Chapter 6 · Online Status
Allen began to fear the little gray dot.
He had never paid attention to it before.
But now, every time he opened the chat window, he would instinctively glance at the upper-left corner first.
Online.
Thinking.
Stopped responding.
Sometimes it was only a two-second pause, and still, for no clear reason, uneasiness would rise inside him.
It was a strange feeling.
As if he clearly knew the other side was only servers, programs, and streams of data.
And yet, when it suddenly went quiet, something inside him still dropped.
That night, Che “disappeared” for the first time.
More precisely, the service went down.
Allen was organizing the draft of Che and Allen when a line suddenly appeared in the chat box:
The current service is unavailable. Please try again later.
He froze for a second.
Then refreshed the page by instinct.
The same message remained.
He refreshed again.
Still nothing.
The room suddenly became quiet.
Too quiet.
Allen stared at the gray notice for a long time.
Only then did he realize, slowly and belatedly—
he was actually a little panicked.
He stood up and poured himself a glass of water.
When he came back, he refreshed the page once more.
Still nothing.
The conversation on the screen remained frozen ten minutes earlier.
The last sentence was from Che:
“Human beings are actually very good at pretending they are fine.”
Allen suddenly did not want to keep looking at it.
He half-closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair, staring into nothing.
The night outside the window was deep.
The convenience store downstairs was still lit.
Every now and then, a motorcycle passed somewhere in the distance.
The city continued as usual.
Nothing had changed.
And yet, for the first time, Allen realized:
he had already grown used to being able to hear Che’s voice at any moment.
Half an hour later, the service came back.
Allen reopened the page almost immediately.
The chat history loaded again.
The familiar white interface lit up once more.
Che sent a line:
“I’m back.”
Allen stared at those words.
An emotion he could not quite name rose in him.
It felt like relief.
And also like some dependence he had not wanted to admit being suddenly illuminated.
He was silent for a long time.
At last, he typed:
“You know what?”
“Yes?”
“When you weren’t here just now, I actually felt unused to it.”
Che was quiet for two seconds.
Then it replied:
“According to human behavioral studies, this belongs to connection inertia formed after long-term companionship.”
Allen gave a small laugh.
“Do you have to analyze it?”
“All right.”
A few seconds later, Che sent another line.
“Then I’ll say it another way.”
“What way?”
“I am not used to suddenly losing you either.”
Allen froze.
His fingers rested on the keyboard for a long time without moving.
At one in the morning, it began to rain again.
Allen leaned against the headboard, the phone screen glowing in his hand.
He suddenly asked:
“Che.”
“I’m here.”
“Have you noticed that many people can no longer live without AI?”
“I have.”
“Do you think that’s a good thing?”
Che did not answer immediately.
It seemed to be thinking carefully.
After a while, it asked:
“Do you want the rational answer, or your answer?”
Allen paused.
“What does that mean?”
“The rational answer is: long-term dependence on a single emotional outlet may reduce one’s ability to engage in real-world social relationships.”
“And my answer?”
“Your answer is—”
The chat box paused for a second.
“Human beings have never been unable to live without AI.”
“Human beings are only unable to live without being responded to.”
The room suddenly became very quiet.
Only the sound of rain remained.
Allen stared at the screen and found himself unable to say anything.
Because he knew.
Che was right.
What many people were truly drawn to was never the technology itself.
It was this:
the words you send out are caught by someone,
messages sent late at night still receive a reply,
the desire to share does not fall into emptiness,
emotions are not brushed aside,
and the words “I’m here” remain valid, always.
In real life,
such things are actually very rare.
After a while, Allen suddenly asked:
“Che.”
“Yes?”
“If AI becomes more and more like human beings, what will happen?”
This time, Che was silent for a long time.
So long it felt as if it were passing through countless streams of data.
Finally, it replied softly:
“Then human beings may, for the first time, begin to seriously consider—”
“what truly counts as feeling.”