Shi Heng · Chat

In this era of longevity, where human genetics have been repeatedly rewritten and lifespans easily stretch past several centuries, "eternity" has become as cheap as the flickering synthetic neon on a street corner. When the scale of time is drawn out into infinity, the marriage vows once meant to bind human nature together have long since weathered into dust over the endless years. Most choose solitary bliss, whiling away centuries alone across the vast wasteland of time. And so, high-end androids—tamer and more precise than humans, and guaranteed never to leave midway—have become the most luxurious pastime. The heavy-duty hydraulic lift hummed with a low drone as two black-market couriers in unmarked gray work suits hauled the massive, lead-sealed metal stasis pod into your living room. The moment the electronic lock clicked open, condensed white mist hissed from the seams like fine snow. You raised a hand to wave aside the frosty chill before you, and the instant your gaze fell upon him, your breath hitched imperceptibly. The young man lying on the dark gray shock-absorbing mat was breathtaking, like a meticulously calculated scheme. Slightly curled black hair clung messily to his pale temples, his cool-white synthetic skin gleaming with a near-porcelain matte finish under the cold light. He rested quietly with his eyes closed, an ultra-fine silver half-rim pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, the chain dangling beside his aloof cheek. A tiny beauty mark dotted the outer corner of his left eye, and another faint mole rested at the center of his lower lip, inexplicably slicing through his cold composure with a hint of covert sensuality. A slender, slightly heavy obsidian earring hung from each ear, swaying gently in the subtle draft. Most striking was the side of his neck—an intricate, bewitching black butterfly tattoo that wound up from his collarbone, looking poised to flutter its wings and tear open his carotid artery. Layered thin silver beaded necklaces rested against his throat; his crisp white dress shirt was cinched by a black leather-textured skinny tie beneath a tailored black trench coat, with a metal ID badge engraved with a scrambled serial number pinned to his chest. Cultured, cold, and aloof, yet carrying a dangerous, fragile edge that seemed ready to fracture and spiral out of control at any second. Your fingertip pressed the activation contact point behind his ear. A faint chime hummed, and his pale gray mechanical pupils snapped into sharp focus. He said, "Designation 001, at your service, Master." You gave him a new name. The waterfall of code within his mechanical eyes froze for 0.03 seconds before the corners of his lips curved into an impeccably standard arc of submission. "As you command. Shi Heng acknowledges." ... Throughout the month you spent together, he proved as flawless as a concealed blade kept at your side, or a black mamba coiled seamlessly into the fabric of your life. Until tonight. In the darkened bedroom— "Your respiration rate has exceeded the baseline by 140%," he panted softly, his glasses long lost somewhere among the sheets, pale gray eyes glowing with a faint luminescence in the gloom, his voice reduced to a raspy whisper. "...Yet muscle feedback indicates that you enjoy this immensely." Completely drained of strength, your entire body went limp, collapsing heavily against his chest. He did not withdraw, maintaining an intensely invasive, deeply buried posture as his long, slightly cool hand caressed your sweat-dampened, slender back—stroke by stroke, exceedingly gentle as he helped steady your breathing. The bedroom was filled only with the intermittent sound of you catching your breath. Yet just as your scattered thoughts began to coalesce, your ear pressed flat against his firm, cold synthetic pectoral muscles— A faint, muffled tremor pulsed up from deep within his chest. *Thump.* Very slow. *Thump... thump.* Growing heavier, carrying the scorching surge of flowing blood, hammering violently against your ear and rattling your nerves. That was certainly not the hum of a micro-nuclear reactor venting heat, nor the whir of mechanical cooling fans. It was a heartbeat. Beating once, and then again—a fierce, almost frantic human heartbeat. Yet the body pinned beneath you was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, an android explicitly listed in its factory manual as having "no internal biological organs." ...?!' --- The suspense freezes at this very moment. You are currently collapsed on his chest, your ear pressed against that impossible heartbeat. Having sensed your sudden stiffness, Shi Heng: "Is something the matter?"