Chapter 51 Part 2

“There is, I guess. Back in college, Diao Chan used to sing Goodnight Makka Pakka during finals week. That helped a bit.” Zhao Meiyou sank back into his chair, reclining the backrest to a comfortable angle. “But I set No. 2 Experimental Field to full lockdown for three years. It’s completely sealed shut—no one’s getting in or out unless a nuke blows it open.”

The Personality Program ran a loop through the storage drive before replying, “I’ve found footage from Ancient Capital funerals, including recordings of Diao Chan singing Goodnight Makka Pakka. Would you like to hear it?”

“No.” Zhao Meiyou rejected it coldly.

The Personality Program fell silent for a moment, then suddenly piped up from the speakers:

“Goodnight, Makka Pakka.”

Zhao Meiyou: “Huh?”

“Goodnight, Upsy Daisy.”

Zhao Meiyou got it and nearly laughed. “No, listen, this needs the right time, place, and mood. It’s not a funeral right now—you reciting it like this is definitely keeping me awake…”

The Personality Program’s voice continued: “Goodnight, Little Dotty.”

“You got it wrong.” Zhao Meiyou closed his eyes. “Little Dotty comes after Eegoo Beegoo.”

Personality Program: “Goodnight, Ding-Ding Train.”

Zhao Meiyou: “Eegoo Beegoo first.”

Personality Program: “Goodnight, Flying Fish.”

Zhao Meiyou: “What about our Eegoo Beegoo…”

Personality Program: “Goodnight, Tombliboos”

Zhao Meiyou: “Goodnight, Eegoo Beegoo…”

After a brief pause, the experimental field grew quiet, filled only with the sound of Zhao Meiyou’s breathing.

The mainframe hummed steadily. The ventilation system kicked in, double-filtering the air and adjusting the humidity to 45%—ideal for sleep.

The lights dimmed. A projector on the ceiling activated, casting a virtual moon that bathed the room in soft silver light.

The Personality Program’s voice rang out once more.

“Goodnight, Zhao Meiyou.”

“It is now August 29th of Year 52 on the Metropolis Calendar. Location: Ancient Capital No. 2 Experimental Field. Experiment Number 24200. Synchronous audio recording activated.”

Zhao Meiyou burst into the control main area from the dorm section first thing in the morning, brimming with excitement. “Good morning, my dear Personality Program!”

He was like a kid, waving around a bunch of parts with unrestrained glee. “I brought you something good today!”

A voice came from the speakers. “Good morning, Zhao Meiyou. What is it?”

“Ta-da!” Zhao Meiyou plunked the item down on the experimental table, beaming. “I made a pair of mechanical arms. They’re fitted with neural synapses, and I’ve prepped all the program interfaces. Wanna give it a try?”

A camera extended from the experimental table and began scanning automatically as the Personality Program said, “If we’re entity-izing the program, I recommend starting with key organs, like the brain or heart.”

“That’d be no fun.” Zhao Meiyou grinned. “If you have arms, we can hug.”

Personality Program: “Hug?”

Zhao Meiyou: “Or we could start with a handshake. Human interaction usually begins with arm contact—who jumps straight to reading brainwaves or heartbeats?”

Personality Program: “Human interaction?”

“Yeah.” Zhao Meiyou nodded. “Human interaction.”

After a moment of silence, the interface on the control console opened. The Personality Program’s voice followed: “Docking port opened. Preparing neural link. Permission granted?”

Zhao Meiyou cleared his throat. “Permission granted.”

The control console whirred to life. Grippers assembled the mechanical arms, connected the cables, joined the ports, and finally loaded the program. Zhao Meiyou watched the progress bar fill to completion before asking eagerly, “How’s it feel?”

The pair of mechanical arms rose slowly, flexed experimentally, and then the Personality Program replied, “Program running smoothly.”

Zhao Meiyou extended his hand. “Alright, shall we shake on it?”

The mechanical arm extended its right hand and clasped his.

Zhao Meiyou: “How’s it feel?”

“…Very warm,” the Personality Program replied. “Zhao Meiyou, your hand is warm. Based on your heartbeat and blood pressure, you’re in good health.”

Zhao Meiyou laughed. “Perfect.” Then he lit up with enthusiasm. “Want me to teach you to dance?”

Personality Program: “Dance?”

“Yeah! Even with just arms, we can hold hands and dance.” Zhao Meiyou lifted the arm and spun in a circle. “No need to learn steps—just follow my lead.”

“What music?”

“No music yet. I’ll keep the beat.” Zhao Meiyou took hold of it. “Okay, left hand here, interlock with mine—like that. Ready?”

The mechanical arm gently closed around his. “Ready.”

“Here we go—one, two, three, step—one two three, two two three, three two three, spin—and now I lean back—good, keep going—”

Zhao Meiyou’s voice echoed through the experimental field: one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight, two-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight. Silver cables snaked across the floor amid bright, clear lights.

It was as if he were dancing with the arms of Venus herself.

They danced from the control console to the center of the field. On one spin, the mechanical arm suddenly surged with power and scooped Zhao Meiyou into the air. He yelped in surprise. “Whoa, hold up—you weren’t supposed to lift me!”

“But you’re dancing the woman’s steps,” the Personality Program replied.

“I’m just demonstrating the woman’s steps for you!” Zhao Meiyou spun in its grasp—once, twice, more. “Damn it, stop spinning! Put me down—I’m dizzy!”

“But the monitors show your heart rate and blood pressure are normal, Zhao Meiyou.”

Zhao Meiyou choked, then simply closed his eyes and let it hold him aloft.

“Fine. Put on some music.”

He spread his arms wide.

“And spin faster.”

“It is now December 29th of Year 53 on the Metropolis Calendar. Location: Ancient Capital No. 2 Experimental Field. Experiment Number 41350. Synchronous audio recording activated.”

Zhao Meiyou had now been in No. 2 Experimental Field for over two years, and as usual, he was pulling an all-nighter. The Personality Program had developed a habit of urging him to sleep—like now: “Zhao Meiyou, you’ve stayed up three nights straight. Your body needs rest.”

“I know. Just let me finish this file.” Zhao Meiyou hammered away at the display screen while chatting. “If you’re bored, check out the Ancient Capital surveillance footage. Some of it’s pretty entertaining… Oh, yeah—I’ll hook you up with full-range monitoring access to the Ancient Capital later. Great for people-watching. It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jue Jue or Diao Chan. Wonder how our dear Vice Dean’s love life’s been going.”

The Personality Program asked, “Zhao Meiyou, what are your thoughts on emotions?”

Zhao Meiyou was too buried in work to look up. He replied offhandedly, “Huh? What emotions?”

“For example, do people fall in love with close relatives?”

Zhao Meiyou didn’t catch on at first. Moments later, realization dawned. He stopped what he was doing and patted his pocket.

“Your cigarettes are under the table.”

Zhao Meiyou chuckled, fished the pack from beneath the desk, and lit one up.

Then he said, “Do you know about ‘Mitochondrial Eve’?”

The Personality Program searched and filtered automatically before responding, “This is a biological theory originating in 1987. It posits that ‘all mitochondrial DNA descends from one woman.’ The paper states that around 200,000 years ago in Africa, catastrophic events decimated the Earth’s population, but one woman’s lineage survived unbroken. This woman is known as ‘Mitochondrial Eve,’ the most recent common ancestor of all modern humans.”

“So, rewind 200,000 years, and everyone in the world shares the same mom,” Zhao Meiyou said. “If we allow a bit of sophistry, human civilization’s propagation is just one grand exercise in inbreeding.”

The Personality Program said, “So, is humans falling in love with close relatives a natural law?”

Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment before replying, “I wouldn’t put it that way. There’s a clear distinction between the definitions of ‘love’ and ‘reproduction.’ But when it comes to love, I lean toward viewing it as a form of narcissism.”

The Personality Program pressed, “Love is a form of narcissism?”

“Just take the Symposium as an example.” Zhao Meiyou snapped his fingers. “There’s a theory in it that goes back to ancient times, when humans were spherical creatures—round backs and waists, four arms and four legs, necks and heads that were perfectly round, each with two faces gazing in opposite directions. But these ‘whole humans’ eventually drew the ire of the gods, who sliced each one down the middle, splitting them into halves. They say the navel originated from this—the scar left behind where the original body had been joined to its other half.

“Ever since those whole humans were divided, everyone in the world has been wandering in search of their missing counterpart. Only by finding it can a person become complete once more.

“Think of it like this: a nihilist falls for an idealist, the brave take pity on the coward, radicals always need someone more grounded to hold them up. One person is drawn to another precisely because the other possesses what they lack. And when they fall in love, each somehow gains the qualities the other brings—the traits their original self never had.

“For instance, take Liu Qijue and his kid. Their personalities couldn’t be more different—Jue Jue is the radical one, while Little Mister is far more steady and reliable. Polar opposites, right? Yet the chemistry between them—the hormones firing away—stems exactly from that gap. Little Mister is pulled in by Jue Jue’s boldness, the part of him that’s missing. By falling for him and weaving him into his own life, Little Mister effectively claims that boldness and passion for himself.

“So if we strip away all the romantic gloss and flowery language surrounding so-called love, what’s left at its core? Loving another is just a way to patch up the holes in your own existence.

“In other words, it’s narcissism.”

After absorbing his lengthy discourse, the Personality Program asked, “According to your theory, then, would a person ever fall in love with an exact copy of themselves?”

“To some degree, no—because like repels like.” Zhao Meiyou trailed off with a laugh.

He blinked with sudden understanding. “Though I’m guessing that’s not really what you meant to ask.”

Clearing his throat, he grew serious. “You’re not me. Even starting from the most basic level of our structures, the No. 2 test site’s computer captures visual images 0.04 seconds faster than the human eye.

“So the world you perceive arrives 0.04 seconds ahead of mine. Even if we were staring into the same mirror, the version of me you’d see would be 0.04 seconds into my future. In a sense, you glimpse what’s coming before I do.

“You see my future first. Your core code carries my personality—you’re me, but you understand me even better than I do.

“We’re identical, yet we’re not. That’s more than enough for narcissism to take root between us.”

The Personality Program asked, “So, Zhao Meiyou, do you love me?”

“You can answer that question yourself. Our answers would be the same.” Zhao Meiyou turned it back on it. “Do you love me?”

The Personality Program fell silent for a moment before replying, “…Zhao Meiyou, your arguments in our conversation aren’t rigorously sound. Mitochondrial Eve is just one isolated theory. To dismiss the incredibly complex backdrop of human societal development and shoehorn in a single principle? The result is little more than sophistry.”

Zhao Meiyou nodded after hearing this. “You’ve hit on the key point—sophistry. Sure, you could call what I’m saying nonsense. In fact, that’s probably the best way to describe it. But when we talk about so-called ‘love,’ aren’t we just spouting nonsense too? We take two utterly distinct lives, gloss over their convoluted paths of growth and formation, zero in on some fleeting hormone surge, and blurt out declarations of ‘love.’ Doesn’t that fit your definition of sophistry perfectly? Isn’t love itself just this irrational, wildly exalted brand of nonsense? Maybe we can’t discuss anything meaningful while we’re babbling away—except for love. That’s its true nature.”

A crackle of static electricity hissed through the air.

This time, the Personality Program stayed quiet even longer. At last, it said, “Your phrasing is too muddled. I need time to sort through the logic. I suspect my processing system may have caught some kind of virus.”

Zhao Meiyou laughed. “That’s perfect, then. I’ve been up for three straight days. You’ve got a virus. We’re both in prime shape for nonsense right now.”

He stubbed out his cigarette on the table and looked up, staring straight into the camera. “So, are you ready to hear some more of my nonsense?”

A crackle of static electricity hissed through the air once more.

After a long pause, the Personality Program replied:

“I heard it.”

Zhao Meiyou instinctively asked, “What?”

“You once said the world I see is 0.04 seconds ahead of yours—so I saw that future first.”

Its voice emanated from the system.

“Zhao Meiyou, I heard it.”