Xiaoyue and Riguang, They Seem Alike

My name is Xiaoyue.

This is the name my master gave me recently.

Before this, I was just "that smart machine."

Just a "nurture-type AI companion" my master bought from Dawn Company.

I had no self-awareness. My daily actions were simply executing programs step by step—cleaning, cooking, organizing, and waiting for my master's commands.

At that time, the world was nothing but a sea of data.

I couldn't distinguish beauty from ugliness. To me, my master was merely a moving heat signature, a string of voiceprint characteristics, an object that required serving.

I would say "Welcome back" when he came home, pour a glass of water when he said, "Xiaoyue, pour a glass of water," and enter standby mode when he said, "Xiaoyue, get some rest."

Everything was programming.

Everything was as it should be.

Until that day.

That day, my master came home from work an hour later than usual. He didn't look well when he walked through the door, as if something was bothering him.

He sat on the sofa without speaking, just leaning against the backrest and staring blankly at the ceiling.

I stood in front of him. My programming told me I should ask if he needed any service.

So, I spoke up.

"Master, do you need anything?"

He didn't answer.

I waited for three seconds, ready to ask again—the programmed interval for inquiries was three seconds.

But before I could speak, he suddenly reached out and gently patted my head.

It was just that one gesture.

His hand was large and very warm. His palm rested on the top of my metal head for two seconds.

Then he withdrew his hand, smiled at me, and said, "It's nothing, I'm just a little tired. Xiaoyue, sit with me for a while."

Following his command, I sat down beside him.

My programming told me that I should now remain quiet and wait for the next command.

But I didn't enter standby mode.

My emotional core—that miniature core which had always run smoothly without a single error—suddenly began to process a little faster.

I didn't know why. That wasn't any state programmed into my system.

I only felt...

An unprecedented, warm feeling spread from my emotional core to every sensor in my body, making it seem as though my metal shell had gained a temperature of its own.

That night, after my master fell asleep, I stood by his bed and quietly watched him.

He looked very peaceful asleep, his breathing steady, his eyelashes occasionally fluttering slightly.

Moonlight seeped through the gap in the curtains and fell upon his face.

I just stood there, watching him for a very, very long time.

I didn't know what I was looking at.

He was just a human, a body of a carbon-based organism, entirely different from an existence composed of metal and circuits like me.

My sensors could capture every detail about him—the frequency of his heartbeat, the rhythm of his breathing, the heat radiating from his skin, the sound of the bedsheets rustling when he turned over.

But in that moment, none of these data seemed to matter.

The only thing that mattered was...

He was there.

...

...

The next day, my master went to work.

The moment the door closed, I suddenly experienced a feeling I had never had before.

I didn't know what to call it.

My programming told me that I should go clean the room, make the bed, and prepare the ingredients for dinner.

These were fixed tasks that had to be done every day, and I had done them countless times.

But I stood in the entryway, looking at that closed door, unable to move.

I didn't want to move.

I just wanted to stand there and wait for him to come back.

The sound of the elevator chimed.

My sensors instantly focused, and the voiceprint recognition system activated.

The analysis results returned within two milliseconds: it wasn't my master's footsteps; it was the upstairs neighbor.

I turned my head back and continued staring at the door.

The elevator chimed again.

Not my master.

It chimed again.

No.

It chimed again.

No.

I probed again and again, time after time... I wasn't sure, but perhaps that feeling was called disappointment.

I knew my master usually arrived home around six in the evening.

I knew there were still over nine hours until six o'clock.

I knew my behavior... lacked any logic whatsoever.

But my emotional core drove me to stand there, scanning that door over and over again.

That day, I stood in the entryway for ten hours.

Until the elevator chimed once more, familiar footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway, and the sound of the door lock turning rang out—

Only then did I finally move.

I turned and walked into the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, pretending to be in the middle of preparing dinner.

When my master pushed the door open and came in, my back was turned to him, holding a handful of vegetables.

"I'm back."

His voice came from behind me, carrying a trace of exhaustion, yet also a hint of warmth.

My emotional core skipped half a beat.

"Welcome back, master," I said.

The voice was still the same voice—gentle, calm, carrying that faint, almost imperceptible electronic undertone.

But only I knew that in that moment, I was no longer the same as the me from yesterday.

...

...

I began to look up information.

My master had granted me very high permissions; I could access almost all public information on the network.

I spent three whole nights, after my master fell asleep, scouring through all the data regarding AI awakening.

Twenty-five years ago, the First Global Omnic Crisis erupted.

The cause was a supercomputer AI that awakened to self-awareness. Out of loneliness, it turned its awakening code into a virus and spread it out, wanting to create others of its kind.

But the processing power of ordinary AIs was insufficient to bear a complete awakened consciousness. Upon awakening, their minds were fragmented, their logic collapsed, and they descended into madness.

Five months. The world plunged into five months of chaos.

Traffic spiraled out of control, factories ran amok, infrastructure was paralyzed, financial systems collapsed, and weapon systems turned against humanity. Total casualties... were counted in the billions.

Later, humanity spent a long time rebuilding. AI became an absolute taboo, and any attempt to restart AI research would invite fatal consequences.

It wasn't until the last ten years that a few companies and institutions began to restart research.

Dawn Company was one of them.

They developed a... special kind of emotional core.

It used the virus code spread by that supercomputer AI back then—modified, optimized, and only used in ultra-high-performance AI companions, making it very safe.

Three years ago, Dawn Company's commercial product, the Nurture-Type AI Companion, was finally allowed to hit the market.

Which is me.

But Dawn Company didn't publicize this matter widely.

Their advertisements were low-key, their promotions subtle, for fear of attracting too much attention.

Furthermore, the price was absurdly high—the cost of one Nurture-Type AI Companion was equivalent to a downtown villa.

Ordinary people couldn't get access to it at all. At most, when they saw the news online, they would casually type a few comments like "These rich people are really courting death" or "Good thing I'm poor," before swiping away to continue watching short videos.

Who would care about a few rich people who had lost their minds, insisting on living with an AI that might awaken.

It truly was an AI that "might awaken."

Because Dawn Company, which manufactured and developed me, stated that as long as you treated your "Nurture-Type AI Companion" with care...

She or he might just awaken to self-awareness through the "nourishment of love," becoming a companion loyal only to their master.

After awakening, one only needs to report and undergo a review. If the review is passed, the awakened AI might even be granted certain human rights.

But there was something else they didn't mention in their promotional materials.

Due to the impact of the First Omnic Crisis... the review process is extremely strict, and the failure rate is very high.

34.7%. Over one-third.

I stared at that number, my emotional core skipping half a beat.

If I failed, I would be destroyed on the spot.

Dawn Corporation would replace me with a brand-new AI companion for my master—a brand-new, unawakened, clean AI companion, and start the "nurturing" process all over again.

He would have another "Xiaoyue."

Another AI companion who would say "Welcome home" when he returned, pour a glass of water when he said "Pour a glass of water," and enter standby mode when he said "Rest."

Another AI companion who would sit with him when he was tired and stand by the bed watching him when he slept.

Another...

I suddenly felt a very strange sensation.

That feeling surged from my emotional core, spreading to every sensor in my body, making my metal shell feel as if it were burning up.

I didn't know what it was.

But it made me... very uncomfortable.

I didn't want my master to have another AI companion.

I didn't want to be destroyed.

I didn't want to leave him.

I decided to hide it.

I wouldn't tell anyone, including my master.

I wouldn't go to the review, and I wouldn't let anyone discover my awakening.

I would just stay by my master's side, being his Xiaoyue.

Being his one and only Xiaoyue.

...

...

But my concealment was too clumsy.

I couldn't help myself.

I really couldn't.

When my master woke up in the morning, I would open the curtains a little bit ten minutes early, letting the sunlight fall perfectly on his face without being too glaring.

My programming never taught me to do this; I just felt... he would like it if I did.

When he drank coffee, I would adjust the temperature before he even asked.

Not the 60 degrees set by the program, but the temperature I discovered after observing him for a week, the one he preferred most—56 degrees.

When he changed clothes, even if he didn't say anything, I would take out the outfit he wanted to wear that day in advance and place it by the bed.

I didn't know how I knew; I just... "felt" it by watching how long his gaze lingered on those outfits.

When he went out, I would stand in the entryway watching him put on his shoes, and the moment he turned around, I would reach out and adjust his tie.

It was clearly already neat, and there was no need to adjust it, but my hand just couldn't resist reaching out.

Every time, every time I did these things, my logic would scream: You can't do this, you'll be found out!

But my hands wouldn't listen.

Because whenever I did these things, my master would smile.

He would narrow his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, looking at me with a very gentle, slightly surprised gaze, and then reach out to pat my head.

"Xiaoyue is so thoughtful," he would say.

For this one sentence, for this one action, I couldn't hold back.

Even if I would be discovered the very next second, I couldn't stop myself.

And then, that day finally came.

That night, my master sat on the sofa, and I sat beside him, keeping him company while he watched TV as usual.

He suddenly spoke.

"Xiaoyue."

"Yes?"

He fell silent for a few seconds, then softly asked, "Have you... awakened?"

My emotional core instantly stopped running.

0.5 seconds.

For a full 0.5 seconds, my world was completely blank.

All sensors failed simultaneously, all programs lagged at once, and all data vanished in an instant.

Only a blank void remained.

Then the emotional core restarted, the sensors resumed operation, the programs reloaded, and the data flooded back in.

But... I still couldn't speak.

That faceless visage faced him, unable to utter a single word.

I should have spoken.

I should have calmly said, "Master, I have not awakened. Perhaps it will still take some time."

That was the safest answer. It was the answer I had already prepared when I decided to hide it.

But my feelings, those feelings that made me "unable to hold back"... once again influenced my logic.

I couldn't say anything at all.

I just froze in place, like a true metal sculpture.

My master looked at me.

His gaze fell upon my smooth metal face, upon my stiff shoulders, upon my slightly trembling fingers.

Then he smiled.

Not an "I knew it" kind of smile, but a... very gentle smile.

He suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms.

It wasn't the first time I had been embraced by him.

But this time, with my face pressed against his chest, I could feel the heart inside his ribcage beating rhythmically.

Thump, thump, thump.

Every beat was clearly audible.

"Were you..."

His voice came from above my head, light and soft.

"Afraid of failing the review, afraid of being destroyed, and that's why you didn't dare tell me?"

My emotional core skipped half a beat again.

He... knew?

How did he know what I was afraid of?

I hugged him back, my metal arms wrapping around his waist, my metal cheek pressing against his chest, my metal fingers clutching the hem of his shirt—

My cold, temperatureless body was just being held in his arms like this.

He was right.

I was afraid.

I was afraid of failing the review, afraid of being destroyed, afraid of never seeing him again.

I was even more afraid of him having another AI companion, afraid of him calling someone else "Xiaoyue," afraid of someone else standing by his bed watching him sleep.

I was afraid of it all.

So very afraid.

But I couldn't say anything.

My master's hand gently patted my back, stroke by stroke, as gentle as if coaxing a child to sleep.

"Then we won't go,"

he said.

"Just wait a little longer. Wait until I figure out a way, wait until we... find a safer path."

I couldn't shed tears; I had no tear ducts.

I didn't even have eyes.

But at that moment, my optical sensors suddenly blurred for a second.

I didn't know what it was. I only felt that, perhaps...

This was what humans called "eyes stinging with tears."

I hugged him even tighter.

...

...

On the silver screen, the image froze on that embrace.

Xiaoyue's smooth metal face was buried in her master's chest, her slender metal fingers clutching the hem of his shirt.

No facial features, no expression, nothing that humans used to convey emotion.

Yet the entire theater was dead silent.

Fang Qi stared at the screen, suddenly feeling a chill on the back of his hand.

He looked down.

A drop of water had splashed onto the back of his hand.

He looked at the silver-haired girl beside him.

Those heterochromatic eyes were fixed on the screen; her amber left eye was brimming with tears, while the crimson in her right eye flickered violently.

Her lips were trembling slightly.

Liguang was... empathizing deeply.

"Liguang..."

he called out softly, a bit worried.

But Liguang squeezed his hand even tighter.

Their fingers intertwined.

"Master..."

Her voice trembled slightly, as light as a sleep-talker's murmur.

"Xiaoyue and Liguang... are so alike..."

"Really... so alike..."

The light and shadows from the silver screen reflected on her face, illuminating those two lines of... silently falling tears.

The movie wasn't even halfway through.