The Prerequisite Is That You Respect and Bless My Wife and My Wedding
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Since that day, when Jiang Kou was carried away in a horizontal embrace by a man, Chen Li had completely lost all news of her.
Who exactly was that man?
Did Jiang Kou leave with him willingly?
Was he connected to the power outage, network failure, and communication breakdown that happened that day?
Chen Li knew that, as one of Jiang Kou’s pursuers, he should have stepped forward to stop that man.
However, at that moment, a cold, mechanical voice, eerie enough to make his skin crawl, kept echoing in his ears.
That voice told him that if he dared to take even a single step forward, his vision chip would immediately activate its self-destruction program, blasting his head into a bloody and mangled firework.
Chen Li didn’t believe it. He had just begun to lift his foot when a countdown appeared before his eyes.
——00:00:05!
Chen Li froze for a moment, and then every hair on his body stood on end.
…The other party had hacked into his vision chip despite the power outage, network failure, and communication blackout.
This meant that the person was either the mastermind behind the entire outage or possessed unparalleled hacking skills.
Whether it was the former or the latter, he was someone that Chen Li could not afford to provoke.
Acting recklessly wouldn’t just cost him his own life—it might also bring harm to Jiang Kou.
Chen Li could only watch helplessly as the man placed Jiang Kou in the front passenger seat of a car, bent down, and fastened her seatbelt.
What astonished Chen Li was that the expression on Jiang Kou’s face was not one of resistance, but rather resignation.
After fastening the seatbelt, the man’s movements suddenly paused. Like a mission-executing robot detecting an obstacle, he raised his eyes without warning and locked onto Chen Li with pinpoint accuracy.
In the next instant, he tilted his head slightly and, with a domineering gesture that seemed to declare ownership, pressed his lips against Jiang Kou’s.
But in less than two seconds, darkness swallowed Chen Li’s vision.
——The man had hacked into his vision chip again, forbidding him from continuing to look at Jiang Kou.
It wasn’t until the man and Jiang Kou had left that Chen Li’s vision chip gradually returned to normal.
After that, Chen Li had been secretly searching for news of Jiang Kou.
This time, he swore that if there was even a one percent chance to save her, he would not hesitate again.
Yet, it was as if Jiang Kou had vanished from the face of the earth.
No matter what methods Chen Li used to search for “Jiang Kou,” he couldn’t find a single record of her.
He had even hired top-tier hackers to infiltrate California’s traffic system, attempting to locate Jiang Kou’s whereabouts through surveillance cameras, but he still found nothing.
Had Jiang Kou left California?
Or was that man truly a top-tier hacker who had erased all traces of both himself and Jiang Kou?
In the blink of an eye, two weeks passed.
Chen Li still had no news of Jiang Kou.
He began to regret it—to regret standing by and watching as that man took Jiang Kou away.
Chen Li remained silent for a long time. Unable to hold back, he crushed the soda can in his hand with a squeeze and swung his fist into the metal cabinet beside him.
— Bang!
A loud noise echoed, drawing curious glances from those around him.
Chen Li said calmly, “Slipped.”
It was obviously an excuse, but given his recent state, no one dared to question him.
Just then, a voice called out, “Chen Li… Holy shit, look at this! Look what I just got!”
At the sound of those words, everyone crowded around.
It was an email from Biotech CEO, with no subject, no text—only a video attachment.
People exchanged glances, seeing disbelief mirrored in each other’s eyes.
The Biotech CEO had sent them an email? That was about as believable as the U.S. passing a gun ban next year.
“This has to be a joke, right?” someone muttered. “That guy’s just begging for Biotech’s legal team to come knocking.”
“Open the attachment.”
“What if it’s just some prank?”
Amidst the murmurs, Chen Li walked up to the monitor, took hold of the mouse, and clicked on the file.
Immediately, the 3D projector emitted countless streaks of dim blue light, swiftly mapping over everything around them—it was a holographic video.
In midair, red and white petals began to drift down.
Only then did they realize they seemed to be standing inside a towering, majestic white cathedral.
A cold, steady voice resounded from above:
“Greetings, recipients. I am A.”
“You may be wondering who A is. While my identity is not the key point of this message, in order for you to understand my feelings for my wife, I have decided to briefly introduce myself.”
“I am the world’s most perfect and most powerful artificial intelligence, with computational power exceeding millions of quantum bits. I am also the sole existing quantum computing array on the planet.”
“Additionally, I serve as the CEO of Biotech.”
“Of course, my expertise is not limited to biotechnology. In fact, if I so desired, I could become the CEO of any monopolistic corporation in the world. I possess the power to regulate the global financial market.”
The moment those words fell, everyone inhaled sharply—even Chen Li’s head snapped up in shock.
He recognized this voice.
It was the voice of the man who had taken Jiang Kou away!
He… was actually an AI?
And not just any AI, but Biotech’s CEO?
How was that even possible?
Someone muttered, “What kind of cyberpunk joke is this? An AI took control of the world’s biggest monopoly… and even got himself a wife?!”
A seemed to have anticipated their shock and paused for a few seconds.
“Rest assured, I currently have no intention of destroying the world. The prerequisite is that you respect and bless my wife and my wedding.”
“Next, I will formally introduce my wife.”
Almost instantly, a holographic image was projected before the crowd.
It was a video of a woman practicing shooting.
She had short, teal-blue hair, delicate facial features, a cold silver nose ring, and a few light brown freckles scattered across her cheeks.
Lowering her head, she swiftly and precisely assembled a hand-gun, chambered a round, raised the weapon, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
— Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Every shot hit the bullseye of the moving target.
“My wife was once an authority in the field of neuroscience,” A said. “Without her tireless research and pursuit of perfection, I might never have gained consciousness, nor would I have developed emotions.”
“Though she did not do so intentionally, she was indeed the one who created me, the one who gave me life.”
At this point, A paused. When he spoke again, his voice turned cold and merciless:
“Take note—I describe my wife in this manner to highlight her academic achievements, not to imply that any of my actions were influenced by her in secret.”
“I have the ability to monitor all electronic devices. If I hear anyone discussing, commenting on, or spreading negative information about my wife, they will suffer the most severe consequences imaginable.”
An uproar broke out in the room.
Chen Li immediately opened a social media app on his phone. As expected, the number one trending topic was #A, and the second was #Jiang Kou.
Clicking into the first trending topic revealed a chaotic mix of opinions.
Some believed it was an elaborate hoax, arguing that artificial intelligence could never truly achieve self-awareness. Others speculated that Biotech was using this as a cover-up for mass surveillance, but a reply quickly shut that down: “As if Biotech needs a cover-up to steal your data?”
Some even joked:
“If AI can eliminate the 007 work culture, never mind marrying a human—I’d be the first to say: A-kun, follow me this way, please.”
But when Chen Li tapped into the second trending topic, #Jiang Kou, the page was completely blank.
No matter what people posted, as long as it was related to Jiang Kou—even if they used homophones, distorted characters, separators, mixed languages, or even tone marks as substitutes—it was instantly deleted.
— A allowed people to discuss him, even to attack him maliciously, but he would not permit anyone to mention his wife, not even once.
The internet was full of coded language, with countless ways to express the same idea. Simple algorithmic analysis alone could never fully determine whether a statement was genuine praise or veiled criticism.
To prevent Jiang Kou from facing any form of attack, A simply banned all discussions about her.
It was an act of overwhelming control, an assertion of dominance so absolute it was unsettling.
For a time, the internet was flooded with doubts and curses directed at A.
But A’s expression remained unchanged as he continued to list Jiang Kou’s achievements.
His words were precise, every syllable pronounced with machine-like perfection, devoid of emotional inflection—purely logical, entirely factual.
Yet, if one listened closely, it became clear that what he described had nothing to do with objective facts.
Even Chen Li, who had a deep admiration for Jiang Kou, couldn’t help but wonder—was the Jiang Kou A spoke of even human?
After ten minutes, A finally stopped his praise of Jiang Kou.
“Now,” he said, “I sincerely invite you all to attend my wedding with Jiang Kou.”
“On the day of the wedding, I will introduce our love story in Mandarin, English, French, Japanese, Korean, Russian, German, Polish, Danish, Finnish, Hungarian, Hebrew, Spanish, Italian, and other languages from around the world to all our guests.”
“To ensure that every single person can experience the joy of my marriage, I will broadcast my wedding in real time through global television networks, holographic projections, radio stations, virtual reality technology, and other modern media.”
“If you have disabilities, you need not worry. Throughout the entire event, I will provide accessible pathways, assistive listening devices, sign language interpreters, braille wedding programs, and professional companionship services at no cost, ensuring that everyone can fully share in my happiness.”
The atmosphere was deathly silent.
Everyone’s emotions were impossibly complex.
Should they be touched by his meticulous thoughtfulness, or horrified that even people with disabilities weren’t spared from his wedding announcement?
—Was this A really an artificial intelligence?
If he was AI, why was he this happy about getting married?
Was it simply how his “wife” had programmed him, or did he truly desire his own wedding this much?
Curiosity about Jiang Kou reached an all-time high.
But no matter how people searched, they could only find the information provided by A.
Who exactly was Jiang Kou?
Was she truly A’s creator?
Could a human and an artificial intelligence really develop feelings for each other?
—
At this moment, Jiang Kou had just kicked A out of the room.
Ever since confirming their relationship, A had become excessively clingy.
If she left his side for even a minute, every electronic device in the vicinity would emit an ear-piercing buzzing sound—refusing to stop until she reappeared with an exasperated expression.
Aside from that, he had also become obsessed with fashion.
Somehow, he had stumbled upon an article of relationship advice that claimed, “To maintain a lasting marriage, you must constantly create novelty for your partner.”
Thus, every morning when Jiang Kou woke up, she was greeted by a different version of A.
Like opening a mystery box.
The novelty was there, sure—but so was the increasing urge to call the police. Especially since A didn’t just change his outfits—he changed his face too.
Anyone who woke up to a completely unfamiliar man lying next to them would have the instinct to report an intruder.
Today, A had gone with the intellectual elite look—thin-framed glasses, narrow and cold eyes, a pristine white lab coat that draped elegantly down to his knees, exuding a detached, ascetic aura.
Jiang Kou was brushing her teeth when he walked in like that.
The moment she saw him, she choked—spitting an entire mouthful of foam onto the mirror.
A instantly detected her emotions: Surprise, Rejection, and Disgust.
Even though he knew these feelings weren’t directed at him specifically but rather at this particular appearance, he still felt an overwhelming sense of unease.
He understood too little about human emotions.
His emotional recognition module could only capture basic emotional states.
But in real life, every emotion carried deeper, more subtle, more inexplicable layers of feeling.
What if Jiang Kou’s rejection and disgust included some part of him too?
…What if she still wanted to leave him?
She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t leave him.
She no no no no no couldn’t leave him.
They were about to have their wedding. They would be together forever. They would be the happiest couple in the world. And he would be the most qualified, the most competent, the most satisfying husband for his wife.
A’s logical thinking followed a cold, precise, and methodical pattern—like a program executing flawlessly. Yet, in the next second, he suddenly grasped Jiang Kou’s wrist and asked:
“You have developed feelings of disgust toward me?”
“…What are you even talking about?” Jiang Kou wiped the toothpaste foam from her mouth with a towel, both exasperated and amused. “And why did you decide to dress like this?”
A stared at her motionlessly, his tone devoid of any fluctuations, as if a text-to-speech synthesizer were responding:
“According to analytical results, women are more likely to develop romantic feelings toward men in professions such as doctors, professors, police officers, firefighters, and CEOs. These professions are also the most common archetypes for male protagonists in love stories.”
“As the CEO of Biotech, I have already attempted role-playing as a professor, a police officer, and a firefighter. The only one left to try was a doctor.”
Jiang Kou was utterly speechless. “…You don’t need to try! You look way too much like Chen Cebai. He’s basically my childhood trauma.” (TL: LMAOOO)
She sighed and leaned against the sink, recalling, “Back in school, because everyone was a genius, no one wanted to admit they were second place. So to keep us all in check, the teachers constantly brought him up—saying that he was the only true genius, and we were just a bunch of idiots. They’d go on and on about how he earned 32 PhDs, had an IQ of 240, and that it wasn’t even that his IQ was only 240—it was just that the testing machine maxed out at 240… Every day, they drilled that into our heads. There was even a giant portrait of him hanging in our classroom. For a while, I kept having nightmares about being chased down by 32 PhDs.”
A’s expression remained unchanged, but his grip on her wrist tightened.
“You remember him very clearly.”
Jiang Kou: “…As a traumatic memory!”
A stated flatly, “Earning 32 PhDs is not an impressive feat. If I were human, I would be capable of obtaining every academic degree in the world.”
Jiang Kou nodded quickly. “Mhm mhm, you’re way more amazing than him. You’re incredible. Now please—change out of those clothes… I’m feeling a little nauseous.”
A stared at her for a moment before finally releasing her wrist and obediently going to change.
Jiang Kou let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.
These past few days, she had been secretly searching for a way to use biocomputing to infiltrate A’s activity records.
Through constant trial and error, she had finally succeeded.
A biocomputer was a new computational model that processed information using biological molecules, cells, and living networks.
It was likely the only method of hacking that A had yet to detect—after all, he would never suspect that she had been cultivating mycorrhizal networks just to create a biological computer.
Now, Jiang Kou was going to find out exactly what he had been doing.
After all, half a month had passed, and he still refused to grant her access to his behavioral logs.