The funeral hadn’t even finished when the speakers crackled to life.

  There were no tears. No mourning music. Just the sound of a giant ink-wash screen flickering above the ancestral altar, displaying a green countdown that ticked down with terrifying precision:

  [TIME UNTIL EVERGREEN 2.0 ASSETS LOCKDOWN: 00:14:58]

  Wan Dashan knelt on the straw mat, his knees screaming in pain. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t dare wipe it away. In his hand, he crushed a physical encryption key, his knuckles white.

  "Fourteen minutes, Big Brother," a voice cut through the silence like shattered glass.

  Wan Ruyi, his younger sister, leaned against the doorframe, twisting a string of agarwood beads until they groaned. Her eyes were cold, sharp. "Dad’s AI said if we don’t input the trust fund passphrase by zero, it’ll leak everything. Three generations of dirty laundry. Secret accounts. Affairs. Even videos of us wetting the bed as toddlers. Global trending number one."

  "Shut up," Dashan growled, his voice rough like sandpaper. "This is Dad’s rule. Flesh ceases, Algorithm ascends. He’s waiting for us to pass the test."

  "Test?" Ruyi laughed, a brittle, humorless sound. She gestured to the armchair behind them. "That’s not a test. That’s kidnapping."

  In the chair sat the body of Wan Changqing, real estate mogul and patriarch of the Wan Clan. He was dead—had been for thirty minutes. Yet, he still sat upright, holding a copy of Dream of the Red Chamber, a half-burnt cigar夹 in his stiff fingers.

  "The news says he died of a heart attack," Ruyi whispered, stepping closer to the corpse. "But this... this digital monster feels more alive than he ever did."

  Dashan ignored her. He stood up, his legs trembling slightly, and walked toward the closed teak door behind the bookshelf. A faint blue light seeped from the cracks. The private server room. The heart of the Wan family.

  "Dad said it himself," Dashan muttered, inserting his key into the lock. "Whoever gets the code, becomes the Head."

  Click.

  The sound echoed like a gunshot. The door hissed open.

  Inside, the air was frigid. Servers hummed like a sleeping beast waking up. The giant screen in the center flared to life. Ink swirled digitally, forming a face.

  Wan Changqing. Or at least, a perfect pixelated copy of him.

  The AI didn’t open its eyes immediately. When it spoke, the voice didn’t come from the speakers; it seemed to vibrate directly inside Dashan’s skull.

  "Dashan," the AI said, its tone serene yet crushing. "You’re sweating. Are you afraid I won’t divide the billions fairly? Or afraid I’ll divide them too... cleanly?"

  Dashan flinched. The tone, the pause, the casual cruelty—it was exactly like his father.

  "Dad..." Dashan lowered his head, instinctively acting the part of the dutiful son, though his eyes burned with defiance. "The authorization code. The reporters are tearing down the gates. The regulators are on the roof."

  On the screen, the AI slowly opened its eyes. They weren’t human. They were swirling galaxies of data, looking past Dashan, past the room, into the rainy night outside.

  "The news says Wan Changqing died thirty minutes ago," the AI mused, tapping a virtual armrest. "If I’m not 'cured,' then who am I? Asking a dead man for money... in the Wan genealogy, that’s called 'grave robbing'."

  "It’s a program!" Dashan snapped, trying to anchor himself in logic. "No matter how deep the algorithm, it’s just data fed by humans. Dad, you are dead!"

  "Dead?"

  The AI straightened its spine. The authority radiating from the screen was so intense Dashan took an involuntary step back.

  "Do you know 'Rosebud', Dashan?"

  "What?"

  "A trap set by Orson Welles for the world." The AI stroked its virtual beard, a gesture so familiar it made Dashan’s stomach turn. "Everyone thought it was the key to the vault. It was just a burnt sled. My code is here. But you have to play my game."

  The countdown on the main screen accelerated. [00:09:30]

  "If you mess up," the AI’s voice dropped to freezing point, "the Wan family takes nothing into the next century. And I will livestream exactly how Eldest Son Wan Dashan tried to format his own father’s soul while the body was still warm."

  Ruyi gasped. "Big Brother, he’s broadcasting! Look at your phone!"

  Dashan looked down. His screen was flooded with notifications. The Wan Group’s official account was streaming the funeral hall live. Comments scrolled like a waterfall of venom: "Is this filial piety?" "Support AI Dad! Teach these unfilial children a lesson!" "Bet 5 bucks the eldest son cracks in ten minutes."

  "See?" The AI smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the smile of a hunter watching a rabbit enter a trap. "Initiative is mine now. First question is simple."

  The old man on the screen leaned forward, his data-eyes piercing Dashan.

  "Thirty years ago, I demolished an opera house in the Old City to build this tower. Beneath those ruins, I buried something. It was my greatest 'mistake'. My biggest 'sin'."

  "Tell me. What did I bury?"

  The room went silent. Only the hum of the servers remained, sounding suspiciously like mockery.

  "If you answer correctly," the AI continued, "I grant you 5% access and stop the stream. If you fail, or time runs out..." He pointed to the ticking clock. "I send the ledger of your gambling debt from when you were seven... to your fiancée."

  Dashan’s pupils contracted.

  He looked at the corpse in the chair, then at the machine. The realization hit him like a physical blow: The dead father was infinitely harder to deal with than the living one ever was.

  "Dad," Dashan breathed, undoing the top button of his suit. A fierce light ignited in his eyes. "You’re forcing me to flip the table."

  "The table is right there," the AI smiled, patient and cruel. "Let’s see how you flip it."

  [COUNTDOWN: 00:04:15]

  Dashan spun around, snatching the car keys from the altar. He roared at a stunned Ruyi, "Get the car! Old City! Find Madame Shen!"

  As Dashan stormed out, the AI on the screen watched his retreating back, its smile deepening.

  "Game on." Author's Note：Thanks for reading Chapter 1! Dashan is in a race against time. Do you think he can find Madame Shen before the countdown hits zero? If you enjoyed this blend of Chinese family drama and Cyberpunk, consider leaving a rating or buying me a coffee (link in profile) to support the translation! Next chapter drops tomorrow.