Chapter 6 Soldiers and Scholars

Maybe heaven.It must not be Spain, and he also doubts whether it is Peru.He seemed to be floating in nothingness, with a shimmering golden sky above his head and a vast sea of ​​white clouds below his feet.Looking down, he saw that his legs and feet were like children's toys, hanging above the abyss. He wanted to vomit, but he couldn't.He felt empty, nothing more than a mass of air.Even his old aching knees were gone, along with the never-ending burning pain in his arms that had left him with the Indian arrows of his early days on Pearl Island near Panama.He has a feeling of being reborn.Although he has reached his sixtieth year, all the injuries and bruises on his body have disappeared without a trace: it can be said that his life has dissociated from his body.

"Gonsag?" he called, "Ernado?" There was a faint, dreamlike echo, followed by a dead silence. "God, am I dead?" wrong.wrong.He never imagined death.Is this the end of his conquest?Is this immobile place a vast void, a bottomless abyss?So, is this place the place of death?He felt bewildered.He needed to ask the priest. "Son, where is my priest? Child?" He looked around for his squire.However, as far as the eyes can see, there are only clouds, mountains and fog seas, infinitely vast.Seeing himself drifting in a world of clouds and light, he could hardly deny that he was dead.Died and ascended to heaven.This is heaven, yes, for sure.What would it be if it wasn't heaven?

His voice was wrong: too hoarse, too deep.The tongue doesn't work, and the words are distorted as soon as they come out. Where is the crisp and melodious Spanish?Weird, unappetizing.His words are so lame, has he become a Portuguese?So, he said carefully, word by word: "I am the Governor and Commander-in-Chief of Newcastle, Australia." It still sounded ridiculous.He took a deep breath. "I'm Francisco Pizarroso!" he growled, his voice gushing from his body like water breaking through a gate.What came was a low, booming echo that seemed to mock him.Enough is enough, even saying his own name is like an idiot raving.

"God!" he cried, "saints and angels!" It was more of a murmur, not at all authentic. He had never been able to read or write, and now he seemed to have lost the ability to speak properly.He wondered if this was a paradise, or an extraordinary holy land.His tongue seemed to be controlled by a spell, maybe a devil, holding his tongue tightly in its claws.So, is this hell?Although it looks like a beautiful place.He shrugged.It doesn't matter whether it's heaven or hell.He gradually calmed down, and when he came, he was at ease.He has long understood that it is useless to be angry at the helpless things, and it is even less advisable to panic in the face of the unknown world.He was in this place anyway, that's all—whatever it was, he had to find a place to shelter.But unlike this place, he was always floating in nothingness.

Once upon a time, he went to hell, to the lesser hell which is the earth.That bare little island called Gaoluo, where the scorching sun would burn people's skin, and the only food was crab, which smelled like excrement; The sword pricked the flesh; he also led the army over the mountains, where the snow was so cold that the air pierced the throat like a knife with every breath.He has survived all that, not to mention that everything is much harsher than here.There is no pain, no danger here, only gentle light, and all discomfort is inexplicably gone. He starts to move forward, he walks on air.He thought to himself: See, see, I walk on air!Immediately, he announced aloud: "I walk on the air," amused at his own words, "I walk on the air! Why not? I am Pizarroso!" he shouted with all his strength, "Pisa Rosso!" Saroso! Pizarroso!" He laughed when he heard the echo.He kept going.

Harry Tanner sat hunched over in a gigantic gleaming sphere that was the Imaging Lab on the ninth floor, watching the small figure strutting about in the far center of the holographic library. Lou Richardson crouched beside Tanner, with his hands in data gloves, so that he could input commands to the array network at any time, he didn't seem to be breathing—he seemed to be a part of the network. Tanner thought to himself, in fact, this is Richardson's habit: completely immersed in the work around him.In this regard, Tanner is quite envious.Their temperaments are diametrically opposed.Richardson lived for the cause of programming, and only for the cause of programming.It's his passion.Tanner doesn't quite understand someone driven by passion.Richardson is a bit of a relic from the old days, when everything was serious and you could love your career.

"What do you think of that armor?" asked Richardson. "I think it's beautiful. It's taken from an ancient sculpture. It looks mighty." "It's just right for the tropics," Tanner said, "and it's great with a helmet." Richardson didn't seem to notice the restlessness in Tanner's voice, and the agitation in his movements.He continued to make small adjustments.He was a small, neatly dressed, well-groomed man, with faded blond hair, light blue eyes, and an unsmiling mouth with thin lips. Tanner looked tall and awkward beside him.In theory Tanner held leadership of Richardson's research projects, but in practice he always let Richardson do whatever he wanted.This time, though, it might have to be taken care of.This was the 12th or 13th time Richardson had shown Tanner since he was messing around with a mock historical figure research project.Previous shows have flopped in one way or another, and Tanner expects the same thing to happen this time around.He had approved the project a long time ago, but now he was getting more and more uneasy.It was just another game, Tanner thought, just one more desperate, pointless high-tech stunt, one more twirl in a pointless ballet.It cost a lot of money, took months, just to show wisdom, that's all.In the end it was fruitless.Suddenly that little image in the holographic image library began to fade and lose its place.

"Yo-yo," Tanner said, "here it goes again. It's not the same old thing." However, Richardson shook his head: "It's different this time, Harry." "yes?" "We didn't lose him. He just wandered around out of our tracking parameters. That means we've achieved a level of independence for our sims, which is what we've always dreamed of." "Unauthorized? Lu, independent?" "Look," Richardson said, "I'm going to plug in a random tracking program. That way, he's free to move and we're free to follow him." He said into a computer microphone pinned to his lapel, "You'll reward me Is it?" As he spoke, his left middle finger flickered, showing the degree of quantitative change.I saw that little figure in gorgeous armor and pointed boots became brighter again.

Tanner saw the beautiful pattern on the armor, the feathered helmet, the tapered epaulets, the elbow joints, and the delicate hilt.He was striding forward from left to right, like a man who is climbing the highest mountain in the world and will never stop until the top.He was actually walking on air, but that didn't seem to affect him at all. "Here he comes," said Richardson cheerily. "We got him back, didn't we? The conqueror of Peru is right before your eyes, in flesh and blood. So to speak." Tanner nodded.Yes, Pizarroso was in front of him, and, he had to admit, the scene before him was memorable, even a little touching.Seeing how unwavering the little armored figure looked through the gray, shining space of the holo-image library, something struck a chord in him.That little one was purely a product of imagination, but he himself didn't seem to know it. Even if he knew, he didn't stop, but moved forward, forward, and forward again, as if he was definitely looking for a place.Watching, watching, Tanner was fascinated, unconsciously aroused interest in the whole project.

"Can you make him bigger?" Tanner asked. "I want to see his face." "I can make him life-size," Richardson replied, "as big as you want. Look." With a flick of his finger, the hologram of Pizarroso grew to about two meters tall . The Spaniard stopped abruptly in his march, seeming to realize that the image had changed.The Spaniard stood safely in mid-air, staring at the tiger, and built a pergola with his hands, as if he was staring at a group of dazzling light.There are colorful stripes around him, as gorgeous as the morning light.This is a tall, thin man in his fifties, with a sharp, grim face, a gray beard, thin lips, a pointed nose, and a pair of cold, sly, piercing eyes.

It seemed to Tanner that those eyes were watching him, and he shivered.Tanner thought to himself, My God, he's real. France is the initiator of this project, the time is about 2118, and the research is carried out at the Lyon Computer Center.At that time, France had a lot of geniuses engaged in software development.They have devised many excellent programs, but these programs have been shelved. French programmers envisioned using holographic images of real historical figures to enhance touristic events at historic places.Not the pre-programmed robots of Disneyland of yore, standing in front of Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, or the Eiffel Tower, blah, blah, blah, blah.Rather, they are sufficiently fake incarnations of real historical figures who are free to walk, talk, answer questions, and crack wits. Just imagine, Louis XVI introduced the fountains of the Palace of Versailles to tourists, Picasso guided the Paris Museum of Fine Arts, and Sartre sat in a cafe on the left bank of the Seine and talked about existentialism with pedestrians!And Napoleon!And Joan of Arc!And Alexandre Dumas! The idea behind the idea is simple.Write an intelligent program that ingests, digests, and correlates data, and that program creates new programs based on the data you input.No major difficulties.The program is then fed with writings about the person to be simulated—if any—to create a general framework for the person's viewpoints, potential ways of coping with the environment, and his way of thinking.If his writings cannot be found, it is all right to describe his writings in terms of his contemporaries.The next step is to import all historical files of the person's activities, including all important scholarly works, to provide moderate room for conflicting interpretations - indeed to use conflicting information to create a complex characterization full of ambiguities and contradictions, And this is an inevitable characteristic of any human being.The next step is to input the basic elements of the general cultural information of the era, so that the person has the basic reference data and vocabulary, and then can generate thoughts that are suitable for his identity in terms of time and space.Finally, with a little bit of delicate sculpting technique, you can simulate a historical figure who can think and act, as if he was born out of the simulation, a vivid real person. Of course, this requires a lot of computer power.However, this was not a problem. At that time, the world's 150 gigabit network had become a standard part of the laboratory, and the pencil-sized computers played by teenagers were far more powerful than the giant central processing units of their grandfather's grandfather's era. However, two things went wrong.One is rooted in the unique romantic temperament of the French: the heart is higher than the sky, and this temperament is fully exposed in programmers; the other is related to the failure phobia that is common in the world's major countries in the 21st century, and France is no exception. The first mistake was a critical change in the direction of the project at an early stage.At that time, the King of Spain was about to pay a state visit to Paris. In order to pay homage to His Majesty, the programmers decided to synthesize Don Quixote as their first research result.Although the bot was designed to simulate real historical figures, there is no good reason why a well-documented fictional character like Don Quixote could not be created.There is a novel by Cervantes, rich background material on the era in which Don Quixote lived, and critical works on both the novel and Don Quixote's distinctly romantic character.So, the computer synthesized a convincing Don Quixote - a skinny, grotesque holographic figure, with all his funny and surly habits, and he was as loud and loud as one would expect. He was full of rhetoric, which made the King of Spain laugh out loud and left a deep impression on him.For the French, however, the experiment failed.The Don Quixote they created is helplessly locked in late sixteenth-century Spain, locked in the book he came from.He has no ability to act and think independently - unable to observe the world he has come into, unable to judge the world, unable to participate in the world.There is nothing new or interesting about him.Any actor can don armor and a scruffy beard and recite passages from Cervantes. After three years of hard work, what comes out of the computer is a predictable thing that can only reprocess the input information, so boring and so old.This led the Lyon computer center to take the next, fatal step: abandoning the entire project. OMG!Without making any further attempts, you're halfway through.There is no imitation of Picasso, no imitation of Napoleon, no imitation of Joan of Arc.The Don Quixote incident made people depressed, and no one had the heart to continue the unfinished business.For a time, the Don Quixote incident shrouded the shadow of failure, and France was full of fear of failure.As a result, the simulated historical figure research project was shelved. After the project lay dormant for several years, the French handed it over to a bunch of Americans.How did they expect that these Americans had heard about this project long ago, and felt that they could let it go and play. "Can it work this time?" Tanner said. "Yeah, I think we're going to make it. Failed so many times." Tanner nodded.How many times had he come to this room full of hope, only to find a bewildering mess, a disapproving mess. Richardson always had a reason to prevaricate: Holmes failed because he was a fictional character.King Arthur failed for the same reason.So what about Julius Caesar?It may be that the age is too long, the past is so smokey, it is almost fictional. After each defeat Richardson insisted that we improved each time.You know, we're not practicing witchcraft.We're not wizards who summon revenants, we're programmers, and we have to figure out how to feed a program the information it needs.So, what about Pizarroso this time? "Why do you want to study him?" Tanner asked five or six months ago, "From the impression I got from elementary school, he is a ruthless medieval Spanish colonizer, a bloodthirsty man who robbed an ancient civilization. Robber, a shameless, dishonest, faithless—" “You may have wronged him,” Richardson said. “He has been condemned by public opinion for centuries. Yet there is something about him that fascinates me.” "for example?" "His can-do spirit. His courage. His absolute self-confidence. The flipside of ruthlessness is the good side of being completely devoted to a cause and never letting any obstacle get in the way. Whether you approve of what he's accomplished Or not, you have to envy him—" "Okay," Tanner said, suddenly weary of the project, "Pissaroso! Whatever you think of him." Months passed.Richardson gave him vague progress reports, nothing to stir his hopes.Now, however, he was gazing at the strutting creature in the holographic library, and he began to believe that Richardson had finally figured out the knack of using the simulation program. "So you actually recreated him, didn't you? A man who lived in—when? 500 years ago?" "He died in 1541," Richardson said. "Almost 600 years then." "Plus, he's different from other sims—it's not simply recreating a historical figure who can speak pre-set utterances. If I'm not wrong, what we're creating here is an artificial intelligence that can speak differently from it. It thinks independently of the mental model set by the programmer. In other words, it has more information than we give it. This is a remarkable achievement, and it is a major philosophical breakthrough that we have been pursuing since the beginning. Using this The program produces a new program that can think for itself—a program that thinks what Pizarroso thought, instead of moving from layer to layer. The program thinks according to Richardson's assumptions, which in turn come from some historians. A vision of Pizarroso's way of thinking." "Not really," Tanner said. "This means that we are not only recovering what can be expected and foreseeable, but also many surprises. I think hard work pays off, and we finally succeeded. Harry, this may be the most artificial The most significant breakthrough in the field of intelligence." Tanner pondered for a long time. Yeah?Are they really successful?And if they succeeded—the man's eyes were fixed on Tanner at this moment, so piercing that it was hard for him to meet.After a moment, he looked away.His left leg began to shake, and he looked at Richardson uneasily. "Look at those eyes, Lou. Christ, they're scarred!" "I know that. I designed it myself, from old books." "Do you think he's watching us now? Can he do it?" "He's just a piece of software, Harry." "When you enlarge the graph, he seems to know." Richardson shrugged: "Let me tell you, he is a very good software with independent will. It can be said that he owns a computer. However, his observation power is limited after all. I don't think he'll be able to see anything outside of the holographic library unless we feed in data that he can process, and we haven't done that yet." "Aren't you sure?" "Harry, please speak." "This man conquered the entire vast Inca Empire with 50 soldiers, didn't he?" "As far as I know, it's 150." "Whether it's 50 or 150, what does it matter? What I want to say is that I suddenly feel uneasy. For a long time, I thought that this project would not achieve anything, and now, I suddenly Think this project will produce something we can't control. I don't want one of your goddamn sims stepping out of the holographic library to conquer us." Richardson turned to Tanner.He blushed a little, but he laughed and said, "Harry, Harry! My God, five minutes ago you thought we had nothing to do but that tiny figure that couldn't even be set in place. But now you're going to the other extreme, imagining the worst-" "I saw his eyes, Lou. I'm afraid his eyes saw me too." "What you see is not real eyes, what you see is just an image display program projected into the holographic image library. If you understand this principle, you will know that the program has no visual ability. His eyes will only look at you at my command. .And now they're not looking at you." "But can you make them look at you?" "I can make them see what I want them to see. I made him, Harry." "With subjective will and independence." "This time, are you starting to worry about these things?" "Once you techies get a homicidal maniac, I'm going to get stabbed in the head. This guy who can act on his own suddenly makes me uneasy." "I'm still wearing a data glove," Richardson said. "I move my finger and he dances. Remember, he's not the real Pizarroso, or the Frankenstein monster. He's just a sim, just The combination of a lot of data is just a pulse of electron magnetic field, which I can turn off with the flick of my pinky finger." So Richardson moved a finger, and in an instant the image of Pizarroso disappeared from the holographic library.The gray mist inside swirled for a moment, and then took the shape of a piece of white wool.Suddenly, Tanner was overwhelmed by a sense of guilt, as if he had just ordered the execution of the man in medieval armor. Richardson moved his finger again, and saw colors flash across the library, and Pizarroso reappeared. "I'd love to know," Tanner said gloomily.After a moment of silence, he said again: "Do you feel like God?" "Like God?" "You infuse life. A life, anyway. But at the same time, you infuse free will. Is that what the experiment is for? Is that what you call independent will, independent action? You're trying to create another A human brain—that is to say recreating—a brain capable of thinking in unique ways and responding uniquely to its environment, a response that need not have been foreseen by its designers, and in fact is almost impossible Foresight, and it doesn't have to be satisfying, it doesn't have to be beneficial. And you have to take that risk, just as God, once he gave man free will, knew he was going to have to witness his creation when it exercised free will Committing all sorts of crimes—” "Stop it, Harry—" "Listen, is it possible for me to talk to your Pizarroso?" "why?" "To find out what you're getting, to get a first-hand account of what the project has accomplished, or you could say I just want to get a taste of what the Sims can do. Anyway, if I could get in touch with him directly , I want to feel this guy for myself and understand what's going on. Is that okay?" "Of course, no problem." "Do I have to speak English with him?" "You can speak any language you want, there is a language interface anyway. No matter what language comes in, he will think it is his own language, which is Spanish in the 16th century. Moreover, he will answer you in what he thinks is Spanish, but What you hear is English." "Are you sure?" "of course." There was a restlessness and a whirl in the air above his head, like a whirlwind. Pizarroso stopped and looked at it for a moment, wondering what was going to happen again.Maybe the devil came to torment him, maybe it was an angel.No matter what it is, the soldiers will block it, and the water will rush. Then a voice from the whirlwind asked him, "Did you hear that?" in Spanish that was almost as ridiculous as the Spanish he had just spoken, Pizarroso. "I hear you, but I can't see you. Where are you?" "Right in front of you. Wait a minute. I'll let you see." As he spoke, a face appeared in the whirlwind, suspended in the emptiness. It was a face without a body, a thin face, clean-shaven, without a single beard, and his hair was cut very short. The black eyes are very close together.He had never seen such a face. "Who are you?" asked Pizarroso, "a devil or an angel?" "Neither." Indeed, his voice didn't sound like a devil's, "It's a person, just like you." "I don't look much like me. Do you just have a face? Or do you have a body too?" "Did you only see one face of mine?" "yes." "Wait a moment." The face disappeared, and then it reappeared, attached to the body of a large man with broad shoulders.The man wore a loose gray robe, a bit like a priest's robe, only much more ornate, with spots of light here and there.Immediately, the body disappeared, and Pizarroso saw only the face again, and he was puzzled.He began to understand how the Indians had been terrified when the Spaniards appeared on the horizon in armor and leaping horses and spears. "You look queer. Are you English?" "American." "Oh," Pizarroso still didn't seem to understand, "American. What does that mean?" The face trembled and blurred for a while.The thick white clouds around it stirred mysteriously again.Then the face stabilized and said, "America is a country, north of Peru. It's big, and there's a lot of people living there." Pizarroso shrugged: "I don't know about those places at all, or know very little. There is a peninsula called Florida, right? And there are many golden cities in legend, but I think it's just a legend .I found gold in Peru. That's enough. Let's talk about it. Am I in heaven?" "no." "Then hell?" "Neither. You're—it's hard to explain, actually—" "I'm in America?" "Yes, in America, yes." "Also, am I dead?" The other party was silent for a moment. "No, not dead," said the voice uneasily. "I think you're lying." "How can we talk if you're dead?" Pizarroso laughed hoarsely: "Are you asking me? I have no idea what happened to me here. Where is my priest? Where is my attendant? Find my brother !" He stared angrily, "How is it? Why didn't you bring them to me?" "They're not here. You're here alone, Pizarroso." "In America, I'm alone in your America? Well, let me look at you America. Is there such a place? Is America all clouds and swirling lights? Where is America? Let me look at America, to Let me prove that I am in America." Suddenly the voice from the whirlwind said, "Look, Pizarroso, this is America." A picture unfolded on the cloud that Pizarroso had never seen or even imagined.It opened in front of him like a door, sucked him in, and led him to pass through the ever-changing and dazzling scenes, just like flying in the sky above the earth, looking down at a magical picture scroll with too much beauty.He saw cities without walls, roads extending into the distance like endless silver chains, huge lakes, big rivers, and high mountains, all of which passed by in a flash, making him dizzy.After a while, his head became dizzy: the tall buildings were taller than the tallest church spire, the shiny metal chariots had no horses, the crowds were dense, and the land was boundless, all of which were compact and complicated like a maze.Seeing the mountains and rivers in front of him, his old greed seized him again: he wanted to conquer this strange land, occupy it, hold it tightly in his hand, and take away everything of value. The picture disappeared, and his agitated heart gradually calmed down.He laughed. "Peru!" he cried, "Peru is nothing compared to your America! Peru is just a hole! Peru is just a lump of mud. How stupid of me! There is America a thousand times bigger than Peru, and I just went to Peru I wonder what I'll find in America." He licked his lips, blinked his eyes, and then, with a giggle, said, "Don't be afraid. I won't conquer you America. Now that I'm old, I can't do it. Even back in the day, maybe America was too big for me. Maybe—" He laughed wildly at the sad face of the short-haired, beardless American, "I really died, didn't I ? I don’t feel hunger, pain, thirst, I touch my body with my hands, but it’s empty. I’m like a dreamer, but it’s not a dream. Am I a ghost?” "No—not quite." "Not quite a ghost! Not quite! Not even a pig would say such nonsense. What the hell does it mean?" "It's hard to explain in terms you understand, Pizarroso." "I am dead. But after all, I am not going to hell. After the past, I am still in the world, but the time is very different. I fell asleep like a dead person, and now I wake up and open my eyes. The time is far beyond my life. The era, this is the American era. Isn't it? Who's the king now? Who's the pope? What year is it? Is it 1750? Is it 1800?" "2130." The face hesitated and said. "Oh," Pizarroso raised his lower lip thoughtfully, "so, who is the king?" Pause for a long time.The face finally said, "The present king of Spain is Alfonso XXI." "Oh. Oh. So who's the Pope?" Another pause.Why don't you even know the Pope's name, and you become dumb when you ask?too weird.The man, devil or not, was a fool. "Pis," said the voice after a moment, "Pis XVI." "Pius XVI," Pizarroso said sadly, "Holy Mother of Jesus, Pius XVI! What's wrong with me? I've died long ago, but my sins are still not washed away, and I still feel sins like slime. on my skin. You're a wizard, you Yankee, you brought me back from the dead. Is it? Is it? Is that so?" "Something like it, Pizarroso," the face admitted. "You speak weird Spanish because you don't know the right way to say it, right? Even I speak Spanish weirdly, I don't speak in a voice that doesn't sound like my own. Not anymore People speak Spanish, don't they? Yes? Only Americans speak it, don't they? But when you start speaking Spanish, it's out of shape, and you make me speak the same bad Spanish, thinking that's what I used to be It's Spanish, but you're wrong. Of course, you can do miracles, but I don't think you can do everything perfectly, not even in the magical land of 2130. Right? Right Do you?" Pizarroso leaned forward with burning eyes, "What do you say? I can't read and write, so you think I'm a fool? I'm not that stupid, am I? I understand things very quickly. " A click broke the contact. Tanner sat numb, his hands trembling, his lips pursed. In the holographic image library, Pizarroso at this moment is just a distant light, only the size of Tanner's thumb, gesturing in the swirling cloud.His vigorous vitality, his arrogance, his persistent curiosity, his mighty hatred and jealousy, his great power cultivated in a legendary career, all the temperament of his Pizarroso, all Tanner felt all of this just now, but it disappeared without a trace in a snap of his fingers. After a short rest, Tanner was in shock.He turned to Richardson. "What's going on?" he asked. "I had to break contact. I didn't want you to tell him how he died." "I didn't know it when I came here." "I don't know either, but I don't want to risk you talking. It's impossible to predict what kind of psychological impact that kind of news will have on him." "From the way you speak, he seems to be alive." "Isn't he?" Richardson asked rhetorically. "He was incredible," Tanner said, "really incredible. His energy -- I could feel it pouring out of me, and his mind, it was so quick, it could get it right. Even I also guessed that he must be in the future. I want to know which pope is in power and what America looks like. And his arrogance! He told me that he can't conquer America now, and if he had been earlier, he might not have gone The Inca Empire, and try the United States, but not now, he is old and unable to do what he wants. It is incredible! No matter what happened, he did not panic, and even when he realized that he must have been dead for many years, he seemed Calm and composed, I even want to know how he died!" Tanner frowned, "When you programmed this, how old did you design him to be?" "About sixty. Five or six years after the conquest of the Inca Empire, two or three years before his death. That is, at the height of his power." "I don't think you can let him know the exact cause of his death. He looks too much like a ghost." "That's exactly what we thought. We assumed the time of his sudden death to be when he had achieved all his goals, when he had become a complete Pizarroso. But he didn't have to know that until he died. No one needs to know about the situation. That's why I suddenly stopped the contact between you, understand? Just in case you know, and tell him." Tanner shook his head: "Even if I knew it, I would have forgotten it long ago. How did he die?" "Exactly as he guessed: at the hands of his comrades." "So he has a premonition?" "At the age we designed him, he already knew that there was a civil war in South America, and the conquerors were fighting among themselves because of the uneven distribution of spoils. We entered this information into him to let him know that his partner Almagro had turned against him, Executed after the defeat. What he didn't know but could surmise was that Almagro's friends would break into his home and murder him. His speculations coincided with what was going to happen, and it should be said that they did not. Collaborate." “太不可思议了，如此神机妙算。” “他是一个婊子养的，但他也是一个天才。” “是真的吗？还是你设计程序时，把他制造成这么英明的？” “我们输入的是他生活的客观事实、历史事件以及他对事件的反应，再加上他的同时代人以及后来熟悉历史档案的历史学家的评论，从而大大丰满了他的性格的。我们输入大量的这种信息，使他的整个气质更完整。这不是我的气质，也不是从事这个项目的其他人的气质，哈瑞。你一旦输入皮萨罗索所经历的事件以及他对事件的反应，你就得到了皮萨罗索，你就得到残忍加天才的气质。如果你输入不同的信息，你就得到不同类型的人。另外，这次实验我们终于看到，只要方法得当，从计算机输出的东西大于输入的信息之和。” “你肯定吗？”理查森说：“你注意到他抱怨他以为你说的是西班牙语没有？” “注意到了。他说这种西班牙语听起来很怪异，现在似乎没有人会讲纯正的西班牙语了。这我不大明白，你建立的接口说的是蹩脚的西牙语吗？” “显然是，” 理查森说，“谁也不知道16 世纪西牙语究竟是怎样发音的，我们只能猜测。看来，我们猜得不准。” “可他怎么会知道呢？是你把他合成的呀！如果你不知道他那个时代的西班牙语是怎么发音的，他怎么可能知道呢？” “这个我压根儿不知道，” 理查森轻声说，“但他的确知道。” “他的确知道吗？还是他在玩皮萨罗索式魔鬼游戏，以困惑我们？这是因为你在他的性格中设计有魔鬼性。” “我想他的确知道。”理查森说。“那么，他是从哪里发现的呢？” “在哪里，我们不知道，但他知道。就在我们通过置换网络输入的数据里的什么地方，但我们不知道，即使我们想方设法去找，也找不到。他不可能耍魔法，无中生有，但却能将我们觉得互不相干的支离破碎的信息组合起来，加工成新的信息，从中得出对他来说有意义的结论。这就是所谓的人工智能，哈瑞。我们终于得到一个多少像人脑一样工作的程序：能进行跳跃式的直觉判断，这种判断来得太突然，范围太宽广，似乎是不可理喻，无法定量化的。我们已经输入了足够的数据，所以他能够吸收表面上互不关联的数据，从而获得新的信息。我们在全息图像库里拥有的不是一个只会鹦鹉学舌的木偶，而是一个认为它就是皮萨罗索，像皮萨罗索一样思维，知道皮萨罗索所知道，但我们却不知道的东西。这意味着我们在人工智能领域取得了质的飞跃，这就是我们所追求的目标。真还有点令人畏惧呢，我一想就感到浑身发抖。” “我也是，”坦纳说，“但与其说畏惧，还不如说惊恐。” “惊恐什么？” “既然知道他有能力超越设计他的程序，你怎么能肯定他不能控制你的网络，跑出去呢？” “这在技术上是不可能的。他不过是电磁脉冲，只要我愿意，任何时候我都可以毁掉他。不必惊慌。相信我吧，哈瑞。” "I hope so." “我可以给你看一看简图。是的，我们通过计算机得到一个奇迹般的模拟。但毕竟是模拟，不是毒蛇，不是人狼，不是任何超自然的东西，只是迄今为止最完美的计算机模拟。” “好吧，”坦纳终于说，“也许我有点大惊小怪，也许我的话听起来有点愚昧。我不怀疑你们能够将你们的那些幽灵一直装在它们的匣子里。” “没问题。”理查森说。“但愿如此。”坦纳说，“那么，你下一步干什么？”里查森满脸困惑。“我的下一步吗？” “我想你立刻着手设计第二个模拟人。” “这个——行，行，没问题。” “卢，设计好后，能不能将他放在全息图像库里，与皮萨罗索呆在一块？”理查森感到震惊：“你是想他和皮萨罗索交谈吗？” "yes." “我想能做到，”理查森谨慎地说，“应该做得到。没问题，没问题。”他强装笑脸。 在以前坦纳在该项目中一直保持低姿态，只是一位名义上的领导，一位观察家，一位局外人。现在，他却一改常态，要介入项目的进程了，显然理查森不知道他的葫芦里装的是什么药。坦纳看出理查森显得焦躁不安。 过了一会儿，理查森说： “我们下一步试谁，你心里有数吗？” “试一试苏格拉底如何？” 他的脚下周围白云翻滚，仿佛整个世界都是由白羊毛组成的。 他纳闷是不是在下雪，这对他来说可是件新鲜事。雅典偶尔也下雪，但只是飘一点小雪，朝阳一出来就融化了。此时，他四周的白色居然没有寒冷的感觉。然而，他脚下的云究竟是怎么一会事？他想，云仅仅是蒸气、空气和水，它们的天然地方是在天上。聚集在脚下的云并没有云的特性。是不寒冷的雪吗？是没有浮力的云吗？这里的一切，包括他自己，似乎都没有各自应有的属性。 他似乎在行走，但脚下却空空如也，更像是在空中行走。可是，人怎么能够在空中行走呢？阿里斯托芬在一个无情嘲弄他的剧本里，倒是描写他坐在一只篮子里腾云驾雾，并且让他说什么“我在遨游天空，眺望太阳。” 不过，那是阿里斯托芬戏弄他，尽管他的朋友们替他打抱不平，他本人倒不怎么在意。再说，那只是一个剧本而已。 这次，他倒是真的感觉在遨游天空了。也许他在做梦，梦中他果真将阿里斯托芬的剧本变成现实了。那段优美的台词是什么？ “我必须悬浮我的大脑，将我的神思与蓝天融为一体，以便探索宇宙万物。” 好一个阿里斯托芬！对他来说，没有什么神圣的东西！当然，真正神圣的东西除外，如智慧、真理、道德。 “如果他老是呆在地面，自下而上思考事物，他就什么都不会发现：因为地球的引力总是吸引思想的活力。”苏格拉底忍不住笑了。 他将双手放在面前细细研究着：短而粗的手指，结实有力的手腕。这就是他的手。这双长满老茧的手使他一生受益无穷，他像父亲一样干过石匠，参加过雅典自卫战，在运动场上受过训练。然而，现在他用手摸脸，却什么也感觉不到。这里应该是下巴、前额、塌鼻子、厚嘴唇，可却一无所有。他摸着的是空气。本来是脸的地方，他的手却对穿对过。他双手用力互压，却毫无感觉。 他自忖：这真是个奇怪的地方。也许，这是年轻的柏拉图喜欢驻足凝思的一方净土，这里的一切都是尽善尽美，都是虚无缥缈的。我周围是理想之云，并非实实在在的云。我踏在上面行走的是理想之空气。连我苏格拉底自己也是从我那卑俗的肉体解脱出来的理想。Is that so?possible. 他伫立一会儿，思索可不可能。他转念一想，这说不定是死后的生活，在这种情况下，他也许会遇见神。也许诸神愿意屈尊和我交谈。雅典娜和我谈智慧，赫耳墨斯和我谈速度，阿瑞斯和我谈勇敢，还有宙斯和我谈——谈什么都行。不用说，我在诸神面前会像个傻瓜，但这不要紧：凡是奢望与诸神平起平坐交谈的人都是傻瓜。我不抱幻想。 苏格拉底举目仰望，只见天空金灿灿的。他深深地吸了一口气，带着微笑，穿行在波谲云诡的世界中，去寻找诸神。 坦纳说：“现在你有什么想法？仍然悲观吗？” “现在还难说。”理查森满脸愁容。“他看起来像苏格拉底，是吗？” “这是最容易做到的。我们掌握了大量对苏格拉底的描写：扁平大鼻子、秃顶、厚嘴唇、短脖子，这些描写都来自认识他的人。正如人人都能认出福尔摩斯或者唐·吉诃德一样，这张标准的苏格拉底脸人人都能认出。然而，这并不重要。重要的是他脑子里的所想所思，那才决定我们是否真的合成了苏格拉底。” “他在那儿漫游的时候，显得平静、幽默，十足的哲学家风度。”理查森阴郁地说：“我仍然很怀疑。我们已经试了新的视差滤波器。但恐怕我们要遇到从前法国人实验唐·吉诃德、我们实验福尔摩斯、摩西、恺撒时所遇到的同样问题。神话与幻想对数据的污染太大了。苏格拉底穿过历史的迷雾向我们走来，已经是半真实半虚构的，说不准全是虚构的了。就我们所知，我们对他的了解全部来自柏拉图对他的虚构，正如柯南道尔对福尔摩斯的虚构。所以，我担心我们将得到的是一个二手货，一个没有生命的东西，一个缺乏智慧闪光的东西，而我们追求的恰恰是智慧。” “可是新滤波器——” “也许，也许。”坦纳固执地摇摇头：“福尔摩斯和唐·吉诃德是百分之百的虚构，他们是作者为我们杜撰出来的，是以一维的方式存在的。只要拨开后来读者与评论家误读曲解的迷雾，就会真相大白：原来是一个虚构的人物。也许柏拉图出于自己的目的虚构了许多关于苏格拉底的东西，但还有许多东西不是虚构的。他真正存在过，他确确实实在公元前五世纪参与了雅典的事务。除开他与柏拉图的对话录外，他还在他的许多同时代人所写的书中占有显要位置。这就给我们提供了你所追求的视差效果——从多种角度审视他，是吗？” “也许是，也许不是。我们实验摩西就毫无进展。难道他是虚构的吗？” “谁说得准？你能得到的依据只有《圣经》以及《圣经》评论，显然信息有限。”在坦纳看来，理查森的悲观失望肯定是一种防卫机制，用来避免新的失败可能。苏格拉底毕竟不是他理查森的选择，再说，这次他已经使用了新的加强增强型方法即视差程序，视差程序是人工智能程序的最新改进版。 “干吧，”坦纳说，“把皮萨罗索调出来，让他俩对话。到时候，我们就会发现你设计的苏格拉底究竟怎么样？” 远方又是一阵骚动，珍珠色的地平线上出现了一个朦胧的小黑点，在微光闪烁的白色背景里犹如一块污垢、一个瑕疵。 皮萨罗索心想又来了一个魔鬼，也许和前一个一样，是个美国人，只想露出一张脸：短头发，没有胡子。可是，当这个人走近时，皮萨罗索看出他不像前一个。短而粗的身材，宽肩膀，厚胸膛，几乎秃顶了，胡子又浓又密，乱蓬蓬的，显得苍老，至少60岁，说不定有65岁了。相貌丑陋，鼓眼睛，塌鼻子，鼻孔张得大大的，脖子短得仿佛他那颗硕大的头是直接从躯体伸出来似的。穿了一件破烂的棕色薄长袍，赤着一双脚。 “喂，”皮萨罗索叫道，“你！魔鬼，魔鬼！你也是美国人吗？” “对不起。你是说'雅典人'吗？” “我说的是美国人，先前那个人就是。魔鬼，你也是从美国来的吗？” 来人耸了耸肩：“不是，我想不是。我是雅典人。”魔鬼的眼睛闪射出好奇、嘲弄的光芒。“是希腊人吗？这个魔鬼是希腊人吗？” “我是雅典人，”丑八怪重复道，“我名叫苏格拉底。我不能告诉你希腊人是什么人，除非希腊人是你称作的雅典人。”他说得很慢，而且老是重复，就好像痴人呓语。 皮萨罗索以前遇到过这种人，根据他的经验，这种人实际上是大智若愚。于是，一种好奇感油然而生。 “再说，我不是魔鬼，我是一个普通人，普通得你一眼就看出了。” 皮萨罗索哼了一声说：“你喜欢咬文嚼字，是吗？” “这不是什么低级趣味，朋友。”来人说着就随便将手抄在背后，安详地伫立着，脸上挂着微笑，凝视远方，身子悠闲地前后摇晃。 “怎么样？”坦纳说，“这是不是苏格拉底？” 理查森抬起头来，点了一下。他似乎既如释重负，又有些疑惑：“我得承认，还不错，他显得栩栩如生。” “他很有性格，不是吗？”坦纳说，“我很欣赏他走到皮萨罗索面前的风度，落落大方。他一点也不怕皮萨罗索。” “有什么好怕的？” “难道你不怕吗？假如你来到上帝才知道的鬼地方，你不知道在什么地方，也不知道是怎么来到那里的，突然你看见皮萨罗索这样凶神恶煞的怪人，身披铠甲，手持长剑，站在你面前——”坦纳摇了摇头，“也许不怕。他毕竟是苏格拉底，苏格拉底什么都不怕，只怕枯燥。” “再说，皮萨罗索仅仅是模拟人，仅仅是软件。” “这个你一直在讲。可是苏格拉底并不知道。” “是呀，”理查森说，他似乎沉思了一阵，“也许这里有名堂。” "what?" “如果我们的苏格拉底像柏拉图所描写的苏格拉底——而且也应该像，那么他就可能招人讨厌。也许皮萨罗索不喜欢苏格拉底玩的语言小把戏，如果皮萨罗索真不想玩的话，那么我想从理论上讲，他就有可能做出攻击性的反应。” 坦纳大吃一惊，他猛然转过身来说：“他能够伤害苏格拉底吗？” “谁知道呢？”理查森说，“在现实世界中，一个程序肯定能够毁坏另一个程序，说不定一个模拟人能够对另一个模拟人构成威胁。这对我们来说是一个全新的领域。” 头发花白的高个子咆哮道：“你说你是雅典人，不是希腊人，我越听越糊涂。也许你是个傻瓜，对吗？或者说，你认为我是个傻瓜。” “我不知道你是谁？你有没有可能是个神呢？” "god?" “是的。”苏格拉底说，他端详对方。皮萨罗索满脸凶相，目光冷峻。“也许你是阿瑞斯。你有一副战神的凶猛相，而且还穿着铠甲，不过你的铠甲与我看见过的不一样。这个地方太怪诞了，很可能是诸神住的地方，你穿的可能就是神的铠甲。如果你是阿瑞斯，我就向你致敬。我是雅典的苏格拉底，石匠的儿子。” “你在胡言乱语。我可不知道你的什么阿瑞斯。” “他是战神，那还用说！人人都知道，除非是野蛮人。那么，你是野蛮人吗？我敢说，你说话听起来就像野蛮人——不过，我说的话听起来也像野蛮人，我可是说了一辈子典雅的希腊语呀。这里的怪事的确多。” “又是你的语言问题，”坦纳说，“难道你就不能将古希腊语搞正确吗？再不然他们俩彼此讲的都是西班牙语，是吗？” “皮萨罗索以为他们讲的是西班牙语，苏格拉底以为他们讲的是希腊语。不用说，希腊语当然走样了。我们无法知道录音时代之前的任何一门口语，我们只能猜测。” “难道你就不能——” “别扯了。”理查森说。皮萨罗索说：“老兄，我也许是个大坏蛋，但不是野蛮人。所以注意你的嘴巴，我不想再听到亵渎的话。” “如果我亵渎了你，请原谅我。我是无意的。你说一说我冒犯你了什么，我就不会再犯了。” “胡说我是什么神呀，只有异教徒才会说这种话，希腊人是不会的。不过，也许你是个希腊异教徒，那就不怪你。异教徒处处都看见神。我看起来像神吗？我是弗朗西斯科·皮萨罗索，是大名鼎鼎的军人，陆军上校萨洛· 皮萨罗索的儿子。我父亲参加过西班牙帝国战争，我也打了一辈子的仗。” “这么说来，你不是一个神，只是一名士兵吗？很好，我也当过兵。我想我与士兵在一起比与神在一起更随便些，大多数人都是这样的。” “士兵？你？” 皮萨罗索笑了。这个比马夫还要邋遢的凡夫俗子居然当过兵？“参加过什么战争？” “雅典战争。我在波绨达打过仗，当时科林斯人闹事，拒绝向我们纳贡。那里冰天雪地，久攻不下，但我们还是恪尽职守。后来，我又在德里尔姆同皮奥夏人打了几年仗。当时拉基斯是我们的统帅，我们打了败仗，但我们在撤退中还是英勇杀敌的。后来——” “够了，” 皮萨罗索不耐烦地挥了挥手，“这些战争我不熟悉。”这家伙准是一个私人雇佣兵，一个出身低贱的人。 “那么，我想这里就是他们运士兵尸体来的地方。” “这么说，我们是死人吗？” “早就死了。现在的国王是阿方索，教皇是庇护，你不会相信他们是多少世。庇护十六世，我想是那个魔鬼说的。另外，美国人说今年是2130年，我记得去年才是1539年。你认为呢？” 那个自称为苏格拉底的人又耸了耸肩：“在雅典，我们使用不同的年历。就算我们死了——我想这很有可能，因为这个地方怪兮兮的，我的身体轻飘飘的。我估计这是阴间生活。这是有德行的人还是无德行的人死后才去的地方？不管有没有德行，所有人死后都要往那地方去的。你怎么看？” “我还没有想出来。”皮萨罗索说。“你生前是有德行还是没有？” “你是说我有罪孽吗？” “是的， 可以用这个词语。” “他想知道我是否有罪孽，”皮萨罗索吃了一惊，“他问我是不是有罪孽，我的一生有没有德行，关他什么事！” “我觉得有趣，”苏格拉底说，“为了争论的缘故，请允许我提几个小小的问题——” “瞧，开始了，”坦纳说，“你看出没有？你成功了！苏格拉底一步步地将他拖进争论！” 理查森兴奋得两眼发光：“可不是！真是太神奇了，哈瑞！” “苏格拉底要把他驳得体无完肤。” “这我倒说不准。”理查森说。 “我既索取也给予，”皮萨罗索说，“如果我受到伤害，我就还以伤害。这有什么罪孽可言，不过是常识罢了。一个人要在世上活下去并且立住脚，就得做必要的事情。我偶尔忘记了戒斋，或者妄称上帝之名——这些我承认是罪孽——但这就表明我是罪孽深重吗？我一有时间就忏悔。这是一个罪恶的世界，我和别人没有什么两样，为什么非要对我过不去呢？为什么？ 我现在这个样子是上帝创造的，上帝是按他的形象创造我的。” “那么，你是个有德行的人，对吗？” “反正我不是有罪的人。我告诉过你，即使我有罪，我也进行了忏悔，从而将我的罪孽洗刷得干干净净的。” “是这样的。”苏格拉底说，“这么说，你是个有德行的人，我们来到了一个好地方。但我想弄个水落石出，请再告诉我一遍：你的良心是完全清白的吗？” “你是忏悔牧师吗？” “我只是一个在追求知识的愚昧的人。你可以帮助我，和我一道探索。如果说我来到了这个有德行的人的地方，那就意味着我自己生前一定是个有德行的人。因此，为使我放心，请让我知道你做没有做过什么悔恨的事，使你的灵魂至今仍然感到不安。” 皮萨罗索不安地躁动起来。“这个，”他说，“我曾经杀过一位国王。” “是坏国王吗？是你们城市的敌人吗？” “不是，他是一位贤明善良的国王。” “那么，你就应该悔恨了，因为杀贤君肯定是一种罪孽。” “可他是一个异教徒。” "A what?" “他否定上帝。” “他否定他自己的上帝吗？”苏格拉底说，“那么，杀他就不怎么错。” “不是。他否定我的上帝，他信他自己的上帝。所以说，他是一个异教徒。而且，他的人民全都是异教徒，因为他们效仿他。这怎么行？他们效仿他，就是冒着下地狱的风险。我杀他是为了拯救他的人民的灵魂，我杀他是出于对上帝的爱。” “可是，你不是说所有的神都是一个上帝的化身，是吗？” 皮萨罗索想了一下。“我想，从某种角度说，是这样的。” “而且，侍奉神本身难道不就是敬畏神吗？” “苏格拉底，不是敬畏神还会是什么呢？” “也就是说，如果一个人根据他的神的教义忠实地侍奉他的神，那么他的行为就是敬畏神，是吗？” 皮萨罗索皱着眉头说：“这个，如果你要这样看也可以。” “那么，我认为你杀的国王是一个敬畏神的人，因此你杀他就是亵渎上帝。” "Wait a moment!" “想一想吧：他侍奉他的神，就等于侍奉你的神，因为任何一个神的仆人，都是众神之神的上帝的仆人。” “不对，”皮萨罗索沉下脸说，“他怎么可能是上帝的仆人？他根本不知道耶稣，他根本不懂三位一体。当神父给他《圣经》时，他不屑一顾，将书扔到地上。苏格拉底，他是个异教徒，你也是。如果你认为阿塔瓦尔帕敬畏上帝，那你就一窍不通。” “的确，我懂得很少。可是你说他是一个贤明善良的人，对吗？” “是以异教徒的方式。” “而且对他的人民很好，对吗？” “好像是这样的。当我发现他们时，他们都显得丰衣足食。” “但却不敬畏神。” “他从来不做圣礼，事实上他一直都蔑视圣礼，直到临死那一刻他才接受了洗礼，才开始敬畏上帝。可是，当时已经宣布了死刑判决，来不及挽救他了。” “洗礼？皮萨罗索，告诉我这是什么意思？” “一种圣礼。” “圣礼又是什么？” “一种神圣的仪式。由神父主持，用圣水进行。它接纳人们加入圣母教会，宽恕原罪与现实的罪孽，并且带给信教人圣灵的礼物。” “下一次再多告诉我这些事情。话说回来，你用这种洗礼使那位贤君敬畏神吗？然后你又杀了他吗？” "yes." “当你杀他的时候，他可是敬畏神呀。所以，杀他肯定是罪孽。” “苏格拉底，他必须死！” “为什么呢？”雅典人问道。“苏格拉底开始收网，擒拿猎物了，”坦纳说，“看这个！” “我在看。但不会有任何猎物的，”理查森说，“他们俩的基本观点相差太远。” “你会看到的。” “我会吗？”皮萨罗索说：“我已经告诉了你为什么他必须死，是因为他的人民凡事都效仿他。他们崇拜太阳，是因为他说太阳是上帝。所以，如果我们让他们继续下去，他们的灵魂就会下地狱。” “既然他们凡事都效仿他，”苏格拉底说，“那么，他们肯定会效仿他接受洗礼，敬畏神的，这样做就会取悦你和你的神的！不是吗？” “不是。” 皮萨罗索说，开始扯胡子了。 “为什么你要这样想呢？” “因为仅仅在我们判了国王死刑后，他才同意洗礼的。他挡住了我们前进的道路，你没有看出来吗？他是我们夺取政权的障碍！我们必须干掉他。可是，我们不想将他的肉体连同灵魂一块杀掉，于是我们对他说：阿塔瓦尔帕，我们要处死你，如果你接受洗礼，我们就迅速勒死你；但如果你不愿意，我们就要把你活活烧死，慢慢地死去。不用说，他同意洗礼，于是我们将他勒死了。有什么办法呢？他必须死。就我们所知，他依然不相信真正的上帝，他的骨子里和从前一样还是一个大异教徒。不管怎样，他死的时候成为了基督徒。” "what?" “基督徒！基督徒！相信上帝的儿子耶稣基督的人！” “上帝的儿子，”苏格拉底困惑不解，“基督徒相信上帝还是只相信他的儿子？” “你这个大傻瓜！” "I don't deny that." “有圣父、圣子、圣灵。” “哦，”苏格拉底说，“那么，当你们勒死阿塔瓦尔帕的时候，他相信其中哪一个呢？” “一个都不相信。” “他不是作为基督徒死的吗？对你们那三位神一个都不相信，还是基督徒吗？怎么可能？” “因为有了洗礼，”皮萨罗索怒火中烧，“至于他相信什么有什么关系？神父将圣水洒在他身上，神父念念有词。如果做了适当的仪式，不管那人理解什么，相信什么，他的灵魂都得救了！否则的话，怎么为婴儿洗礼呢？婴儿一无所知，什么都不相信——可当圣水一接触他，他就成为了一名基督徒！” “这些对我来说太玄妙了，”苏格拉底说，“但有一点我看出了，因为国王接受了你们所要求的洗礼，你就认为国王既贤明又虔诚。所以，你杀了一个好国王。由于接受了洗礼，他现在生活在诸神的怀抱里。这是罪孽呀，看来此地不是有德行的人死后去的地方，看来我也不是有德行的人，否则的话，就是我误解了这里的一切，误解了我们为什么呆在这里。” “你这个该死的，要把我逼疯吗？”皮萨罗索大发雷霆，手摸剑鞘。继而他拔剑出鞘，愤怒挥舞。“再不闭嘴，我就把你砍成碎片！” “哎呀，”坦纳说，“到此为止了。”苏格拉底温和地说：“朋友，我并不想惹你生气，我只是想学点知识。” “你是个傻瓜！” “没错，