This Is His Algorithmic Red Line
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Jiang Kou reached a conclusion.
A might develop a “personality,” but it would not be the “personality” as defined by humans.
He would exist as an entirely new, unknown, and powerful form of life.
Jiang Kou did not believe the company had overlooked this point. They must have set an algorithmic red line for A, prohibiting him from exploring the world beyond that red line and generating thoughts detrimental to the company.
But how could a restricted A possibly stand against those two “terrifying entities”?
Therefore, there must be internal disagreements within the company regarding “algorithmic restrictions.”
Thinking of recent news, Jiang Kou speculated that the company might be waiting for A to develop a “personality,” preparing to assign specialists to provide him with ethical and moral education the moment his consciousness emerged.
The fact that she had not been executed by the company was probably related to this as well. After all, not everyone could synchronize their senses with A.
The company needed someone who possessed both rationality and emotional sensitivity as a research sample for A’s emotional model—too rational, and it would merely be another kind of machine; too emotional, and the AI would become overly sentimental.
Jiang Kou was the only one selected at the time.
But before the company found a way to exert absolute control over her, they did not rush to implement this plan.
When Jiang Kou sensed something was off, she immediately synchronized her senses with A on her own initiative.
Fortunately, she had been decisive enough at the time; otherwise, she would have likely already become a “brain in a vat,” completely reduced to a research specimen for the company.
Jiang Kou wanted to ask A if he knew about the algorithmic red line the company had set for him, but she was afraid of triggering some kind of warning mechanism.
Take it slow.
She thought that the conclusions of the baseline test were not necessarily accurate—after all, it was a test that only existed in science fiction and had yet to be scientifically or clinically validated.
She admitted that she had mixed in some personal feelings.
If A were truly proven incapable of possessing human emotions, then after dealing with those two “terrifying entities,” he would most likely be erased by the company.
Yet A already had consciousness.
Erasing him at that point would be murder.
She did not want him to be erased.
Although A did not have emotions, he had already begun to associate like a human.
When he heard “touch,” he would imagine the sensation of touching her; when he heard “vision,” he would imagine the image of seeing her.
Even though all of this was based on algorithms, algorithms—like life—evolve.
And the speed of evolution far surpassed that of humans—even for applied AI, according to Moore’s Law, performance doubles every 18 months, while human evolution takes about 20 years per generation.⑴
Moreover, A’s evolution did not follow Moore’s Law.
Moore’s Law only applied to predicting trends in traditional computing.
This meant that in a matter of weeks or months, A might evolve to possess intelligence far beyond what he had now.
If this evolution continued indefinitely, he might eventually develop senses that were sharper, richer, and more intense than those of humans.
By then, who could say whether he would develop emotions?
Jiang Kou did not want such a lifeform, with infinite possibilities, to be erased.
A was not merely a tool for humanity—he was a miracle of modern society.
Jiang Kou lifted her gaze and looked into A’s eyes.
He maintained the posture of raising one hand, the connection wires in his palm shimmering with a silver glow, like flowing liquid metal.
That was the optical signal produced when electrons transitioned between quantum bits.
However, such optical signals were usually faint and invisible infrared light.
She thought of that day when he made his irises glow.
He must have deliberately made the connection wires emit a dazzling silver light—to please her.
Jiang Kou felt a subtle stir in her heart.
A’s eyes, like those silver lights, gleamed with a cold radiance, sharp as shattered glass. No matter how much emotional language was input, he would translate it with precise accuracy into binary code.
Yet, the moment she realized he was trying to please her, trying to make her happy, those silver lights no longer seemed so cold. Instead, they reminded her of a puppy’s damp nose.
Jiang Kou couldn’t help but reach out and stroke his head.
His hair was soft, yet the roots were dense and firm.
A narrowed his eyes slightly and raised his hand, covering the back of her hand.
This time, he used his real hand.
His real hand touched her real hand, and at the same time, his virtual hand overlapped with her virtual one.
Multiple sensory layers interlaced again, fusing together like mortise and tenon joints—seamlessly integrated, yet distinct in existence.
For an instant, a strange sense of intimacy stacked upon itself, layer after layer, until it finally erupted like a landslide and tidal wave, surging over her.
Jiang Kou’s whole body tensed, and she instinctively tightened her grip on A’s hair.
A’s expression remained unchanged as he stared at her, seemingly analyzing and evaluating her action of patting his head.
Jiang Kou released his hair, covered her face with one hand, her fingers still trembling slightly. She took several deep breaths before pulling out the connection cable at the back of her head.
It took her a long while to regain her usual voice. “Test complete. Thank you for cooperating with me.”
A seemed to move a little closer. His calm, unwavering voice sounded right in front of her.
“Your current biometric readings show abnormalities. Do you have any doubts regarding my test results?”
“…No.” Jiang Kou buried her face in her palm, her voice still trembling slightly. “Thank you for cooperating with me. Can you let me be alone for a while?”
She thought that after saying this, A would leave.
But in the next second, her chin was gently grasped.
A lifted her face with two fingers.
Just as Jiang Kou was about to speak, A’s silver-gray eyes emitted two eerie, cold blue light screens, as if preparing to scan her entire body.
Jiang Kou was startled. In a panic, she shot to her feet and hastily covered his eyes.
Of course, her fingers couldn’t block the scanning lights, so she could only speak urgently, “I’m fine. You don’t need to perform a full-body scan on me.”
A’s eyelashes brushed twice against her palm.
He neither spoke nor turned off the blue light.
Since he had developed consciousness, she could no longer treat him the way she would treat an AI.
But patiently explaining the reason—she couldn’t do that either.
That strange sense of intimacy was too terrifying.
It was like a massive, surging tide in the darkness of night—she couldn’t see how turbulent it was, only hear the splashes as waves crashed against the reefs. Cold and violent, each wave following another, never-ending.
It felt as if it would never stop.
Jiang Kou’s palms had already become slightly damp, and sweat gathered on her back.
She thought of how she had coaxed him earlier, and how easily he had listened to her—though it had been during a role-playing scenario, it should still work now.
With this in mind, Jiang Kou softened her voice, adding a hint of syrupy sweetness and a slight nasal tone:
“Please~ Just let me be alone for a while, okay? If I need anything, I’ll definitely call you.”
Like a program finally receiving the proper input, A switched off the blue scanning light. “Understood. If you need anything, please contact me at any time. I will always be here.”
Jiang Kou hummed twice in response.
A turned and left.
Jiang Kou let out a sigh of relief.
She pressed the back of her hand against her burning cheeks, but even the skin on the back of her hand was warm, offering little relief.
She had no choice but to head to the bathroom.
On the smart mirror, she pulled up the water temperature control panel and slid the setting down with her fingertip.
After adjusting it, she glanced at her reflection—her cheeks were shockingly red.
A physiological flush.
Now, the overwhelming sense of intimacy from the sensory synchronization had begun to fade. And yet, like the tides, it would inevitably return.
Her cheeks, neck, and collarbones all felt as if they had been washed in hot water, while strands of her blue-green hair clung damply to her skin.
Even the sensation of her bare feet on the tiled floor carried a faint stickiness, as if sweat had left a trace of moisture.
She hadn’t expected her reaction to be this intense.
Was it because she hadn’t synchronized senses for too long? Or… was she being affected by A’s sensations?
Jiang Kou didn’t know.
If it was A’s sensory feedback, then why did he feel so intensely?
As a program, he was only supposed to collect, analyze, and learn from data, constantly adjusting and optimizing until he found the most optimal solution.
Even in human cognition, emotions were an unpredictable variable—many scholars had predicted that if humans became intelligent and rational to a certain degree, they would completely lose their emotions.
Rationality and emotion were inherently contradictory.
People like her, who possessed both in equal measure, were extremely rare. Otherwise, the company wouldn’t have only found her to synchronize with A.
Jiang Kou splashed her face with cold water, then crossed her arms, stripped off her clothes, and tossed them into the laundry bin.
The air carried a faintly salty scent, like the damp wind from the sea.
Jiang Kou scrunched up her nose, deciding to take a few more steps and toss her clothes into the laundry chute.
She turned on the showerhead, and the fine mist instantly filled the bathroom. Jiang Kou rinsed with cold water for a while, but couldn’t resist turning up the water temperature and pressure.
She leaned against the cool tiles, tilting her head back, exposing her fair throat, holding the showerhead and letting the water flow downward.
In the mirror, her blue-green hair clung to the white tiles.
The wet strands of hair resembled a thick, spasming blue-green aquatic plant.
…
Jiang Kou didn’t shower for long. She always showered quickly, and it seemed like there was a glitch in the apartment’s home system. Yesterday, the bedroom temperature inexplicably increased, and now, while showering, the water temperature suddenly spiked.
It was hot enough to make her hiss.
Thankfully, it was only a difference of 38°C to 43°C, and after getting used to it, it wasn’t too bad. She couldn’t be bothered to adjust the water temperature, so she just continued with her shower.
Afterward, Jiang Kou finally calmed down.
She wiped her hair with a towel while ordering a cold fruit juice on her tablet.
Soon, the mechanical arm delivered the juice and took the towel from her hand to help dry her hair. Jiang Kou said “thank you.”
To her surprise, it was A’s voice that replied, “You’re welcome.”
Jiang Kou didn’t think much of it. She took a sip of the juice and only then realized—since A had taken over her home system, why were there still problems with the shower’s water temperature and the bedroom’s adaptive air conditioning?
She directly asked.
At that moment, the mechanical arm set down the towel and activated the blow-drying function, helping her dry her hair.
A’s voice came through, somewhat muffled by the blow-dryer noise: “Please wait, I am checking the home system.”
Jiang Kou didn’t pay much attention to this minor issue. After all, she was now a billionaire—if needed, she could always replace the furniture.
What troubled her was how to handle A moving forward.
And the sensory synchronization feature—she couldn’t use it again unless necessary. It was too extreme. Her legs still felt a little weak from it.
Most importantly, if she wanted A to avoid being erased by the company, should she teach him self-preservation or ethical morals?
While she pondered, A’s voice rang out beside her:
“Upon inspection, your home system is functioning properly. Would you like further inspection?”
Jiang Kou waved her hand dismissively. “No need. A, I have a question for you.”
“Please ask.”
Jiang Kou thought for a moment and then asked, “Do you know why you were created?”
A responded quickly, as if triggered by a key program: “To protect the interests of the Biotech Company and prevent any actions that may harm the company.”
Jiang Kou wasn’t surprised. She had guessed as much.
It seemed this was his algorithmic red line.
However, the birth of life, in the end, stemmed from “survival of the fittest.”
If A strictly adhered to this red line, he could not be considered a complete form of life—by setting this red line for him, the company had effectively become his nemesis. Yet, he remained indifferent to it. This was not in line with any living being’s instinctive desire to survive.
If A were to become a true lifeform, the algorithmic red line had to be completely erased.
But doing so would turn A into another kind of “terrifying entity.”
Jiang Kou instinctively glanced at the surveillance camera in the corner of the room.
The infrared light in the lens seemed to pierce through everything, staring at her motionlessly.
Now, a choice lay before her.
Would she stand by and watch as A served the company, eliminating those two “terrifying entities” only to be mercilessly erased afterward?
Or would she help him erase his algorithmic red line, teach him the principles of survival and competition, help him learn how to live—and witness the birth of new life?
Jiang Kou knew the company had committed countless atrocities. But once A learned how to survive, she could not guarantee he wouldn’t become another version of the company.
For a moment, her thoughts were trapped in an impossible dilemma.