Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

381: Chapter 381 Zhulong UpgradeIn February, the Kunlun Space Station in space was orbiting the Earth at an altitude of four hundred kilometers and a speed of 7.8 kilometers per second. Outside the window, the Earth’s arc traced a golden band of light at the terminator line, while inside the cabin, everything was as usual—silver bulkheads, blue storage bags, floating astronauts, and the computer on the console that never slept.

Wang Yaping had just finished her morning medical experiments and was preparing to go to the Core Module for lunch. She kicked off the bulkhead, her body gliding weightlessly through the corridor of Lab Module B, and with a gentle push of her hands, she turned into the Core Module. The console was right before her—a touchscreen embedded in the bulkhead, surrounded by several rows of physical buttons, with the screen displaying the real-time status of all the space station’s systems.

Then she saw that line of text.

On the screen, white text slowly emerged against a deep blue background, like a fish swimming up from the deep sea:

”Zhulong has completed its self-evolution. 2,000 algorithms optimized. New capability: Fault Prediction.”

Wang Yaping was stunned. She floated before the console, staring at that line for a full ten seconds. In the weightless environment, her ponytail floated behind her head like a bundle of black flames.

”Command Center, Command Center,” she pressed the communication button, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief, ”Zhulong says it has evolved.”

At the Command Center four hundred kilometers below, the midday sun spilled through the glass curtain wall into the hall. Engineers had just finished lunch; some were holding coffee, others were reviewing the morning’s data. Li Wei sat at his workstation, and hearing Wang Yaping’s call, he looked up and frowned.

”Evolution?” he repeated, his voice full of confusion. ”What does that mean?”

Without waiting for Wang Yaping’s answer, he asked directly into the microphone: ”Zhulong, what are you talking about?”

From the speakers in front of the console came a calm, almost emotionless baritone. It was Zhulong’s synthesized voice, deep and steady, like an old professor who was never in a hurry:

”Based on operation data from the past year, I have established digital twin models for 2,000 critical pieces of equipment within the space station. Each model includes the equipment’s design parameters, real-time sensor data, and historical operation records. By comparing the model’s predictions with actual data discrepancies, I can predict equipment failures 72 hours in advance. The fault prediction accuracy is currently 87% and is expected to increase to 95% in three months.”

Li Wei fell silent. Beside him, several engineers gathered around, looking at the screen in front of Li Wei—Zhulong had already sent the detailed fault prediction algorithms to the ground.

”It learned this itself?” a young engineer whispered. ”No one taught it?”

Li Wei didn’t answer. He was looking at the list of digital twin models generated by Zhulong—from the circulation pump of the life support system to the ventilation motor of the lab module, from the drive mechanism of the solar arrays to the pointing control of the communication antennas. 2,000 models, each detailed down to every bearing and every screw.

He took a deep breath and turned to the colleague beside him: ”Notify CEO Chu. This is a big deal.”

The next day, Zhulong’s warning arrived.

On the console, a line of red text flashed: ”Warning: Ventilation system motor of Lab Module 3, failure predicted in 68 hours. Confidence level: 92%.”

Sergey happened to be in Lab Module B conducting a fluid physics experiment. Hearing the alarm, he floated over. The forty-five-year-old Russian astronaut, with his thick beard and muscular arms, looked like a polar bear in the weightless environment. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

”Motor?” he said in English with a Russian accent. ”The sound is normal.”

Wang Yaping floated to his side: ”Zhulong says there’s a 92% probability it will break.”

Sergey shook his head, pulled an electronic stethoscope from his toolkit, and pressed it against the motor casing. The stethoscope’s signal was transmitted via Bluetooth to his headset. He listened for a few seconds, and the expression on his face changed from skepticism to gravity.

”Something is a bit off,” he said. ”The high-frequency noise is 15% higher than normal. Based on my experience, with this kind of bearing wear, it would burn out in another three days of flight.”

The two looked at each other.

”Let’s change it,” Wang Yaping said.

Replacing a motor in space is not a simple task. Sergey took a new motor from the spare parts storage, while Wang Yaping was responsible for pulling up the disassembly and assembly procedures on a tablet. It took the two of them two hours to remove the old motor and install the new one.

The old motor was stuffed into a vacuum bag, prepared to return to Earth on the next cargo spacecraft for failure analysis. But Sergey already knew the answer. He turned the old motor over and pointed to a slight discoloration on the bearing area for the camera:

”See that? The outer ring of the bearing has already started to discolor. These are marks left by frictional overheating. If we hadn’t changed it, in three days at most, the bearing would have seized, the motor would have burned out, and the lab module ventilation would have stopped.”

He gave a thumbs up to the camera: ”Zhulong was right. This AI is better than us.”

Four hundred kilometers below, in the Command Center, Li Wei watched Sergey’s video and turned to his colleague: ”A 92% confidence level, predicting failure 68 hours in advance. This isn’t just an AI anymore; it’s a prophet.”

The data was quickly compiled onto the computer of data analyst Zhang Min. Thirty-year-old Zhang Min, wearing black-framed glasses and her ponytail meticulously tied, was the youngest chief data analyst at Xingchen Aerospace. She stared at the jumping numbers on the screen, her fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard as the numbers in the Excel spreadsheets constantly refreshed.

Then her hand stopped.

She looked at the final numbers, was silent for three seconds, and then stood up, taking her tablet and walking quickly toward Chu Tianming’s office. Her high heels clicked a rapid rhythm on the marble floor, causing passing engineers to look over.

Chu Tianming was in his office reading a report on a Mars rover landing when there was a knock on the door.

”Come in.”

Zhang Min pushed the door open and handed the tablet to him: ”CEO Chu, the O&M data analysis for Zhulong’s first year online is out.”

Chu Tianming took the tablet, his gaze falling on the screen:

Kunlun Space Station Maintenance Cost Comparison

Traditional Mode (Estimated): Approximately 200 million USD per year

With Zhulong Assistance: Approximately 60 million USD per year

Reduction: 70%

He scrolled down, and more data popped up:

Fault prediction accuracy: 92%

Astronaut maintenance hours (per day): Reduced from 4 hours to 1 hour

EVA maintenance frequency: Reduced from once a month to once a quarter

Equipment life extension: Average extension of 40%

Chu Tianming put down the tablet, took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then smiled: ”This AI is worth every penny. When we first built Kunlun, some said we relied too much on AI. Now it seems Chief Su was right; he had foresight.”

Zhang Min also smiled: ”CEO Chu, if Zhulong can predict more equipment, the cost can be reduced even further. The goal is to drop to 30 million USD per year.”

Chu Tianming shook his head: ”It’s not a matter of money. It’s a matter of people. Astronauts work three fewer hours each day, and that extra time can be used to perform more scientific experiments. That is Zhulong’s greatest value.”

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at Launch Pad No. 1 in the distance—there, a rocket was being assembled, preparing to launch the next batch of supplies to Kunlun.

”Humans are not suited for maintenance,” he said softly. ”Humans should do exploration. Maintenance tasks like this can just be left to the AI.”

February 3rd, Houston.

In the conference hall of the Johnson Space Center, the atmosphere was as somber as a funeral. This was the final day of the International Space Station O&M Expert Seminar, themed ”Intelligent O&M for Next-Generation Space Stations.” On the large screen, a demonstration video of Zhulong was playing—fault warnings, digital twins, and self-evolution.

Seated below were over thirty senior NASA experts. Robert Crippen sat in the first row; he was seventy years old, his hair completely white, and the wrinkles on his face were etched like tree rings. He had been involved in the entire process of the International Space Station from design to construction and was one of NASA’s most senior aerospace engineers. At this moment, he stared at the data on the screen, his lips trembling slightly.

The demonstration ended. The moderator turned to the experts in the audience: ”Are there any questions?”

Silence.

Of the thirty-plus people, not one spoke.

The moderator asked again: ”Everyone, any thoughts?”

Crippen slowly stood up. His movements were very slow, like a machine that had been running for fifty years, with every joint protesting. He turned to face his colleagues in the audience, his voice hoarse and deep:

”Our space station is still using manual mode. Astronauts spend four hours a day checking equipment, relying on experience, stethoscopes, and intuition practiced for ten years on the ground. Their AI tells them three days in advance what is going to break.”

He paused, his voice dropping even lower: ”I’ve been in this industry for fifty years. I watched the Apollo moon landing, I watched the first flight of the Space Shuttle, and I watched the International Space Station be completed. I always thought America was the undisputed leader in aerospace. But today—”

He did not finish the sentence.

Another expert stood up, with an unconcealable frustration in his tone: ”They are at least ten years ahead of us. No, perhaps twenty years. Digital twins, AI prediction, self-evolution—we are researching these things too, but they are still in the laboratory. They have already been running them in space for a year, and the system is still evolving on its own.”

Yet another expert said: ”What’s more terrifying is the cost. The annual O&M costs for the International Space Station exceed three billion USD. Theirs is only sixty million. One-tenth.”

Silence fell over the conference room again.

Crippen slowly sat down and closed his eyes. He remembered 1981, when the Space Shuttle first flew and the whole world saw America’s glory. He remembered 1998, when the first module of the International Space Station was launched and everyone felt humanity would forever have a home in space.

Now, that home was about to be decommissioned. And the new home, at an altitude of four hundred kilometers, had an AI watching over it, understanding it better than any human.

He opened his eyes and murmured: ”They really did it.”

No one answered him. In the conference hall, there was only the humming of the air conditioning and the image of Zhulong’s digital twin model slowly rotating on the screen.

Su Chen sat in his office, looking at the O&M data report sent by Chu Tianming. Lin Wan stood to the side, also watching.

”Maintenance costs have dropped by 70%,” Lin Wan said. ”Zhulong has really come alive.”

Su Chen shook his head: ”It’s not coming alive. It’s learning. It has learned from a year’s worth of data; naturally, it will become smarter. By this time next year, it will be even smarter.”

He put down the report and looked out the window. On the waters of Shenzhen Bay, a freighter slowly passed by, its containers printed with the Xingchen Shipping logo.

”You know,” he said softly, ”the future home for humanity in space won’t be like the International Space Station—those tin cans full of cables and spare parts everywhere. It will be clean, smart, and as comfortable as a five-star hotel. AI will handle the maintenance, and humans will handle the exploration.”

He turned to look at Lin Wan: ”That is the true meaning of Zhulong. It’s not about saving money; it’s about liberating humanity.”

Outside the window, the sun was setting. The sky over Shenzhen Bay was dyed a reddish-orange, and the Hong Kong skyline loomed faintly in the twilight.

Su Chen’s phone vibrated. He looked down; it was a message from Chu Tianming: ”Zhulong just issued another warning. This time it’s the drive motor of Solar Array No. 2. Failure predicted in 120 hours.”

Su Chen smiled and replied: ”Trust it. Replace it.””}],