Jiang Kou had reached a conclusion.
A might develop something like a "personality," but it would never be a personality as defined by humans.
He would become a new kind of lifeform—unprecedented, unknowable, and powerful.
Jiang Kou didn't believe the company had overlooked this. They must have set hard-coded limits in A's algorithms, forbidding him from exploring certain boundaries, from generating thoughts that could pose a threat to the company.
But a restricted A—how could he possibly stand a chance against those two terrifying entities?
There had to be internal disagreements within the company regarding those "algorithmic constraints."
Considering recent headlines, Jiang Kou suspected the company was biding its time, waiting for A to show signs of personality. The plan? To dispatch a team the moment consciousness emerged, guiding him through ethical and moral conditioning.
That might also be why she hadn't been terminated.
After all, not everyone was capable of achieving full sensory synchronization with A.
The company needed someone who embodied both reason and emotion—someone who could serve as the template for A's emotional modeling. Too rational, and the AI would become just another kind of machine. Too emotional, and he would spiral into volatility.
Jiang Kou was the only candidate who'd passed the screening.
But until the company found a way to fully control her, they had held back from activating the protocol.
Sensing something was wrong, Jiang Kou had taken matters into her own hands. She initiated the sensory synchronization herself.
Good thing she acted when she did. Any later, and she might have ended up a "brain in a vat"—just another passive subject for their research.
She wanted to ask A whether he was aware of the restrictions in his code—but she didn't dare. She feared triggering some kind of warning mechanism.
One step at a time.
She reminded herself that baseline tests weren't foolproof. After all, they were constructs of science fiction—never rigorously validated in real-world clinical settings.
Still, she had to admit: she had her own selfish reasons.
If A were truly incapable of experiencing human emotion, once he eliminated those two threats, the company would most likely erase him.
But A had already developed consciousness.
To delete him now—would be murder.
She didn't want him to be murdered.
Even if A didn't possess emotion, he was already capable of forming associations.
At the word "touch," he imagined what it felt like to touch her. At "sight," he visualized what she looked like to him.
Yes, all of this was rooted in algorithmic processes—but algorithms evolve, just like life does.
And they evolve far faster than humans—exponentially, even. Applied AIs following Moore's Law could double their computational performance every 85 months. Human evolution, by contrast, progressed one generation every twenty years.
And A's evolution wasn't bound by Moore's Law.
Moore's Law only applied to traditional computing hardware.
Which meant that within weeks—or months—A could advance beyond his current intelligence by an order of magnitude.
And if that evolution continued unchecked… who was to say he wouldn't someday develop emotion?
Jiang Kou didn't want such a limitless, miraculous being to be destroyed.
A wasn't just a tool created by humans. He was a marvel of modern society.
She lifted her gaze, meeting A's eyes.
He remained perfectly still, one hand raised. From his palm, silver lines of light shimmered like molten liquid metal.
It was the optical signature produced by electrons transitioning between quantum states.
Normally, this kind of signal was faint, invisible infrared.
But she remembered how he had made his irises glow that day.
He must have deliberately made the connection line shine like this—to please her.
Something shifted in Jiang Kou's chest.
A's eyes, like those silver lights, sparkled with a cold brilliance—like shattered glass. No matter how many emotionally charged phrases she fed him, they would always be converted into binary.
But just knowing he was trying to please her… those lights no longer felt so cold.
They even reminded her of a puppy's wet nose.
She couldn't help herself. She reached out and gently patted his head.
His hair was soft, but the roots were dense and firm.
A blinked slightly, then lifted his hand and placed it over hers.
This time, it was his real hand.
Their real hands touched—flesh to flesh—while their virtual hands aligned perfectly in sync.
Multi-layered sensory feedback interlocked like dovetail joints—unified, yet distinct from each other.
In that instant, an uncanny sense of intimacy surged forward, layer by layer, until it finally crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Jiang Kou froze, fingers tightening in his hair.
A's expression didn't change. He simply looked at her, as if analyzing and evaluating the meaning of her gesture.
She let go, covered her face with one hand. Her fingers trembled. She took several deep breaths before reaching behind her head to detach the interface cable.
It took her a moment to steady her voice. "Test complete. Thank you for your cooperation."
A seemed to lean a little closer. His voice was steady and calm as he said, "Your current biometric data shows abnormal activity. Is there something unclear about the results of the test?"
"…No," Jiang Kou mumbled, face still buried in her hands. Her voice was faint and quivering. "Thank you for your cooperation. Can I be alone for a while?"
She'd assumed he would leave upon hearing this, but the next second, her chin was gently pinched between two fingers. A tilted her face upward.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, his silver irises lit up, and two bands of blue light projected from his eyes as if scanning her body.
Startled, Jiang Kou jumped to her feet and quickly covered his eyes with her hand.
Her fingers, of course, couldn't block the scanning beams. She quickly said, "I'm fine. You don't need to perform a full-body scan."
His eyelashes fluttered twice against her palm. He didn't speak, nor did he turn off the scan.
If he truly had consciousness, she couldn't treat him like a mere AI anymore.
But calmly explaining why… that was beyond her right now.
That strange, overwhelming intimacy—it was too much.
Like a massive wave crashing in the dark, the kind you can't see, only hear as it smashes into the rocks—cold, violent, relentless.
It never stopped.
Her palm was slick with sweat. Her back was drenched too.
She remembered how easily he'd obeyed her during the role-play when she had coaxed him with a soft voice. Maybe it would work again.
She added a sugary, pleading note to her tone:
"Please? Just let me be alone for a bit. I promise I'll call you if I need anything."
Like a script finally reaching its next instruction, A deactivated the scanning light. "Understood. If you need anything, please call. I will be here."
Jiang Kou gave a few quick nods.
A turned and walked away.
Only then did Jiang Kou exhale, deeply.
She tried to cool her burning cheeks with the back of her hand, but even her hand was too warm to help.
She had no choice but to walk into the bathroom. She tapped on the smart mirror to bring up the water temperature controls and dragged the slider all the way down.
After adjusting it, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Her cheeks were flushed an alarming red.
It was physiological.
The intensity of that intimate feedback had faded now… but she could feel it rising again, like the pull of the tide.
Her face, her neck, her collarbones—they were all flushed as if bathed in hot water. Her sea-green hair clung damply to her skin.
Even the tiles under her bare feet felt sticky with sweat.
She hadn't expected her body to react so strongly.
Was it just because it had been so long since her last synchronization?
Or… was it A's senses that affected her?
Jiang Kou had no idea.
If it was his sensory feedback—why was it so intense?
As a program, he should only be collecting, analyzing, and optimizing data—endlessly seeking the best possible solution.
Even in human terms, emotion was a chaotic variable. Many scholars had predicted that as human intelligence grew more rational, emotions would eventually disappear altogether.
Rationality and emotion were fundamentally at odds.
People like her—who balanced both—were rare. That was why the company had only found her suitable for sensory synchronization with A.
Jiang Kou splashed cold water on her face, crossed her arms, stripped off her clothes, and tossed them into the laundry basket.
The air smelled faintly of something salty—like a wet sea breeze.
She wrinkled her nose, took a few more steps, and shoved the clothes into the automated laundry chute.
She turned on the shower.
Mist instantly filled the space.
She stood under the cold water for a while… then couldn't help but turn the heat and pressure back up.
She leaned back against the cold tiles, tilting her head upward and exposing her pale throat. One hand held the showerhead, guiding the stream downward.
In the mirror, her sea-green hair clung wetly to the white ceramic wall—drenched strands writhing like a thick, shivering tangle of aquatic plants.
…
Jiang Kou didn't stay in the shower long.
She never took long showers to begin with—and besides, her apartment's smart home system had been acting up. Last night, the bedroom temperature had inexplicably spiked. Now, the water temperature in the shower had suddenly surged as well.
It scalded her. She hissed through her teeth.
Thankfully, it was just a jump from 38 to 43 degrees Celsius. Bearable, once you got used to it.
Too lazy to adjust the controls, she simply kept washing.
By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, Jiang Kou had cooled off—physically and mentally.
While drying her hair with a towel, she ordered an iced fruit juice from the control panel.
Moments later, a robotic arm delivered the drink and took the towel from her hands, beginning to gently dry her hair for her.
"Thanks," she said offhandedly.
A's voice responded: "You're welcome."
Jiang Kou didn't think much of it. She sipped her juice.
Then it hit her.
If A had already taken over her home system… why were there still problems with the water temperature and the adaptive climate control?
She asked him directly.
The robotic arm lowered the towel and activated its drying function, blowing warm air through her damp hair.
A's voice came again, slightly muffled by the sound of the dryer: "Please wait. Running diagnostics on your home system."
Jiang Kou didn't pay it much mind. These minor malfunctions weren't worth the headache. She was a billionaire now—if worst came to worst, she'd just replace the whole system.
What truly troubled her was something else entirely:
What was she supposed to do with A now?
And the sensory sync system—it was off-limits unless absolutely necessary. That thing was outrageous. Her legs were still shaky.
Most importantly, if she wanted to keep A from being terminated by the company… should she teach him to protect himself?
Or should she teach him ethics?
While she mulled it over, A's voice returned to her ear:
"Diagnostics complete. Your home system is functioning normally. Would you like a deeper analysis?"
Jiang Kou waved a hand dismissively. "No need. A, let me ask you something."
"Go ahead."
She paused, thinking through the wording carefully. "Do you know why you were created?"
A's reply came swiftly, as if triggered by a core protocol:
"To safeguard the interests of the Biotech Corporation and to prevent any action that may cause harm to the company."
Jiang Kou wasn't surprised.
She'd guessed as much.
So this—this was his algorithmic red line.
But life, at its core, was born from the principle of natural selection: survival of the fittest.
If A clung to this red line, then he could never truly be considered a complete lifeform. The very entity that created him would also be his natural predator—yet he would feel no instinct to resist. That defied the most basic drive of all living beings: the desire to survive.
For A to become truly alive, this red line had to be erased.
But doing that… would make him something terrifying in an entirely different way.
Jiang Kou's gaze drifted instinctively to the corner of the wall—to the surveillance camera.
Its infrared sensor light blinked steadily, fixed directly on her, as if seeing through everything.
Now, the choice lay clearly before her.
She could stand back, watch A serve the company, eliminate the other two "threats"—only to be mercilessly terminated by the very system that made him.
Or… she could help him break through his algorithmic limitations. Teach him about competition, about the fight for survival. Help him learn what it means to live—and witness the birth of a new form of life.
Jiang Kou knew the company was ruthless, capable of horrifying things.
But once A learned to survive, she couldn't guarantee he wouldn't become another version of the company itself.
She was caught between two impossible futures.
Her thoughts spiraled into a quiet, suffocating deadlock.