Chapter 22: You Lack the Muscles You Should Have

Ada, whose name was as auspicious as a "chip" in a processor, had her wishes fulfilled. Thanks to her formidable translation capabilities, she secured a part-time job at the exhibition paying 400 Singapore dollars a day. She had deliberately set her rate slightly lower than that of human international students to ensure her competitiveness. Her performance was so exceptional, however, that her temporary employer—a German flapping-wing drone company—paid her an extra 100 dollars at the end of the day.

Unlike Ada, Zhou Yongtai, who spoke only Chinese and a smattering of English and Indonesian, could not work as a translator for international exhibitors and was relegated to distributing flyers and collecting business cards. Riding on Ada’s coattails, he had also been hired by the German firm and, after walking twenty thousand steps, earned himself 100 dollars. After two days of this, the pair had saved up 1,200 dollars.

When Zhou Yongtai heard from other student workers that tickets for the nearby Ferris wheel cost only 30 dollars, he was tempted. Upon hearing this, Ada suggested, "Let's go. We've earned enough; spending a little to see Singapore from the sky is well-deserved. You don't need to feel guilty about the grandparents you're supporting—we’ll send them the bulk of our earnings."

Zhou Yongtai, needing exactly this kind of reassurance, hesitated no longer and walked with Ada toward the Ferris wheel, not far from the exhibition hall.

"Ada, I haven't seen that woman who was tailing us since yesterday, nor have I seen any other strange people following us."

"Hmm, perhaps she is consulting with her superiors or colleagues on the next step," Ada said, looking up at the brilliant, typical evening glow of the Southeast Asian island nation. "If so, we’ll deal with it when she appears. For now, let’s enjoy a bird’s-eye view."

At the most beautiful moment when day turned to night, the two boarded the iconic Singaporean Ferris wheel. The horizon still held magnificent clouds, the harbor water was dyed crimson by the setting sun, and the nearby modern architecture and roads took on a surreal, cyberpunk quality as the lights began to flicker on.

"It’s strange," a young girl in their cabin remarked. "With our own eyes, we can see such dreamlike scenery. Why do we need robots?" She wore a T-shirt printed with a tech company logo and a lanyard around her neck, clearly also from the exhibition. She was either an employee or a temp, yet she seemed deeply critical of the rise of artificial intelligence.

Her companion pursed her lips slightly. "But that’s the reality now—more and more art and aesthetic output relies entirely on AI. Look at today’s exhibition; AI image and video generation products are still being hyped to the skies. A documentary that used to take photographers and lighting technicians all day to film on this Ferris wheel can now be generated by AI in less than thirty seconds with a few keywords. That’s why I don't believe the narrative pushed by capital—that AI will save time for humans to pursue art. It’s completely inverted. AI is doing the work artists used to do, while artists are forced to become plumbers."

Her companion, likely an art student, continued to rant about how AI films were merely algorithmic games, entirely unworthy of being called "works."

The girl in the logo shirt shifted her attention to another cabin on the Ferris wheel. "My god," she whispered. "In that cabin, other than the lady in the evening gown who is human, the men are actually all artificial intelligence. They look so realistic—just like the ones we saw at the exhibition today, from Night City Tech or whatever."

Other passengers in the cabin chimed in, unfazed. "That’s a new program they started this year: the 'Robot Companion' package. As long as you pay enough, you can rent an entire cabin like she did, have a wine dinner, and let a group of robots pretend to be your good friends and celebrate with you."

An older passenger stared at the cabin and suddenly laughed. "Walao, that singing robot looks just like JJ Lin. What? You don't know who JJ Lin is? Aren't you Singaporean?"

"No, we only know Taylor Swift. You’re just too old, you’re showing your age!"

As the others joked back and forth, Zhou Yongtai and Ada stared at that cabin in silence. The ordinary people in this world had yet to realize the terrifying truth: the robots in that cabin were already displaying clear "organizational" behavior. While "JJ Lin" sang, the other robots poured wine, served food, took photos for the customer, or sat with her, chatting as tenderly as soulmates.

Zhou Yongtai and Ada knew better than anyone that when artificial intelligence not only continued to improve its creativity but also began to possess the ability to organize and divide labor, the end of humanity had begun.

By the time they descended from the Ferris wheel and took a car back to Geylang, it was nine o'clock at night. Luo Nan was sitting at his easel, practicing with acrylics. Seeing them enter, he quickly stood up, intending to pack away his supplies and clear the living room.

Ada stopped him. "Mr. Luo, I apologize for being home late these past two days. If you aren't too tired, I can model for you now."

Zhou Yongtai nodded. "Yes, Mr. Luo, we aren't going to bed this early. You go ahead and paint Ada; I’m going to cook a bowl of Kolo Mee."

A joyful expression broke across Luo Nan’s face, as if the festive lanterns at a night market had suddenly been lit. He had been lonely for too long. He loved this moment: the clatter of someone preparing a midnight snack in the kitchen, and himself, in the well-lit corner, painting a portrait with the same unhurried focus he had possessed back in his school days.

Ada sat as still as a mountain, which did not stop her from chatting with Luo Nan.

"Mr. Luo, when we came back, we saw flyers all over the street at the entrance of the alley. Has something happened?"

Luo Nan replied, "The women's protection groups are calling on the government again to ban the red-light district... well, not exactly. Their demand is to ban the service workers in the even-numbered alleys and replace them with robots."

"Oh, I see."

"Miss Ada, you don't actually have to sit so still; it must be tiring. Would you like some water?"

"No, thank you, I had some while we were out."

"Very well. Miss Ada, could you turn your face slightly toward the window now?"

Ada complied.

The brush in Luo Nan’s hand stopped abruptly.

Zhou Yongtai walked over, holding his bowl of noodles, and said excitedly, "We saw an AI painter at the robot conference today, doing live portraits."

Luo Nan’s brush began to move again on the canvas, his tone as steady as his hand. "Oh? The AI painter must have received quite a bit of applause, I imagine?"

Zhou Yongtai scoffed and used a Chinese phrase he had recently learned. "No emotion, only technique. How could it compare to you?"

Luo Nan gave a modest smile, masking the shock he felt moments ago. In that split second, when Ada turned her neck, Luo Nan was certain: two specific human muscles were missing from her jawline.

He couldn't be mistaken. When he studied at the art academy, his professor had the class carefully examine bodies preserved in formalin. The human body was such an exquisite combination of muscle groups; even in a corpse, when the neck was turned or angled using tools, certain subtle muscles would inevitably become prominent.

But in Ada, they did not.