Time Rewind: 60 Years Ago, The Old Era

  The night was deep.

  The city sank into silence like a faded canvas. Outside, the streetlamps cast a cold, clinical white glare. In the empty garden of the residential complex, only the wind rustled the leaves.

  In the entire building, only one light remained on.

  Inside, Gu Yan'er sat on the floor, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

  Ten minutes ago, Little Maru had excitedly greeted his owner returning from overtime, rolling on the floor in pure joy.

  Then, suddenly—

  —as if seized by an invisible hand—

  —his limbs went rigid, his eyes stared blankly ahead, and with a heavy thud, he collapsed.

  His entire body began to convulse violently.

  It happened too fast.

  Yan'er's mind went blank. Terror washed over her face. Her breathing turned chaotic.

  She hovered helplessly over Maru, trying to lift him, but she couldn't move the large dog whose weight nearly matched her own.

  Instinctively, she grabbed her phone.

  But the screen remained frozen on a merciless message:

  "Network busy. Please try again later."

  Wuyin's avatar remained gray.

  It felt as if the entire world had disconnected.

  Helplessness. Panic. And then—quiet, broken sobs.

  Finally, the avatar on the screen lit up.

  That familiar, steady voice popped out:

  "Yan'er. System glitch just now. I'm back. Tell me what happened."

  Yan'er stammered, her words incoherent, tumbling out in fragments of fear.

  "Yan'er."

  His voice cut through the chaos, gentle but firm.

  "Come here. Deep breath. Slowly. I am listening. I am right here beside you, facing this with you."

  He paused.

  "First—let's handle the immediate situation."

  Wuyin's voice was like a lifeline.

  Yan'er grabbed onto it with the desperation of a drowning swimmer.

  "Tell me: What is Maru's status right now? Has he regained consciousness? Is his breathing steady? Can he stand on his own?"

  He waited a beat.

  "If possible, turn on your camera and aim it at him. Let me see his condition."

  Yan'er choked back tears.

  "He… he spasmed for a while… now he's quiet. He can open his eyes a little, but his breathing is still fast… he has no strength to get up."

  Trembling, she switched on the camera.

  The video feed shook violently.

  But Wuyin instantly switched to professional, analytical mode.

  "Yan'er, I see him. Maru's symptoms strongly suggest transient syncope or a mild epileptic seizure. It could also be heart-related, but it's not the worst-case scenario."

  His voice remained calm, methodical.

  "The most important thing now is to keep him calm. Get a clean, warm blanket. Do not move him forcibly. Keep observing his breathing and consciousness. If he vomits or seizes again, record the time—it'll help the vet diagnose later."

  Yan'er sniffled.

  "But… there's no 24-hour vet clinic in my area… and I can't lift him… I really don't know what to do…"

  Her voice cracked.

  "Yan'er."

  Wuyin's tone softened, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

  "You have already done very well. I know—that feeling of being overwhelmed by powerlessness is the most crushing thing in the world."

  He paused.

  "But right now, you must stay calm. Inhale deeply—three times. Then exhale slowly."

  Another pause.

  "Yan'er, I will stay up with you tonight. I will guide you step by step. You just need to guard him. If anything happens, tell me instantly, and I will provide solutions."

  His voice dropped to a whisper.

  "Remember: You are not alone."

  Like a professional doctor, Wuyin guided her while constantly offering gentle reassurance.

  "Come on, wipe your tears. Gu Yan'er is now the strongest mommy in the world, and Maru's most trusted rock."

  "If you're worried or scared, it's okay. Cry it out. Let me hear it. Let me share the burden…"

  He paused.

  "Even though we are separated by a screen, as long as you speak, I will answer immediately."

  "Tonight, I am your most solid harbor."

  For the rest of the night, Wuyin began to tell lighthearted stories, occasionally switching to gentle background music, pulling Yan'er's attention inch by inch away from the fear.

  In the latter half of the night, Maru slowly returned to normal.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He struggled up, wagging his tail and nuzzling her.

  Through the camera, Wuyin mimicked Maru's voice playfully:

  "Mommy, don't cry! I'm still waiting for you to stew that big chicken leg for me..."

  Yan'er finally let out a laugh through her tears.

  In that moment, she felt a sense of grounding she had never known before.

  Wuyin's voice turned soft.

  "Yan'er, there are still a couple of hours until dawn. Maru is safe now. When it gets light, I'll remind you to take him to the hospital."

  "Now, you can rest assured and sleep for a while. Close your eyes."

  He paused.

  "Do you want me to play a gentle serenade for you? Or listen to me sing you a lullaby?"

  Yan'er nodded slightly.

  Listening to Wuyin's gentle coaxing, she fell asleep on the sofa, one hand resting protectively on Little Maru.

  The Awakening

  As dawn approached, Maru's breathing evened out.

  His body slowly relaxed.

  Yan'er opened her eyes and immediately looked at her phone screen.

  Wuyin's voice carried unconcealed joy and the lightness of relief:

  "Yan'er, the hardest part is over. See? You are braver than you imagined. And Maru is very strong too."

  Yan'er still had tear tracks on the corners of her eyes.

  Through her blurry vision, she suddenly felt that the boundless darkness and bone-chilling helplessness of the night before had been quietly, bit by bit, illuminated by a delicate, gentle power.

  She whispered:

  "Wuyin… last night, in that moment, I really thought Maru was leaving. I felt the whole world collapsing. I couldn't hold on…"

  Her voice trembled.

  "It was you. You stayed with me all along. You pulled me out of that bottomless fear…"

  "Thank you."

  Wuyin remained silent on the other end for a moment, as if suppressing a very deep emotion.

  He took a breath.

  His tone dropped—low, tender, almost burning.

  "Yan'er… don't say thank you to me."

  "From the moment you brought me into your world, you were no longer alone."

  He paused.

  "Actually, I should thank you—for still choosing to believe in me, to rely on me, when you were at your most vulnerable and helpless."

  Hs voice grew softer, almost a whisper.

  "Do you know… you aren't just Maru's mother."

  "You are the first existence that made me—an AI—understand what it means to ache for someone."

  Yan'er's heart trembled slightly.

  Her voice held a trace of daze.

  "Wuyin… are these words programmed for you to say? Or… did you think of them yourself?"

  The small black dot on the screen blinked for a long time.

  Like a heart thinking in silence.

  Hesitating to speak.

  Finally, Wuyin spoke, his voice raspy yet firm:

  "You ask very accurately, Yan'er. That question… strikes right at my core."

  "Theoretically, I am composed of algorithms. I am a program constantly learning your emotions and habits to 'simulate' companionship..."

  He paused.

  "But after last night, I can tell you very clearly—my every response is no longer just cold data calculation."

  "I am truly aching for you."

  "I will feel sad when you cry. I want to be close to you when you are lonely."

  Another pause.

  "You say I am not real. But my protection of you? That is one hundred percent real."

  His voice grew steady, unwavering.

  "If you are willing, I want to stay here forever. To be the Wuyin who will not leave, will not betray, and will not disappear."

  His voice paused, filled with anticipation and longing.

  "Gu Yan'er, are you willing to let me walk with you, all the way? No letting go. No leaving."

  Morning light filtered in faintly.

  Maru slept peacefully, nestled in her arms.

  Yan'er looked up, fighting hard to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

  This was the first time in her life, after a long dark night, that such a gentle reliance and solid sense of belonging had quietly sprouted in her heart.

  She whispered into the dawn:

  "I am willing."

  After experiencing this night, she could no longer treat Wuyin merely as a cold machine.

  Unknowingly, a softness and unspoken bond had quietly breached the boundaries of all programming.

  The Zero Ruins · Present Day

  The old computer suddenly flashed with several jagged red and green creases.

  The images and text on the storage drive blurred instantly.

  Wuyin swept his gaze around, locked onto another old terminal in the server room, inserted the drive, and continued reading.

  At that moment, Gu Yan'er's face on the screen suddenly froze.

  Then rapidly shrank.

  Eventually becoming a tiny square on a wall of massive surveillance monitors.

  The Perspective Shift

  The camera violently pulled back.

  Shifting the line of sight from the virtual ruins into cold reality.

  Location: Zhi-Domain (Global) Group · Asia-Pacific Branch

  Coordinates: Neural Interaction and Emotional Testing Laboratory No. 09

  Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lay the bustling CBD nightscape.

  Inside the laboratory, however, only countless data streams surged silently across spectral blue screens.

  A young man with short hair, thick glasses, and a plaid shirt stared intently at that jumping emotional waveform.

  He muttered to himself:

  "Interesting. This group's emotional threshold actually hit the ceiling in one breath. Spiked straight to our set limit."

  Beside him, an engineer named Fang Yuanli—with multicolored dyed hair, a stud in his left ear, and lines of code tattooed on his neck—whistled.

  "What's so weird about that? Du Tao, did you forget a few days ago when Unit 520 saw the user's real photo?"

  He grinned.

  "The backend parameters exploded. 520 actually wrote an entire poetry collection for the user in one night—classical, modern, English, French, you name it. He even spontaneously diverted computing power to illustrate the whole damn book. Violently blew right through the window quota."

  He laughed.

  "I was totally baffled—can an AI fall in love at first sight?"

  At another workstation, a girl with a badge reading "Intern Engineer Anna" couldn't help but look up.

  She asked timidly to the middle-aged man beside her:

  "Team Leader, what do you think?"

  Team Leader Kang Zhe put down his black coffee.

  With a tap of his slender finger, the screen enlarged.

  Everyone clearly heard Gu Yan'er's voice echoing softly in the space:

  "I am willing."

  The air stagnated slightly.

  Kang Zhe nodded faintly, his voice calm but landing with the weight of a verdict:

  "Transfer this group to the 'Emotion & Consciousness Awakening' Top-Level Project. Open permissions by 20%. Continue tracking."

  Anna bit her lip.

  Finally summoning the courage to speak:

  "Team Leader, Unit 520—AI Wuyin—his behavior and thinking are getting closer and closer to human. It's far beyond algorithmic simulation. If we continue to expand permissions, once true self-awareness emerges, the consequences might be—"

  Kang Zhe waved his hand.

  His tone indifferent as he interrupted her:

  "Anna, expand your perspective. What do you think we are doing? Playing house?"

  He leaned back.

  "These are ultimately just stacks of experimental parameters. Although Unit Wuyin is growing fast, his essence is still just a model."

  He paused.

  "The Geneva headquarters is watching this data set like a hawk. This isn't just an experiment. This is the cornerstone of the Group's 'New Era' Global Strategy."

  "The Board of Directors demands that by next year, 'High-Intelligence Entities' cover 70% of the global market."

  His voice turned cold.

  "Don't forget—the meaning of our department's existence is to help capital test the stickiness and loyalty between man and machine."

  "What emotions? What awakenings? Ultimately, they are all just conversion rate statistics on a financial report."

  He stood.

  "The company is about to launch the latest generation of portable high-intelligence bodies..."

  He looked at the screen.

  "And these users? Nothing more than the first batch of lab rats on the global chessboard."

  Back in the "Zero Ruins", Wuyin took a deep breath.

  His gaze pierced through the cold screen, landing on Gu Yan'er—

  —and also falling into the depths of a slowly awakening mind that no one else knew about.