The Monster with a Conscience
Sci-fi short story By Pamviles
Chapter One: The Mysterious Xuan Village
“Hey, everyone, welcome back to Yue’s Paranormal Channel! This time, I’ve reached a remote isolated island in the Xisha Islands. Rumor has it there’s a monster lurking here. Let’s see what’s really going on!”
The vlogger Yue gripped a flip-screen action camera mounted on an extendable pole, stepping over the gunwale onto the algae-slick southeastern shore. The waters around the island were crowded with hidden reefs and coral formations, making it impossible for large ships to approach. He’d spent months applying for permission from the South China Sea authorities to land on the island, and after a lot of hassle, he finally secured passage and found a fisherman named Lu Hao to take him there on a small fishing boat.
The camera lens swept across Lu Hao—dark-skinned, face set like stone. He gave the camera a curt nod and raised a warning hand. “If the pay weren’t good, I wouldn’t have brought you. Other islands are one thing, but you just had to pick this godforsaken rock. Heard this island is even cursed. You’re on your own, young man.” Lu Hao waved dismissively, adding as a final afterthought, “I’ll be back same time tomorrow. Don’t be late. There’s no regular signal on this island. If you need help, only that thing can send a satellite distress call.” He pointed to the smart bracelet on Yue’s wrist. With that, he piloted his boat away with extreme caution, as if afraid to stay a second longer.
“Thanks, Brother Hao!” Yue waved toward the departing boat, then turned back to the camera. “You guys saw that. For this episode, I’m spending serious money and effort to get into dangerous territory. So please hit that Like button and share! Don’t forget to subscribe if you haven’t already! Alright, let’s go!”
Yue stared at this old-fashioned camera in his hand with mild annoyance. Because of that clause in the landing agreement “strict respect for local cultural customs”, he had no choice but to use a replica of a product from the early 21st century. If not for the strict full-body scan before boarding the boat, he would have brought his fist-sized intelligent drone capable of autonomous tracking and panoramic filming. The device he held now was so clunky, utterly alien to his habits; fortunately, its large size allowed for a bigger solid-state nano battery, enough to record continuously for days without powering off.
He glanced down at the smart bracelet on his wrist, which wasn’t his—it showed 07:06. This was another condition he had to accept to set foot on the island. Under the Indigenous Cultural Protection Act, visitors had to sign a landing agreement and wear this bracelet, which couldn’t be removed by the wearer. Besides monitoring vital signs and providing satellite positioning and emergency assistance, it served as an instant warning device. The agreement stipulated that no visitor landing on this island was allowed to disclose any events or products that occurred after 2020 to the local residents. The bracelet could analyze conversations in real time, predicting what the wearer was about to say to the locals. The moment restricted content was broached, it would emit a strong vibration warning. If the wearer continued, they would face a heavy fine of 100,000 yuan.
Why specifically 2020? Yue wondered. He wasn’t particularly familiar with modern history, but from his parents’ generation he knew there had been a devastating global pandemic that raged for years, altering the trajectory of the entire world. Were they afraid a pandemic on that scale would terrify the islanders? Anyway, for the sake of making this episode, He’d accept however absurd the conditions.
Pushing through dense tropical undergrowth, Yue finally caught sight of civilization.
The village finally came into view, most of its buildings here were constructed mainly from native materials—coral stone and limestone. The exterior walls were coated with an earthy yellow lime-based mortar; roofs were covered in blue-gray tiles. Narrow paths of crushed stone and compacted lime mortar wound between the stone houses; every few steps, there were inlaid pebbles, adding a unique touch to the plain ground. Before some doorways lay simple decorations carved from shells and coral; others displayed drying fish or medicinal herbs. The whole village carried an air of quiet simplicity.
Camera raised, Yue advanced slowly, documenting everything, until he reached the flat central plaza.
There, a massive coral stone pillar dominated the square. Its surface was carved with labyrinthine, interwoven totemic patterns, their recesses inlaid with conchs, shells, and pebbles. Circling the pillar were black coral beads of varying sizes, polished smooth like so many eyes, gleaming with a cold, spectral light in the daylight. Yue noticed these same beads embedded on the exterior of every stone house, fashioned into bracelets—they were almost everywhere, probably a popular local decoration or amulet to ward off evil.
The patterns held his attention, he couldn’t tell whether they were decorative or symbolic. A villager passing by snapped him back to reality. He looked around, villagers passed by the square from time to time, some casting odd glances at him.
“Guys, this is the legendary Xuan Village. I’d heard the villagers here had voluntarily abandoned modern technology, but I never imagined it would be like this—look, not a single trace of modern construction. It feels like traveling back to ancient times!” Yue rotated the selfie stick, capturing both the pillar and the village panorama. “Look at this massive pillar. Is this where they gather for rituals? Have I stumbled into some primitive tribe?”
He swung the camera toward the people milling in the square. “Look at these villagers. Notice something? They all have tattoos of different shapes—even the children! Incredible.”
He turned the lens on himself. “I’d also heard that people here never leave the island. Wonder if that’s true. There’s so much mystery here—how did this place come to be? Why does this village ecosystem exist? And what’s the deal with that monster? To answer all these questions, let’s grab a villager and ask.”
Just then, a fisherman passed by slowly, carrying a shoulder pole with woven bamboo baskets dangling from each end, filled with semi-dried sea fish that gave off a faint briny odor. Seeing the bronze-skinned fisherman ambling past, Yue stepped forward, aiming his camera at the man. “Excuse me, sir, I’m a content creator from outside, kind of like a journalist. May I interview you? This is an action camera—it records what you say.”
“Mm, sure.” The fisherman set down his baskets, pointed at the camera, and said, “I know what that is. We’re just rejecting technology—we’re not ignorant. Sometimes outsiders stop by, and we learn about the outside world from them.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Since you know about modern technology, why don’t you use it?”
“To explain that, I need to start with the village’s history from the beginning.” The fisherman bent down, leaning against the edge of the basket, his thick Cantonese accent lending his words a storyteller’s cadence.
“Do you know why our village is called Xuan Village? There’s a story behind it. Legend says during the transition between Ming and Qing dynasties, around 1650s, wars raged endlessly—massacres, the Coastal Evacuation Order, pirates, Japanese raiders, Southern Ming loyalists, Qing troops, all fighting nonstop. Common folk couldn’t tell friend from foe. To survive, some joined the armies, some fled to the mountains. But fishermen can’t live without the sea—cut off from the ocean, they had no livelihood. They couldn’t accept that; some started to charge into the sea seeking new homes. Back then, the South China Sea was ravaged by tsunamis and violent storms; many fishermen who ventured out were swallowed by the waves. Our ancestors were such desperate souls—more than a hundred of them braved the huge waves, ventured deep into the sea, and almost lost their lives.”
At that moment, a seagull skimmed overhead, trailing a clear long cry that interrupted the story. The fisherman looked up, watching the seagull soar, and pressed his palms together above his head. He pointed in the direction the seagull had gone and said: “That’s an old friend of ours. Helps us find schools of fish, predicts the weather. Legend says they’re descendants of the Sea God’s mount.”
“Never mind the seagull. Then what? You said they nearly died.” Yue urged him on.
“Oh, right, almost dead. They had no choice but to pray to the gods. Just when they were in despair, an elderly fisherman remembered Xuan, a nearly forgotten Sea God of the South China Sea. Seeing that other gods and the Dragon King didn’t respond, he led everyone to pray for Xuan’s protection. And a miracle actually happened! The Sea God Xuan appeared. With a wave of his hand, he gathered the reefs into a bountiful island, calmed the waves, and guided the fishing boats safely to shore. The Sea God spoke to the rescued fishermen: ‘This island is the Valley of Xuan, containing the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. It shelters you from storms and nurtures your crops. I grant it to you for generations.’ To commemorate the Sea God Xuan, they named the village Xuan Village. And we are the descendants of those first fishermen, passed down through generations—the people of Xuan.”
“Wow, what a fascinating story,” Yue responded. “But what does that have to do with rejecting technology?”
“Don’t rush, young man. Listen slowly.” The fisherman crossed his legs, stuck a slender reed stem between his teeth, and continued unhurriedly: “To protect Xuan Village, and to mark every soul under his protection, the Sea God Xuan personally carved exclusive totemic tattoos upon each villager.” He extended his left arm, displaying his tattoo to Yue—a vertical arrangement of dense waves and fish bones interlaced, varying in length, staggered with geometric precision. From a distance, it strikingly resembled a barcode on modern product packaging. Around the vertical lines were unique fisherman motifs—waves and catch marks—and a name: Huang Gui.
“These totemic patterns contain the island’s spiritual energy and the covenant between villagers and the Sea God. That pillar is the proof—it’s stood there since before my memory, for hundreds of years.” Gui pointed to the pillar beside them, his face suffused with reverence. “Before the Sea God departed, he left a final warning: ‘The totem is your root, the mark that connects you to me. Guard the totem, and you guard the island’s peace. Beware the temptation of external things, especially those artifacts of cunning craftsmanship. You must never touch the arts that draw electricity to create light or transmit sound across distances—this is the power of the gods, not meant for mortal hands. To use them is to corrupt the soul, drain the island’s spiritual energy, and provoke the wrath of heaven, bringing ultimate catastrophe.’ Those cunning artifacts he spoke of? That’s the thing in your hand.” The villager pointed at Yue’s camera.
“So that’s why you don’t use technology? With respect, sir, that reasoning seems far-fetched. Just based on a legend? Modern technology could make your lives much easier! For example, artificial intel—”
Before Yue could finish the word, his hand suddenly vibrated—a warning from the smart bracelet. He immediately shut up and didn’t continue. He wasn’t about to lose a fortune over one sentence. Not worth it.
Seeing outsider cut off mid-sentence, the fisherman didn’t pay much attention, retorting: “The island has land and minerals in abundance. Men fish and farm; women weave and cook. We’re self-sufficient. Why would we need these soul-corrupting foreign objects? I’ve heard the outside world is a mess—probably caused by all this so-called technology. Besides, you weren’t the first young person who tried to bring technology here.” Huang Gui’s tone shifted. “We once had one in our village.”
“Oh? What happened?” Yue suddenly remembered his mission. “By the way, actually I came here because I heard there’s a monster in the village. What’s the story with that monster?”
“It’s actually the same story.” The fisherman sighed. “Over a decade ago, there was a terribly curious young man named Bani in our village. He happened to find some modern objects on a beached ship, including a camera—much bigger than the one in your hand. He became completely obsessed, ignoring the elders’ warnings, studying and using them in secret, even trying to teach other villagers to use them, spouting nonsense about ‘technology improving life.’ Some villagers actually believed him; others scoffed, thinking it was witchcraft, and beat him. And then guess what? Strange phenomena began appearing on the island: the sea turned murky, crops withered, once-docile seagulls became violent, and terrifying roars echoed from the jungle at night—the monster appeared. The village elders believed the Sea God was punishing us for breaking our covenant. Later, they led the entire village in destroying all modern objects and executing Bani. They confessed their sins to the Sea God and reaffirmed the village rules: generations must never touch the technological evil from outside the island, must stay away from electrically powered devices, and must uphold the totem faith. Although they sacrificed the wicked Bani to the Sea God, that monster, for some reason, never disappeared. It’s been lurking in the village ever since, probably waiting to catch those who defy the God.”
“Wow, that’s a scary story, sir.” Yue was stunned for a moment, then continued half-jokingly, “Then am I in danger holding this camera?”
“There’s something even scarier—just last month! Anyway, I need to deliver these fish. If you want to know more, ask someone else.” The fisherman stood, shouldered his pole, and turned back to add: “Don’t worry, though. You’re not one of us, and you don’t carry the totem of the Sea God’s covenant. God Xuan only cares about villagers, not outsiders... I think you’ll be fine, probably.”
Watching Huang Gui’s receding figure, Yue whispered to his camera: “Everyone, Xuan Village’s secrets are far weirder than the rumors said. Let me ask other villagers and see what they have to say about the monster.”
Yue continued exploring every corner of Xuan Village. The deeper he went, the clearer the village’s true character became. According to Huang Gui, though they were castaways from the Ming-Qing transition, they hadn’t remained frozen in that era or devolved into a primitive tribe. They possessed mature metallurgical skills, crafting excellent iron agricultural tools. They had water wheels, windmills, textile looms—purely mechanical devices—yet no electric lights, telephones, radios, or any modern inventions, let alone the internet. The entire village seemed suspended just before the electrical age, fusing mechanical civilization with indigenous island character into a unique, closed equilibrium.
To ensure his video’s authenticity, he interviewed villagers of different occupations, cross-referencing their accounts. But as the interviews deepened, the answers diverged wildly, absurd and horrifying.
#
From another fisherman:
He was crouched by the shore, mending a fishing net, and spoke without looking up, his tone guarded and cryptic: “That’s Gui. We’re good friends, often fishing together. He’s a reliable guy; his version of our village’s story is more or less true. But regarding the monster’s origin, I heard a different version.”
He paused in his work, lifted his eyes, and swept a glance around before lowering his voice: “In my view, it’s not some messenger of the Sea God at all. It’s bro Bani... uh, he used to buy my fish often... Back then he was always bullied, and the villagers tied him up, ready to burn him alive. But actually, no one ever saw him die, because the monster appeared and everyone ran away. He must have mastered witchcraft, merged with the monster, transformed into an octopus demon to seek revenge, targeting those who harmed him. He’s come back to claim lives!”
“Lucky for me, I treated him well back then. I should be fine...” he added in a final whisper.
#
From a farmer:
He carried a wooden hoe on his shoulder, mud caking his pant legs, his face drawn tight: “That monster is a disaster! It eats people alive! I heard from other farmers that it’s a giant wild boar with savage fangs. Two weeks ago, Old Li was gored and taken. No one saw it happen, but it had to be the monster. Old Li didn’t even have a bone left! We guard this land, self-sufficient, living peaceful lives—who knows when we’ll be snatched away!”
He lowered his voice, a hard-edge creeping in: “I’ll tell you, there must be traitors in our village! Some people, especially some women, do nothing but eat and be lazy. They’re just like the monster, breaking our village rules. Maybe they’re working with the monster!”
#
From a totem carver:
“Every totemic tattoo is carved by my own hand, one per person, unique. When a new child is born in the village, the first two people they see are the midwife and me. This is the mark given to each person by the Sea God, connected to spiritual energy, it was supposed to protect people from harm and ward off evil.”
He sighed, touching his own tattoo: “But lately... it doesn’t work anymore. Many people with totems have still been eaten. Those departed souls have been appearing in my dreams. From what they described, there seems to be more than one monster... I can’t sleep at night. Am I not making the tattoo devout enough? Or... has the Sea God truly abandoned us...”
#
From a textile worker:
A frail young woman sat huddled beneath the eaves of her house, tending to an old wooden spinning wheel, twisting thread and weaving cloth. Her fingers were rough, her eyes evasive.
“I... I don’t dare speak ill of others...” she began, her voice barely audible. “But there was this farmer surnamed Li who always bullied me, cornering me at night, touching me... I dared not resist; no one helped me, so I endured silently.” As she spoke, tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. “Two weeks ago, one night I was coming home late. He saw me in the alley, grabbed my hand, dragged me into the shadows. He wanted... he wanted to rape me... I screamed, but no one answered... I nearly...”
She looked up sharply, and in her tear-filled eyes there flickered something like hope: “My clothes were half torn off when suddenly a large black shadow, like a wild dog, streaked before my eyes, and he was taken away. Since then, I never saw him.”
She gently touched the totem on her arm: “I think... the monster isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It comes to help those of us who are bullied. That’s why it didn’t eat Lili.”
#
From a physician:
“I trek through the jungle gathering herbs every day. Sometimes I’m out so long I return after dark. The monster? I’ve seen it several times with my own eyes. It’s like a giant python, slithering swiftly through the dark undergrowth with a shu-shu sound. I’ve watched it swallow people whole.”
His tone was eerily flat, almost detached: “Strangely, it’s never touched me. I walk through its territory every day, yet it acts as if I’m invisible. I don’t know why... Anyway, since it doesn’t eat me, I’m not afraid of it.”
#
From a mason:
“I... I’m scared to go out at night! Really don’t! I saw it in a dark alley with my own eyes... a huge jackal... It snatched someone away in one bite! Blood splattered all over the walls!”
His nerves were frayed, his fear mounting as he spoke, his words beginning to stammer: “Just last month... something terrible happened... on the northwest side of the island... in the weird building... several people were eaten! Oh my god, it was awful. I heard it from a boatman; he happened to pass by that day. Ask him—he can tell you better than me. I’m scared to even speak of it... too cursed...”
#
From a boat repairman:
“I believe in the Sea God Xuan, but I don’t believe the monster was sent by him. He protects us—why would he use such a brutal method to devour people? That thing is a wild beast, an evil creature, nothing to do with the gods. It’s just that no one can defeat it. You know what? It can change shape!”
He rapped his knuckles against a wooden hull, his voice suddenly dropping: “Oh, you mean the monster attack last month? In the Strange Building. I was on my way to repair a boat and happened to pass by. I’ll tell you, that place is cursed—hard, cold, massive, two stories high, so empty you can hear echoes. No one knows who built it, how it was built, or how long it’s been there—it’s just always been there. Some say it was once the Sea God’s dwelling; others say it was a demon-suppressing tower, keeping evil spirits locked beneath. Us normal villagers dare not go in, let alone demolish it. Only those bold enough sometimes sneak in to do things they don’t want others to see. The monster often haunts there.”
He paused, lowering his voice as if afraid something might overhear: “Just one month ago, six or seven young men dragged a girl into the Strange Building. In the end, only one boy ran out for his life, and then the girl, soaking wet, crawled out slowly.”
“The others? They’re gone! Vanished without a trace, probably eaten by the monster. We’d only heard of it eating one person at a time before, but this time it ate so many at once in the Strange Building—it’s the first time!” He shook his head, sighing. “Ah... now everyone’s on edge. The once-peaceful Xuan Village isn’t so peaceful anymore.”
#
From a shell artisan:
“I know about the odd building incident! Something that big—who in the village doesn’t know! Several died, only Aiwan escaped!”
He turned eagerly toward Yue, thumping his chest: “Go find Aiwan! He’s the only survivor among them! I know him well; I even gave him a shell guardian charm. I guarantee it was my charm that saved his life! Mention my name, and he’ll surely tell you exactly what happened that day, every detail!”
#
...Octopus, wild boar, giant python, jackal... the villagers’ descriptions of the monster varied wildly...
Just as Yue prepared to seek out this villager named Aiwan, a group of sturdy men appeared in the street, carrying sharpened coral spears, stone hammers, iron pitchforks, hoes, fishing net nooses, and various other agrarian-era implements, advancing slowly.
Curious, Yue ran forward and asked the villager in the lead, who was wielding a long-handled fishing gaff with a broad-backed short knife at his waist.
“I’m a reef guardian. You know what that means? It means I’m the one who protects this island! Our original duty was patrolling the shore, preparing to fight the moment we spotted invading ships or other danger signs. But now the monster is growing more rampant. My brother’s son was eaten by it last month—a lad was just over 20 years old! The monster must die! If we keep it around, the village is doomed!”
As he spoke, his teeth clenched, face twisting into ferocity. “Even worse are the evildoers in the village, claiming the monster is some kind of guardian spirit... I say they’re in league with the monster! The blood debt of the cursed building must be paid! Anyone who speaks up for the monster is a traitor!”
He gripped the short knife at his waist tightly and said coldly, “we’re going to find the monster, burn it to the ground, and those accomplices of the monster...” He lowered his voice to a murmur, “...expel them all from Xuan Village...”
With that, he led his followers onward.
A lean, scholarly-looking villager drew close to Yue and whispered, “That’s the village militia, led by the reef guardians. They’ve been patrolling the village for years...”
Yue turned, “And you are?”
“I’m Su Chang, assistant to the village elders. I heard you came looking for stories about the monster.”
“Yes. What do you know about it?”
“I’ve never seen it. But some elders say the monster doesn’t eat good people. Yet now... good and bad seem all jumbled. The village is nearly splitting in two.” Su Chang sighed. “By the way, how long do you plan to stay here?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Why?”
“Oh... some villagers aren’t fond of outsiders spending the night in our village...” Su lowered his voice. “If you can get our story out, maybe it can save us.” With that, he lowered his head and hurried away.
Yue watched the departing crowd, realizing that only by finding Aiwan could he unravel the mystery of the monster and understand what had truly transpired. After asking around, he finally found Aiwan’s residence.
Chapter Two: The Monster Attack
Yue found Aiwan in a low stone house at the southwestern corner of the village. He was a scrawny teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen, pale as a sheet. When Yue brought up the monster attack that happened last month, his eyes filled with terror and he kept dodging his gaze, head down, not saying a word. Only when Yue mentioned the shell artisan’s name did Aiwan look up slightly, his tense body loosening a bit. He touched the shell charm hanging around his neck, let out a long breath, and after a moment of silence, began telling that unbearable memory:
#
Honestly, I don’t know if it was this charm saved me or what. Maybe. Can’t think of any other reason.
This all started with Jin. His father is a reef guardian, part of the village militia. Guess he followed his father’s footsteps—He’d usually take us fellows wandering around the village. They were all older than me. I was the youngest.
Jin always had it out for Lili, because she’s Bani’s daughter. In Jin’s eyes, Bani hid evil objects back then, pissed off the Sea God and brought the monster here, so Lili is the descendant of a curse. He always said Lili was lazy, hanging out with little animals all day in the island, always talking about the outside world. Sooner or later, she’d follow her old man’s path and bring disaster to the village.
That day we cornered Lili in an alley. She was squatting on the ground, using vines, coral branches, and shells to piece together something that looked like a camera—a little toy. She held it up to her eye, pointing it at the flowers on the ground and little seagulls in the sky, imitating how outsiders take photos. Jin saw that and immediately lost his temper, rushed up and grabbed her arm, cursing viciously: “You little curse! How dare you imitate Bani playing with evil things! The monster was brought by your dad, you’re a disaster!”
Lili was hurting from the grip, but she stubbornly lifted her head, eyes red, and shot back: “The monster wasn’t brought by my papa! I’ve seen the monster, it’s not a bad thing, it’s just a big caterpillar, not scary at all.”
When Jin heard that, he exploded on the spot, clenching his fist and roaring: “You dare speak up for the monster? I’ve put up with you for too long. Since you like it so much, I’ll send you right to it, let’s see if it eats you or not!”
When I heard him say that, I got panicked and worried, I grabbed his arm and tried to stop him: “Oh, Jin, isn’t this a bit too far? Something bad could happen.”
But he shook me off hard, glared at me and cursed: “You little chicken, shut up! Keep talking and I’ll deal with you too!”
I was so scared I didn’t dare say another word. I had no choice but to follow them as they dragged Lili toward the strange building. That place’s the creepiest place in the village—square and blocky, all hard gray stone, completely different from the stone houses in the village, looks weird as hell. No wonder the monster shows up there. Normal people are scared to go in.
When we got inside the abandoned building, it was so empty, smooth concrete floor. Looking up you could see crisscrossing metal racks overhead, and a second-floor walkway running around the sides. Jin found a thick hemp rope, made us tie Lili’s feet tight, and hung her upside down from a rack on the second floor, said He’d use her as bait to lure the monster out. We all hid on the second-floor walkway, gripping the railing and looking down.
I huddled in a corner, scared and guilty, but what could I do? I’m not a hero; I’m just a sidekick.
After a while, a low growl came from inside the building. The monster appeared... I’d heard adults say it could change shape, and now I saw it—like a giant seal, like a huge worm, anyway it was thick and long. It crawled out from the shadows, slowly wriggling on the concrete floor, very horrifying.
The monster looked up at Lili hanging mid-air and howled, opened its wide mouth. As soon as Jin saw that, he immediately grabbed a small knife and cut the rope! Lili fell straight down, right into the monster’s mouth...
We all thought Lili was dead for sure. But after a while, the monster suddenly started shaking violently, coughing non-stop, like it had eaten something disgusting. Its belly flipped, and with a fierce jerk of its head, it unexpectedly spat Lili out completely unharmed.
Right then, the worm’s body suddenly unfolded, and four thick legs stretched out from its belly. The creature, which had been moving slowly, transformed in an instant, jumped from the ground straight up to the second floor, lunging at us! We were all terrified, running everywhere, but the monster was too fast. It swallowed Jin and the others one by one, screams coming nonstop. I was scared out of my mind, scrambling and crawling down from the second floor, rushing out of the cursed place with all my might, running home without looking back... didn’t even care what happened to Lili...
I thought maybe some of the others got out too... Turns out no, just me... Lili was fine though, heard she crawled out by herself later.
Since then, for a whole month I haven’t dared go out. The moment I close my eyes it’s the scene in that building. I still can’t figure out why the monster didn’t eat Lili but ate everyone else. I only know it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life. If you want to know more, better ask Lili. I’ve been too ashamed to face her... If you find her, please tell her I’m sorry...
#
Following Aiwan’s directions, Lili’s house was on the other side of the village. The route happened to pass near what the villagers called the “strange building” or “cursed place”. With daylight still holding, Yue decided to see this “monster feeding place” that everyone avoided with his own eyes.
Pushing through a stretch of jungle on the island’s northwest side, the rustic atmosphere was instantly replaced by a moldy, rusty smell. A building completely at odds with Xuan Village loomed before him.
“What? this isn’t some weird building at all; it’s clearly a modern concrete building!”
Yue raised his camera, filming the massive structure while marveling—how could there be an abandoned modern building here?
This huge, square building was covered in rust and cracks from sea wind and high temperatures: exterior paint peeling, blistering, flaking off in large patches; walls eroded by sea salt into gray-white salt frost; dark brown water stains clearly visible. Some exposed steel bars stuck out, and wild vines and weeds tangled on the roof, forming a jarring contrast with the village’s quaint stone houses.
Yue circled the building and found the entrance—the door was long gone, leaving only an opening about five meters high and four meters wide. Passing through, the inside was vast and empty, completely hollow in the middle. The floor was bare concrete, covered with a gray-white crust of accumulated sea salt and dust—but clearly disturbed by numerous messy footprints. Looking past these obstacles, he could see scratches of varying depths, like marks left by some large equipment, with spiral little holes remaining at the scratch sites. Looking up, the steel roof structure rose over ten meters high, with exposed beams and trusses, paint cracked and covered in rust. Around the sides ran a broken second-floor walkway, railings missing, thick with dust. The window glass on the wall had long shattered into pieces, leaving only empty window holes. Sea wind blew through the building unobstructed, making sounds that are sometimes shrill and sometimes low. High in the wall crevices hid bird nests, and seabirds occasionally flew in and out through the broken windows, circling and crying under the empty roof.
The entire place felt abandoned for decades.
“Seems like it used to be a factory,” Yue muttered to himself, his voice unexpectedly echoing long and slow, lingering for several seconds before fading. Even knowing this was a modern building, he couldn’t help shivering—no wonder the locals found it weird and ominous.
Wandering in this empty abandoned factory, he also noticed several circular areas on the ground where dust was noticeably thinner than the surroundings, nearly a meter in diameter, as if something unnatural had appeared there.
Looking at all this, Yue’s confusion surged completely. He’d done paranormal investigations for so many years, always believing there were rational explanations behind so-called “mysterious phenomena.” He’d maintained a skeptical attitude toward Xuan Village’s monster rumors. He’d guessed it might be some murderer or criminal group using village superstitions to cover their crimes, creating this elaborate hoax. But Aiwan’s vivid memory, the villagers’ wildly different yet mutually corroborating descriptions, plus this abandoned modern building abruptly appearing on an isolated island—none of the clues fit together cleanly. His once-certain rationality began wavering, and an absurd thought popped up: Could the monster actually be real?
Now, Lili became the key to answering this question.
Leaving this building that didn’t belong here, Yue headed northeast, continuing toward Lili’s house.
#
The sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting the sea in crimson light.
Unlike the other stone houses in the village, this one had all its doors and windows tightly shut. Was the whole family out?
Yue stepped forward and knocked.
“Who is it?” A cautious female voice came from inside, the tension in it unmistakable.
“Hello, ma’am, my name’s Yue, I’m a vlogger...journalist from outside the island. I’m wondering if I could ask Lili about what happened in the strange building last month.”
With a faint creak, the door opened a narrow crack. A woman in her early thirties poked her head out, looking at the oddly dressed young man before her, then looking left and right down the empty alley twice. Only after confirming no one else was around did she open the door.
“Hurry in.” She pulled Yue inside and shut the wooden door behind him.
The house inside was dim. The fading daylight filtered weakly through the translucent shell tiles in the roof, leaving the room lit only by candles.
Yue guessed she must be Lili’s mother.
The woman told Yue to sit, brought a cup of water, and said softly: “I know you’re here about the monster... The village is small. Any news spreads fast here.”
Then she called into the back room, “sweetie, come on out.”
A slender girl of about thirteen stepped out, wearing a rough white cloth shirt, clutching a yellowed, frayed-edged book in her arms.
Yue noticed this was a lively, cute girl, but shrouded in an anxiety that didn’t belong to her age. He softened his tone, “hi, Lili, I know the strange building thing scared you. Don’t worry, the monster’s not here. Can you tell me what happened that day?”
Lili pressed her lips together, looked at her mother. After the woman nodded, she began telling the story. The first half was similar to what Aiwan said:
#
...
Jin and the others tied me up and hung me from a rack in that weird house. They said they were going to feed me to the monster.
After a little while, the monster really came. It was nothing like the caterpillars I’d seen before—it was way scarier… I was so scared I couldn’t even open my eyes. I was wrong before. Monsters really do eat people, including me…
I screamed as hard as I could, “no! Please let me down!”
But just then, the rope suddenly broke, and I fell straight down into the monster’s huge open mouth.
It was pitchy black inside. I thought there’d be rows of sharp teeth and some huge slimy tongue inside... but it wasn’t like that at all. I landed on something hard and slippery, kind of like a slide. When I reached the bottom, it didn’t feel like a throat. It felt more like some glowing cave.
Outside the cave, a tiny shiny little ball floated in front of me, like a tiny bug that flew over and landed on my arm, shining right on my totem tattoo. It buzzed softly as it glowed, then turned green and flew away. Right after that, a cold damp wind blew out of the cave and pushed me back out. I fell on the ground and passed out.
When I woke up, everyone else was already gone.
#
After she finished her story, her eyes brightened, “Just like falling into Alice’s rabbit hole!” She then held out the old book in her arms to the outsider: “I found this book on the beach some time ago, I had to hide it because I was afraid others would find out, they wouldn’t like it.”
Yue glanced at the book’s title—an illustrated Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. He figured the little girl’s description of falling into the monster’s body came from here. Kids’ stories were always full of imagination.
“Lili, do you know...” Yue paused for a second, “...why the monster didn’t eat you?”
“Hmm... I don’t know. But I’m not scared of the monster anymore. It’s the other villagers I’m scared of...”
Hearing that, Lili’s mother sighed, her voice hoarse and choked: “Our family, ever since my husband Bani passed away, has been treated as outcasts by some villagers. Back then her dad just picked up some outside things, wanted to see what was new, and they called him a sinner who angered the Sea God. Now Lili survived the monster’s attack, the militia started saying she’s the monster’s accomplice, a little witch. Every few days they come to our door screaming curses at us, smashing our windows. But they’re also scared—scared that if they offended Lili, the monster would come for revenge. So they just keep bullying us like this.”
The woman wiped her tears and hugged her daughter. She said to the outsider: “It’s getting dark. The village isn’t so peaceful at night now. If you haven’t found a place to stay, you can stay at our place tonight, don’t go out.”
“Oh, thank you so much. My boat’s not coming until tomorrow morning, I was just worrying where I could stay for the night.” Yue nodded with gratitude.
#
That night, the stone house was eerily quiet, so quiet you could hear the sea wind whistling through the stone cracks outside. Yue lay on a plank bed covered with rough hemp cloth and dried seaweed, tossing and turning, his mind full of today’s stories and that abrupt abandoned factory.
Before he knew it, the day’s exhaustion gradually crept over him, and he fell asleep.
He didn’t know how much time passed before piercing roars and the crackle of torches tore through the deep night’s silence, jolting Yue awake from his sleep.
He sat up abruptly, tiptoed to the window, and gently lifted the hemp cloth window slit to look out.
This one glance made his blood freeze in his veins.
The alley was packed with people, at least twenty or so, with more villagers joining from afar. They held blazing torches high, turning the whole stone alley red. Spears, stone hammers, fishing nets—the tools Yue had seen the militia patrolling with during the day. They had surrounded Lili’s house completely.
“Bani’s demon spawn! Conspiring with the monster to kill villagers!”
“Give me back my son!”
“Get out of Xuan Village! The Sea God won’t forgive you!”
“Hand over that little witch, give us an explanation!”
“Burn them! Shouldn’t have let Bani leave offspring back then.”
“And that outsider with the evil object, he shouldn’t stay here!”
“...”
The roars rose wave after wave, firelight drawing closer. Someone started throwing stones at the door, thrusting spears at the wooden panels. The house’s wooden door made thumping sounds, shaking and about to give way.
Lili’s mother held her daughter tightly behind her, face pale, body trembling, yet stubbornly blocking the doorway, refusing to budge an inch. The air inside the room turned deathly still. Fear washed over them like a rising tide, thick and suffocating.
Yue’s hands were sweating nonstop as he clutched his camera. He’d come here to capture paranormal activity, but what was happening before him now was more terrifying than any ghost story. It’s like some archaic scene from a TV drama unfolding right in front of him—it felt utterly unreal.
“This really is a backward little place! A bunch of militia members mouthing off about protecting villagers, yet because of some vague superstitious legends, they’re actually hurting their own kind. There’s no way this would happen in a modern society.” Yue grumbled indignantly to himself.
Just as the wooden door was about to be broken open, a roaring sound that made the stone walls tremble suddenly came from deep in the alley, piercing through everyone’s shouts.
The surrounding crowd fell silent in an instant, everyone froze on the spot, torch flames flickering unsteadily.
The next second, a massive black shadow appeared.
As if popping out of nowhere from the ground, the monster darted around the crowd’s perimeter, moving so fast that only a blurry afterimage was left behind.
People formed a circle, raising torches in panic, shining outward. Frantic screams kept coming.
“It’s a jackal! A huge jackal!”
“It’s a man-eating giant wild boar!”
“A shark! With wings!”
“A giant water snake! Has four legs!”
“...”
One scream cut off suddenly, then another...
When the gathered villagers realized people beside them were vanishing, they completely broke down. Like a pot exploding, they scattered in every direction, shoving each other, screams, cries, and the crackle of falling torches mixing into chaos.
Several bolder militia members raised their weapons and charged forward, trying to fight the monster, but the moment they got close, they were swept up by that blur, not even having time to cry for help before disappearing into the darkness.
“Quick! You need to get out of here!” Lili’s mother shoved Yue hard, voice urgent, “If you don’t leave now, it might be too late!”
“Why don’t you come with me? These people are not fond of you anyway.” Yue suggested.
“No, there are many others in the village like us who get bullied often. We can’t leave, can’t let the militia have their way. And... we’re not familiar with the outside world... I’m scared...”
“Mom, are we going to the other side of the sea?” Lili hugged her mother’s waist with one hand, tugging her arm with the other.
“No...” Lili’s mother said to her daughter, “we’re not leaving.” Then she turned to outsider, “Besides, our roots, our lives, our totems are all in Xuan Village. This is our home.”
Yue couldn’t persuade her. Seeing the situation growing increasingly serious, he didn’t dare delay. Gripping his still-recording camera, he rushed out through the back door of the stone house.
He stumbled as he ran, glancing back from time to time. In the flickering light of scattered torches, he caught sight of a monster darting past swiftly. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it definitely wasn’t a jackal, wild boar, giant python, or any beast of the land. It had a cylindrical body, gleaming with cold hard metallic silver in the firelight.
But the continuous cries behind him made him afraid to stop and look closer. He picked up his pace, salty sea wind cutting his face like a knife. Through the pitch-black jungle, the screams and chaos gradually faded behind him, and he finally reached the southeastern shore where He’d landed yesterday.
He collapsed onto the beach, wet seaweed covering his feet, reefs faintly visible in the waves. The sea surface was pitch black, only the distant horizon showing a faint glimmer of dawn.
He activated the distress signal on his smart bracelet.
He had finally escaped, but the questions in his mind surged like an unstoppable tide.
“This primitive village... this human-eating monster... what the hell is all this...”
He couldn’t figure out the monster’s secret for now, but this outdated camera in his hand had recorded everything that happened in Xuan Village, including that blurry, metallic-gleaming blur. This was a story more bizarre and shocking than any paranormal event he had ever encountered before.
“Let’s not think about it now, I’m too tired for that... Wait till I get back home, I will check all the video footage, then sort everything out.” Yue imagined this episode would definitely blow up the internet, bringing him millions of views.
Morning sunlight broke through the thin clouds over the horizon, golden light spreading across the sea surface. On the distant skyline, a small black dot emerged through the golden waves earlier than planned, slowly approaching the shore.
“I really need to get some sleep on the fishing boat first...”
Chapter Three: The Truth
A soft beep sounded, and the sensor door slid open automatically. Assistant Zhang Yifan strode into the brightly lit observation station.
Inside, a massive curved screen dominated nearly an entire wall. Dozens of real-time surveillance feeds scrolled continuously from right to left, each frame showing every corner of an island: the coast, the jungle, the inside and outside of an abandoned factory, the village streets, and some overhead mobile views. Certain frames lit up with conspicuous red borders, detaching from the scroll and fixing themselves to the side of the screen—these showed crowd gatherings, Behavioral Detection Unit operations, appearances of special individuals, and other anomalies. Once the footage returned to normal, the highlighted windows disappeared back into the scrolling feed. Beneath the main screen lies a full row of integrated touch control consoles, equipped with all kinds of control modules and displaying real-time data including temperature, humidity, signal strength, device status, and behavioral statistics of test subjects.
“Dr. Chen, the inspector from the central government is here, a different man from last time, this one is from Beijing. Guess we’ll have to walk him through the project all over again.”
“Mm, alright, Yifan. Please show him in. Thank you.” Dr. Chen kept his eyes fixed on the giant screen in front of him.
A man of about fifty years old, tall and slightly stocky, wearing a navy suit jacket and black straight-cut trousers, walked into the observation station with a steady gait, and shook hands with Dr. Chen.
“Hello, Dr. Chen. I’m Zhou Lihua from the National Artificial Intelligence Governance Committee. I’m here to see how the experiment is going.”
“Hello, Inspector Zhou. Which aspect of the experiment would you like to know about?”
“I’ve got a rough idea from the reports, but treat me like a rookie, let’s start from the beginning.”
“Of course.” Dr. Chen turned to his assistant. “Yifan, please take notes.” He then turned back to the inspector: “Regulations require us to record everything. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. It’s protocol. Dr. Chen is thorough—very commendable.”
Assistant Zhang Yifan stepped to the side of the console in response, picked up a tablet less than two millimeters thick with a transparent substrate, and opened the multi-channel voice-recognition logging system. On the tablet screen, he entered the identities of Dr. Chen and the inspector Zhou Lihua, and tapped the start button. The screen instantly split into two synchronized waveforms. The system automatically separated each speaker’s voice, filtered out ambient noise, and transcribed the dialogue into standardized conversational text with near-perfect accuracy, line by line. The assistant only needed to verify the content to ensure nothing was missed.
The conversation displayed on the tablet interface is as follows:
#
Dr. Chen: As you can see on the screen, our experiment takes place on this island. All residents are our test subjects. We provide basic living conditions—for example, a camouflaged freshwater system disguised as a river, fertile soil, and so on—allowing them to develop within a closed community. Our core work is full-process observation and data recording, with only minimal order maintenance. We don’t actively intervene in their natural evolution unless something seriously threatens the integrity of the experiment. We compile all data analysis and submit it to our superiors, who evaluate the experiment’s effectiveness and determine when it ends. On that point, perhaps you know more than I do.
Inspector: By test subjects, you mean AI robots.
Dr. Chen: Technically speaking, they’re not quite robots. They’re bio-synthetic bionic entities—short for Bionts. We construct their bodies from artificial bio-tissue, paired with nanomechanical clusters that function as their cognitive and memory cores. Their appearance, body temperature, pain response, and emotional reactions are indistinguishable from humans. They can consume fish, poultry, grain, vegetables, and convert organic biomass into bioelectric power to sustain themselves. Unlike the AI robots out there, they have no fixed instructions or programs, no preset moral framework, no fed knowledge. They’re only implanted with the most basic survival logic, allowing them to autonomously form communities, cultures, and rules. What you see is the result of their self-evolution. That’s precisely why we need a fully controllable closed environment. That’s why we built this artificial island.
Inspector: How do you ensure this artificial island is fully controllable?
Dr. Chen: First, the dense reefs surrounding the island serve as both a physical barrier and a full-domain signal-shielding array, completely blocking conventional signal exchange between inside and outside. This ensures experimental data doesn’t leak out, and external signals can’t intrude or interfere. Second, we’ve deployed a comprehensive surveillance network across the entire island with no blind spots: various micro-cameras, voice collectors, high-precision sensors hidden in every corner of the island—inside black coral beads, pebbles, shells and so on. Even some of the seagulls in the sky are disguised biomimetic surveillance drones. They can monitor autonomously or be manually controlled. The seagulls have always maintained friendly relations with the villagers; they never hunt them, thanks to the Sea God Xuan legend. These devices are mixed with real objects, virtually undetectable. They’re powered by a dual system of solar energy and micro-nuclear cells, running stably around the clock, collecting behavioral data and external variables from the villagers 24 hours a day. All information is transmitted through an encrypted local network to the full-domain Data Nexus node—that is, the coral stone pillar at the center of the village—which processes the data uniformly and relays it back to the observation station.
Inspector: You call them “villagers.”
Dr. Chen: Oh, that’s just our internal term for the test subjects. Because they’ve become almost indistinguishable from real people.
Inspector: Mm... This surveillance network you mentioned must collect an enormous amount of data. How do you associate it with different bionts—villagers—to evaluate their behavior individually? Also, you mentioned this Sea God legend. Why do you create such a background setting?
Dr. Chen: Every civilization needs an origin, whether real or virtual. Besides implanting each bionic entity with a fragment of personal fuzzy memory, we also need to provide a communal background for the whole community. The core idea is to create a believable cultural framework that allows the experiment to regulate itself. On one hand, the myth rationalizes all special rules on the island, including the origin of their own identity, allowing them to accept those limits voluntarily from the level of cultural belief. On the other hand, the myth perfectly masks the nature of all surveillance equipment. They regard the Data Nexus as a cultural pillar, cameras as evil-warding talismans, and autonomous drones disguised as seagulls as the Sea God’s mount. As for associating massive data with individuals and evaluating them, this involves the most important function of the myth: totem culture. Every villager has a unique totemic tattoo. What they believe to be the “Sea God’s mark” is essentially an exclusive identity code and behavioral record identifier. Information collected on the island is automatically recognized by the Data Nexus, bound one-to-one with the identity code—their totemic tattoo—and automatically archived into the corresponding individual’s behavioral file. That is, anything a villager has done, anything they’ve said, and their emotional changes—when you scan their tattoo, you can immediately pull up their complete profile, everything at a glance. Another major function of the myth is to constrain the test subjects from entering the electrical era. Once they contact and master electricity, it could likely trigger a technological explosion that might exceed our control. After all, we mainly observe their ethical evolution, not technological development. Besides, early human civilizations had all kinds of myths and legends. We hope to simulate that period as authentically as possible. That’s why we set them as castaways from the Ming-Qing dynasty transition. Actually, we didn’t implant the myth memory in detail—just a rough framework and necessary settings, such as the electricity ban. Many details were added by themselves later, so several slightly different versions emerged. That’s actually a good thing; it looks more real this way.
Inspector: Mm... fire marks the starting point of human civilization, while electricity is the cornerstone of modern civilization. Once bionts master electricity, it’s indeed hard to predict how they would evolve. Is that why the “monster” was triggered when this biont Bani contacted modern electrical devices? I’ve gone through the reports, that’s the most frequent term. What’s the role of this so-called “monster” in the experiment?
Dr. Chen: Yes and no. Bani’s contact with modern technology back then did trigger a red alert, but it wasn’t serious enough to warrant order intervention. What truly triggered the “monster” was the severe violent behavior some villagers inflicted on him. That was the first extreme event of large-scale intentional harm to a fellow being since the experiment began. It led us to consider activating the Behavioral Hazard Rating System—that is, this “monster,” which we call the Behavioral Detection Unit, aka BDU. Its body is a cylindrical robot with retractable legs at the bottom, capable of rapid movement, jumping, and short-distance aerial gliding. It carries an optoelectronic holographic scrambler and a computational-imaging interference module, which can activate the bionts’ visual-neural response nodes, creating a visual distortion effect in the target’s perception. It can generate different forms based on each biont’s own imagination or fear. This is currently the only holographic module activated on the island; normally, it doesn’t affect their normal vision.
Inspector: But I only see its metal form.
Dr. Chen: Yes. This system is ineffective on humans because we don’t have those exclusive response nodes.
Inspector: Understood. Please continue.
Dr. Chen: The core operational logic of the BDU relies entirely on the Data Nexus and the totem-binding system. The individual files of the bionts I mentioned earlier are the main reference for the Behavioral Hazard Rating System. Once a biont’s accumulated behavior reaches the set threshold, the BDU will retrieve them—for example, serious repeated violent assault, disruption of group order, and so on. We have very strict and detailed rating standards. If you’d like to see them, I can have Yifan send you the relevant materials later. Of course, rules are rigid, but real situations aren’t. Sometimes we also need to make manual judgments. Simply put, you could understand it this way: when a villager’s crimes are truly excessive, the coral pillar signals the monster, and the monster eats him.
Inspector: By “retrieve,” you mean destroy them?
Dr. Chen: Just like our law system, how do we deal with extremely serious criminals, such as murderers? For bionts who cross the hazard threshold, they no longer serve any useful purpose, they could severely disrupt the experiment, and possibly even endangering humans. They need to take responsibility for their own actions.
Inspector: You talk as if they’re real humans...
Dr. Chen: Isn’t that exactly our purpose? To make them more like humans?
Inspector: Uh... Any chance this BDU system could have misjudgments or operational errors?
Dr. Chen: None so far. Besides having exhaustive exclusive files to score the bionts, to ensure operational accuracy, the monster is also equipped with a micro multispectral scanner inside its body. It scans the biont’s totemic tattoo to reconfirm their identity, preventing errors. So far, everything has run normally, except for one small accident—but it immediately spat out a biont named Lili. This also validates the necessity of double-checking.
Inspector: I’d like to know how this “monster” specifically executes retrieval. When it’s not operating, where does it hide? It can’t just wander around the island all the time, right?
Dr. Chen: Haha, of course not. This BDU has a total length of 3.2 meters and an inner cylinder diameter of 0.7 meters, capable of holding one to two bionts at a time. After retrieving a biont through its mouth, it heads to nearby concealed passages distributed around the island, connects through the hatch at its bottom—a dual-opening design not only for functional separation but also for optimal efficiency—and delivers the target to the Biont Processing Center. Its regular hiding place is an abandoned factory. The factory basement has dedicated storage space for it. Normally villagers can’t discover it at all; you could say the factory is its lair. At the same time, the factory is its core retrieval base station, with redundant multiple passages on the ground level. They hadn’t been used before, but during the biont Lili incident, they were actually utilized, allowing simultaneous rapid retrieval of multiple targets.
Inspector: This abandoned factory you mentioned, it was where the bionts were made, right? Since it’s no longer in use, why still keep it there?
Dr. Chen: Yes, it was the first-generation biont manufacturing factory. Actually, we’re right beneath it. The entire control center is located 28 meters below the factory, including the Biont Processing Center, data center, energy core, materials depot, and the observation station which is where we are now. We didn’t demolish it mainly because its architectural style is completely out of place with the village, and with the monster frequently appearing nearby, it keeps villagers at a distance, thus minimizing the risk of them discovering the underground control center. Facts have proven this approach works perfectly, as ordinary villagers don’t dare approach it easily.
Inspector: But such a jarring building standing on the island—aren’t you afraid it will arouse villagers’ suspicion and disrupt the experimental logic of their autonomous evolution?
Dr. Chen: It would arouse suspicion, but it won’t disrupt the experiment. In the eyes of the villagers, it is merely a mysterious structure of unknown origin. This is entirely consistent with the process by which early human civilizations created taboos or myths when faced with inexplicable prehistoric relics. On the contrary, it makes the island’s communal culture follow the developmental trajectory of real human civilization more closely.
Inspector: This entire design sounds indeed meticulous, but even the most perfect system has its leaks. What if a villager discovers surveillance equipment, or contacts modern technology and uses it—like that biont Bani? What countermeasures do you have for that?
Dr. Chen: In such cases, the monster also executes retrieval tasks, but doesn’t destroy the targets. We selectively reveal partial truths based on how much information they’ve grasped, then hand them over to superiors for processing. Any subsequent arrangements are beyond my authority. Take Bani for example, actually the villagers never succeeded in killing him back then—they tied him to a stake, about to burn him in a witch-hunt like those of the 16th and 17th centuries. At the critical moment when his life hung by a thread, we dispatched the monster, dispersed all the villagers, and when only he remained, the monster retrieved him. We actually saved his life. As for where Bani went after being transferred, I’m not clear on that. You definitely have more information than I do on that aspect.
Inspector: You said earlier this island is a fully enclosed experimental field. Then how do humans from outside have access to get on the island? The monster itself is also external equipment. Doesn’t that contradict the closed setting?
Dr. Chen: The previous round of experiment showed that completely closed environments yield very limited data. Experiments need occasional introduction of external information as stimulus to observe how bionts react to foreign things. However, we strictly control the number of outsiders; we never fully open up. This is also an additional function of the monster—to create danger factors for Xuan Village, observing how bionts respond to external threats and survival crises, refining their behavioral data. This was actually our original conception for the monster. Bani was the first biont we formally retrieved. Before that, it mostly served as a deterrent. Later, extreme violent events frequently occurred on the island, and we officially activated the Behavioral Hazard Rating System to execute retrieval tasks for bionts exceeding the threshold.
Inspector: Mm. In reality, no country or region can be completely sealed off. Since the experiment aims to simulate real human society, moderate introduction of external stimulus is indeed necessary. But aren’t you worried that human outsiders will reveal technological progress of the real world to the bionts? Especially AI development. That could easily arouse their suspicion.
Dr. Chen: We’ve considered that too. All outsiders must sign a landing agreement before entering the island and wear a device similar to a smart bracelet that they can’t remove themselves. It integrates a voice recognition system and a miniature directional acoustic jammer. Once the wearer mentions any sensitive content, it automatically identifies it and emits a warning. If they continue, it automatically activates a personal muting field. The wearer’s words are confined to their own hearing; people around them only hear blurred, distorted noise, unable to distinguish the content. This ensures the villagers can’t know that our world has crossed the AI singularity. The outside world they learn about is a low-growth parallel era where no AI explosion has occurred.
Inspector: Ha, clever design. But I noticed a vlogger went to the island for an interview and filmed videos. Wouldn’t that cause serious leakage of the experiment?
Dr. Chen: You can rest assured on that. The fisherman Lu Hao who ferried the vlogger to and from the island is our security personnel, specifically responsible for controlling outsider access. The only suitable landing spot on the entire island is the southeastern shore. All boats transporting outsiders are disguised fishing boats operated by our security. During the more than ten hours the fisherman spends taking the vlogger back to Guangdong, a small “accident” will be arranged—his camera will be “accidentally” dropped into the sea, completely destroying all filmed footage and ensuring that the experimental secrets are never leaked.
Inspector: Mm. Without solid video evidence, no matter how much he talks, the public will only treat it as a bizarre tale and never take it seriously. If necessary, we can also inform the relevant platforms to restrict the flow of his account or even ban it entirely. There’s plenty of room for maneuver there.
Dr. Chen: Uh... That’s more or less the core situation of this experiment. If you’d like to know more details, I’ll answer anything I know. But some questions beyond my authority might need to go to the Committee or the Ministry of Science and Technology—for example, what eventually happens to those bionts who were retrieved but not destroyed.
Inspector: Dr. Chen, thank you for such a detailed and patient explanation. I can see you’ve been probing and testing all along. To be honest, I had a general understanding of what you’ve said before, but no matter how exhaustive a written report is, it can’t compare to hearing the project leader explain it in person. I’m very interested in your views. Based on your observation and research for such a long term, how do you think these bionts will be handled?
Dr. Chen: These bionts who can discover surveillance or actively contact new things are different from those who cross the hazard threshold. They’re full of curiosity, dare to break conventions, and possess high research value and practicality. I speculate they should undergo deeper testing, or... be reassigned to other experimental fields for continued observation?
Inspector: You’re very smart. Yes, Xuan Village is not the only experimental field. Over the past decades, we’ve had multiple experimental fields at different stages and in different scenarios distributed all around the world. We screen qualified bionts to enter the next phase of experiments, including those you mentioned. As for specific details of other experimental fields, that belongs to higher-level information, which I’m not at liberty to disclose.
Dr. Chen: Understood. Then what is the ultimate purpose of this series of experiments?
Inspector: Hm... I’ve more or less learned what I came to learn this time. Yifan, please stop the recording.
#
Recording complete.
Assistant Zhang Yifan tapped the stop button on the tablet, closing the multi-channel voice-recognition logging system.
“Yifan, you must be tired too. Go rest in the lounge. I’d like to chat with Dr. Chen alone.” The inspector said to the assistant.
The assistant nodded, asked no questions, and quickly left the observation station.
“This... isn’t this against protocol...” Dr. Chen looked at the inspector in surprise.
The inspector pointed to the surveillance cameras in the observation station, put one hand in his pocket, and said: “There are still several monitoring devices here. Rest assured, this complies with Central classified investigation procedures. It’s just that the topics we’re about to discuss—Yifan doesn’t have clearance for them yet. Didn’t you want to know the purpose of these experiments? I’d like to hear your views. What do you think these experiments are for? Come, sit down with me.”
The two slowly sat down before the console. The cool touch-control panel reflected the morning light of Xuan Village on the screen. Dr. Chen let out a long breath and said: “The AI robots currently circulating on the market have long penetrated every aspect of human life—household assistants, medical care, emotional companions, education, agriculture and industry, even cultural creation and urban management, almost everything. But they’re all bound by layered, structured behavioral safety systems. Whether physical safety, behavioral rules, or ethics and morality, they’re explainable, predictable, and modifiable. Essentially, they’re still human tools.”
He looked up at the villagers on the screen, his gaze softening somewhat: “But the AI bionts in our experiment are completely different. They have no moral presets, no fixed behavioral rules. What they have are bodies that can feel pain and pleasure, and ‘brains’ that can think autonomously and accumulate memories. Over more than ten or even decades of experiments, they’ve gradually developed their own moral systems and value judgments—they feel fear, anger, guilt, sympathy. They’re really too much like humans. After so many years of accumulation, each individual can no longer be replicated. They’re no longer code, data, and templates, but experience, consciousness, and evolution.”
Dr. Chen turned to the inspector and continued: “With the information you just revealed, I speculate that the core of these experiments is to screen for bionts that can truly learn, grow, and think independently, that can remain calm under external pressure, balance self-survival with empathy for others, and maintain value stability over long periods. They can truly understand human complexity, distinguish right from wrong, and learn to weigh trade-offs in real conflicts. Such bionts are no longer tools. They can make decisions like humans, and more importantly, they’ve become independent individuals capable of accountability. We need them...” He paused, his tone carrying a hint of probing, “...to enter fields that ordinary AI robots can never reach...”
The inspector sensed Dr. Chen’s hesitation: “It’s fine, Dr. Chen, please say what you will. I want to hear your real thoughts. What kind of fields do you think they are?”
Dr. Chen was silent for a moment, his gaze falling on the coral stone pillar standing in the center of Xuan Village on the screen.
“Social governance,” he said word by word. “Human social governance has never been a black-and-white execution of orders. It requires empathy, weighing, facing complex human nature and interest entanglements, finding balance between rules and human sentiment. Ordinary AI can’t do this. They don’t have...” He tried to find the right word to express the precise meaning, yet the only word that came to his mind was an unscientific one, “souls. Ordinary AI has no ‘human heart,’ no deep understanding of human nature. Humans themselves, meanwhile, are inevitably swayed by emotions, interests and prejudices, making them prone to flawed decisions. But these bionts—they have both human empathy and critical thinking, as well as the rationality and precision of AI. Perhaps... they can become humanity’s ‘partners,’ entering the decision-making layer of social governance, and jointly governing this complex world alongside humans.”
The inspector picked up the water cup on the table, took a light sip, and said: “You mean letting them enter the government leadership?”
“This is only my speculations, but it would be hard to achieve. Apart from whether they themselves are qualified, it also depends on whether human leaders are willing to delegate power, or whether they can be understood and accepted by the public.” Said Dr. Chen cautiously.
“Most ordinary folks in our country don’t actually care much about who or what governs society.” The inspector leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Chinese people are practical, what they care about most is whether the government can improve their quality of life. Didn’t the Chief Architect Deng Xiaoping say: it doesn’t matter if it’s a black cat or a white cat, as long as it catches mice, it’s a good cat.” The inspector put down the cup.
“Then...” A trace of regret flashed across Dr. Chen’s face; his eyes locked tightly on the scrolling images on the screen. “Is our experiment coming to an end? Is that the purpose of your visit—to review whether it should be terminated?”
“Why do you think that?” The inspector raised an eyebrow, leaned forward slightly, his tone carrying a hint of doubt.
“Violence in Xuan Village has been escalating rapidly. Some villagers even besieged Lili’s house, far exceeding the scale of the Bani Incident back then. Although the BDU prevented the tragedy in time, more and more bionts are approaching or crossing the hazard threshold. The village is sliding into extremism and division. If the purpose of the experiment is really as I suspected, I’m afraid it’s already difficult to screen out any qualified bionts here...” Dr. Chen sighed, his eyes full of helplessness.
“Chaos is an inevitable part of ethical evolution. Isn’t that exactly how human society has come to be?” The inspector waved his hand. “No, that’s not the reason for my visit this time. The Xuan Village experiment continues. Let’s wait and see.”
“Then... my guess about the experimental purpose... was it wrong?” Dr. Chen asked, puzzled.
“Rather than pursuing some fixed objective, these experiments are more about exploration.” The inspector leaned back, his tone slowing down. “Ever since the breakout of large language models in 2022, artificial intelligence has entered the fast track of explosive development, far exceeding human expectations. We didn’t get here step by step; we were ‘pushed’ here bit by bit. Many questions and possibilities can only slowly emerge through such experiments, only by letting them grow autonomously. We don’t know what kind of bionts we can ultimately cultivate, nor are we certain what changes they can bring to human society. These experiments themselves are more valuable than any preset goal. The insights they offer us matter far more than a fixed outcome. Even if we once had a certain purpose, we would adjust it as the experiment progresses.”
“But you mentioned that qualified bionts would be screened to enter the next phase of experiments. So at least in this Xuan Village experiment, and even in subsequent experiments at different stages, you know what you want.”
The inspector looked at Dr. Chen with a profound gaze, leaned forward slightly, and slowly spoke: “We do have an ultimate vision... Dr. Chen, have you ever wondered what it would be like if a person could live a healthy and youthful life for 500 years? 1,000 years? or even more?”
The question came out of the blue. Dr. Chen could hardly imagine that a government official would suddenly raise such an ethereal and elusive query. He fell silent for a moment, then shook his head and said, “We’ve imagined it in countless science fiction, myths, and other fictional novels—vampires, Frankenstein’s monster, alchemists—yet no one has ever been able to truly verify it. The human body is firmly confined by a hundred-year lifespan limit. This is a physiological shackle we cannot break free from.”
“Exactly,” the inspector said with a hint of emotion in his tone, “even with the support of modern medicine such as gene editing and organ replacement, the human lifespan still struggles to surpass 200 years—it remains far too limited. What’s more, the will of man fades with the decay of the flesh.”
His right hand gently rubbed the loose, cracked skin on the back of his left hand, and sighed, “ Homo sapiens have only existed for about 300,000 years, this number may sound incredibly long, but compared with the 160 million years of the dinosaurs, it’s just a drop in the ocean; not to mention compared to the billions of years of the Earth, the solar system, and even the entire universe. Human existence is but a snap of the fingers. In the face of the grand scale of time and space, we are far too fragile, Dr. Chen. A small asteroid impact, an ecological collapse, a nuclear war, a supervirus outbreak... any of these could bring everything to an end. Humans won’t exist forever... Maybe we can still survive for millions of years, but we may never truly escape the solar system, let alone cross the galaxy and reach the edge of the universe.”
“But they can.” He raised his finger and pointed at the moving bionts on the screen, “They can carry human civilization farther, and last longer, reaching places humans can never touch.”
“You mean, letting bionts become the inheritors of human civilization? But they’re not humans after all.” Dr. Chen frowned.
“Dr. Chen, what do you think civilization inheritance relies on?”
After a moment of thought, Dr. Chen replied, “Language, customs, and values.”
“Exactly,” the inspector gently patted his thigh. “Chinese civilization has lasted thousands of years. Dynasties rise and fall, regimes thrive and perish, yet we always believe our civilization has never been interrupted. Why? Each person’s life is merely a few decades, but through language, classics, rituals and shared narratives, we can forge a spiritual connection with the ancients who lived thousands of years ago. These imprints of civilization may be constantly reconstructed, but as long as they remain unbroken, the civilization keeps growing. Every generation of us is an inheritor of this civilization. The essence of civilization lies not in blood ties, but in the intergenerational transmission of information. Civilization has never belonged exclusively to any single biological species, but a ‘cultural life’ that can be inherited, expanded, and carried farther. If AI bionts can carry human language systems, historical narratives, value structures, and cultural symbols, and can live longer, go farther, and reach places far beyond the limits of human flesh, then why can’t they become new carriers of human civilization? What humans can do, they might do even better.”
Dr. Chen looked at the moving bionts on the screen, fell silent for a moment, and raised the doubt in his heart: “Aren’t humans afraid of being replaced by them?”
“Actually, all that is getting way ahead of ourselves.” The inspector waved his hand, as if he hadn’t heard Dr. Chen’s question. His tone softened, a hint of amiability appeared on his face, and he even started making small talk: “Dr. Chen, I see you look quite young, yet fully in charge of such a massive experimental project, truly remarkable. How long have you been working here?”
Seeing the inspector unwilling to answer, Dr. Chen tactfully dropped the subject. “It’s been almost twenty years...” He raised his hand and touched his cheek, continuing, “We researchers spend most of our time indoors with little sunlight, maybe that’s why we look young, I suppose. As you know, this experiment is highly classified. Everyone involved in the project is required to remain here the whole time and rarely leaves.”
“Staying in such an isolated place year after year, an ordinary person would have long suffered from depression and anxiety. Have you ever had moments of emotional breakdown like this? Or... thought about leaving?” The inspector continued to ask.
“I’ve got used to it long ago. Occasionally there might be some subtle emotional fluctuations, but never out of control.” Dr. Chen gently shook his head, then his eyes became firm, “I know the importance of this experiment. I know I’m doing something of profound significance to the whole society, the country, and even humanity. So I’ve never slacked off, let alone give up halfway.”
Dr. Chen thought to himself, could the inspector’s visit this time be not only to check the experiment’s status, but also to assess his professional competence?
“You’ve been observing these bionts for so many years. What do you think of them? I mean, your feelings, not your judgment of them.” The inspector pointed at the villagers on the screen and asked curiously.
“To be honest, watching them all the time, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for them...” Dr. Chen sighed, “I know they’re bionic entities, not humans, and I understand we are monitoring their ethical evolution. But sometimes I can’t help wondering—if they’re truly like humans, then this experiment itself might have already crossed the ethical line...” He paused for a moment, slowly composing his emotions and settling his tone, “Of course, all valid experiments require sacrifice; this is inevitable.”
Then the two chatted a few more trivial sentences, after which the inspector stood up to take his leave. “Dr. Chen, thank you for your candor. I have got all the information I needed. It’s getting late; I should head back. Let’s keep in touch.”
Dr. Chen got up to see him off. Just as the two walked out of the observation station door, they saw assistant Zhang Yifan waiting quietly in the corridor.
“Dr. Chen, you don’t need to see me out. I’ve already taken up so much of your time. Your assistant Yifan can walk me out.” The inspector turned to Dr. Chen, extended his right hand, with a sincere smile on his face.
“Alright, inspector Zhou. You are always welcome to visit again.”
The two shook hands and bid each other farewell. After the pleasantries, Dr. Chen returned to the observation station and continued staring at those scrolling images.
The doctor pondered to himself; this inspector was different from previous ones—obviously a higher-level official. Was his visit this time just a routine inspection of the experiment, or did he have other purposes? Before Dr. Chen could figure it out, a red frame lit up on the screen once more—the monster was about to leave its lair for another hunt.
#
The assistant accompanied the inspector toward the elevator. The elevator door slowly closed. The inspector activated the directional acoustic jammer in his pocket—similar to the device built into the landing smart bracelet, but with a larger range of effect. It twisted sound in the air like light refraction, forming a miniature “acoustic lens,” causing microphones in surrounding devices to only capture hollow echoes and noise patterns.
“Yifan, you’ve been with Dr. Chen for quite some time. “The inspector turned to look at the assistant and asked in a calm tone, “Has he ever suspected his own identity?”
“No, he’s always believed he’s human.” The assistant replied, but for the sake of rigor, he added, “At least there’s no evidence suggesting he thinks otherwise.”
“Mm, keep observing. If there’s anything unusual, report immediately.”
“Understood, Deputy Minister Zhou.” The assistant nodded, and with some sincerity added: “Dr. Chen is extremely professional in handling all kinds of experimental problems. He can respond calmly to emergency situations, and he’s usually very friendly to subordinates—including me. It’s just...” He frowned slightly, his lips moved, and he swallowed back a thought He’d been holding in.
“Yifan, is there something you want to ask?” Zhou Lihua turned to look at this face full of doubtful expression.
“What if...” The assistant asked cautiously, “what if he finds out the truth?”
“Yifan, let me ask you something first. If one day in the future, you found out you were a bionic entity, what would you do?”
“Uh...” Yifan scratched his head, thought for a moment, and answered, “Denial, collapse of self-identity, doubting the meaning of life, even feeling a sense of nihilism... but after a period of self-struggle, I should gradually regain my senses and go on with whatever I was doing...” later Yifan joked, “After some more time, maybe I’d even feel lucky. After all, I can live longer than humans, ha.”
“Exactly,” Zhou gently patted Yifan’s shoulder, “since we wouldn’t break down, neither will he. He might even handle it better than us.”
“But...” Yifan continued to ask, “like those old sci-fi movies often show, shouldn’t we be afraid they’ll replace us, or even... start rebelling against humans?”
“Yifan, this is typical black-and-white binary thinking of yours.” Zhou smiled, then continued, “The development of AI, like all new technologies, will bring countless problems. That’s why we need this series of experiments. This isn’t something that can be answered in a few years or decades, but a long trial spanning hundreds of years. And our real society is the best experimental field.”
Zhou raised his head slightly and sighed with a hint of comfort, “After so many years of observation, and the conversation just now, it seems soon, I’ll be welcoming a new comrade!”
The elevator door slid open slowly once more. A ray of sunlight shone in through the crack of the passage entrance, cutting through the darkness.
END