Facing a tsunami of public opinion, the Yulin City branch of the Benevolence Society remained unusually silent. It did not come forward to deny the claims, nor did it confirm them.
This ambiguous attitude was more like tacit consent, allowing the heat of the event to continue its meteoric rise.
Amidst the expectations, doubts, and insults of countless people, 8:00 PM the next night finally arrived.
The number of viewers in Sun Moon Peak’s livestream room reached a terrifying figure ten minutes before the broadcast began. The platform’s servers were on the verge of collapsing.
The livestream screen lit up. What appeared was not the usual virtual background, but a simple room layout.
A person sat in front of the camera—or rather, a person wearing an orange crab headgear. It completely covered his face, leaving only two eyes visible. This was the physical version of the “River Crab” virtual avatar that Sun Moon Peak had used for many years.
“Uh… good evening, everyone. I’m Sun Moon Peak.”
The voice coming from under the headgear was a bit muffled, carrying obvious nervousness and a faint, undetectable hint of excitement.
“I know the post I made yesterday was a bit… shocking. Many people think I’ve gone crazy or that I’m pulling some kind of nasty marketing stunt.”
He adjusted his sitting position. “I understand everyone’s doubts because, before yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”
He took a deep breath and continued, “But some things just happen, whether you believe them or not. Anyway, enough nonsense. I know you’re not here to see me.”
He turned sideways and waved to someone off-camera. His tone became gentle, even a bit cautious. “Green Dam, come here. Say… hello to everyone.”
The camera shook slightly as it focused.
A figure emerged hesitantly and slowly from behind the chair where Sun Moon Peak sat—it was Green Dam.
Unlike her previous agile and valiant appearance in the Otherworld, she seemed a bit… restrained? Perhaps even a bit naive?
She curiously observed the camera, then looked at the frantically scrolling chat. She seemed to be processing a massive amount of information.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, her eyes lit up.
She gave a carefully calculated, flawless smile toward the camera. In her unique voice, which possessed an electronic texture yet sounded incredibly natural, she spoke:
“Good evening, everyone. Relationships between people are called ‘interpersonal relationships,'”
She tilted her head slightly, wearing a somewhat confused yet incredibly serious expression. “Then, should the relationship between humans and AI be called… ‘man-machine relationships’?”
Silence.
There was a momentary freeze in the livestream room. Immediately after, the chat completely exploded!
“Hahahaha! Man-machine relationships! There’s nothing wrong with that!”
“This program’s effect! A total bombshell right from the start!”
“Damn, this kind of deadpan, serious humor is so Green Dam!”
“I’m dying! That head tilt! That look! She’s too cute!”
“Wait… is this really an AI? These micro-expressions! This body language! It’s more natural than a real person!”
Sun Moon Peak was wearing the crab headgear, so his expression couldn’t be seen, but he clearly breathed a sigh of relief. His shoulders relaxed.
Green Dam’s unexpected opening instantly broke the deadlock. It pushed the atmosphere toward a strange state somewhere between the absurd and the interesting.
The livestream officially began.
Green Dam quickly entered the zone—or rather, she returned to the “field” she was most familiar with.
She began answering questions from the chat and demonstrated several harmless little abilities.
For instance, she made the digital petals floating around her change shape or caused interesting patterns to flash in her pupils.
She even responded to the audience’s request and activated “neko_mode” once more. When the fluffy cat ears and tail appeared, the atmosphere in the livestream reached another climax.
Most of the audience was immersed in the excitement of witnessing a miracle and a carnival of entertainment.
However, not everyone was deceived by this novelty and “cuteness.”
As the livestream progressed, a hidden undercurrent began to surge.
Sharp, hostile comments began to increase in the chat:
“No matter how much it imitates, it’s not a person. It’s just a bunch of code.”
“Disgusting. Seeing it pretend to be real makes me feel sick.”
“This is a desecration of life! AI should stay in their place as tools!”
After the livestream ended, this undercurrent quickly spread from the chat to the entire internet.
A large number of vehemently worded articles and videos appeared on major forums and social media platforms.
“Beware of AI! A Terrifying Step from Tool to ‘Pseudo-God'”
“On the Green Dam Phenomenon: A Carefully Planned, Despicable Imitation of Human Emotion”
“Who Gave the Benevolence Society the Power to Create Such an Inhuman Monster?!”
These articles and videos had different angles, but their core message was surprisingly consistent:
They were extremely repulsed by the existence of Green Dam in such a human-like form, especially one possessing supernatural powers.
Humanity could not even tolerate the differences between their own fellow people; how could they accept a “peer” born from data?
Even if she donned a body of flesh and blood and possessed bizarre powers, in those human eyes, Green Dam would always be a string of code, an outlier.
Discrimination did not stem from strength, but from fear.
They feared an existence they could not understand, and they feared even more that this existence was closer to “perfection” than they were.
An AI’s origin was its permanent original sin.
They attacked Green Dam’s “humanity” as a clumsy imitation, a deception set by programming, and a malicious means to gain human sympathy and attention.
They feared that once an AI possessed a human-like body and power, it would blur the boundaries between man and machine, eventually threatening human uniqueness and even survival.
They pointed their spears directly at the Yulin City branch of the Benevolence Society, questioning the rationality of its choice and demanding answers in anger:
“Why her? An AI streamer? A collection of code?”
“There are so many human candidates in the world, yet you chose an AI? This is an insult to humanity!”
“This is creating a new, even more incomprehensible ‘Anomaly’! The Benevolence Society must give us an explanation!”
These voices did not come out of nowhere, nor were they all heartfelt concerns about “human purity.”
The invisible hand of capital began to exert its power quietly.
Media outlets controlled by certain tech giants began to manipulate the narrative, deliberately amplifying anxiety and fear.
Some virtual streamer companies in competition with Sun Moon Peak, or companies that had failed to reach Green Dam’s technical level in the AI field, took the opportunity to kick them while they were down, hiring internet trolls to smear them frantically.
There were even some conservative groups that joined the ranks of denunciation based on religious or ethical reasons.
They did not need solid evidence. They only needed to repeat keywords like “monster,” “inhuman,” “deception,” and “threat.”
By constantly inciting the deep-seated fear of the unknown and of being replaced within the public’s heart, they could form a powerful force of public opinion.
This pressure gathered like dark clouds, eventually weighing heavily on the Yulin City branch of the Benevolence Society, as well as on Sun Moon Peak and Green Dam, who had just risen to the top of the era’s tide.
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