage to rush the vicinity, the chromium-titanium alloy armor can withstand at least two heavy impacts from a level five Void Beast at the same spot.”

That was Madafu’s original description of this heavily fortified building.

Ren Zhong feigned keen interest with repeated nods, but his mind had already wandered deep into the mall.

…

Ren Zhong took off his shirt, changed into tight shorts akin to swim trunks, and lay on an iron-framed bed. Madafu and Zheng Tian watched nearby, their faces filled with anticipation.

Excitement lingered on Zheng Tian’s baby-faced features. As a semi-professional scavenger captain without citizen status, she rarely spoke with the town mayor, let alone saw him from afar. Yet, after picking up Ren Zhong, this census officer, she found herself connected to the mayor, gaining some recognition.

Zheng Tian firmly believed that, with just a bit more effort, her dream of escaping the bottom rung of the wastelander class would become far more achievable.

A long-haired woman in a military green uniform moved about the iron bed impatiently, slapping patch capacitors onto Ren Zhong’s body, much like preparing him for an ECG. Yet the number, density, and coverage of capacitors were far greater.

Thin wires led from the capacitors to the base of a rectangular cabinet, reminiscent of a refrigerator. Above the cabinet sat an LCD screen.

Ren Zhong observed both the testing apparatus and its operator. Seeing her obvious annoyance, he felt a bit embarrassed but said nothing.

When all 108 capacitors were attached, the uniformed woman was about to start the machine.

Madafu interjected, “Manager Ju, please explain to Mr. Ren about the basics of brain-machine synchronization rate. Mr. Ren, Ju Qingmeng is from Chongyi County, graduated from Chongyi Vocational High, and is a top student in armament management. She’s highly skilled, and the residents of Spark Town admire her presence here.”

As he spoke, Madafu secretly winked at the woman in uniform.

Ju Qingmeng seemed to catch his drift, a sudden realization dawning on her. The old fat man wanted her to display her expertise before Ren Zhong.

No wonder Madafu had urgently summoned her back after hours—this Ren Zhong must be someone important. For Ju Qingmeng, who hoped to return to Chongyi County, this was a timely blessing.

Her attitude changed abruptly.

“Mr. Ren, have you ever studied mech warriors in detail?”

Ren Zhong, not understanding the sudden shift but thinking it over, answered honestly, “No.”

So he’s pretending not to know, trying to test me, Ju Qingmeng thought, flashing a mesmerizing smile. Her beauty was striking.

Ren Zhong noticed then: her skin was fair and smooth, brows slender, eyes narrow, her face sharp, nose high—her looks extraordinary. When she wore a stern expression, he hadn’t thought her attractive, but when she smiled, her features opened up, and she was stunning.

In terms of beauty, Ju Qingmeng rivaled Chen Hanyu, both the loveliest Ren Zhong had seen since his rebirth, surpassing slightly the baby-faced Zheng Tian.

Ju Qingmeng said, “Well then, I’ll assume you’re a total beginner and explain everything thoroughly. Don’t mind if I’m a little long-winded.”

Ren Zhong replied, “All right, thank you.”

“The so-called brain-machine synchronization rate, in brief, refers to the neural network’s capacity to carry external bioelectric signals. But that’s an oversimplification; most wastelanders without specialized training don’t grasp it. For a mech warrior, synchronization rate is even more vital than physical fitness. It determines the nervous system’s responsiveness to feedback from exoskeleton devices—the volume of information the neural network can transmit per unit time, the speed, scope, and quality of the brain’s collaborative commands. Do you understand, Mr. Ren?”

“Yes, please go on.”

“To gain effective combat power, a mech warrior must train until the exoskeleton feels like part of their own body. With micro-current circuits assisting, the brainwave signals should control the exoskeleton as naturally as controlling one’s limbs.”

Ren Zhong asked, “Why not use traditional controls, like driving a vehicle?”

Ju Qingmeng shook her head. “That’s impossible. A complete exoskeleton has dozens, sometimes over a hundred, joints of various sizes and functions. In combat, even a simple overall movement breaks down into countless joint actions, each varying in angle and degree. If you put a joystick on every key joint, how many would there be? How could you coordinate omnidirectional movements? No matter how fast and skilled a person is, they can’t simultaneously manage rapid maneuvers, weapon activation, and complex operations.”

Ren Zhong pressed further, “Then why not pre-program combinations? For example, moving the joystick to varying degrees makes the armor walk slowly or sprint. If I clench my fist, the armor mirrors it; if I raise my hand, the internal force transfers outward, sensors detect it, and the armor responds in sync. Can’t you integrate countless micro-movements into modes, simplifying the operation?”

Ju Qingmeng replied, “We’re not dealing with clumsy armored vehicles, but powerful Void Beasts of varying size, speed, and basic combat intelligence. If you merge all detailed armor movements, your techniques become rigid and predictable, leaving you unable to adapt or win against comparable Void Beasts.”

“Also, as you suggest, controlling the armor with fine force sensors is theoretically possible. But no matter how advanced our chips and sensors are, the coordination delay is intolerably high. The only way to minimize delay is neural integration—when you intend to punch, your hand punches, your exoskeleton punches almost simultaneously. Understand?”

Ren Zhong nodded. “Understood, thank you.”

“All right, let’s begin the test and see if you have any talent. Please lie back and relax as much as possible.”

Ren Zhong did as instructed.

Ju Qingmeng flipped the switch. Instantly, Ren Zhong felt a dense network of microcurrents throughout his body, similar to his wristwatch’s effect, but now everywhere at once.

This tingling sensation lasted nearly five minutes.

Finally, the display on the cabinet showed a reading.

“The result is out,” Ju Qingmeng announced.

Ren Zhong, lying sideways and unable to see the number, grew tense. “What is it?”

“Ten percent. Not bad—just meets the standard,” Ju Qingmeng said with a smile.

Ren Zhong exhaled in relief.

Safe.

“It’s a bit unfortunate, though,” Ju Qingmeng added with a sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Ren, you’re twenty-three, right? With an untrained initial value of only ten percent, it basically means you’re unlikely to become a level-three or higher mech warrior.”

Ren Zhong’s face darkened. “Is that so?”

“No need to lose heart, Mr. Ren. The initial value isn’t fixed; it fluctuates with your physical condition. Most wastelanders, before testing, spend ten days or so strengthening themselves, adjusting their state, hoping to get their best result on the first try.”

“You look a bit pale, Mr. Ren, and your mental state isn’t great. Maybe after a good rest, if you retest another day, your score could rise a bit. If you can exceed twelve percent, there’s still hope to reach level four.”

Ren Zhong’s hope rekindled. “Really?”

“Let me tell you a joke, Mr. Ren. Last year, someone scheduled a test but ate something bad that morning. During the test, his stomach acted up. Most of his spinal nerves were busy transmitting immune response signals, so he scored just five percent. It was a waste of five contribution points for the test. A few days later, after recovery, his retest scored thirteen percent—a pretty good result in Spark Town. That was hilarious.”

Zheng Tian coughed lightly. “Manager Ju’s talking about Wen Lei, my teammate.”

Everyone: …

Ren Zhong’s mind raced. Wen Lei, just from diarrhea, dropped from thirteen percent to five.

I, who’ve just narrowly escaped death’s door as a late-stage cancer patient—with heavy cancer cell spread, abnormal cell devourers battling the cancer cells, possibly still feeling aftereffects from nerve-blocking agents—my body’s negative status effects must be maxed out.

What would my real score be?

Just then, Ju Jingyi exclaimed, “Strange, it’s gone up one percent—now at eleven! Is that possible? Mr. Ren, do you want to wait a bit longer and see if it increases?”

Ren Zhong quickly replied, “Thank you, Manager Ju, but it’s quite late. Please disconnect the equipment; it’s too numbing for me to endure. Also, since time is short, could you show me the mall’s inventory? I’d like to buy a few things.”

“All right.”