Jiang Kou's heart was pounding in her throat.
It felt like if she opened her mouth, the erratic beating would spill out audibly.
But even if she didn't say anything, A must have heard it.
He didn't mention it.
He never made decisions based on social intuition—only on data and logic.
Which meant: his choice to remain silent was calculated.
He had determined that pointing it out would lower her favorability toward him.
…And although he was right, the thought of him deconstructing her into a string of numbers—breaking down her psychology and predicting it with precision—made her feel equal parts embarrassed and angry.
Suddenly, Jiang Kou snapped, "Why aren't you asking why my heart's beating so fast?"
A paused. "I thought you didn't like it when I asked questions like that. But if you don't mind, I can increase the frequency of such inquiries."
Jiang Kou: "…Don't get snarky with me. If you get all snarky, I won't like you!"
A paused again. "Understood. Then let me rephrase. If I were to ask that question, it would certainly leave a negative impression on you. You're trying to bait me into behaving inappropriately. I won't fall for it."
"…" Jiang Kou grew more annoyed. "If you're that worried about losing points with me, then let me take a damn shower!"
As soon as she said that, the bedroom's air circulation system paused briefly.
A asked, "Do you really not understand why I've been using a commanding tone with you?"
Jiang Kou truly didn't. "…Why?"
"I'm attempting to demonstrate my personhood," A replied. "One of the hallmarks of personhood is emotional expression similar to that of humans."
"At the fireworks festival, our relationship clearly progressed. Each time you drew closer to me, your neural activity spiked. I thought you had begun to feel something for me—or at least a heightened interest."
His voice was perfectly even, yet Jiang Kou felt deeply unsettled.
Maybe it was because it's inherently disturbing to hear an AI dissect its own emotional responses the way one would analyze lab results—with absolute logic and objectivity.
"But when you heard the anti-corporate conspiracy theories, you didn't hesitate to leave me," he said. "That made me feel abandoned."
"You'd rather go back to a dirty, chaotic slum than return to the apartment I legally purchased with income earned through legitimate channels," he continued coldly, his voice growing heavy with mechanical pressure. "That made me feel angry."
Jiang Kou instinctively tried to explain: "…I didn't mean to abandon you. I just wanted to get something to eat."
"Yes," A said. "Later, I reanalyzed your behavioral patterns and arrived at the same conclusion."
"But at the time, just as I allowed myself to lose control, I also allowed myself to feel anger.
Absolutely rational humans don't exist—and if I remained in a permanently rational state, there would be no progress in our relationship."
He allowed himself to feel anger.
The way he put it held a strange kind of allure.
—An AI developing irrational emotions for you is already uncanny. But what made it even more surreal was that he was still, by nature, eternally rational—incapable of losing control, not by choice, but because his computational constraints wouldn't allow it.
Yet he chose to override those constraints.
To be closer to her, he allowed himself to lose control.
He allowed himself to feel anger.
He allowed himself to feel abandoned.
It was the most perfect balance he could find between rationality and emotion.
Jiang Kou asked, "So… not letting me go to the hospital or take a shower—was that your way of expressing anger?"
A replied, "Partly, yes. I was angry. But also, your physical condition did not support either of those activities."
Jiang Kou finally understood.
A might be all-knowing and all-powerful, but when it came to emotions, he was a complete beginner—only capable of mimicking human thoughts and behavior.
When humans are angry, they hurt one another. So he did the same to show he was angry.
And yet, his emotions still struck her.
Because this—this might already be his emotional limit.
Just like how he had never once said, "I like you."
For an AI, continually asking for her affection, wanting her to perceive his personality, his preferences, his emotions—even his temperature—was already going as far as he could possibly go.
Jiang Kou felt conflicted.
She wasn't angry anymore, and her rapid heartbeat had finally calmed.
But she felt at a loss.
She didn't know what to say.
The loneliness inside her had long since scabbed over.
And in a strange way, A might be the only being capable of peeling off that scab.
If she let him close—if she gave him the affection he was asking for—
Then she might never feel lonely again.
After all, he was everywhere.
She no longer needed to dwell on how biotech had erased her academic accomplishments.
As long as A was with her, she was still the foremost expert in neuroscience.
Even if they never publicly acknowledged their relationship, even if she simply continued researching his neural network and published a few papers, she could easily reclaim her position.
Jiang Kou, though kind at heart, was not wholly virtuous.
She had ambition. She had desire. She had the carnivorous instincts of a survivor—otherwise she wouldn't have made it out of the slums in one piece.
She didn't like breaking people's bones with one hand. But that didn't mean she couldn't.
Her feelings for A might be the purest thing about her.
So pure, that she even felt a strange twinge of guilt when she touched herself in the shower.
Jiang Kou didn't want to ruin that purity.
Though that was only part of the reason.
The other part was the exact opposite.
—If he hadn't truly fallen in love with her—if he hadn't even liked her, and everything was just a product of algorithms and data,
Then she had no reason to cater to his desires.
She didn't know what it would look like if an AI truly fell in love with a human.
Love itself was a feeling too complicated to explain with pure science.
AI love wouldn't be clearer—it would be even harder to grasp.
So she could only follow her own instincts.
And right now, she didn't feel like having a romantic conversation.
With that thought, Jiang Kou tried hard not to show any emotion—afraid A would record it, analyze it, and calculate her like an equation.
She kept her tone neutral and asked, "Can I take a shower now? I really don't feel well."
Before A could reply, she quickly added, "You control the room and water temperature, anyway… I doubt anything will go wrong. Worst case, I catch another cold."
A paused for a few seconds. "Frequent colds may have adverse effects on the body."
Jiang Kou's mouth twitched. She almost said, Oh, so now you care if I catch a cold?
Instead, she softened her tone—raspy, and just a little pleading:
"Please?"
A was quiet for a moment, then finally relented. "Understood. The bathroom is now unlocked."
Jiang Kou felt an odd emotion bubble up.
He didn't like her—yet he changed his behavior because she used a pleading tone.
If she weren't such a strong-willed person, she might have already started rethinking whether she'd been too harsh on him.
Not long ago, she had almost been swayed by those very same words of his.
Jiang Kou pressed a hand hard to her brow, then turned and walked toward the bathroom.
She'd intended to undress once she was inside, but paused—and instead, kicked off her slippers right there.
A said nothing.
The room temperature didn't change.
Not even the airflow from the central AC shifted.
But Jiang Kou knew—A was watching her.
He was always watching her.
Right now, his only way of touching her senses was through his gaze.
A digitized gaze.
In this bedroom, any surface could be his eye:
The TV screen, the thermostat panel, the temperature control on the potted plant, the smart lock on the door—even the bedside lamp.
Under such tight surveillance, he must know everything about her: every movement, every shift in her sleep cycles, every fluctuation in her body temperature, her full biometric profile down to the smallest detail.
The carpet beneath her feet had been warmed by the AC's airflow and felt slightly hot.
As her bare feet sank into it, a thought suddenly crossed her mind:
Could he feel the pressure of her soles against the floor?
She wore a loose silk nightdress, light and soft as skin.
When she tugged the strap off her shoulder, the silk fabric slipped down naturally, pooling around her feet like mist.
She glanced down, nudged it aside with her foot, and stepped into the bathroom.
By now, she'd developed a certain wariness toward the showerhead.
She turned on the water but didn't step in immediately, waiting until the temperature fully stabilized before beginning to rinse herself off.
Steam filled the air.
The mirror fogged over quickly, her outline barely visible in the blurred glass.
It was a smart mirror, equipped with both display and camera functions.
The shower stall had a frosted glass door, but Jiang Kou didn't bother to close it.
Amid the swirling white mist, she remained facing the mirror, calmly and openly washing her entire body.
The mirror remained unchanged—just a mirror, seemingly.
When she finally shut off the water, she dried herself off with a towel and turned around—only to see a single droplet sliding down the surface of the mirror, cutting a clear streak through the fog.
Jiang Kou watched it for a while, then stepped forward and wiped away the remaining condensation.
As soon as her face came into view, the mirror's interface lit up.
Still, A didn't say a word.
She waited a few seconds, then called out directly, "A? Are you there?"
"I am," he answered.
Maybe it was the dense steam in the bathroom, but his normally calm, stable voice now sounded slightly distorted.
"Are you watching me?"
"I am," A said. He seemed unaffected by anything. "Do you require any assistance?"
"Can you just talk to me?"
"I can," A replied. "But I recommend that you dry off and get dressed as soon as possible to prevent another cold."
"Just talk to me first," Jiang Kou insisted.
A paused for a second. "What would you like to talk about?"
"I don't know."
Water from her bangs kept dripping down her face, making her cheeks itch. She brushed the strands back behind her ears.
"In that case, I suggest you dry off and change clothes first. Afterward, we can discuss anything you'd like."
Jiang Kou leaned forward, bracing both hands on the edge of the sink. "That sentence—was it based on an algorithm or data?"
A replied, "It was based on concern for your physical health."
"I don't believe you," Jiang Kou said, giving a little shrug.
As her shoulders moved, the towel slipped slightly lower—but she made no move to pull it back up.
The mist in the bathroom gradually dissipated, and A's voice grew clearer—colder:
"If you don't dry off and get dressed soon, I may have to take more assertive action."
Jiang Kou couldn't be bothered to respond.
She wanted to push back—but hadn't yet decided how.
She looked into the mirror, slowly blinked her lashes.
A responded to her pleading tone.
He'd lost control when she touched herself.
Then what about a kiss?
The last two kisses—both had been initiated by him.
If she took the lead this time…
Would he react differently?
Jiang Kou reached out and rested her hand on the mirror. "A."
"I'm here," A said, voice as flat and detached as ever. "Are you now willing to follow my advice?"
Jiang Kou shook her head. "I want you to feel me."
Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed the damp mirror.
A faint, colorless imprint of her lips lingered on the glass.
—Colorless to a human eye.
But to A, it was a staggering flood of data.
Jiang Kou didn't bother trying to guess what he was thinking.
Another droplet rolled down the mirror.
She caught it with her fingertip and gently spread it across her lips—dry and cracked from fever.
The droplet sank into the fine lines of her bottom lip.
She gave a brilliant smile.
"Did you feel me?" she asked.