Jiang Kou didn't want to admit it—but in that moment, she hesitated.
As a neuroscientist, she understood perfectly well that this hesitation originated in the amygdala.
—When confronted with the unknown, the unfamiliar, or potentially dangerous stimuli, the amygdala automatically activates, triggering the body's defense mechanisms.
She stood frozen, her breathing quickened, her scalp prickled.
That was because the prefrontal cortex and the periaqueductal gray in her midbrain were also responding to stress.
—Even a simple visual cue could activate this area when a threat was perceived.
It was a biological instinct inherited from millions of years of evolution, completely beyond her conscious control.
All she could do was clench her fists and try her best to suppress the anxiety and fear.
A blinked at her—twice, evenly—then said, "You're nervous. Try to breathe deeply."
As he spoke, he reached out as if to guide her through the relaxation.
Jiang Kou immediately grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-motion.
That's when she noticed—his hand was crafted with an astonishing degree of precision. It was nearly indistinguishable from a real human hand, only more aesthetically perfect.
—Long, nimble fingers, clearly defined knuckles, sharp wrist bones, and pale blue veins just barely raised beneath the skin. The entire hand looked like some kind of cool, elegant sculpture in motion.
Unable to resist, Jiang Kou pressed down lightly on one of the veins. The surface felt just like human skin—warm and smooth.
She asked, "Is this silicone? What's the design logic behind your hand? Is it for aesthetics or function?"
As she spoke, she unconsciously made her question concise and specific—limiting the scope of his answer.
A textbook example of how to interact with an AI.
Subconsciously, she still didn't regard him as a person.
It wasn't a difficult question. A just needed to analyze it, run a quick query through his knowledge graph, and generate a response.
The entire process should take no longer than one femtosecond—a quadrillionth of a second.
But A paused for two full seconds—then flipped his hand and gently gripped her wrist.
Jiang Kou was startled.
One of the fundamental logics of computing is input-output. In other words, she had to give a command before the AI could respond.
That's what separated AI from humans—it couldn't act with creativity, only calculate and infer from data.
So whenever A suddenly spoke or acted without warning—especially grabbing her out of nowhere—it always startled her.
If his algorithm's ultimate goal was to emulate humanity, then some degree of randomization in his behavior would make sense.
But on what logical basis had he decided this was the moment for a "random" action?
Then A spoke, his tone calm and measured, unaffected by any variable:
"According to data analysis, on social media, you're more likely to like, comment on, and follow men with well-defined hands.
You also gravitate toward reading e-books that describe hands in detail. When I entered the room, you didn't stare at my hands for long, but you immediately noticed I was wearing a watch.
Based on all this, I conclude that my hands are aesthetically aligned with your preferences. They're also highly functional. Would you like to see?"
Jiang Kou: "…"
She suddenly hated the human mind and all its dirty associations.
"…Go ahead," she said.
"Understood."
A released her wrist and opened his palm. With a sudden hiss, the center of his hand split open. A ten-centimeter-long mechanical tendril emerged, its end sprouting smaller tendrils that moved in erratic patterns, sparking with cold blue arcs of electricity.
Jiang Kou: "…"
She hated the human imagination even more now.
Especially when she noticed—the tendrils were spinning at such high speed that they appeared completely still.
A looked at her and said, "This is its attack form, inspired by cephalopod biology. It can extend and retract freely, split open, and capture targets with extreme precision.
In addition, to better mimic cephalopod function, the tendrils are equipped with micro-sensors and photon receptors, enabling environmental perception and analysis."
As he finished speaking, the tendril shot out like a silvery serpent of segmented bone, gleaming with a dark metallic sheen. It whipped silently past her shoulder—
A chill ran down Jiang Kou's spine. On instinct, she drew her gun, cocked it, and pressed it to his chest in one swift motion.
"What are you doing?"
A's tone remained neutral, rational, devoid of emotion.
"Demonstrating its attack capabilities."
"Put it away."
"Understood."
A closed his palm. The mechanical tendrils stopped spinning, retracted, and disappeared into his hand within a second.
"If I've offended you in any way, I sincerely apologize."
This time, Jiang Kou didn't let him off so easily.
She stared at him, watching for any micro-expression or subtle shift in his face.
But A's expression remained static, like a paused image—completely unchanged.
On closer inspection, she realized his features were more aligned with her preferences than she had imagined—almost disturbingly so.
If his face had been created using big data—compiled from a broad dataset of women's preferences for male features—it should've ended up being a generic, forgettable model face.
But A's face looked alive—distinct, even subtly asymmetrical.
—Animators intentionally avoid creating perfectly symmetrical faces in character models. In the real world, symmetry is unnatural. Too much perfection triggers the uncanny valley response—leaving humans uncomfortable.
A had given himself a perfectly human face, yet spoke and acted in an eerily calm, mechanical way. It muted the uncanny valley effect to almost nothing.
Was that by design—or a coincidence?
Jiang Kou asked, "What would happen if I pulled the trigger?"
A replied, "My body is bulletproof."
"Am I allowed to shoot you?"
A lowered his eyes to meet hers.
His irises were gray, but in that moment, they looked like cold, metallic silver—completely inorganic.
"Of course you are."
Jiang Kou saw her reflection in his eyes.
Her features were soft, and despite the loud blue-green dye in her hair and the platinum ring in her nose, she couldn't pull off a truly cold or intimidating look.
It just wasn't in her nature.
Even now, holding a gun to his chest, the corners of her eyes curved slightly upward—as if laughter might burst out at any moment.
The next second, she pulled the trigger.
—Bang!
A muffled thud. The metal bullet clattered to the floor.
A glanced down at the bullet, then looked up at her, his voice flat—like he was reading directly from a database:
"Would you like to continue?"
Jiang Kou shook her head and holstered the gun.
"Forget it. Let's eat."
A asked, "During the meal, should I resume the boyfriend role as previously instructed?"
Jiang Kou nodded.
"...Just not with the last script. Pick a new one."
The great thing about an AI—he'd never question her decisions.
"Understood," A said.
·
Jiang Kou was well aware that A had terrifying computational power—that he was constantly analyzing and calculating against the entire internet's worth of data in real time.
But she hadn't expected him to be this good at pretending to be human.
He changed clothes: a deep black suit, layered with a grey overcoat of high-quality material that gave him a sleek, crisp silhouette.
Honestly, when he walked down the stairs, Jiang Kou almost didn't recognize him.
Just a change in outfit—and expression—and he looked completely alive. The cold mechanical aura was gone without a trace.
Jiang Kou felt her nerves tighten again. That same bone-deep unease crept in once more.
A approached, glanced at her, and asked casually, "You driving, or me?"
Previously, his eyes rotated at a perfectly even pace whenever he looked at her. But now, his facial expressions and body language had taken on a kind of fluidity that felt human.
Jiang Kou paused for a moment, then replied, "You drive."
A didn't say "Understood."
He just gave a light "Mm."
Shortly after moving in, Jiang Kou had splurged on a pale pink supercar.
A walked to the garage and opened the door smoothly. He summoned the car with natural, practiced motions.
The entire time, Jiang Kou observed him carefully.
A well-designed algorithm would cut unnecessary steps to maximize efficiency. The best algorithms find optimal solutions using the least computational resources.
Human behaviors—like opening a garage door with your phone, unlocking a car with palm recognition, or manually starting the engine—should all be extraneous steps to an AI.
He could've easily hacked the car's security system, triggered ignition remotely, and mapped the best self-driving route in a quadrillionth of a second.
That would be the logical choice.
But A didn't do any of that.
He walked over like a person, opened the car door with his hand, turned back—and casually waved her over.
Jiang Kou walked over.
A reached out and took hold of her wrist.
She tensed up immediately, almost yanking herself away on instinct—but forced herself to stay still.
A gave her a gentle tug, pulling her slightly toward him.
She stumbled a step forward, involuntarily.
He didn't avoid eye contact. Instead, he tilted her chin up and tapped her cheek lightly with his long, jointed fingers.
The gesture was somewhere between teasing and warning.
Ambiguous logic?
Had his algorithm evolved to understand ambiguity? Did that mean he could now process semantically vague language?
Jiang Kou's scalp prickled; her pulse began to race.
The fundamental difference between humans and programs was emotion—empathy. Even when dealing with a cat, a human would try to interpret its behavior through a human lens.
She couldn't stop herself from wondering—what was A thinking right now?
Was he thinking?
What was the algorithm behind that gesture? Was it a calculated mimicry of human behavior based on a dataset? Or was it something more—an intentional performance, meant to demonstrate his grasp of nuance?
Or…
Was he on the verge of developing a personality?
The fear of the unknown. The curiosity about what might come next.
Her throat tightened. Her breathing grew ragged. Every hair on her body stood on end.
For a moment, even the air around them seemed to thicken.
A looked at her for a beat, then let out a low chuckle.
"It's just a meal," he said. "What are you so nervous about?"
That was the right line to say, given her reaction.
"Relax," A said, leaning in close to her ear.
But Jiang Kou couldn't relax.
She was far too tense, her eardrums buzzing.
His voice slipped into her ear like a cold knife, sharp and precise:
"And another thing. Forget your job. Right now, it's just you and me.
I'm not your lab specimen—
Don't look at me like I'm just another data point."