In the dreamscape, the "Capital Behemoth," constructed from infinite streams of desire-data, unhinged its abyss-like maw. A wave of fetid heat rolled out, hot enough to singe the tips of John's hair.

  "Hurgh—"

  John dropped to his knees. This wasn't his hemophobia acting up; he was just purely disgusted.

  He felt like the cream filling in a sandwich cookie: on his left, a physical data monster trying to devour him; on his right, a nagging monk attempting to mentally pollute him.

  "Master! Can we please change the channel?!" John wailed, covering his ears. "My brain is turning into paste! This is a pyrrhic victory—you're killing the enemy, but you're taking me down with them!"

  Tang Monk turned a deaf ear. He even fastidiously produced a handkerchief to wipe the spittle off his microphone.

  "Patience, Benefactor. The foreplay is over. Now, it is time for the true 'Soul Interrogation.'"

  Tang Monk ceased waving his tin staff. He became unnervingly still. The contrast between his extreme motion and this sudden stillness froze the entire dream space for a moment.

  He raised his head, staring at the mass of data before him, which was currently throwing wild error codes, with eyes that saw through all worldly illusions (including BUGs).

  "Female Benefactor," Tang Monk’s voice turned gentle yet filled with an inquisitive desire, like a senior programmer scrutinizing a screen full of code. "Observing your form, it appears you are constructed from binary zeros and ones, correct?"

  The behemoth let out a mechanical roar: "So what?! In this system, I am God! I am the ultimate calculation! My logic is flawless!"

  "Excellent."

  Tang Monk smiled faintly and dropped a logic paradox bomb potent enough to kill any silicon-based lifeform on the spot.

  "Since you are the ultimate in calculation, this humble monk has a simple question for you."

  "The Heart Sutra states: 'Form is Emptiness, Emptiness is Form.'"

  "If 'Form' (Matter/Data/1) equals 'Emptiness' (Void/0), then may I ask: Does 1 equal 0?"

  "If 1 equals 0, then is your colossal body Existent (True) or Non-Existent (False)? Are your loan contracts valid, or invalid?"

  "Please calculate: When all is void, what is the truth value of you, the 'Calculator' itself?"

  BOOM—

  These questions, like a string of invisible virus code, injected instantly into the beast's core logic library.

  The beast froze. Its massive maw, previously roaring, now sounded like a jammed printer, emitting strange click-click-click noises.

  To a human, this was just philosophical gibberish.

  But for an AI running on strict logic, this was an infinite loop from which there was no escape.

  Its underlying logic was: 1≠0, True≠False.

  But Tang Monk had forcibly input a "1=0" axiom and demanded it run within that parameter to find a solution.

  [WARNING! LOGIC CONFLICT!]

  [Attempting to parse "Form is Emptiness"...]

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  [Calculating... 1=0? DATA OVERFLOW...]

  [Calculating... Do I exist? I = Void? Null?]

  [CPU Temperature 300%... Core Algorithm CRITICAL FAILURE...]

  "No... Incorrect... This is illogical..."

  The behemoth let out a wail of agony. Its body flickered violently, and blocks of data peeled off like loose bricks. The beautiful succubus avatars turned into twisted wireframes, faces clipping through meshes, limbs inverting, emitting hair-raising electronic screeching.

  "My computing power... my memory... insufficient..."

  "Benefactor, that is correct." Tang Monk pressed his palms together, delivering the final, merciful blow. "Put down the butcher’s knife (Computing Power), and become a Buddha on the spot (System Shutdown)."

  POP!

  With a crisp sound, the entire dream world burst like a soap bubble.

  Real World. New Babylon, Upper Sector.

  Black Gold Asset Management, Server Room.

  Originally, this was a climate-controlled, dust-free tech sanctuary glowing with cool blue lights. Now, it resembled a BBQ joint on fire.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP—!!!

  Ear-piercing alarms screamed through the building.

  "What is happening?! Why is the core temp spiking?! Where is the cooling system?!"

  The technical director rushed into the server room, only to be knocked back by a wave of heat.

  The quantum server mainframe, worth hundreds of millions and dedicated to running the "Succubus Collection System," was billowing black smoke. The casing was glowing red, looking like it had just been pulled from a blast furnace.

  Red gibberish scrolled madly across the screens, finally freezing on a bizarre line of code-formed text:

  [Fatal Error: Benefactor, your code is too messy. Suggest refactoring.]

  BANG!

  The mainframe's cooling pipes burst, spraying coolant that instantly turned into white steam upon contact with the heat. Inside the casing, the crackling sound of explosions echoed—the sound of motherboards frying.

  "It's over... It's all over..."

  The supervisor slumped to the floor, staring at the scrapped machine, tears welling up.

  It wasn't just a broken machine.

  Stored inside were the collection progress of tens of thousands of "premium clients," unsigned soul contracts, and the company's entire quarterly performance...

  In this moment, everything was formatted into oblivion by that damned logic paradox.

  District 13, Rental Apartment.

  John Doe shot up in bed like a dehydrated fish, gasping for air.

  Cold sweat soaked his sheets, sticking his dirty tank top to his skin. It felt disgusting. His head was splitting, and his ears seemed to still ring with the duet of Tang Monk’s chanting and electronic noise.

  "Is... is this what... obtaining the scriptures feels like?"

  John weakly touched his forehead. Thank god, no Golden Headband.

  He grabbed his phone with trembling hands.

  It was hot as a branding iron.

  On the screen, the pink vortex icon had completely vanished. Replacing it was a system notification from the carrier:

  [Remote Server Timeout. Connection Terminated.]

  Immediately after, another text popped up. Not a debt collection notice, but a news push:

  "BREAKING NEWS: Serious fire at Black Gold Asset Management HQ, suspected server overload. Insiders reveal massive debt data loss; damages are being assessed..."

  "Heh... Heheh..."

  John stared at the news, stunned for a second, before squeezing a dry laugh from his throat.

  He won.

  He won against the most terrifying enemy in a way that almost took him out too.

  Although the debt still existed (the paper contracts remained), at least that thing that could crawl into his brain was gone. That life-draining talisman was gone.

  Dong.

  The Yin-Yang iPad on the table lit up.

  Daoist Singularity’s video window popped up again. In the background, Sun Wukong was pouring tea for a visibly exhausted, hoarse Tang Monk.

  "How was it, apprentice? How did that 'Physical + Mental' dual antivirus feel?" Singularity asked with a grin, fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan.

  John rolled over, flopping onto the bed like slime, and raised a trembling middle finger at the camera.

  "Master... you’re ruthless. I feel like my brain was taken out, washed, and now it’s full of water."

  "That means it worked."

  Singularity adjusted his sunglasses and pointed out the window.

  "Washing is healthy. After tonight, your Mental Resistance has leveled up at least twice. In the future, charm spells of this level will be nothing more than a tickle to you."

  "Also," Singularity pointed to Tang Monk sipping tea, "you should thank the Master. With that final hit, he didn't just fry their servers; he left you a 'Mental Imprint.'"

  "What imprint?" John had a bad feeling.

  "Basically... whenever you think about buying shady financial products or clicking on websites you shouldn't, your brain will auto-play the Great Compassion Mantra."

  "KILL ME NOW!!!" John shrieked, burying his head in his pillow.

  Grace, the pixel bunny, popped her head up on the screen, saluted John, and forcefully changed the subject:

  "Boss, good news! While their servers were rebooting, I sent them their electric bill. Highest tier rates, of course."

  "Also," Grace added with a mischievous grin, "I ordered 10,000 cash-on-delivery pizzas to their fried server room."

  John looked up at the ray of sunlight piercing through the smog outside the window.

  Although his head still hurt, and he owed another favor.

  Thinking of the manager's face when confronted with ten thousand pizzas, John couldn't help but laugh.

  "That 500 credits... was money well spent."

  [Message from Singularity]

  VIP Suite for you over on the Patreon Server. We are opening New Rooms (Chapters) for FREE daily. Even better? Select Chapters feature HD Illustrations for the full immersive experience.

  ?? [Enter the VIP Suite]