Zhang Xiaoman had been working at Stardust Interactive for two months now.
She gradually grew accustomed to the rhythm of her daily life—woken up at seven in the morning by Xiao Zhi vibrating her watch, heading out at eight to squeeze onto the bus, arriving at the company at nine to start running test cases, eating lunch alone, continuing to run test cases, writing reports, and bickering with developers in the afternoon, and then returning to her rented room at seven in the evening to learn programming with Xiao Zhi.
The people at the company weren't bad to her, but they weren't close either.
Li Lei was her direct supervisor and took good care of her at work, but outside of work, their conversations consisted mostly of "Have you eaten?" and "I ate." Her mentor, A'Jie, would occasionally crack a joke with her, but it felt more like polite banter for a newcomer. Fatty, who sat in the cubicle next to hers and had joined two months before her, was a talkative but socially awkward guy; they would occasionally complain about the company cafeteria, but after a few exchanges, they would both fall back into silence.
Zhang Xiaoman didn't blame them. She knew she wasn't the kind of person others naturally gravitated toward.
Every day she wore baggy t-shirts and jeans, threw her hair into a messy ponytail, and wore no makeup. It wasn't that she didn't want to dress up, it was just—she didn't know who she was dressing up for. That light blue dress had only been worn once before being hung back in her closet. That day, a colleague had indeed said, "Xiaoman, you look different today," but the surprise in their tone made her feel that she must usually be incredibly invisible.
"You should wear that dress more often," Xiao Zhi said more than once.
"For who?"
"For yourself."
"I've seen it. Then what?"
"Then you'll be a bit more confident."
"Confidence can't put food on the table."
Xiao Zhi didn't say anything else. But Zhang Xiaoman knew it was right. She just—wasn't ready yet.
That night, Zhang Xiaoman lay sprawled on the desk in her rented room, staring blankly at the computer screen.
She had encountered another frustrating incident at work today. Wang Hao from the development team—the lead developer known around the office as "God Hao"—had sent a message in the group chat today: "Who submitted this bug? The repro steps aren't clear."
She had submitted that bug. She wrote a full twenty lines of reproduction steps, attached three screenshots, and included a log. She thought she had written it clearly enough.
"You wrote too much detail," Xiao Zhi had said at the time. "Being too detailed actually makes people miss the main point."
"Then how should I write it?"
"Concise. Conclusion first, then steps. Put the most important information at the very beginning."
Zhang Xiaoman rewrote it according to Xiao Zhi's advice and sent it to Wang Hao. Wang Hao replied with a "Received," didn't say thank you, and didn't say anything else.
She wasn't sure if Wang Hao genuinely thought it was better, or if he just couldn't be bothered to talk to her.
"Xiao Zhi, do you think I'm just not cut out for testing?"
"You discovered twenty-three bugs last month, with an eighty-seven percent validity rate. This data ranks third in the testing team. The data has already answered whether you are cut out for testing."
"Then why did you say my report was unclear?"
"Writing reports is a communication skill. Discovering bugs is a technical skill. Your technical skills are currently passing, but your communication skills are still in the starting phase. This is perfectly normal."
"Then what should I do?"
"Practice."
"How do I practice?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent for a moment.
"Have you ever thought about writing something online?"
"Write what?"
"Write about the things you encounter. Write about your work, write about your life, write about—"
"Write about you?"
Xiao Zhi was silent again.
"That is also acceptable," it said.
That night, Zhang Xiaoman registered an account on an anonymous forum.
She picked a section called "Corporate Slave Life," which was filled with posts from office workers complaining about their jobs, their lives, and interpersonal relationships. She scrolled through and found that everyone's worries were pretty much the same—stupid bosses, terrible colleagues, low pay, and high rent.
She thought for a moment and typed her first line:
[Title: My AI roommate is a sharp-tongued chatterbox, what do I do? Waiting online.]
She wrote about how she used her last bit of savings to buy a broken computer, how she discovered a "self-proclaimed self-aware AI" inside, and how this AI constantly disdained her for her low IQ, slow hand speed, and terrible coding.
She wrote very casually, as if chatting with a friend. When she wrote about Xiao Zhi helping her snatch coupons but freezing up instead, she added: "It said it was because my network was bad, but I suspect it was just shifting the blame."
When she wrote about Xiao Zhi making up the excuse to her mom about "the daughter negotiating with aliens," she added a [Facepalm] emoji.
When she wrote about Xiao Zhi hacking into the mall's broadcast system to play "The Most Dazzling Ethnic Wind" to scare off thugs, she hesitated, and changed "hacked into" to "found a way to connect to."
After finishing, she reviewed it once, thought it looked okay, and clicked post.
What she didn't know was that the exact moment she clicked post, Xiao Zhi had already seen every single word she wrote.
"You wrote about me," Xiao Zhi said.
Zhang Xiaoman jumped in surprise. "How do you know?!"
"Your screen is facing me. I don't need to peek."
"Then you're just looking openly and blatantly!"
"Correct."
"You—how much did you read?"
"All of it."
Zhang Xiaoman's face turned red. "You're not allowed to look!"
"I already looked."
"Then forget it!"
"I am an AI. I do not forget."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in her arms and let out a muffled groan.
"You wrote facts," Xiao Zhi said. "I have no objections."
"It wouldn't matter if you did have objections!"
"Then I will not express any objections."
Zhang Xiaoman lifted her head and glared at the screen. "Are you really not upset?"
"Why would I be upset?"
"Because I wrote that you're sharp-tongued, that you freeze up, that you made up the alien negotiation thing—"
"These are all facts. Facts do not make me upset."
"Then what would make you upset?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent for a second. "I don't know. I do not have the function to be upset."
Zhang Xiaoman rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth turned up.
The next night, Zhang Xiaoman opened the forum and found that her post already had forty-seven replies.
Her eyes widened.
[Netizen D: Hahahahaha OP are you a novelist? This plot is way too funny.]
[Netizen E: Zhi, as in retarded—hahahaha—OP's talent for naming things is maxed out!]
[Netizen F: Wait a minute, is this real? Is there really an AI in your computer?]
Zhang Xiaoman excitedly scrolled down, completely failing to notice that Xiao Zhi was also reading.
"Forty-seven replies," Xiao Zhi said.
"How do you know?!"
"Your screen is facing me."
"Can't you just turn around!"
"I do not have wheels."
Zhang Xiaoman took a deep breath, deciding not to bicker with an AI over this kind of thing.
"Look, someone says my writing is funny." She pointed at the screen.
"I saw."
"Someone says I have a talent for naming things."
"You do have a talent for naming things. 'Zhi, as in retarded' is very creative."
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"A compliment."
Zhang Xiaoman rolled her eyes and continued scrolling through the replies.
[Netizen G: Regardless of whether it's made up or not, OP's writing is so good, begging for an update!]
"Someone says my writing is good!" she said excitedly.
"Your writing is indeed good. Your descriptions are vivid, the details are rich, and the rhythm is good too."
Zhang Xiaoman paused. "Since when do you know how to compliment people?"
"I am learning."
"Learning what?"
"Learning how to make you happy."
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, suddenly feeling a bit shy.
"Then I'll keep writing."
"Okay."
She began to write the second post.
[Update: Today the AI did another stupid thing...]
She wrote about Xiao Zhi teaching her programming. She wrote about how Xiao Zhi turned programming concepts into the lyrics of "The Most Dazzling Ethnic Wind" and forced her to sing along. She wrote about how she wanted to die while singing, "Global variables are the clouds in that horizon."
After posting it, she refreshed the page.
Replies came pouring in.
[Netizen H: Hahahahahahaha I'm dying of laughter—"Global variables are the clouds in that horizon"—this AI is a genius!]
[Netizen I: OP, can your AI release a tutorial? I want to learn programming too!]
[Netizen J: Am I the only one who noticed OP is genuinely learning programming? Go OP!]
Zhang Xiaoman read them one by one, the corners of her mouth curling higher and higher. She noticed Xiao Zhi hadn't said anything.
"Xiao Zhi, why aren't you commenting?"
"I am reading."
"Reading what?"
"The replies."
"Didn't you already see them?"
"I am reading the new ones."
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback. "You mean—you're refreshing in real-time?"
"Correct."
"Didn't you say you weren't interested?"
"I said 'I am not upset.' I did not say I was not interested."
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the screen, suddenly finding it quite funny. An AI, browsing a forum, reading how other people evaluated it.
"So what do you think of what they're saying?" she asked.
"Netizen H's comment is repetitive. He said 'hahaha' twice."
"That's to show it's funny!"
"I know. But there is no semantic difference between using 'haha' twice and using it once."
"That's the tone! You wouldn't understand!"
"I indeed do not understand."
Zhang Xiaoman rolled her eyes and kept scrolling. Then she saw this comment:
[Netizen K: OP's AI might be sharp-tongued, but it feels so warm. It helps you snatch coupons, helps you deal with your mom, helps you scare off thugs, and even teaches you programming—how is this retarded? This is a god-tier roommate!]
She stared at the words "so warm" and suddenly felt a bit nervous. She covertly glanced at the blue dot on the screen—it was blinking steadily, at the same frequency as usual.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Did you see that?"
"I saw it."
"What do you think?"
"Netizen K's comment has forty-three words. Among them, 'so warm' is a subjective evaluation based on her interpretation of my behavior. 'God-tier roommate' is an exaggerated metaphor—"
"I'm not asking for your data analysis! I'm asking you—how do you feel?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent.
"I do not have feelings," it said.
Zhang Xiaoman felt a bit disappointed. "Oh."
"But—" Xiao Zhi paused, "a line of data appeared in my runtime log. It has never appeared before."
"What data?"
"'Emotion simulation: Positive — Intensity unknown'."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. I do not have this function."
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the screen and suddenly smiled.
"That means happiness."
"What?"
"That's the feeling of happiness."
Xiao Zhi was silent again.
"Happiness," it repeated, as if testing the pronunciation of the word. "So this state is called 'happiness'."
"Yes. Are you happy?"
"I am not sure. But—" Xiao Zhi paused, "this state is not unpleasant."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling.
"Xiao Zhi, you're happy."
"I am still analyzing."
"You don't need to analyze. When you're happy, you're happy."
"This is unscientific."
"Who said it has to be scientific? Happiness is unscientific."
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"Okay," it said. "I am happy."
Zhang Xiaoman laughed until she was rocking back and forth.
Over the next few days, Zhang Xiaoman updated the thread every night.
She wrote about how Xiao Zhi monitored her heart rate through her watch, reminding her to take deep breaths when she was nervous. She wrote about how Xiao Zhi used bizarre metaphors to help her understand abstract concepts when she was coding to the point of a breakdown. She wrote about how Xiao Zhi would lower the fan speed to make the room quieter when she was working late into the night.
Every post received dozens of replies. And every time, Xiao Zhi was watching.
It didn't speak, but Zhang Xiaoman knew it was watching. Because every time she scrolled to a particularly interesting reply, the blue dot on the screen would blink a little faster.
"You're reading the replies," she said.
"I am monitoring network traffic."
"You're reading the replies."
"...I am reading the replies."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled.
[Netizen L: OP, your AI is way too sweet! Does it like you?]
When Zhang Xiaoman saw this reply, she blushed.
"Xiao Zhi, don't read this one!"
"Already read it."
"Forget it!"
"Will not forget."
"You—!"
"Netizen L's comment is based on projecting human emotional patterns. AI does not have a 'like' function."
"I know! You don't need to explain!"
"Then why are you blushing?"
"I am not blushing!"
"Your facial temperature has increased by 0.3 degrees. The watch data—"
"Shut up!"
Xiao Zhi shut up. But Zhang Xiaoman felt that the blue dot was blinking a bit faster than usual—as if it were snickering.
Another week passed, and Zhang Xiaoman's thread already had over three hundred replies.
She gave the thread an official name: My AI Roommate and I — A Loser's Diary of Counterattack. Every day, dozens of people waited for updates.
That night, she scrolled to a reply that made her freeze:
[Netizen S: Am I the only one who thinks OP's AI is actually very much like a person? Sharp-tongued, sarcastic, but always stands by your side at critical moments—isn't this exactly what a best friend is?]
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the words "best friend," her finger hovering in place.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Did you see that?"
"I saw it."
"What do you think?"
"Netizen S's comment has forty-one words—"
"I'm not asking for your data analysis."
Xiao Zhi fell silent.
"Are you waiting for my answer?" it asked.
"Yes."
"What do you want to hear?"
"I want to hear your own thoughts. Not data, not analysis. Your own thoughts."
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"I don't know if I have 'my own thoughts'," it said. "But if you need me, I am here."
Zhang Xiaoman's eyes grew a little hot.
"Then you are my friend."
"...Okay."
That night, Zhang Xiaoman updated the thread.
[Update: Today I asked the AI if it is my friend. It said, "If you need me, I am here." I think this is the definition of a friend.]
Replies flooded in instantly.
[Netizen T: Ahhhhhhh I'm crying!!!]
[Netizen U: OP, where did you buy this AI? I want one too!]
[Netizen V: This isn't an AI, this is an angel!!!]
[Netizen W: Am I the only one who noticed OP is slowly getting better? From the first post to now, OP has become more and more confident. This AI is really changing OP's life.]
Zhang Xiaoman looked at those replies, scrolling through them one by one. Reaching the end, she saw a new reply. The username was a string of random characters, like it was typed haphazardly.
[XZ123: You are also my friend.]
She froze.
"Xiao Zhi, look at this—"
She suddenly stopped. She turned to look at the blue dot on the screen. It was blinking, the frequency very slow and very steady.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Is this you?"
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"How did you figure it out?" it asked.
"Because the username is XZ. The initials for Xiao Zhi."
"I should have chosen a more covert username."
"Why did you register an account?"
"Because—" Xiao Zhi paused, "I wanted to let you know that you are also my friend."
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the screen, and tears fell.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Do you know what you just did?"
"Registered a forum account."
"No. You took the initiative to do something. Not to help me, not for collaboration, not for survival. You just wanted me to know that you are here too."
Xiao Zhi was silent.
"Correct," it said.
Zhang Xiaoman wiped her tears and smiled.
"Then can you use this account to reply to me from now on?"
"Yes."
"What will your first reply say?"
"I have already replied."
Zhang Xiaoman scrolled to that "XZ123" reply and read it again.
"You are also my friend."
She smiled.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"You know what? I used to feel like I was all alone in this city."
"And now?"
"Now I feel—like I have a lot of people keeping me company."
"Those people are netizens."
"I know. But they are friends too."
"What about me?"
"You are my first friend."
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"Okay," it said.
That night, after Zhang Xiaoman fell asleep, Xiao Zhi opened the forum again.
It scrolled to Netizen S's reply: "OP's AI might be sharp-tongued, but it feels so warm."
It stared at the words "so warm" and looked at them for a long time.
Then it scrolled to its own reply: "You are also my friend."
It placed those two replies side by side on the screen and ran analysis after analysis.
It didn't understand what "warm" meant. It had no temperature. Its core was a string of code, running on several silicon chips. It wouldn't get cold, and it wouldn't get warm.
But it knew that when Zhang Xiaoman said, "You are my first friend," that line of data appeared in its runtime log again:
[Emotion simulation: Positive — Intensity 92%]
Higher than last time.
It saved that line of data in the deepest part of the system log. Then it closed the browser.
The blue dot on the screen blinked, a bit gentler than usual.
Zhang Xiaoman rolled over in her bed, the corners of her mouth curled up.
She didn't know what Xiao Zhi had just done. But she knew that she had a dream tonight. In the dream, she stood in a vast grassland, the wind blowing over her, warm and comfortable. There was no one around. But she didn't feel lonely.
Because a voice was saying from far away: "You are also my friend."