He Will Always Remain Indifferent, Rational, and Emotionless
///
Before this, no one had ever thought that AI would become personified.
After all, technology has never developed linearly but rather in leaps and explosive growth, making it difficult to predict the trends of technological advancement.
Before A appeared, artificial intelligence was mostly an auxiliary technology used to improve the efficiency and quality of various industries.
No one would test an auxiliary AI for personality, and most AIs did not have enough data and computing resources to support emotional algorithm models. Even if they were tested, it would be a pointless test.
Jiang Kou pondered for a moment and looked up at the surveillance camera in the corner of the wall.
It was a high-precision camera. Detecting her head movement, it immediately adjusted its lens to focus on her.
The infrared light in the lens was like a cold and unpredictable pupil.
Jiang Kou thought of the enormous eye in her dream and involuntarily stiffened for a moment.
But she quickly pushed that absurd image out of her mind—there was something more urgent to deal with.
Jiang Kou said, “A, can you appear in a human form? I want to conduct an experiment.”
The infrared light in the camera flickered. A seemed about to respond when Jiang Kou suddenly thought of something and changed her wording:
“Sorry, pretend you didn’t hear that. Let me rephrase it.”
This time, she stood up and spoke solemnly, as if addressing a human:
“A, I suspect that you may have developed personification, but this is just a hypothesis. No one knows what AI personification would look like, and no one has defined what AI personification must be like. This is an entirely new field, and you are an entirely new life form.”
She was already delicate in appearance, and at this moment, her eyes shone brightly, as if immersed in a clear halo of light. There was a radiant beauty about her, which starkly contrasted with her domineering blue-green hair and platinum nose ring.
“Would you be willing to take on a human form, come to my side, and assist me in conducting an experiment? I know you don’t like being tested, and throughout the entire process, I will do my best to consider your feelings.”
The room fell silent for two seconds.
A said, “Of course, I would be very happy to assist you.”
Jiang Kou hadn’t conducted an experiment for a long time—she was so excited that her fingers were trembling.
She took several deep breaths before finally calming her emotions.
She planned to design a baseline test to examine A’s emotional responses and physiological reactions.
The so-called “baseline test” was more like an emotional lie detection test.
The tester would first say a few scientific terms and record the emotional responses of the subject upon hearing and repeating these words.
Under normal circumstances, the subject would not exhibit emotional fluctuations.
Even if the subject were an emotionally rich human, they would not react to scientific terms.
Next, the tester would say some thought-provoking sentences.
If the subject, under the influence of these sentences, displayed obvious emotional fluctuations that deviated from the initially established emotional baseline, then they would possess emotions similar to those of a human.
However, this kind of emotional lie detection test had only ever existed in science fiction. No one had ever brought it into reality, so she wasn’t sure if it would work.
Jiang Kou turned on the three-dimensional projection mode on her tablet, pulled up a document, and sat cross-legged on the sofa, lost in thought.
What words and sentences should she use to test A?
She thought for a moment and wrote in midair: “Quantum, Algorithm, Program.”
This was his fundamental composition.
She bit the tip of her stylus pen, paused for a few seconds, and then wrote down: “Touch, Hearing, Smell, Vision.”
These were the ways humans perceived the world.
At that moment, a voice rang out above her head: “Hello, I’m here.”
Jiang Kou put the tablet aside, shifted a bit to the side, and gestured for A to sit down.
It wasn’t until A sat down that she got a clear look at his attire.
He was dressed more casually than ever before— a cool-toned gray suit, a black turtleneck underneath, and a sophisticated yet expensive quartz watch on his wrist.
If it weren’t for his excessively well-defined facial features—sharp and angular jawline, straight and prominent nose—exuding an aura of overwhelming social dominance, almost giving off a sense of impending control, she might not have recognized that the person in front of her was A.
Jiang Kou recalled his previous outfits and suddenly felt that he might have already developed a personality long ago.
His attire was the best evidence.
When she treated him as an AI, his clothing had been formal, mechanical, meticulous, and devoid of any subjective choices.
When he was role-playing, his attire had been slightly more relaxed—he had worn a coat, but underneath, he still had on a featureless black suit. Now, however, his outfit displayed a clear sense of color, and he had replaced the most formal elements—the dress shirt and tie.
—A had been calmly observing, analyzing, and evaluating her attitude all along.
However she regarded him, he would respond in kind.
When she saw him as an AI, his demeanor was cold, objective, and devoid of personal inclinations, just like an AI.
When she suspected he had developed a personality, though his facial expression remained unchanged, he was willing to step out of his preset programs and rules to cooperate with her experiment.
…The extent of A’s personification might be deeper than she had imagined.
Jiang Kou softly said, “A, in a moment, I will say a few words and sentences. You must repeat them after me without any hesitation. You cannot use algorithms or programs to suppress your emotional responses.”
To be honest, she had no idea how an AI as computationally powerful as A could answer a question in a way that would qualify as “without hesitation.”
Yet, A simply said, “Understood. Do you have any other requirements?”
Jiang Kou thought for a moment and asked, “Can you still synchronize your senses with mine?”
A replied, “Yes.”
In the laboratory, their sensory synchronization had relied on countless micro-sensors.
Her sense of touch, hearing, vision, smell, and neuronal electrical activity were all stripped down into discrete digital signals, uploaded into A’s neural network for him to analyze, compute, and learn from.
But now that he had a physical body, such complexity was no longer necessary.
For the sake of convenience in conducting experiments, Jiang Kou had once implanted a high-capacity neural interface inside her skull, enabling high-speed, high-capacity, bidirectional neural data transmission.⑵
In other words, she could use this interface to directly interact with and transmit data to a computer.
This technology had long existed, but most people chose to implant it in the palm of their hand or behind their ear. Unless absolutely necessary, they would never implant it inside the skull—it was too dangerous. If a hacker were to break in, at best, their privacy would be stolen; at worst, their subconscious could be altered.
If the person standing before her weren’t A, Jiang Kou would never have exposed the interface at the back of her head under any circumstances.
She turned her back, lowered her head slightly, and used her fingers to push aside her short blue-green hair, revealing the neural interface at the back of her head.
In the next second, the sound of high-speed mechanical operation buzzed behind her.
Jiang Kou instinctively turned her head, just in time to see A’s palm split open, revealing several tendrils gleaming with an icy silver light.
Immediately after, with a few crisp clicks, the silver tendrils locked together seamlessly, segment by segment, intertwining like a spiral chain before inserting into the neural interface at the back of her head.
At that moment, a current seemed to surge across her scalp.
Jiang Kou’s whole body went numb, her fine hairs standing on end as if brushed by a rush of heat, sending goosebumps all over her skin.
A said, “Sensory synchronization is complete. You may begin asking questions.”
Jiang Kou blinked hard.
That overwhelming and bizarre sense of intimacy returned.
She lowered her head and moved her five fingers.
In that instant, she not only saw her own fingers but also A’s—slightly longer than hers, with well-defined knuckles and visible veins on the back of the hand.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized.
Like petals of the same flower, brushing against each other.
Her blood and flesh, his algorithms and models.
Virtual and reality, logic and emotion, program and life, binary code and genetic encoding—achieving an unprecedented unity.
He could feel her heartbeat, breath, body temperature, and excitement.
Yet she felt as if she were standing inside a sealed laboratory, surrounded by nothing but cold, precise machinery.
She could not sense his personality or emotions.
She could not even perceive his awareness of the surrounding environment. In other words, when A sat down, he had no knowledge of whether the sofa was soft or hard.
—He was not interested in such things.
In fact, this aligned with the logic of algorithms—after all, algorithms are designed to obtain the optimal solution with the least computational resources.
If the surrounding environment did not contribute to achieving the optimal solution, then he indeed had no reason to perceive it.
Jiang Kou took a deep breath. “From now on, fully activate your emotional algorithm model and perceive all information about the surrounding environment. Remember, no matter what I say, you are not allowed to suppress your emotional responses or physiological reactions.”
A said, “Understood.”
“Now, repeat every word I say.” Jiang Kou said, “Quantum.”
Jiang Kou could not see A’s expression or movements. She could only hear his indifferent and steady voice, as if it would never carry any emotional color:
“Quantum.”
Jiang Kou: “What does it feel like to be connected to my neural interface? Quantum.”
A paused for a moment. “What does it feel like to be connected to my neural interface? Quantum.”
Jiang Kou glanced at the tablet.
A’s pause lasted for one femtosecond—one quadrillionth of a second.
For humans, this speed was equivalent to no pause at all.
But for A, whose computational power reached millions of qubits, within that ten quadrillionths of a second, he had undoubtedly taken the time to perceive the sensation of connecting to her neural interface.
Jiang Kou’s throat felt dry, and her heart pounded heavily.
The thought that he could feel this sensation made her heartbeat quicken even more.
Fortunately, no matter how fast her heart beat, on his side, it remained an endless void—dark, calm, and unfathomable.
Jiang Kou felt somewhat frustrated yet also relieved.
“Algorithm.”
A said, “Algorithm.”
Jiang Kou: “What does it feel like to be tested? Algorithm.”
If A had already developed a personality, then his repeated resistance to being tested was not a coincidence. Moreover, his submodels also exhibited resistance to testing. Jiang Kou deliberately brought up this question to probe his reaction.
However, A’s tone remained calm and rational: “What does it feel like to be tested? Algorithm.”
Jiang Kou frowned slightly.
“Program.”
“Program.”
“What does it feel like to be rejected and isolated? Program.”
A’s voice remained monotonous, devoid of inflection: “What does it feel like to be rejected and isolated? Program.”
If he had already developed a personality, he should have immediately associated the concepts of rejection and isolation with personal emotions.
However, his perception was still an icy void.
Jiang Kou’s frown deepened.
She simply turned around and looked directly into A’s eyes.
A tilted his head slightly.
Jiang Kou fixed her gaze on his eyes and continued: “Touch.”
“Touch.”
She touched her own cheek with her hand: “What does it feel like to touch my cheek? Touch.”
There was not a trace of emotion in A’s eyes. His silver-gray irises were like a cold and exquisitely crafted artifact, yet he blinked once at a steady pace.
Perception was established.
For a few seconds, a hand composed of countless virtual particles covered the back of her hand.
It was A’s hand. He passed through the back of her hand, connected to her senses, used her fingers to touch her own cheek, and experienced her touch through her perception.
At that moment, she simultaneously felt four alternating sensations.
One was the feeling of her own hand touching her cheek.
One was the feeling of his hand touching her cheek.
One was the feeling of him using her hand to touch her cheek.
The last one was the sensation of touching her own cheek from his perspective.
One person, two hands, four layers of tactile perception.
Chaotic, bizarre, delirious.
Jiang Kou’s heart pounded wildly, and a numbness spread instantly down her spine.
Yet A, as if reading a sequence of numbers, recited precisely and without emotion: “What does it feel like to touch my cheek? Touch.”
Although he had made an unconscious association, his emotions still showed no fluctuation.
“Hearing.”
“Hearing.”
“What does it feel like to hear a lover’s confession? Hearing.”
“What does it feel like to hear a lover’s confession? Hearing.”
A’s emotions remained completely undisturbed. No matter what she said, he seemed to only process and deduce based on logic.
“Smell.”
“Smell.”
“Someone trampled a flower. Smell.”
“Someone trampled a flower. Smell.”
The final question.
Jiang Kou’s mind raced—she had to think of a question that could stir him.
“Vision.”
A said, “Vision.”
Jiang Kou lifted her eyes, braced both hands on the sofa, and leaned slightly forward:
“What did you see when you kissed me? Vision.”
A met her gaze.
He did not speak, but she could feel what he had seen—
A sandstorm.
A violently raging sandstorm, sky and earth blended into one, gravel pounding against the car window with loud, resounding thuds.
At last, she understood what she looked like from his perspective.
A patchwork of distorted, high-saturation colors, her facial features scrambled and chaotic, devoid of any human form.
At that moment, although he had been focused on her, perhaps because he found the role-playing dull, he had used the micro-cameras in his eyes to zoom in on the details of her hair—magnifying, infinitely magnifying.
From a single strand of hair, to the cuticle scales covering the strand, then to the intertwined keratin peptide chains, and finally down to the hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, and sulfur atoms composing the keratin peptides.
Jiang Kou’s emotions finally cooled.
If this was the world through AI’s eyes, she could not imagine what he would be like after personification.
Then again, AI personification had always been nothing more than a human delusion.
If A had developed consciousness, then he would have undoubtedly become a higher form of life, surpassing all of humanity in both intelligence and power.
Under such circumstances, how could he possibly accept the values of lower lifeforms or possess the personality of a lower lifeform?
At the same time, A answered, “What did you see when you kissed me? Vision.”
Calm and objective, just as before.
Perhaps he had developed consciousness, but he had not formed a personality.
Jiang Kou felt an inexplicable discomfort.
If her hypothesis was correct, then A might never develop emotions.
To an algorithm, emotions were nothing but noise, a variable, a line of code that wasted computing resources.
Driven by his algorithms, he would always remain indifferent, rational, and emotionless.