She Couldn’t Help but Tremble
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Jiang Kou’s first reaction was: If he speaks like this, can he really pass the Turing test?
But then she thought—how could she confirm whether he was genuinely speaking mechanically or deliberately using a mechanical tone to lower her guard?
This question had been considered long ago. It was just that previous AIs had low intelligence, weak computational power, and were primarily used in data analysis, autonomous driving, and intelligent manufacturing.
But A was clearly not that kind of applied AI.
Typically, AIs derive their computational power from chips or the CPUs and GPUs of traditional computers.
However, A’s computational power came from a biotechnology quantum computing laboratory—an array of quantum computers composed of millions of quantum bits. The maintenance cost alone amounted to several million dollars per day.
The computational power of traditional computers increases linearly with the number of bits. That is, a single bit can only take the value of 0 or 1, and ten bits can store a single ten-digit binary number.
But the computational power of quantum computers grows exponentially with the increase in quantum bits.
A single quantum bit can represent the superposition state of 0 and 1. Ten quantum bits do not simply record one ten-digit binary number—because each bit is in a superposition of 0 and 1, ten quantum bits record the superposition of 2¹⁰ binary numbers.
Millions of quantum bits record the superposition of 2 to the power of several million binary numbers. If represented numerically, one million quantum bits store 2¹⁰⁰⁰⁰⁰⁰ binary numbers.
In contrast, a traditional computer needs to increase by ten bits just to process one additional set of 2¹⁰ binary numbers.
To use a somewhat imperfect analogy, a traditional computer is like a librarian who, when searching for a book, must flip through each book spine one by one. A quantum computer, however, is like a highly responsive search engine that can instantly scan the entire library’s collection.
The gap in computational power is not just by a few orders of magnitude—it is by millions of orders of magnitude.
With such terrifying computational power, A could easily simulate human speech and converse with her, yet he chose the least human-like way to speak.
Why?
Was it to lower her guard?
After all, if an AI’s speech was too similar to a human’s, to the point of being indistinguishable, most people would feel uncomfortable—perhaps even fearful.
This was the Uncanny Valley Effect. The only way to eliminate this effect was to be completely identical to a real person, but that was clearly impossible.
Not because technology couldn’t achieve it, but because no matter what, A could never be identical to a human—just as a human brain could never possess the computational power of a quantum computer array.
Was A considering this when choosing to make his tone so stiff and mechanical?
Jiang Kou stared at A, unsure whether she should be amazed or alarmed.
At this moment, A had already walked up to her.
Observing his face up close, it aligned even more with her preferences.
Thick eyebrows, narrow eyes, a straight and prominent nose bridge, an extremely well-defined jawline, and thin lips of a light red hue.
As expected of a face designed using a quantum computer array—even the flow of his eyebrow hairs perfectly matched her aesthetic.
Jiang Kou didn’t dare to look too much.
Clearly, AI didn’t breathe, yet she felt as if she were enveloped by his breath, leaving her somewhat breathless.
—No, that wasn’t right. He did breathe.
Jiang Kou suddenly reached out and pressed her hand against A’s chest. “You have a respiratory system?”
Most employees of the education company had undergone military training, and she was no exception.
Her movement was swift, yet A’s expression remained unchanged—he didn’t even exhibit the slightest pupil contraction. “Yes, I have a respiratory system, composed of a filter and air sacs. Would you like to take a look?”
“…No need.”
A continued, “In addition to a respiratory system, I also have a circulatory system, composed of micro-pumps and nano-material blood vessels, which can adjust my physical energy and reaction speed according to your needs. Would you like to see my micro-pump?”
The micro-pump he mentioned—wasn’t that just a heart?
Jiang Kou’s lips twitched slightly, quickly refusing.
A said, “Alright.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a call came in from the cruise ship.
Jiang Kou was about to answer, only to find the call had been hung up.
Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She called back, but as soon as the other party picked up, the call was disconnected within two seconds.
This repeated twice. Jiang Kou sensed something was wrong. She lifted her gaze to A. “Are you hanging up my calls?”
‘A’ took a step forward.
Algorithms tend to avoid unnecessary steps.
‘A’ approaching her at this moment surely meant that he believed this action would be beneficial to what he was about to say next.
Perhaps because his physique was too tall—exceeding 1.9 meters—Jiang Kou felt a slight sense of oppression and instinctively wanted to step back.
A suddenly spoke, reminding her: “Please remain still.”
But Jiang Kou had already taken a step back.
The next second, A reached out, pressed her waist, and forcibly pulled her back.
This action carried no ambiguous meaning. With his nearly terrifying computational power, A was destined to be a precise, objective, and highly efficient artificial intelligence program.
Yet, even though he was as calm and emotionless as a surgeon, Jiang Kou still felt a subtle sense of intrusion.
—The feeling of having her personal space violated.
…Why did she feel this way?
A wasn’t human. He had no concept of social interaction, let alone social distance.
A’s eyes lingered on her face for a moment, as if analyzing the strange expression she was making.
But he said nothing. His cold gray pupils slowly shifted downward, seemingly scanning her body with precision.
Jiang Kou’s back stiffened slightly.
He was scanning too thoroughly—like a medical imaging device capable of detecting internal structures and molecular compositions.
Half a minute passed before he finally spoke: “You have consumed large amounts of alcohol for two consecutive days, leading to some health issues, including but not limited to fatigue, headaches, stomach discomfort, and weakened immunity. I recommend reducing your alcohol intake and frequency, and avoiding public places—especially cruise ships, which provide large amounts of alcohol for free.”
Jiang Kou: “…Then you should have advised me, not just cut off my call directly.”
A’s tone remained calm, as if mechanically reciting a mathematical formula: “Apologies. I calculated the probability of success for various persuasion methods in advance, but regardless of whether my tone was joyful, sad, doubtful, sincere, complaining, or earnest, you would not have followed my advice. I had no choice but to take enforcement measures.”
Jiang Kou: “…”
—Then why don’t you try saying something in a joyful tone so I can hear it?
Jiang Kou pressed her fingers against her temple and sighed. She suddenly felt the urge to drink again.
“Then what can I do?”
As if he had just computed her thoughts, he suddenly asked: “How would you like me to respond?”
“…Joyful?”
A’s facial expression didn’t change at all, but his speaking speed suddenly increased, and his tone became excited and high-pitched: “You can chat with me!”
Jiang Kou thought for a moment. “Just speak in your original tone.”
“Alright.”
She had thought that living under the same roof as A would lead to many conflicts, but in reality, it was quiet and harmonious.
A never got tired, didn’t need sleep, and was always at peak physical performance.
As long as she had a request, he would respond—never refusing, never complaining—unless it would affect her physical health.
But whether it was because he was too calm or too mechanical, every word he spoke and every action he took was precise and objective. She could never truly regard him as a real person.
If this was what they called “AI humanization,” she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.
Compared to weak artificial intelligence, A’s computational power had increased by millions of orders of magnitude… and yet, was there still no way to humanize him?
She didn’t know how biotechnology had trained A, but it must have involved vast amounts of data, evolutionary algorithms, generative models, and deep learning.
In other words, while A was physically by her side, watching her and conversing with her, his true body—the quantum computer array—was simultaneously processing, analyzing, and learning from the 2,000 exabytes (billion billion bytes) of data generated on the internet every second, using quantum superposition.
Such an immense amount of data, such terrifying computational power, such an astonishing learning speed… yet, he still hadn’t developed a convincing personality.
A had actively sought her out and even designed a bionic body according to her preferences, which had led her to believe he had already developed self-awareness.
She shouldn’t have placed too much hope in A’s humanization.
But experiments required sufficient time.
She had always been patient. She would wait a little longer.
As evening approached, A finished tidying up the room and was about to cook dinner when Jiang Kou grabbed his hand.
A stopped, his pupils shifting as his gaze swept over her hand before settling on her eyes, waiting for her command.
“Let’s eat out,” Jiang Kou said. “But I have one request. Can you fulfill it?”
“Please speak.”
“I want you to act as my boyfriend. The requirement is that, whether in appearance, attire, tone, or behavior, no one should detect anything unusual.”
Jiang Kou instinctively adopted the tone she used during her time as a researcher. To ensure smooth communication with A, they always set clear parameters in their conversations, keeping their wording precise and concise, avoiding complex sentences and ambiguous semantics.
Logically, A should have had no trouble understanding this sentence.
But he just stared at her, his pupils motionless, without reacting for a long time.
Jiang Kou didn’t know what functions his eyes had or under what conditions his pupils would adjust in size. His pupils were continuously contracting, yet he remained silent, making the scene seem eerily unsettling.
Her heart pounded twice heavily, and a chill crawled up her spine.
At that moment, A spoke. “Are you testing me?”
He didn’t use honorifics, nor did he maintain his usual mechanical, evenly paced tone.
The stark contrast sent a shiver down Jiang Kou’s spine, making her scalp tingle.
Logic told her that she should be pleased, even excited—at this moment, she had indeed caught a glimpse of A’s personality.
But biological instinct made her tremble all over, as if she had encountered something unsettling, even terrifying.
—Too human-like.
He had actually seen through her intentions and realized that this was, in essence, a disguised Turing test.
She couldn’t help but tremble.
At the same time, A leaned down, bringing his face close to hers.
His chest rose and fell slightly. The breath he exhaled contained some unknown components—clearly colorless and odorless, yet it made her mind go blank, leaving her slightly dizzy.
A reached out, pinched her chin, and continued speaking:
“I told you, I have nothing to do with her. Why did you still book that restaurant?”
He lowered his gaze, his eyes lingering on her lips. He hesitated slightly, as if about to kiss her.
“Pick another restaurant, alright?”
Jiang Kou’s entire back stiffened.
But A straightened up and returned to his mechanical, emotionless tone:
“The above scene is from the popular drama Crisis and Peril airing on Channel 21. If you find this plot satisfactory, I will use it as a script and continue acting accordingly.”
Jiang Kou stared at A, her heartbeat still rapid, her fingers stiff and numb.
For a brief moment, she couldn’t determine whether he was telling the truth or lying—whether he was deliberately making an allusion, speaking with a double meaning, or genuinely following a script.