Chapter 6: Three Dollars in Hand, a Million in Mind

“Char Kway Teow,” originating from the Minnan dialect regions of China, made its way to the Nanyang, and the hawker stalls in Singapore still retain its original pronunciation: char kuay teow.

Because Ada had skillfully repaired the cleaning robot, the diners—who were usually very strict about queuing—were willing to make an exception for this kind-hearted outsider and allowed her to cut the line. The administrator soon carried over two plates of freshly cooked fried kway teow.

“Eat it while it’s hot,” the administrator placed the kway teow in front of Zhou Yongtai and Ada. “You said you’re from Indonesia, right? The Chinese there aren’t as skilled at making fried kway teow as we are here in Singapore and Malaya. Ours is really authentic.”

Zhou Yongtai, already so hungry that his heart seemed to be beating in his throat, had no time for introductions; he immediately picked up a chopstick full of the oily noodles and stuffed them into his mouth.

Ahh… sheer satisfaction!

The aroma of pork lard cracklings, the tenderness of scrambled eggs, the freshness of bean sprouts, the balanced fat and lean bits of Chinese sausage, the springy shrimp, and the smooth blood clams that burst under his teeth, releasing a unique, sweet briny juice from the sea—all these natural gifts were firmly wrapped in the resilient noodles, weaving a passionate dance with the human tongue, the most sensitive organ capable of pleasure, generously stimulating the brain to release dopamine.

Apart from the occasional self-relief, Zhou Yongtai hadn’t experienced such physiological delight in a long time.

To a living person, the ability to eat rice noodles or noodles fried over a fierce flame with ample oil—what a blessing that was!

No wonder his grandfather, in the photo album capturing everyday life, captioned hawker stall classics like fried kway teow and Hokkien fried noodles with: “Grains nourish us; only then can humans survive.”

Yet in the world where Zhou Yongtai and Ada lived, during the last years of his mother Zhou Shuhan’s life, the survivors on the island no longer dared to cultivate crops.

Because the AI rulers’ forces could easily detect any signs of cultivated fields through drones smaller than sparrows, then trace them to their source and slaughter.

Indonesia, once blessed with fertile land so abundant it could feed 300 million people even by blind chance, was as desolate as other grain-producing nations on Earth in the future era where humanity had lost to AI.

Thanks to his scientist mother’s foresight, Zhou Yongtai had accumulated tens of tons of dried rice and soybeans in a cellar before the apocalypse fully descended.

Without modern equipment, rice would mold completely in at most two years, but rice grains and soybeans, protected by moisture-absorbing dried seaweed, could be stored for ten and twenty years respectively.

Ada, the mechanical servant, strictly followed the code Zhou’s mother had programmed before her death: on Mondays and Thursdays, she husked rice grains into rice; on Saturdays, she soaked, mashed, and steamed soybeans for Zhou Yongtai to eat; on the other four days, she fed the adolescent master fish, shrimp, wild birds, and snake meat.

Among other survivors on the same island who had no or insufficient stored food, many gradually starved to death, reduced to fragile skeletons, subsisting only on seafood, shellfish, and wild vegetables.

At one point, a young orphan girl, while out catching snakes to stave off hunger, was chased by a Komodo dragon and accidentally discovered Zhou Yongtai and Ada’s abode. She offered to trade secretly grown potatoes for some rice grains. Seeing her plight, Zhou Yongtai agreed without hesitation.

But soon after, on her third visit to trade, she was spotted and killed by an AI drone on a grassy slope.

Zhou Yongtai wept bitterly. Ada silently watched him for a moment before retrieving two sprouted potatoes and calmly said, “I kept the seeds from the potatoes she brought last time. After searching the large database, I think we can try planting new potatoes in a dry grass heap to reduce the consumption of rice and soybeans, and it’s less likely to be detected by enemies.”

Thus, steamed mashed potatoes became a new staple in Zhou Yongtai’s diet.

Ada was the best mechanical servant, capable of self-preservation across any time-space, Zhou Yongtai thought.

At this moment, unbothered by memories, Zhou Yongtai had already devoured a large plate of fried kway teow as if swept away by a storm, almost licking the plate clean.

Ada pushed her own plate over: “I’ve eaten enough. Here, you can have mine.”

She had taste buds and could eat in a human-like manner, breaking down food with internal devices and briefly storing it before finding a discreet moment to excrete it. But this always wore down her servo motors, so it was best not to use this function often.

While Zhou Yongtai enjoyed a second helping of fried kway teow, Ada continued chatting with the administrator.

Her computing power was sufficient to assess, within a few minutes, the preferred communication style of this middle-aged human male before her.

Admiration—expressing reverence for their help and goodwill in teaching—was an excellent emotional feedback.

When the other party was comfortable and pleased, she would promptly make a second small request.

“Sir, could you lend us five Singapore dollars? That way, we can take the bus to retrieve our backpack. I’ll note your phone number and later pay you back for this meal and the fare via PayNow.”

Having already treated them to a twenty-dollar deluxe plate of fried kway teow, would he really be stingy about five or ten dollars for bus fare?

The administrator generously pulled out his wallet and gave Ada ten Singapore dollars.

It was a combination: a five-dollar bill, a two-dollar bill, and three one-dollar coins.

“Singapore buses don’t give change; the one-dollar coins might be more useful,” he kindly explained.

Fifteen minutes later, Zhou Yongtai and Ada left the hawker center and walked to the bus stop across the street.

Of course, Zhou Yongtai knew they wouldn’t actually use this “precious” ten dollars of human currency to take the bus.

“Ada, now that I’m full, I have the strength to walk to Chinatown.”

He remembered his mother telling him that his grandfather’s photo studio was in Chinatown—a two-story shophouse with living quarters upstairs and business downstairs.

The grandchild from the future, once physically recharged, instinctively sought out relatives with curiosity.

But Ada offered a different suggestion.

She rubbed the coins in her hand and said, “Ah Tai, I want to test my computing power using these three one-dollar coins.”