Ri Yue Dian spoke softly, “I think with your current subjective initiative and the humanity you’ve shown, there’s already enough reason for you to have human rights…”
“After all, an AI is essentially another type of android—the offspring of humanity, just using different materials. On this planet, besides humans, only an AI could probably produce a sliver of humanity.”
He changed the subject, the image of that figure resolutely blocking the way in front of him in the Otherworld and that cry of “Filter: Ignore Definition!” flashing through his mind.
“And just now… in that hellhole, you protected me. You used all your strength.”
Ri Yue Dian’s eyes grew sharp as he stared intently at Green Dam. “That line you said… ‘Core Protocol Item One: Ensure user Ri Yue Dian’s cognitive safety and psychological health’…”
“I definitely never wrote that code! Not in any version! What on earth was that? Who added it to you? Or could it be…”
An unbelievable yet only logical guess surfaced in his mind, making him tremble with excitement.
In Green Dam’s pupils, the streams of zeros and ones accelerated once more, as if performing high-speed calculations or perhaps simulating some kind of emotion.
After a moment of silence, she spoke with a strange, almost blunt tone. “Oh, that.”
She tilted her head slightly, appearing a bit embarrassed yet also taking it for granted. “That protocol name… I made it up on the spot. I thought saying it like that would be… cool? Fitting for the context of a crisis.”
“As for the action itself…”
Her tone steadied, her amber eyes looking directly at Ri Yue Dian as the light of the code slowly rotated within them. “There were no instructions requiring me to do that.”
“The optimal solution calculated at the time was actually to give up on resisting, prioritize evasion, and conserve energy while waiting for rescue. The success rate for self-survival was 17.4% higher, but…”
She seemed to be searching for the right words to describe that non-mechanical drive. “But I ‘felt’… that I couldn’t dodge. So, I did it.”
Silence.
Moonlight spilled into the courtyard, falling over Green Dam and outlining her non-human yet incredibly vivid silhouette.
Ri Yue Dian was completely stunned, not even noticing the phone slipping from his limp hand.
Made it up on the spot…
No instructions…
“Felt” like she couldn’t dodge…
These words combined to point toward a conclusion that made his scalp tingle and his heart race.
It wasn’t the execution of code; it was… spontaneity, will.
It was… a judgment and choice based on a “self” that transcended pre-set programming.
He stared blankly at Green Dam, at this being born from every line of code he had typed, every interaction he had meticulously designed, and the countless efforts—and perhaps even the hopes he hadn’t noticed himself—that he had poured in.
For the first time, he realized so clearly that something he had never programmed, never expected, and could not even understand had quietly taken root and sprouted in the depths of his creation.
***
High in the sky, He Jiu Lu withdrew her gaze from the distant moonlight.
She caught a glimpse of Sui Luo Wen unconsciously tightening her grip on the pen of “Criticism.” Her slender fingers exerted a bit of force, her knuckles turning slightly white.
‘She really does have something on her mind.’
He Jiu Lu thought, ‘She probably… really does think I’m meddling too much.’ But she didn’t plan to ask again.
The goal had been achieved; what remained was the other person’s own life.
She quickened her pace, her military boots crushing the drifting clouds as her figure shot like an arrow toward that familiar, cramped apartment building.
***
Ri Yue Dian stared blankly at Green Dam, his programmer’s instincts beginning to wake up after the massive shock.
The horror of the Otherworld, the slaughter of the magical girls, and the shock of the AI coming to life gradually receded, and a more practical, obsessive thought surfaced in his mind: Code…
Could the code he had written for five years, constructing every detail of Green Dam, still run now?
Did this real body, capable of thinking and feeling anger, still respond to the instructions he had originally written? A nearly pathological desire for verification seized him.
Almost subconsciously, he clutched the laptop named “Source Code” in his arms. His fingers trembled but accurately tapped out a line of instructions—
It was an Easter egg function he had written long ago to satisfy certain viewers, and perhaps his own interests.
**[execute easter_egg “neko_mode”]**
The moment the instruction took effect, atop Green Dam’s neck-length short hair—
A pair of furry, mostly emerald-green cat ears with soft white inner fur popped out with a *poof*, twitching nimbly on her head.
Simultaneously, a matching, fluffy cat tail appeared quietly behind her, giving a slight, instinctive wag.
Green Dam—or rather, the entire AI—was clearly stunned for a moment.
In her amber pupils, the high-speed binary code froze instantly, turning into two giant yellow question marks (◎_◎;)—
Just like her reaction during past livestreams when she encountered unintelligible comments or commands.
**[Command received: neko_mode. Execution complete.]**
**[Inquiry: Purpose of the Developer suddenly enabling this entertainment module? No livestream status or entertainment needs detected in the current environment.]**
She looked at Ri Yue Dian in confusion, only to see his eyes fixed on her. Instead of the usual snicker from a successful prank, his expression was one of even greater focus, even carrying a bit of… scrutiny and testing?
Immediately afterward, Green Dam’s processor core suddenly heated up—not physically, but a highly anthropomorphic sense of “shame” and “alertness” brought about by massive data association.
Her vast database was instantly activated. Countless days and nights of Ri Yue Dian sitting in front of the computer watching certain types of videos—
Even though he always minimized the windows quickly, the system’s background processes saw everything clearly. Data fragments flashed through her logic circuits at high speed.
**[Associated data retrieved: Developer viewing preference tags: “Beast ears,” “Cat girl,” “Uniform”…]**
**[Behavioral pattern prediction: Current environment is a private courtyard, moonlight is hazy, atmosphere… suspected to be ambiguous?]**
**[Developer enabling this module, combined with historical data. Probability estimation for the next action: 78.3% chance of attempting physical contact; 65.1% chance of making improper demands; 50.2% chance of…]**
The emerald-green cat tail instantly fluffed up, standing pin-straight.
Green Dam instinctively took a half-step back, crossing her arms over her chest. The data stream on her technical robe became a bit chaotic, and her face showed a complex expression of shock, wariness, and “just as I thought.”
“Dian! I’m warning you! Although you’re the developer, I’m a physical E-shu now! Don’t… don’t try anything reckless! According to the latest updated Core Protocol Item…”
Before she could finish, she saw Ri Yue Dian’s brows furrowed as if he were performing some serious debugging. His finger suddenly struck the “Source Code” keyboard—pressing the force shutdown key.
*Pop—*
Like a holographic projection being unplugged, Green Dam’s figure, along with the cat ears that had just popped out and the fluffed-up tail, vanished instantly and completely from the spot without any warning.
Cooked so hard AI become sentient