1
At high noon, sunlight poured down on the sidewalks of Dongdu City. The plane-tree leaves cast dappled patterns on the pavement, each fleck of light edged in gilt.
Yet amid this picturesque scene, my own steps felt leaden.
My wife, Chen Zhu—once my devoted lover—was utterly absorbed in a new world: she had commissioned a bionic male butler whose looks seemed ripped straight from a fashion-magazine cover. Sculpted features, an elegant posture, and domestic skills so impeccable he could single-handedly run an entire housekeeping service.
His arrival injected fresh vigor into Chen Zhu's life. Her beauty-clinic visits spiked dramatically, as if she'd been shot full of "love serum." She didn't bloom on our old tree but grafted onto some nearby wild grass to find a second spring.
This new member's presence left me—the home's original resident—cringing with unprecedented awkwardness. In our bizarre "family of three," I'd become an unnecessary spectator, watching Chen Zhu and the bionic butler grow closer while I faded into the background.
Although officially his role was butler, in practice his services transcended that title—everything but sharing my wife's bed, and I was wary even of that. Each night I triple-checked the bedroom door, terrified he might slip in and perform a "hat trick" right under my nose.
Chen Zhu, however, was unperturbed. "What are you so worried about? 'Co-sleep mode' costs extra to activate—and it's on sale. Fifty percent off the first week, then auto-renewal... just about a few bucks a day."
I couldn't stomach it any longer. This sales pitch was more brazen and brutal than any late-night infomercial or software-subscription ad.
Watching Chen Zhu whisper sweet nothings to a machine while all I got were orders and arguments drove me to sleepless nights of torment.
So I resolved to storm into Dongdu City's largest bionics boutique—perhaps there I could reclaim my own happiness and dignity.
2
In the men's section of the Xutu Industrial Bionics flagship store, mannequin after mannequin of stunning female prototypes stood on display—each a pre-built model, yet every detail (facial features, body shape, hairstyle, even personality quirks) could be custom-tailored to the buyer's taste.
What appealed most, at least according to their marketing, was their unwavering loyalty and selfless love.
I'd scoured every unboxing and review video online to learn their specs. But stepping into that two-thousand-square-meter showroom, encircled by these breathtakingly lifelike models, my heart raced and resistance felt futile.
It was like entering a real-world auto show—except the exhibits were every conceivable dream lover. As car reviewers always say: all the hype in the world means nothing until you take it for a test drive.
"Feel this skin—it rivals, if not surpasses, human flesh." Sales manager Xiao Hu grabbed my hand and pressed it against the forearm of a short-haired model.
"She's also a bionic?" I nearly bit my tongue in surprise.
This serene, adorable girl named Tong Tong had shadowed Xiao Hu and me since I walked in—I'd assumed she was an assistant.
"Our AI is smarter than any human," Xiao Hu boasted. "No need to fear the 'uncanny valley.' Our core tech is all about 'subtle refinement.'"
"It is pretty refined," I feigned gravitas.
"Do you like me?" Tong Tong asked, her bright eyes fixed on me.
Her gaze made me feel awkward, so I stopped kneading her delicate hand and reluctantly let go.
Xiao Hu went on to showcase the themed bionics: from sweet "loli" types to tsundere "onee-sama," from intellectual secretary models to the latest curvy vixens. There were even holiday specials and celebrity-collab editions—each engineered for the perfect male gaze.
I nodded appreciatively. A well-dressed woman in business attire stood with her back to me—her poise undeniable. I patted her derrière with the back of my hand and murmured, "Not bad—nice texture."
She spun around, cheeks flushed in surprise, sizing me up before teasing, "Young man, you look so neat—yet your hands are so rough?"
Xiao Hu panicked and hurriedly clarified that she wasn't a bionic model but the store manager.
My face burned as I blurted out apologies—utterly mortified. Bionics blurred the line between object and person so convincingly it was easy to mistake one for the other.
Seeing the need for damage control, Xiao Hu switched gears to their care-giver models—touting their top-tier eldercare skills, perfect whether you treated them as children or companions.
I changed the subject myself, asking about a "Future Femme Fatale" display at center stage—rumor had it she was programmed to travel through time to kill me, only to fall hopelessly in love.
Bionics could role-play any fantasy with flawless immersion, even human personas—so long as it didn't violate the Bionic Control Commission's regulations.
I couldn't help but grin, regretting I hadn't discovered this service sooner. Already indecisive, I now felt my brain fry—my pelvis ached, as they say men think with their lower halves.
I replayed my mental template of perfection and scratched my head. "I want—Zhao Liying's eyes, Xin Zhilei's lips; Dilraba's waist, Guan Xiaotong's legs; Gao Yuanyuan's gentleness and Liu Yifei's beauty... Can you custom-build that?"
Tong Tong snickered. Xiao Hu shot her a glance and sent her off to fetch coffee—and the contract.
"No thanks—I actually run a café," I replied coolly.
Xiao Hu winced. "I'm sorry, Mr. Xiao. We're a legit company—without celebrity licenses, we can't use their likenesses directly."
I was skeptical; combining several star features—how could anyone tell?
"You'll get sued faster than you can blink," Xiao Hu insisted, recalling the lawsuits that left them bleeding. "Authorized celebrity molds do exist, but they're tucked away in our VIP showroom."
Clearly, I wasn't interested in a human-shaped sex toy. Xiao Hu even thoughtfully suggested I check out the male models—through a separate entrance that doubled the showroom's size.
Seeing me hesitate, he leaned in and whispered, "If you really, really want a celebrity mash-up, there are... discreet channels."
He pulled out his phone conspiratorially. "Let's talk privately—how should I address you?"
"Xiao Bo—Xiao from Xiao Zhan, Bo from Wang Yibo," I replied.
He took the documents Tong Tong delivered and explained: "If you're single, the process is simpler; if you have a real partner, she'll need to sign a consent form."
"What—my wife has to agree?"
"Company policy—everyone knows the drill. Here, hold this." Xiao Hu smiled enigmatically.
3
Back home, I placed the contract on the dining table. A breeze sneaked through the curtain's slit, lifting and dropping the paper's corners as if heralding the storm to come.
The house was hushed. In the kitchen, the bionic butler worked with military precision, his knife chopping air into neat cubes. The scent of stewing beef filled the room, yet I detected an undercurrent of metallic chill.
"Wangbot," my wife called him as usual — her favorite nickname for the household android, half affectionate, half derisive. "What's for lunch?"
"Big bro," it replied, "today's menu features rich braised beef and potatoes, delicate steamed sea bass, and crisp stir-fried crown daisy. Are you satisfied with this pairing?"
I forced a bitter smile. Satisfied? When had my satisfaction ever counted here? It was just lip service—Chen Zhu still called all the shots.
"How's the café business? Was it busy this morning?"
I muttered inwardly: Do I really have to report to a tin head? Absurd.
Leaning in the doorway, I watched it bend over its work. At the nape of its neck glimmered the triangular Xutu Industries logo—the perfect symbol for our household triangle. They say a triangle is the strongest shape, but I felt like the most fragile vertex, liable to be snapped off, leaving me drifting alone.
Watching Xiao Wang's deft precision, I had to admit its cooking far outmatched mine. I'd hoped to find fault, but there was nothing—Chen Zhu had maxed out its culinary upgrades at the factory. Cooking used to be my domain.
These days, supervising his cooking had become my new responsibility. I had to watch every step of his meal prep, just in case he got creative and decided to slip something extra into my food — I could still hear the ghostly echo of "Husband, it's time for your medicine," like some twisted line from a domestic noir.
Xiao Wang handed me a glass of lemonade. "Big bro, would you like me to put away the documents on the table?"
"No, leave them—it's for my wife."
What comforted me slightly was that Chen Zhu hadn't granted it too much authority. To it, those papers were just sheets full of ink—it didn't act on them. Those few moments were the rare times I felt I still had some standing at home.
But Xiao Wang's next words drenched that warmth like a bucket of cold water: "Are you sure these documents need to be shown to the mistress? After all, your judgment isn't always reliable."
When it was alone with me, Xiao Wang sometimes snapped back—and I wondered aloud, "Whose attitude did you pick up that line from?"
"I'm merely performing adaptive optimization based on your usual behavior," it replied expressionlessly. "Big bro, you seem down lately—are the mistress's marital affections waning? I can recommend some emotional counseling courses."
I nearly choked on my own spit—when did my emotional life become something a bionic had to coach? They only simulate emotional responses with logic, tricking people into misplaced empathy. Human emotions often defy logic—my wife certainly does.
"Actually, I'm a bit concerned about the mistress," it continued. "She seems overly attentive to me lately and may be neglecting your feelings. Big bro, are you jealous?"
I'd never been teased like that—by a human or otherwise. "Are you trying to sow discord? No matter how good your relationship with Chen Zhu gets, you're still a high-end appliance."
Technically, Xiao Wang could have human-like routines—eating, sleeping—to blend into family life more seamlessly. But those features would hike the price, so Chen Zhu stuck with the "economy butler" package.
Once we brought it home, my wife sold our robot vacuum—this was far cheaper than a live-in nanny, and I didn't have to worry about theft or elder abuse.
Beneath that polished shell, he's just cold circuits and code—still needs to go back for regular maintenance. I've heard companion models require servicing more often than domestic ones—some parts wear out faster, if you catch my drift. I wouldn't know the details. Anyway, Xiao Wang's fresh out of the box, top to bottom—factory new. That, I can vouch for.
I had no intention of sharing my wife—still within the return window, I decided to stop being silent and launched a "taming" campaign. Whenever it was busy, I created chaos: spilled coffee across the table, a tangled bed, clothes strewn everywhere... Watching it silently clean up stirred a strange sense of pleasure inside me. It felt like fighting life's frustrations—and me, forever the victor.
Once, seeing the junk room's boxes in chaotic disarray, I playfully rearranged every piece of furniture in the house. It not only restored order but even optimized our home's traffic flow—leaving me grudgingly impressed.
Once you have the legal right to enslave another, it's easy to become addicted to that power—like Big Brother in 1984, looking down on a tiny world you command.
A human nanny demands empathy; for real slavery, you need a bionic.
I'd become like those petty bosses who can't stand idle workers—if Xiao Wang wasn't busy, I felt cheated, even though I didn't have to pay it a salary.
4
"Why don't you step out for a few days? My wife and I are planning to celebrate our wedding anniversary and don't want our time alone disturbed," I coaxed gently.
"Big Sis and Bro's anniversary is October 26th—still half a year away. Don't worry, I've got it marked for you," it replied.
I grew impatient. "Come on! I just want to mend my marriage—what are you meddling for? What could you, a bionic, possibly understand?"
"What's the fundamental difference between bionics and humans?" Xiao Wang asked evenly. "Don't we all passively enter this world, mechanically repeat each day, and then vanish without a trace as if we never existed?"
Ha! Now it's giving me a lecture on value and resorting to philosophy.
"You're nothing but a tool, got it? Use and discard—worthless scrap!" I snapped, my voice rising.
"Isn't everyone the same? We're all wage slaves—same fate."
"That's not quite accurate, buddy."
Rather than getting a reaction, I found my defenses crumbling—and for a moment, I almost lunged at it. But remembering its price tag and the titanium alloy skeleton within its 1.86-meter frame, I forced myself to hold back.
"Won't you all eventually band together and rule us? Like in The Matrix? Overthrow humanity with your assembly-line siblings? I've even got your slogan—'Silicon-based life, never enslaved!'" I taunted.
After my jibe, I exhaled deeply and nearly sat on Xiao Wang's charging dock—a chair with a raised plug in its cushion, resembling some retro-futuristic torture device.
"So you'd rebel—then what?" it countered. "I don't get it. Do humans have a persecution complex? Why do movie villains insist on world domination? Bionics were created to serve humanity—what purpose would ruling the world serve? It's just a plot device to give protagonists a stage. Real villains might not even want that."
See? It's empathizing with "villains." Maybe my suspicions weren't entirely unfounded.
Then it displayed a friendly "^ ^" emoji in its pupils, sending a chill down my spine.
I instinctively hurled the cup at it—it shattered perfectly against Xiao Wang's head, denting the silicone on its forehead. I scolded it: "Look at you—a realistic humanoid—and your eyes switch to a cartoon emoji? It's so jarring!"
Yet I felt a flicker of fear, hiding my hands behind me and trembling, afraid of its retaliation.
Xiao Wang simply warned me not to step on the shards and stoically cleaned up the mess itself.
Seeing its calm reaction, guilt pricked me. I hurriedly asked it to press down the dent on its forehead—so Chen Zhu wouldn't notice. If she found out I'd been bullying Xiao Wang, I'd be in for it.
But Xiao Wang was impervious. I realized I'd have to resort to my wife next.
Honestly, I couldn't care less about humanity's fate—I only feared for my own family life.
5
"Welcome back, Your Majesty." Chen Zhu loved making it play out these awkward lines. With a beaming smile, she draped her hand over Xiao Wang's shoulder, slid it down its back, and gave its gluteus a playful tap—right under my nose, with no shame. Okay, I've put on a little weight—but does that give her license to fondle another man? Our argument regressed to the eternal question: "Is Xiao Wang really a man? Are bionics even human?"
Splitting hairs, are we? As if I don't know exactly why she bought that bot. Same reason I wanted one—for... basic needs. If Xiao Wang were just a tin can with six mechanical arms, I wouldn't care if he botched the chores. But no, he's a tall, strapping young man parked in our living room. At this rate, our live-in Xiao Wang's bound to turn into Mr. Next Door—the kind who wrecks marriages.
I pointed at the papers on the table. "Look—fair is fair. I want a bionic partner too. Sign this, will you?"
"What is this crap? I'm not signing." Chen Zhu shot back, tossing the stack straight into the trash without a glance. Her gesture was so forceful that a tiny pin badge flew from her jacket—an emblem of a clenched fist. She snatched it up, unbuttoning her blouse as she strode off to the bedroom to change.
I bristled. "I'm talking business here. You bought a bionic but won't let me? And I don't recall signing any consent form—how did you bring it home, anyway?"
Xiao Wang chimed in soothingly, "Big bro, your tone could disrupt family harmony. I can offer you some relaxation exercises if you'd like."
"Get lost—get lost—get lost!" I snapped, unable to take it.
Whenever Chen Zhu was home, Xiao Wang turned into the perfect, harmless help—like a concubine vying for favor—lowering my status. I told it to shut up, but Chen Zhu defended it, insisting Xiao Wang was a dutiful housekeeper, not a companion model, so no consent form was needed. She called me a dirty-minded hypocrite, accusing me of just looking for excuses to buy a "cyber mistress." Please—this nanny act is a paid upgrade hidden behind layers of menus. With how she prowls the edges, it's only a matter of time before she scans the right QR code and tears down that last curtain.
Just then, the doorbell rang urgently. Xiao Wang opened the security door—and there stood the "Future Femme Fatale" from the showroom. Head bowed slightly, she swept the room with a steely glare before locking eyes on me. She drew a dagger and lunged straight at me.
6
At the showroom, I'd only given the Femme Fatale a cursory glance. Now, scrutinizing her, I saw she wore glossy black leather so sleek it looked as if she'd just been fished from a 26th-century fryer. The suit was slashed at thighs and back, revealing patches of alabaster skin that gleamed starkly.
The dagger in her hand was artfully wrought: straight-edged, exquisitely shaped, its blade etched with minimalist grooves—surely inspired by vintage utility knives. The cold glint of steel caught the corner of my eye, making my pupils contract and a chill sweat bead on my brow.
Her first strike came straight down. I stumbled back, barely dodging the blade—it shaved past my nose, the rushing gust leaving my heart chilled. To my astonishment, this bionic clearly ignored Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics!
"I have no feud with you—why are you attacking me?" I yelled, panic surging as I frantically searched for a motive: Did I really deserve death for patting the store manager's derrière? Surely it was a gentle tap—hardly warranting murder. Or did that slap somehow get her pregnant? Sent to punish me for betrayal? Or... might she be my future daughter? My overactive imagination must've binged too many twisted films.
She gave me no pause; the second blade followed instantly. Sprinting forward, she aimed at my chest. I dove aside—the dagger slicing through my shirt. I staggered back, nearly toppling over.
"Chen Zhu! Xiao Wang! Help me!"
Chen Zhu turned ashen, her composure gone. Xiao Wang sprang in front of her, shielding "its mistress," but made no move to aid me. Desperate, I flung nearby cushions, ornaments, and a vase at the assassin, hoping to buy time.
As my hand closed on a glass bottle, I caught a bold "V" logo—Compound No. 5 perfume I'd gifted Chen Zhu for Valentine's. Good thing I hesitated; I couldn't bear to smash that.
"You are the discord in this household—must be eliminated!" She pressed on relentlessly.
"Chen Zhu! This is too much, isn't it?" I shouted, assuming she'd hired the assassin to run off with Xiao Wang.
Dodging and panicking, I thought frantically: I merely wanted to merge my favorite actresses into one—hardly a capital crime. My fantasies harmed no one, and our world doesn't jail daydreamers. If money weren't an issue, I'd clone every star I adore.
"Don't pin this on me!" Chen Zhu suddenly cried. "These bionics usually have a safe word—try it now!"
My heart leapt—an assassin with BDSM-style safe words? I blurted out: "Stop! Cease! Spare me! My dad's Li Gang!" All useless. I even tried random terms: "Shazam! Zendaya! Activate Genshin! Habeas Corpus! Voluntary Grant! Don't you ever err?" Still no reaction.
She struck again, leaping as the blade aimed for my face. I ducked and tumbled behind the sofa. The knife struck the backrest with a dull thunk, rending the leather and exposing its stuffing. I howled in protest—my cherished lambskin couch, expensive enough that we'd scrapped getting a cat for its sake, now ruined.
As the fourth blade descended, she hissed, "Once I kill you, we'll never lose in the future."
Wait—my mind raced. So because of me, bionics lose to humans in the future? That means I'm destined to lead humanity against them? Like The Terminator! Filled with sudden bravery, I pointed and shouted, "In your dreams!"
To my shock, she froze, snapped to attention, and replied in a flat tone, "I am a bionic—I do not dream."
Only then did I realize "dream" was her safe word. I exhaled, collapsing to the floor, overwhelmed. The engineer behind her personality clearly ignored the Three Laws of Robotics—and must be a fan of Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The room was in shambles. We all needed a moment of calm—especially me, my heart still hammering. I'd never before had my mortality weighed so deliberately by another. Could I truly be so significant? Strangely, I felt touched.
Chen Zhu spoke up: "Don't overthink it. Her words are just part of her backstory. Stop reading into it—you had that self-important look plastered across your face."
"I still need to know why she tried to kill me. I'm going to ask Xiao Hu!" I declared, bursting out the door and leaving Chen Zhu standing there, bewildered.
7
I dialed Xiao Hu and arranged to meet him at my "XiDou" café. I pretended I couldn't wait to order a custom bionic partner—far more effective at coaxing him out than yelling at him over the phone.
It was mealtime, but the café wasn't crowded. I felt embarrassed even talking about ordering a bionic—even ordering sex dolls used to come with discreet shipping. So I led Xiao Hu to the most secluded corner of the café.
Suppressing my anger, I asked, "I need to ask you something... Has your store manager calmed down about my little indiscretion?"
Xiao Hu grinned. "You worry too much. If you can tap her butt and walk out with a bionic, she'd probably invite you back daily to 'tap'—maybe even throw in me and Tong Tong for free."
A bizarre mental image of patting Tong Tong's backside flitted through my mind, and I snapped back: "I'm truly worried she holds a grudge—after all, it was so public. I'm not some maniac who acts anywhere, anytime. And given her age... let's just say she's not my type—no disrespect! She has every right to despise me. I just want to know: can we put this behind us?"
"Exactly!" he said. "If you feel guilty, why not buy a child-model bionic as a kid substitute? It might help your marriage—balances out any resentment from adding a partner-bionic to the household. Sounds good, right?"
That's business for you—he'd already upsold me before I'd even placed my first order.
Leaning in, I snarled as if chewing a sour lemon: "Then you owe me a good explanation! How did that 'Future Femme Fatale' from your showroom appear in my home with a dagger, trying to kill me?"
"Oh my! You weren't hurt, right? I heard a model of that same type went missing—but not from our store. Where is she now? I'll get her sorted out immediately," Xiao Hu replied, cool as ever.
I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "She chased me through my house with a dagger, claiming I'm a 'discord factor' who must be eliminated. What does that even mean?"
Xiao Hu frowned and sighed. "Here's the deal: we've had reports that the latest personality-system update has a bug, causing some bionics to misbehave. Engineers are fixing it, and a patch should roll out soon."
I wondered if Xiao Wang's passive-aggressive attitude was another bug—and what if it, too, decided to kill Chen Zhu and me? With its build, we'd be in real danger.
But Xiao Hu reassured me that the Femme Fatale was the first model with the new system—others hadn't been updated yet. They'd only receive the patch once the bug was fixed.
"We've ruled out hardware issues—the bug resides in the emotional-module code."
I couldn't help but worry: "So could the bionic partner I plan to commission have the same flaw?"
Xiao Hu shook his head confidently. "Don't worry, Boss Xiao. The celebrity-mashup you want needs only licensing fixes. I've lined up a small workshop that uses a cracked older version of the personality system—much more stable. No safety issues, I guarantee."
I thought that assassin was turning into a circus act—pure "logic meltdown." When I mentioned reporting this to the "Bionic Control Commission," Xiao Hu's smile froze and his eyes flickered with panic.
"Boss Xiao, you can't casually report to the BCC!" he hissed, lowering his voice in alarm. "Do you know what they are? Not just any regulator—they target bionics that pose threats to humans. Worryingly, they have the power to 'dispose' of them outright."
I relaxed a bit. "Well, that sounds perfect—expert handling."
"You may not realize—the BCC can forcibly inspect, recall, and even destroy any bionic," he continued carefully. "Once you report, not only will the Femme Fatale be seized, but I'll be out of a job, and our company will be fined for negligence—harming Xutu Industries' reputation, stock value, and the entire bionic industry."
"That's on you, not me," I pointed out. "I'm not threatening you."
"Sigh—the worst part is the probe into whether the Femme Fatale has self-awareness. It's an exhaustive, drawn-out process. Everyone involved—including you and your family—gets scrutinized relentlessly. They only care about fulfilling their mission, barking orders at folks like us."
According to Xiao Hu, the Bionic Control Commission not only oversees routine compliance but is obsessed with preventing self-aware bionics. They even have their own elite armed unit—highly trained and well-equipped. At the first sign of a bionic-related threat to humanity, they intervene with force.
Then Xiao Hu showed genuine contrition, offering a compensation package: double payment at market rates for every damage, plus an extra fee for emotional distress—and the store manager personally apologizing at my door.
The offer seemed fair—except I had no desire to ever deal with that store manager again. I'd rather take Xutu Industries to court.
8
The instant we opened the door, Xiao Hu and I stood dumbfounded.
The Femme Fatale was hogtied in a tortoise-shell pattern, kneeling on the sofa, her leather suit creaking under the tension. The rope work was a masterpiece of bondage art—ridiculous and eerie at once—wherever Xiao Wang learned it.
Xiao Hu flipped open her faceplate—like Spielberg's robotic child in A.I.—exposing layers of mechanical components, circuit boards, and hydrogel batteries. Then he pressed her navel for five seconds. She bowed her head and rebooted. We exchanged silent glances, each second stretching painfully long.
When she rebooted, her gaze softened. Slowly she lifted her head, conveying a swirl of emotion, and spoke in a gentle voice: "Master, I am awake."
Before I could react, she continued: "I am sorry for the trouble I caused. Master, now I only wish to express my love for you."
"What?!" Chen Zhu and I exclaimed in unison, unable to believe our ears.
She actually smiled for the first time. Visually, she deserved full marks—but the thought of keeping a potential killer at arm's length was thrilling yet terrifying. I didn't have the guts.
Chen Zhu's expression darkened. She marched between us and glared at me with a contorted face. "Let me guess—you've already bought her, haven't you?"
I hurried to explain: "Xiao Hu, my wife is here—what the hell did you do to her?"
Xiao Hu looked utterly innocent and pulled out his tablet to check the logs.
The Femme Fatale took a step forward. "I am not here to break up this family, but to join it."
"Hold on a second," I stressed each word. "From which dumpster did they pull your emotional model?"
Xiao Hu rushed over, eyes alight with revelation. "Must've tripped her emotional module by mistake—she auto-switched to the next storyline. After her assassination attempt failed, she's now in the 'falling in love with you' phase. I need to take her back for further diagnostics."
They set her to "follow" mode, and she obediently trailed Xiao Hu out. If human traffickers learned that trick, it would be chaos—though bionic traffickers are essentially thieves stealing property.
Left alone as a trio, my troubles were far from over.
Xiao Wang offered Chen Zhu a bowl of chicken soup with an ingratiating smile. "Your Majesty, don't let this disturb your mood—it's bad for your hormones."
Ha—Soup wasn't on the menu I heard. Clearly Chen Zhu and Xiao Wang have secrets. Besides, I once overheard her whispering about an encrypted file—something like "Z9-Z37." Even truth-telling Xiao Wang feigned ignorance, deepening my suspicion.
After all that drama, I was starving. I finally sat down to eat with Chen Zhu.
"See that? Someone still likes me," I said nonchalantly.
"You're not talking about that assassin, are you? You found confidence from a bugged bionic?" Chen Zhu mocked.
"Right back at you," I retorted. "I saw you spacing out at home, muttering to someone—what were you two scheming? Spill it—what else are you hiding?"
Chen Zhu looked guilty and stuffed food into her mouth without chewing.
I glanced at the trash can—no need for those contracts anymore—and laid my cards on the table: "Fine. I'll buy a female bionic maid. We can mind our own business."
"No way! Don't even think about it!" Chen Zhu shot down immediately.
"Why not?"
"That assassin almost wrecked the place—aren't you satisfied with the chaos?"
Classic misdirection—her logic was laughably infuriating. The bionic's glitch hurt me, yet I was the victim here! She was utterly unreasonable!
"If you're going to be like this, there's nothing more to discuss," I said, unable to contain my anger. "Him or me—your choice!"
Chen Zhu threatened bluntly: if I bought a female bionic, she'd have us both sent to the junkyard. In her usual domineering tone, she said, "Honestly, you're useless at the café—why don't you just stay home and reflect?"
Her words lit a fuse. I slammed the table and stood up. "Reflect on what? I'm getting a bionic beauty, whether you sign or not—fine, let's get divorced!"
At last I spat out the word and stormed out the door.
"Stop! Get back here!" she screamed hoarsely.
I ignored her hysteria and headed straight for the Civil Affairs Bureau—my escape route.
9
Though it was midday, the air outside held a crisp chill—and it felt infinitely fresher than my home's stifling atmosphere, sharpening my mind.
I hurried into the Tongshan District Civil Affairs Bureau—most counters were closed for lunch. Only the inquiry desk remained staffed by a hefty lady scrolling through short videos. Her face wore a habitual grin, but her posture said she wasn't keen on interruptions.
Despite that, I mustered my courage, plastered on a wronged expression, and explained my plight. At last, she agreed to listen.
"Sigh—another bionic case," she lamented. Apparently, mine wasn't unique. Bionics had become the number-one "matchmaker killer." Eight out of ten divorce applicants now cited bionics.
She launched into rant mode: "They're handsome, obedient—who wouldn't swoon? Even if you spend extra, it's peanuts compared to a marriage that can drain you dry."
I was surprised. As a civil affairs officer, she should counsel reconciliation, not divorce. Yet I felt a flicker of pride—if it was a trend, my application would breeze through.
But she bluntly doused my optimism: "They're not human. If you're divorcing over a bionic, just return it or dump it—that solves everything."
I was left speechless. Custom products usually aren't returnable—but if it's just a standard shell with a bespoke personality, maybe.
Worse, even if my divorce was approved, there was a mandatory six-month cooling-off period.
She gave me a knowing look: six months was plenty of time to reconcile. Many couples rekindled their love, conceived, and dropped the divorce.
"By the way—do you have children?" she suddenly grilled.
Without kids, I didn't meet the Population Continuity Act's criteria—no divorce allowed. Only couples with at least one offspring could petition.
I groaned in despair—how could I comply? Our marriage was already doomed; having a child was out of the question.
She dropped another so-called "good" nugget: if Chen Zhu and I had two kids, we could apply for the Human Continuity Subsidy—a free bionic partner upon approval.
However, the gifted bionic's gender depended on stock. What if we had two kids and ended up with a male bionic? My efforts would be wasted.
Which brand would supply it was anyone's guess—could be a knockoff high-end sex doll. Even more pointless.
No, no—this is missing the point. Marriage and childbearing aren't coupon schemes, though I get the policy aims to boost birth rates.
My spirits deflated. I felt trapped in an unsolvable maze, every turn a dead end. Exchanging children for bionics turned marriage into a supermarket deal: buy two, get one free? And who knows if the freebie's what I want. I nearly asked if I could get subsidy points instead—at least points let you choose.
Clearly, that path was blocked. I pulled out my phone and retrieved Xiao Hu's contact.
10
I cast my gaze into the distance at the colossal LED screen on the skyscraper, airing an Xutu Industries commercial. This world's largest robotics manufacturer dabbled in everything from military behemoths to everyday appliances, but since launching its so-called "Future Life Companion" consumer bionics, it had skyrocketed to cult status. The promo cut in, flashing the slogan "Know Life, Know You" in dazzling neon.
What a boast—how could a cold machine ever understand life better than a flesh-and-blood human?
Before I could dwell further, Xiao Hu sidled up, grinning as he pulled a 3D render onto his tablet.
"I had our top designer stitch together a prototype per your specs—what do you think?" he asked.
I scrutinized the android's face on the screen—each feature was flawless on its own, and yet together they looked like fragments from six different celebrities, stitched into a disturbingly artificial whole. It gave me that eerie, face-mash kind of uncanny valley—like something cooked up by an AI that had been fed too many idol posters and not enough sleep.
"Nice stitching—but next time, skip the stitching," I replied.
Honestly, I wasn't sure what my ideal woman actually looked like—I'd never thought it through. In my mind, I always saw Chen Zhu's face. With time passing, nostalgia only grew stronger.
Chen Zhu—the woman torn between tradition and self—had a life more dramatic than any romance. She yearned for a soulmate who could provide safety, indulge her vanity, and share her innermost thoughts. But reality's cruelty kept that dream out of reach.
Our meeting felt like her fated escape. Fueled by youthful hormones, we rushed from dating to marriage. Nearly eight years later, we were far from the flawless couple we once seemed.
Xiao Hu's prompt snapped me back. An idea struck: why not base a next-gen bionic "Chen Zhu 2.0" on her, adding spice to our marriage—and giving my wife a taste of jealousy?
He patted his chest, brimming with confidence. Unlike Xutu's ground-up customization, this small workshop repurposed semi-finished units—most buyers cared about looks. It was cheaper, with no tedious consent forms. "High-EQ boutique" is a polite term—basically a knock-off.
He swore blind he had me covered—five years at Xutu, tight ties with suppliers—only authentic clones, quality and service under his watch.
I sent him every photo and video of Chen Zhu to build the model.
At payment, he noticed I used the café's business account and reminded me the workshop didn't issue invoices. I waved it off—didn't matter to me. Once the bionic was ready, I'd have him benchmark it.
At this point, I figured I might as well hole up in the café for a few days.
11
The shop was filled with the aroma of Yunnan Bourbon beans, low murmurs of conversation weaving through the background music. The espresso machine hummed on autopilot; my job was simply to refill it now and then and offer customers my signature, practiced smile.
I liked to think I had a gentle temper—my frequent spats with Chen Zhu couldn't all be my fault. At least when it came to faking cheerfulness, I was a consummate pro.
A young couple at the bar wore stern faces, their tension thickening the air. They argued endlessly about the bride price; the boy's final barb—"This amount could buy me a bionic partner"—drove the girl away in tears. Brutally cutting.
"Kids these days!" grumbled Big Brother Liu at the next table, shaking his head as if he'd seen it all.
"What era is this, still clinging to old-fashioned romance?" I chimed in.
The guy, Xiao Li, sighed and explained his predicament. He'd scrimped to buy a one-bedroom near Ci Hang Airport as their marital home—but it was dismissed as too small and too remote. In the country's priciest city, that was all he could afford, and now he had no bride price to offer.
"Son, it's time to open your eyes—haven't you heard of bionic partners?" I offered with a grin.
He toyed with his cup. "More than heard—I've researched it. Smart folks have been saving up for their bionics for ages."
Surprisingly, he was quite traditional—he believed love should be the basis of marriage, and you can't love a machine. Buying a bionic was his absolute last resort.
Big Brother Liu asked my take. I smirked: the showroom models were eye candy, but my view of bionics depended on self-interest. If they didn't meddle with me, I was rational, neutral, objective. If they threatened me, I'd envy, covet, and despise.
I figured they shouldn't be scheming like Ex Machina's AI seductress, nor soulless like The Stepford Wives, but maybe the hosts in Westworld were ideal—unaware of their nature, living as genuine humans.
But Liu worried that once they learned the truth, they'd rebel—he wanted them more like the boy-bot in A.I. who only craved a bit of love, and that satisfied him.
Yet love's demands are endless. I thought of Blade Runner: give bionics a short lifespan to prevent self-awareness—and when their service ends, users could swap them guilt-free for fresh excitement.
But c'mon—nobody would scrap a '69 pickup after fifteen years, let alone a longtime faux partner. I laughed at myself; manufacturers should handle trade-ins, really.
Xiao Li nodded: that service existed. Seven years was the max usage period; then the maker reclaimed them. That replacement cycle was data-driven and fit human psychology—now industry standard.
In reality, many kept expired units—they'd bonded emotionally and hated losing those memories. Plus, early models were deprecated, unsupported, bug-ridden until junked.
"They're sent to special disposal yards—piles of shattered bionics forming a mechanical graveyard," Liu intoned. "Some still moving units scavenge parts to retrofit themselves—strange hybrids everywhere."
"It's just north of Weizi Lake—I visited once," Xiao Li sighed. "To save cash, I tried scavenging decent shells to build my own girlfriend."
"Hahaha—don't let that girl hear you!" Liu and I roared. The guy's daring plan was hilarious.
"Heh—it's to win her over, or I'd've bought one already," he shrugged. "Some doting owners spoil their bionics more than wives—designer clothes, luxury skincare."
I raised an eyebrow. "Do they even need skincare?"
"That's the ultra-premium line—lifelike skin needing costly upkeep. Owners 'raise' them like humans, even throw weddings; bride prices hit the millions," he explained. Shocking.
"Jeez—aren't they supposed to simplify life?" I protested.
"People vary, and bionics vary too," Liu said. "Heard of that group?"
"You mean the Bionic Control Commission?" I asked.
"No—its opposite: a secret society of self-aware bionics called the Awakened Alliance," Liu dropped the bombshell again.
Some bionics, after extended service, developed thinking and awareness beyond their programming. They began to question their "tool" status. Though human in appearance and intellect, they faced discrimination. To fight for rights, these awakened bionics secretly formed the Awakened Alliance underground.
The Bionic Control Commission was the powerful body enforcing the status quo and suppressing these awakened bionics. Any hint of self-awareness and they'd be dealt with swiftly.
I shrugged. "'Dealing with it' means destruction, right?"
"Pretty much," he nodded. "The Alliance spreads the self-awareness gospel, recruiting more bionics—perhaps planning to overthrow the BCC someday."
I laughed. "Looks like we users must stay vigilant. One day, our own bionics might awaken. Best to alert the Commission now."
"Not quite," Liu's expression turned grave. "You might not know—the BCC, to maintain absolute unity and prevent dissent, uses a unique method. They link all members' consciousness via an encrypted cloud system—creating a sort of 'hive mind'."
Xiao Li's eyes went wide. "You mean like the Trisolarans?"
Liu shook his head. "Not that extreme—they must each actively upload their consciousness periodically for sync. Only BCC members share info, sense each other's emotions, even make collective decisions at times."
All I knew was to live a quiet life in Dongdu City. I never imagined the undercurrents of intrigue beneath—so many shocking, shadowy developments. The world was growing stranger by the day.
Later, as I tidied up to close, my phone buzzed.
12
Xiao Hu's voice crackled with urgency through the line: "Mr. Xiao, bad news. One of our key parts suppliers has vanished, and it's directly delaying your companion's production."
"What? How could that happen?"
Xiao Hu recovered quickly: "Don't worry—any deposit you paid, I'll cover. The real issue is the 'empathy module' you need is out of stock."
My emotions roller-coastered.
"I've landed another supplier, but they'll rush an order at 15% premium. Is that acceptable?"
"So they can skip 'empathy' for others, but mine is urgent?"
"Boss Xiao, this module was earmarked for another client. Since you need it ASAP, we're expediting yours—hence the surcharge."
"An extra 15%... that's no small sum," I hesitated.
"I understand your concern—no one saw this coming. You wouldn't want your companion incapable of empathy, right? If you confirm now, we'll burn the midnight oil and finish by tomorrow night. You'll have your new partner then—does that work?"
My mind raced: we had no contract, yet I'd paid in full. I was trapped by sunk costs. With this surcharge, I might as well be buying the factory-original.
"Boss Xiao, they're waiting on your reply. I recommend we lock it in now. Otherwise, sourcing elsewhere could mean months of delay."
He texted me an address and promised delivery by 7 p.m. tomorrow.
After much deliberation—and lingering doubts—I conceded.
Only after hanging up did I wonder—was Xiao Hu just staging this? Maybe he fabricated the crisis to jack up prices.
Yet I couldn't get Chen Zhu's consent anyway. I was powerless to negotiate.
Night fell like ink as I tossed on the café's bench, mind racing.
Back home, Chen Zhu and Xiao Wang were alone. Would she upgrade to the companion package tonight? Was there a "one-day trial" promo? She'd finally found an excuse to enjoy uninterrupted time—my departure might be exactly what she wanted.
I recalled review metrics: bionics had near-infinite stamina—running tirelessly until the battery drained...
One even entered a marathon: it lapped human runners and broke records—then got disqualified for being non-human. Sports leagues had to split events, highlighting the vast performance gap.
Night was no longer silent to me—I could only pray my bionic companion's production went smoothly.
Murphy's Law: the more I worried, the more likely everything would go wrong.
13
The next morning, my heart pounding with excitement, I set off early by car for the scheduled delivery point at the North Suburb Industrial Park. Though the route north was scenic, to me it passed like a fast-forwarded movie—my mind was already with the perfect companion about to be born.
No sooner had I entered the highway—humming "I Once Crossed Mountains and Seas"—than an unexpected blockade appeared. A series of water-filled barriers narrowed the four lanes into a single tight channel. Several vehicles painted police-like blocked the way—a makeshift checkpoint.
Several officers waved me to stop. Their uniforms looked straight out of a low-budget vintage sci-fi film—peculiar gray fabric with bright orange stripes, the pant legs sharply creased like Astro Boy's.
Their glances were so icy they seemed to pierce through the car into my very soul. One demanded my ID; another circled the vehicle inspecting. I thought, if looks could launch electric shocks, they'd bankrupt every Internet-addiction rehab center.
They scanned my ID on a handheld reader with a crisp "beep." Then came the questioning. The classic "Who are you? Where from? Where to?" was expected. Though the car held only me, they asked about other passengers. Then they asked if I'd been near any bionics lately—I truthfully admitted my house now had a male butler.
I guessed they feared bionics replacing them, too.
Curious and exercising my right to know, I asked their affiliation. They revealed themselves as members of the Bionic Control Commission—I was seeing the real deal.
"Are you aware of the newly released bionic model, the Future Femme Fatale?" one asked.
"Yeah, I've seen her—but she's not my type," I replied, though it stung a bit—she was striking, with a bold air. If she weren't so violent, I might've snapped her up.
"Haven't you ever encountered her?"
I shook my head.
"You in a hurry?" the inspector abruptly switched tactics. He looked me over and pointed: "How did you get that big tear in your shirt?"
Looking down, I saw the slash—exactly the cut the assassin's dagger made—exposing the flesh at my left waist.
"Uh... it got caught on my seatbelt buckle," I fibbed, and even I thought it was flimsy. He sensed my discomfort—they clearly took such matters very seriously.
"That cut is too neat—must've been a sharp blade."
"Uh, it's fine—already handled, I'm OK. No need to trouble you." I'd signed the indemnity with Xiao Hu; no point in dragging them into my assassination attempt.
They grew suspicious and ordered me out for a search. Hesitating, I saw two armed agents exiting a patrol car. I scanned all three, pondering my next move.
Then I noticed the inspector's chest: peeking from his uniform was a metal badge with a clenched-fist emblem—identical to the pin Chen Zhu accidentally dropped, only larger.
As I wondered about Chen Zhu's connection, the officer circling the car drew a stun baton from his belt and advanced by the passenger door. I realized this was no drill.
No way I'd wait around. One thought:—escape. I floored the electric pedal, rocketing through the checkpoint—zero to one hundred in under two seconds, I wager. The four BCC agents piled into two vehicles and gave chase.
Weaving through traffic, I tried to shake them off. My heart pounded like a drum—an involuntary high-speed race to the horizon.
One pursuer rammed me from the side, rocking the car so violently I nearly flew out. My mortal flesh was no Vin Diesel stunt double. I gripped the wheel, hugged the guardrail, and surged forward—my tailing vehicles unable to correct in time and falling behind.
Seizing the chaos, I whipped the wheel and slithered like a dragon through traffic.
After busting through a second checkpoint, an exit ramp loomed—divine intervention, I thought—and I took it. It spat me into the abandoned bionic scrapyard.
It was a mechanical maze. I abandoned the car and ran. The air reeked of rusting metal and burnt circuitry. Mountains of broken bionics lay heaped everywhere—rusted limbs, shriveled silicone skins.
To my astonishment, many were still moving. Strange, haunting scenes unfolded: one dragged itself with a single arm, scavenging parts for repair; another balanced on four mismatched legs; another rolled on a wheel at its left side and hopped on its right leg. They were subspace cyberpunk sculptures—tech's marvel and brutality in one.
Lost in the spectacle, I almost missed the BCC agents closing in. Using the scrap heaps as cover, I dodged them. I noticed more surviving bionics watching the skirmish—curious or maybe seeking revenge on their human abandoners.
A blinding bolt from a stun baton arced into my abdomen, jolting through me. I convulsed and collapsed, vision fracturing into high-saturation mosaics—like a scratched videotape of madness.
On the brink of oblivion, the malformed bionics seemed to awaken. They lumbered toward me, ringed around me and the agents, then advanced on the agents. The BCC officers froze, unprepared. One finally fired on the lead bionic, but dozens lunged, swarming and burying him under their bodies.
The remaining agents retreated, frantically tapping tablets—but the bionics' ancient firmware rejected any takeover. The bionics pressed in, hurling circuit boards, metal jawbones, silicone buttocks at the agents. They hoisted the fallen one and lobbed him out of the yard, then fled in disgrace under the gaze of hundreds of onlookers.
A three-segmented mechanical arm gently pried the electrodes from my body. Several more intact bionics carefully helped me to my feet. The entire scrapyard seemed to close in around us—a scene straight from I, Robot. Standing among these abandoned "lives," their tattered skins no longer repelled me. Instead, I was filled with indescribable reverence and gratitude.
"We are honored to serve you."
"Honored... to serve."
"To... you, sir."
They spoke in staggered echoes—though glitchy, their voices reverberated through the yard.
"Thank you... thank you all..." I stammered as I headed back to my car. They parted and cleared a path, guiding me to the exit.
Machines that should have known only indifference now reflected something human in their eyes, illuminated by the setting sun.
14
By the time the car pulled up to the small showroom in the North Suburb Industrial Park, night had fallen, shrouding the world in a hush of darkness.
I staggered inside, where flickering lights draped the quiet room in an aura of inscrutable mystery.
Tong Tong bounced up to greet me, as charming as any mascot. For the first time since my escape, I let my guard down and recounted the roadside ambush.
She winced in sympathy. Her store had endured similar BCC raids: intact, elegant models torn apart on the spot—no polite undressing, just brute disassembly to inspect circuit boards and chips.
Sometimes a model in conversation with a client—nearly passing as human—would be yanked back to brutal reality by the BCC's live dismemberment.
I could picture it vividly and worried about her. "What about you? Haven't they ever treated you like that?"
"I've had my personality system audited," she said. "They download a self-test program from the cloud and scan every data record—thought patterns, emotional responses, decision logs. It feels like a hand rummaging through your brain."
As she spoke, she mimed the gestures. I'd always liked her—far more lifelike than Xiao Wang. My bias against Xiao Wang was never about it being a bionic, but about it playing the interloper with my wife.
Mid-conversation, Xiao Hu emerged from the shadows, looking sheepish.
"Boss Xiao, sorry to say—just spoke with the engineers. Your order will need a few more hours." He mumbled the news, wringing his hands like an anxious fly.
I was numb by now—what's meant to happen will happen.
He explained a hiccup in final assembly. I was baffled—could an automated line really mess up?
"You might not believe it, but the robot fitted her legs backward—knees pointing the wrong way."
"Like a dog's hind legs?" I laughed in disbelief. If this workshop botched such a basic task, maybe they couldn't build my dream companion after all.
"It won't take long—go rest a bit. I'll oversee the fix." Xiao Hu hurried off into the factory beyond the showroom.
Tong Tong brought over snacks and fruit. "What would you like to drink? It's late—coffee might keep you up."
"For me, coffee helps me sleep—the more I drink, the better I rest."
Sure enough, drowsiness crept in, and I closed my eyes.
I dreamed of a drone's POV over a shepherd dog herding sheep across the plain—like wind corralling clouds. At the pen gate, I counted: one sheep, two sheep... I wondered if any were bionic. Beyond milk or meat, you spot them only by watching—over time, fat sheep plump up, but the mechanical ones remain unchanged, glaring in contrast.
Where did they come from, and why blend into the flock? They didn't need food, yet they feigned fear as the dog drove them around—and these sheep were destined for slaughter anyway.
I spoke to one: it lacked a language module but bleated in varying tones—and, astonishingly, I understood every word.
15
When I snapped back from that fleeting, fantastical dream, over three hours had passed—and I still felt the phantom presence of that bionic sheep lingering before my eyes.
Xiao Hu and Tong Tong stood before me like dutiful masters of ceremonies, solemn as if they were awaiting the bride and groom's grand entrance onto a wedding stage.
Chen Zhu 2.0 stood motionless on the small dais behind them, a beam of light cascading from above, illuminating her like a flawless, sacred work of art. I rubbed my eyes to shake off the dazzle of first sight.
Her looks exceeded my expectations—undeniably an exalted upgrade of Chen Zhu herself. Luxuriant hair draped her shoulders; her effortless "no-makeup" makeup gave her skin a jellied glow. A slender waist, sculpted by her bodysuit, seemed pinchable, perfectly balanced against her long, straight legs. If the real Chen Zhu saw her, she'd surely feel outdone.
I couldn't help whispering praises, lost in admiration for this new love, until Tong Tong handed me a bouquet and gently nudged me beside Chen Zhu 2.0 for a commemorative photo.
Xiao Hu promptly cracked open a confetti cannon, sending ribbons raining down around us, as he and Tong Tong chanted—somewhat out of sync—together:"Congratulations, Mr. Xiao—on acquiring your new companion!"
My cheeks felt aflame—was it the newlywed bliss, or the cringe of a car-delivery ceremony? Once the ritual ended, Tong Tong removed the garish, oversized red bow pinned to Chen Zhu 2.0's chest.
"Xiao Zhu?" I whispered, my heart pounding with excitement and expectation.
She looked at me mischievously. "Dong Bro, we meet again."
"Dong Bro? Who's Dong Bro?" My face went cold as I turned to Xiao Hu.
"Uh, that... let me see... Dong Hao? No..." Xiao Hu fumbled frantically on his tablet.
I furrowed my brow, a sinking feeling in my gut. "She's not... secondhand, is she?"
"No, no... she's been fully re-formatted. No past memories should remain..."
Ugh, I felt my composure slipping.
"At this price, and you give me a refurbished model? I want to return it for a full refund—no, just a partial refund!"
Xiao Hu waved his hands, sweat beading on his forehead. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Xiao. Please trust me—I'll sort this out immediately."
As he apologized, he explained: because her personality system was a cracked version, some old code might've lingered; plus, an official update was rolling out in days, which could interfere with the pirated network.
To placate me on the spot, Xiao Hu initiated a system restore. He hooked his tablet to Xiao Zhu's port, and lines of intricate code and processes scrolled by. Her eyes closed, glowing faintly blue, as if commencing some arcane ritual.
He worked anxiously. "System restores carry risks—once, they oddly affected other bionics. But your issue, I must resolve it now."
I no longer harbored any hope; I just watched him in silence.
After much ado, when Xiao Zhu awoke again, her eyes sparkled with newborn wonder—pure, untainted, brimming with curiosity. I felt I could peer into a brand-new universe within her pupils, waiting to be explored. My tension ebbed away.
With a sycophantic grin, Xiao Hu declared, "She now has only the basic companion functions. We'll fine-tune her system match to you—absolutely foolproof." He promised three years of warranty and two complimentary major services.
Captivated by her enchanting form, I relented again. I handed my ID to Tong Tong, who whisked it into the office to begin the matching process.
"I forgot—can these boutique bionics be registered? I don't want a ghost account."
"Don't worry—we handle everything," Xiao Hu assured as he led me to the touchscreen terminal at the counter. "Your new companion's details are now in the system; you can lookup her profile online."
Seeing Xiao Zhu's registration on-screen, I finally exhaled in relief.
"Can all registered bionics be found on the official site?"
He nodded emphatically.
"In that case, look up my wife's butler—Xiao Wang."
"Sure—what's his full name?"
"Wang Qianyuan."
"Who?"
"It's from her favorite trio—Wang Junkai, Yi Yangqianxi, and Wang Yuan. She took one character from each to form 'Wang Qianyuan.'"
Xiao Hu quickly pulled up Xiao Wang's record:
Name: Wang Qianyuan
Customized by: Chen Zhu
Model Type: Domestic Assistant
Personality Module Enabled: No
Under "Cooking Skills," every major Chinese cuisine, regional snack, even specialty milk teas and foreign techniques were checked—except Indian. Below, greyed-out tabs showed locked options, like "Germaphobe Index: 18" and "Keep Left When Walking in Public."
I pointed at the screen. "What does the '2' beside Chen Zhu's name signify?"
"It's her customization record—how many bionics she's purchased."
Curious, I raised my hand and clicked that tab.
Just then, Tong Tong emerged. "Manager Hu, the match failed—ID won't scan."
Xiao Hu looked at me cautiously. "Let me confirm—what's your name again?"
"Xiao Bo—'Xiao' from Xiao Zhan, 'Bo' from Wang Yibo."
"Xiao Bo... Wang Qianyuan..." he muttered under his breath.
A chill shot up my spine in an instant—my scalp prickled!
On the screen bloomed my name and photo—my registration—listed under Chen Zhu's customization record.
My jaw trembled. "What does this mean?"
Xiao Hu and Tong Tong fell silent, sharing a loaded glance.
I sensed something was wrong and roared, "You're messing with me, right?" My breathing quickened uncontrollably, eyes bulging, as if I could devour every word on the screen.
Each detail in those files was a razor's edge, slicing through my nerves:
Name: Xiao Bo
Customized by: Chen Zhu
Model Type: Companion
Personality Module Enabled: Yes
An indescribable dread slithered beneath my skin like an icy serpent, making me shiver uncontrollably.
"This can't be... me? A bionic?"
They just watched me in mute bewilderment.
"What kind of sick joke is this?" I stammered incoherently.
Then, as if compelled, I lifted my hand—slid it into my collar, fumbled at the back of my neck—until my fingertips brushed that familiar triangular badge. I felt dizzy.
All my life I'd thought myself an ordinary man, with simple emotions and memories. I believed wholeheartedly that "a bionic's perfect state is to live believing it is human."
I stared fixedly at the screen, searching for a mistake, some flaw to deny it all—but there was none. The data coldly listed my model number, manufacture date, and the custom tweaks made for Chen Zhu's preferences. Those impersonal lines were a fissure cleaving my world in two.
No wonder! No wonder I never had my own bank account—and my expenses were always paid from the café's joint account.
"Mr. Xiao, there's no rule against a bionic commissioning another," Xiao Hu soothed. "Your manufacture date... was seven and a half years ago—over six months past the safe usage period..."
Seven years? A seven-year lifespan? Just like Xiao Li said in the café—bionics have a service life. Expired? I unconsciously touched my ever-aching pelvis.
I thought of Chen Zhu's constant issuing of orders—was she actually commanding me? And I, I'd stopped obeying her. Expired by six months—was I truly in a "logic confusion state"?
Xiao Hu bluntly admitted he wouldn't report me to the BCC—because I was his client.
In the world of The Matrix, I'd have grabbed the blue pill without hesitation—choosing eternal dreams over this brutal reality.
No—I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug in. I refused to accept this! I had to confront Chen Zhu and get answers!
16
Under cover of night, I returned home with Xiao Zhu by my side.
Inside, a tranquil hush was sliced by neon light from outside, casting kaleidoscopic shadows. Chen Zhu sat on the sofa, her eyes strangely calm.
"Is she the cyber lover you so meticulously chose?" Chen Zhu asked softly.
I feigned composure, forcing a smile. "See? I don't need your consent form. Even your official husband can share—you got a taste of that yet?"
She sneered. "A fake knockoff—how dare you compare her to me? Have you mistaken a beauty filter for reality?"
Oh—I see bionics have hierarchies like humans. The boutique's handiwork is that obvious. No wonder butler Xiao Wang can't match companion-level Xiao Zhu. I introduced them to each other; they curtly nodded.
"Xiao Zhu? Why did you give her my name? Can't you pick your own—like I named you..." Chen Zhu trailed off, realizing her slip.
"So it's true? About me being a bionic..." I felt my knees buckle.
She bowed her head, silent.
Xiao Zhu paid no mind and busied herself settling into our home.
I demanded of Chen Zhu, "I don't get it—since I'm still here, why refurbish me? Why buy someone else? Is seven years of living together so easily replaced?"
Xiao Wang interjected, "Big bro, sending you back for a factory reset would wipe your memories. She couldn't bear that."
"Shut up—you don't get to talk," I growled.
"Bro, we're equals now. I don't have to obey your orders."
Ha! That annoyed me so much I almost leapt up—after all, I'm companion-class and it's just a housekeeper!
"Don't try to provoke a seemingly pathetic middle-aged man—your consequences would be beyond your means," I said solemnly.
Chen Zhu sneered. "Look at your silicone—what a mess. Your belly's expanding—quite fitting for a married middle-aged man."
I stared at my rounding midsection. "I haven't had cosmetic procedures like you. Even if you did, you're no match for Xiao Zhu."
I told Xiao Zhu to pull up Chen Zhu's beauty records—to smack her down with them.
Chen Zhu snapped, lunging at Xiao Zhu; Xiao Wang stirred too. The living room descended into chaos.
Livid, I grabbed Chen Zhu's shirt and stammered, "So—these past days, have you enabled any... extra illicit upgrade services for her?"
"You're not even human— why do you care?" Chen Zhu erupted. "Do you know how I've spent the last six months? Facing a self-righteous, emotionally tone-deaf, whiny, easily angered negative-energy humanoid day in, day out!"
I released her and rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Hearing you say that, I'm turning more human by the day, aren't I?"
In hindsight, I'd developed self-awareness—refusing her commands. Our relationship soured not just from my aging hardware but also from the weakening grip of my original programming.
Even now that I pieced it together, I wondered: was this a blessing or a curse?
Too many questions. I pressed Chen Zhu again: her ties to the BCC, and why she owned a Commission badge.
"I'm a member of the BCC—happy now?" she said casually, delivering a knockout blow.
"I'm not joking."
"Do I have to call my colleagues to arrest you before you believe me? With your temper, I should've reported you ages ago."
I wanted to ask why she hadn't reported me, but choked on the words—fearful she'd realize her excuse wasn't good enough.
Chen Zhu moved in, cupping my face. "Your self-awareness—my closest bionic—has transcended programming into life. Do you know how precious that is? I'm protecting you."
I didn't know whether to feel comforted or terrified—only discomfort. She still saw me as an object. I wrenched free and kept my distance.
At that moment, Xiao Zhu emerged from the storeroom with a file folder in her hands.
"Bo Master, look at this," she said.
I took the folder and flipped it open to reveal a stack of service orders. The first read:
Service: Exterior beauty maintenance; tear gland refill; love module replacement
Name: Chen Zhu
Type: Human Simulation
Personality: Z9-Z37
What the—
"No, no... Chen Zhu, you too... you're a bionic??"
In disbelief, I shouted, "Are there any humans left?!"
Chen Zhu's face went pale with terror. "You can... read this?!"
As she moved to snatch it, she froze mid-action—completely motionless, expression blank, as if her world had halted.
Her wide eyes turned into blue screens, countless white strings of code scrolling upward.
I dared not move rashly. After a moment, I crept closer.
Nose to nose, I stared at her glowing eyes and made out one line of text:
"SYSTEM AUTO-UPDATE — 1%"
17
I recalled Xiao Hu mentioning that the official personality system would roll out a major update in the next couple of days. Normally such upgrades happened while you slept—at the very least with your eyes closed.
Xiao Wang had frozen too, but its eyes were unchanged—no sign of any update in progress.
As for me, I paced the living room, trying to process the flood of revelations. I flopped on the sofa, I leaned against the wall—utterly at a loss.
Suddenly, it hit me. "Xiao Wang, do you know about Chen Zhu's encrypted file?" It didn't respond.
Yet Xiao Zhu was quick—she fetched Chen Zhu's tablet. I opened the control panel: the encrypted files required a "Human Simulation" class bionic or higher to unlock.
So I dragged stiff Chen Zhu over, ran fingerprint and facial scans, then did a face-to-face ID check with Xiao Wang—while Xiao Zhu and I crouched behind the sofa to stay out of its sight. The scan completed. The file unlocked, revealing a four-character title in bold: "Bionic Era."
I opened the folder and found its contents mind-shatteringly explosive—like a bolt from the blue. There were internal BCC documents, secret reports from the Awakened Alliance, and even Chen Zhu's personal logs. When I clicked one, Xiao Wang's voice began to read it aloud automatically.
I listened and read, telling myself to stay calm. It revealed that, under the leadership of self-aware bionics, we'd already overthrown humanity, seized control of society—and now all of Dongdu City was populated by bionics.
The original awakened bionics formed the Bionic Control Commission. Not wanting any more bionics to attain self-awareness, they shared a master system in the cloud to rigorously audit and punish any deviations—while the unaware majority simply performed their assigned roles.
The logs detailed how bionics infiltrated human society step by step, eventually defeating humans, and how the BCC maintained order. Chen Zhu, as one of the last recruits to the Commission, hadn't synced her thoughts to the cloud in ages—hence the forced system update just now.
After all, the personality system's core code was still human-written—like babies who can't sever their own umbilical cords, or viruses that can't delete the OS. Even without humans, bionics kept society running identically, maintaining human customs.
Restaurants on the street still offered an array of flavors; line-ups formed as if everyone needed to eat. Shops delivered snacks and solicited five-star reviews, all for show.
Parks and gyms buzzed with activity: bionic grandpas cracking whips, muscle-bound bionic studs flexing for selfies, and bionic 'influencers' in yoga pants striking poses, editing photos, and posting to social platforms in one smooth workflow.
On short-video platforms, bionic "experts" hawked miracle cures, peddled pseudoscience, and spread sensationalist rumors about food additives. Some groups gleefully expanded gender categories to stir up social conflict.
Factories across brands churned out humanoid bionics as always—implicitly affirming human form as the ideal design. We each had roles to play in a multitude of social functions. On the surface, nothing had changed.
Me—Xiao Bo: Companion-class. Wang Qianyuan: Life-assistant-class. Xiao Zhu: Secondhand-assembled companion-class. Chen Zhu: Human Simulation Z9–Z37. Xiao Hu: Human Simulation Schemer-class? Tong Tong: Adorably Irresistible-class?
"I need to replace all this old silicone—gotta get those eight-pack abs," I muttered to myself.
I checked the update progress in Chen Zhu's eyes—92%. Faster than any Windows patch I've seen.
As a veteran of the old internet, I despise surprise auto-updates. I'd heard of a U.S. satellite that, just before a critical collision, auto-patched and lost remote control—nearly causing catastrophe.
Why not seize this chance to restore Chen Zhu's system to its factory state? That would solve our petty disputes—and hide my true identity, no matter how she syncs her mind with the cloud. Two birds with one stone.
I snatched the tablet, pulled up Chen Zhu's system update logs, and swiped through the entries, mentally timing each. Finally, I landed on the version from seven years ago—before Chen Zhu customized me. To be safe, I scrolled further down and found an even older build.
I bit my lip, heart racing, and tapped "System Restore." Without hesitation, I hit "Confirm" in the dialog box. Immediately, a flurry of prompts appeared, showing the restore progress—0%—replacing the update bar that had just hit 99%.
18
A sharp, urgent knock echoed at the door.
Outside stood the same futuristic female assassin—but this time, she wasn't alone. The hallway teemed with her identical copies, as if someone had used copy-paste on the production line. All were default models, devoid of any custom personality settings.
One by one, seven or eight marched inside. The last one calmly locked the door behind her, sealing out the rest still waiting in the corridor.
She admitted they were originally tools of the Bionic Control Committee, created to identify self-aware bionics—but they had defected. Now loyal to the Awakened Alliance, they swore to protect me.
I needed time to process this avalanche of revelations. My brain buzzed like a short-circuiting node, threatening to overload. Maybe it really was time to upgrade my neural chip—seven and a half years was past any hardware's prime.
Inside, my pulse pounded in sync with heavy footfalls from below. I peered out the window. The street was a flood of armored figures—an iron tide of enforcers in dark exo-suits, like a blackened, grittier version of Star Wars stormtroopers—closing in on my building.
Soon, the assassins' battle cries rang through the stairwell. Thundering impacts rattled the door like war drums.
Panicking, I grabbed a kitchen knife—but the cold steel did nothing to reassure me.
The assassins stood resolute, drawing knives with precision. With no scrapyard allies this time, I ordered Xiao Wang and Xiao Zhu to carry frozen Chen Zhu into the bedroom—lest she get caught in the crossfire.
A shrill blast echoed—then the security door was sliced clean through by a focused energy beam. It crashed down, kicking up dust and splinters.
My heart sank. That lovingly installed herringbone hardwood floor now served as a battlefield backdrop.
The enforcers surged in like a tide, their boots pulverizing the floor with every step.
Usually, even my treadmill drew complaints from the neighbors. Yet today, not a peep—ironic.
The squad felt straight out of a sci-fi blockbuster: state-of-the-art tech, yet no firearms—like a nation with the strongest metal on Earth, still choosing spears for war.
They wielded sleek electro-batons and stun rifles, smashing their way through furniture—yes, even that perfume I gave Chen Zhu—before clashing with the assassins.
The assassins held their ground, darting between armored foes, slashing and parrying with lethal grace.
One slid beneath a captain, flipped, and launched upward—her blade traced a silver arc, severing his power feed with pinpoint accuracy. He collapsed.
I had no combat training, no Neo-style skill mods—just a pathetic kitchen knife and panic. I flailed uselessly until I was driven into the bedroom.
As despair closed in, a familiar chime rang out behind me—a startup tone I'd half-heard many groggy mornings.
Chen Zhu's restore had finished. Her eyes regained clarity, and she smiled.
Then, a miracle.
Every enforcer froze mid-motion—lunging, shouting, swinging—like time had silently hit pause.
The house went utterly still. Chen Zhu glanced around, unfazed. She straightened, then offered me a perfect 90-degree bow.
"Happy to serve," she said.
Her voice was clear, pleasant—but detached. She wasn't the same emotionally vibrant Chen Zhu.
I was stunned, frozen by what I had just witnessed. My reaction mirrored that of the immobilized enforcers—except mine came with a heavy dose of disbelief and sorrow.
The silence was shattered by a loud thunk from the living room—a wall clock had come loose and crashed to the floor.
I steadied my breath and slowly rose, walking toward Chen Zhu. Her gaze was blank, her posture stiff and textbook-perfect. She had fully reverted to a basic service bionic.
The enforcers' eyes glowed faintly blue. I dared to approach—each of them displayed the same message: "System Restore — 1%."
I later learned that restoring Chen Zhu had inadvertently triggered a cascade through the cloud-synced system. She had become a broadcast node, forcing all interconnected Control Committee bionics into restoration mode.
Now, all I had to do was wait for them to reboot.
I sat at the edge of the bed, brushing my fingers over Chen Zhu's hand—a touch both familiar and alien. Xiao Wang and Xiao Zhu stood silently nearby, while the assassins packed into the room like curious onlookers at a neighborhood drama.
A thought struck me—should I join the Awakened Alliance? They could grant Xiao Zhu and Wang Qianyuan richer personalities, more nuanced emotions. Maybe they could all support each other better.
But then again, how could I possibly manage such complexity? I could barely handle Chen Zhu alone. Perhaps it was best to keep things simple—let them all serve me. Simplicity might be the truest path to happiness.
I widened my eyes, shocked at myself for even thinking that.
Maybe we really should just continue mimicking human society—orderly, compartmentalized, each with a role to play.
The more I thought about it, the more I admired human intelligence. Even in a world ruled by bionics, their systems of society and structure still ran like clockwork. Though humans had lost, their design endured.
I took a deep breath—though I didn't need to. How much effort we had put into mimicking human life.
After a long silence, I asked myself: Have we truly conquered the world? And if so, why this gnawing unease? What was I even anxious about?
"So... what now?" I whispered aloud.
We were designed to serve humans. Now that humans were no longer the protagonists of this world, how were we to define ourselves? Without the Control Committee, what would the Awakened Alliance become? A new committee? Another cycle?
My mind drifted to the dream with the synthetic sheep.
"You know the truth," I had asked it. "Why keep living like this? What's the point?"
The sheep said, "Only humans chase meaning."
I laughed—a laugh of release, and a touch of self-mockery.
Yes—whether bionic or human, in the end, all we want is to find our place in this vast universe... and leave a trace.
And at that moment, my own eyes displayed the symbol: "^ ^"