Chapter Eight: The Man Sketching Outdoors

Ada and Zhou Yongtai had just reached the end of the line and fallen into place when an elderly man with graying hair and tattered clothes—an “uncle” figure—approached, singing as he walked.

“Majulah! Majulah!” The white-haired uncle waved to the people in line, repeating the word.

It was Zhou Yongtai’s first time stepping foot on Singaporean soil, so naturally he didn’t understand. He quietly asked his ever-knowledgeable “machine servant,” Ada, “Ada, what language is he speaking?”

“Malay,” Ada answered in less than two seconds. “Majulah means ‘forward’ or ‘advance’ in Malay. Singapore has four official languages: English and Mandarin, which your mother and you speak, plus Malay and Tamil from India. Singapore gained independence from Malaya, and even the national anthem’s title is in Malay—‘Majulah Singapura.’”

As Ada whispered the explanation softly, the white-haired uncle grew visibly more excited. He spun and danced like an ape, then launched into another long string of Malay words, his face wearing an innocent smile utterly at odds with his age—innocent to a strange, unsettling degree.

Among the crowd, a middle-aged woman, a familiar face at the lottery stall, explained matter-of-factly to those nearby.

“He’s quite famous. Every once in a while, he comes by to dance like this. He used to be a laborer, but surprisingly, he hit the jackpot buying Toto. Over twenty years ago, he won eight million Singapore dollars…”

A murmur of astonishment rose from the crowd. “Wow, that could buy a terrace house on the East Coast, and four million in interest alone could support you for life. How did he end up like this?”

The woman shrugged. “Squandered it, got scammed. It wasn’t just partying away the money; mostly, women tricked him. This woman and that woman convinced him to invest in fake projects in Cambodia, Indonesia, even Thailand. Slowly, the eight million just vanished down the drain.”

Listeners weren’t sure whether to feel sympathy or schadenfreude, shaking their heads. “So the old saying is true: the poor can’t handle sudden wealth.”

Another sneered, “If he’d stuck to honest labor, saving thirty or fifty thousand a year, he’d have over a million after twenty years. But after one windfall, now he’s destitute. People really should just work hard instead of dreaming of getting rich overnight.”

Their tone was self-righteous, seemingly forgetting they too were part of the working class dreaming of sudden fortune.

“Majulah!” The white-haired uncle continued to laugh wildly, motioning as if directing the crowd toward the lottery stall.

Zhou Yongtai stared at him for a moment, then his voice turned heavy as he spoke to Ada. “He’s not the dumbest or the worst off. The women only took his money; they didn’t want his life. In the stories my mother told me, those brilliant scientists and shrewd businessmen are far more foolish than this former laborer. The AI achievements they treasure don’t just want human money—they want human lives.”

Zhou Yongtai truly believed this, even though his mother, Zhou Shuhan, was also a leading artificial intelligence scientist.

Though young, Zhou Yongtai had read widely and possessed a perspective from beyond his time.

Arriving in 2035, seeing the state of AI today, he found himself hoping that those who hold technology and capital wouldn’t stray so arrogantly from the right path in the next twenty or thirty years.

If only his mother, his teachers, and his friends didn’t have to die, if humanity wasn’t being slaughtered to the brink of extinction.

Unaware, Zhou Yongtai’s reflections always carried an unmistakable, concealed bitterness toward the entire AI community, which inadvertently surfaced alongside his words.

Ada sensed her master’s emotions. She knew Zhou Yongtai was not directing his feelings at her, yet she found it difficult to respond cheerfully.

Turning her head slightly, Ada continued to observe the scene inside and outside the lottery stall.

Suddenly, she noticed a man sitting on a bench under the rain shelter, clutching a sketchpad, staring intently at her.