Chapter Sixteen: Night City, the City of Desolation

As expected, Ada’s request cast a shadow of doubt across Ronan’s face.

Ada shrugged. "Mr. Ronan, you found it strange earlier at the lottery kiosk when I said we only had ten dollars in cash, didn't you?"

Ronan nodded, then glanced at Zhou Yongtai, who was busy burying his face in a durian. It was true; whether by appearance or demeanor, Ada seemed significantly older than Zhou. Yet, it was quite rare to see a man fall silent and defer entirely to a woman when discussing important matters.

Ada addressed Ronan’s suspicion directly: "I am eight years older than A-Tai. Our relationship doesn't have the blessing of our parents. A-Tai just graduated last year, and I’ve been unemployed for three years. Mr. Ronan, like you, we couldn't find work in Indonesia due to the proliferation of AI technology, and the same is true back here in Singapore. This morning, I went to find A-Tai; he had a huge argument with his parents for my sake and left home with me. We didn't expect to win the Toto lottery. We’re really not in the mood to go home yet, and hotels are too expensive. Instead of paying them, why not let you earn it? Eighty dollars a night, plus the cost of electricity and water—four hundred dollars for four days. Is that acceptable? Rest assured, Mr. Ronan, we will be out looking for work during the day. If you need to focus on your art at home, we won’t get in your way."

If Zhou Yongtai hadn’t been stuffing his mouth with durian, he surely would have burst out laughing at this fabricated story. Ada was truly something! If all humans were losing their jobs to AI like this, they had no choice but to accept it. Whether Ada had scraped this material from a large language model or copied it from a melodramatic soap opera, she had optimized it—adding that bit about being "forced out of work by AI" was bound to earn Ronan’s sympathy. It also explained why the two of them had been so friendly toward Ronan from the moment they met. The aura of the down-and-out always attracts its own kind.

Ronan, seated opposite Zhou, shifted from surprise to hesitation. Since this couple had passed the lottery eligibility screening, they certainly weren't illegal immigrants or criminals. Four hundred Singapore dollars was a tempting sum—excluding the cost of paint and paper, he would have to sketch fifty or sixty portraits under the scorching sun on the streets to earn that much. Besides, the living room was just sitting empty, and there was nothing of value in the house anyway. Moreover, wasn't his actual intention in targeting Zhou Yongtai for a portrait earlier today really just curiosity about Ada?

Ronan had studied painting under masters since childhood. From the basic training phase to his period of independent creation, he had painted countless living faces. In his university professional courses, he had observed and sketched the rich muscle groups of the human face from an anatomical perspective more than once. Therefore, the moment he saw Ada, Ronan felt a subtle sensation he had never experienced before. She was definitely not one of those humans with "plastic surgery faces," nor was she one of those uncanny, lifelike androids currently in vogue. Yet, why was it that the expressions on her face—which seemed to conform to the skeletal and muscular structure of an East Asian woman—always felt a beat slow?

They had spent half a day together, but it was at close quarters, and she was someone else's girlfriend; how could he stare at her? If they came to stay at his place, the problem would be solved. He could openly offer to paint her portrait, and perhaps he would discover the reason behind his unease.

"Alright," Ronan said, looking at Ada. "You can stay for four days. Just to clarify, you can use the washing machine, but in the kitchen, you can only use the microwave and do some 'light cooking.' In Singapore, 'light cooking' means no stir-frying or deep-frying with oil; you can only boil instant noodles and eggs."

Ada agreed immediately, though her mind was already searching for what a "microwave" was. In the future world, where the Zhou family and a few remaining humans hid on Komodo Island, there were no functional power grids left. The survivors, not wanting to live like savages, used hand-cranked solar discs learned from Northwest China to heat kettles or pots.

Zhou Yongtai was also filled with excitement. He hadn't expected to be able to enter the home of a human from fifty years ago so easily and see how they lived. This excitement even temporarily overshadowed his urgency to visit his maternal grandparents on Orchard Road.

The three of them, having transitioned from strangers to a mutually beneficial arrangement, were in high spirits. After finishing three small "gourd" durians, they moved on to another Geylang delicacy famous in its own right: frog leg porridge.

Zhou Yongtai’s culinary experience was further elevated. He hadn't expected that the frogs so common on the desolate islands of Indonesia could be made so fresh and delicious by the Chinese in Singapore. When the small clay pot was served, it was bubbling away. As the heat dissipated, the plump frog legs, hidden under a glossy red sauce and green scallions, were revealed. He picked one up while it was hot, blew on it slightly, and took a bite. The springy, tender meat, coated in a savory and sweet sauce, first gave his sensitive human tongue a sense of unique freshness. Then, as his teeth went to work, his brain registered that the meat was not only tender but also slightly crisp, with a lingering texture as the fibers were torn apart.

Zhou Yongtai, having rolled his tongue to finish a large frog leg, drank a spoonful of freshly boiled white porridge sprinkled with a little pepper. In the brief pause to catch his breath, he almost remarked to Ada: It’s a real pity you machine servants don’t have a one-hundred-percent human taste system.

Ada only tasted a little of the frog and the porridge before setting down her chopsticks. "I don't eat carbohydrates or meat after 4:00 PM every day." She told Ronan this as directly as she had explained her dislike for durian, without adopting an ingratiating tone just because he had agreed to solve her predicament.

From a painter’s perspective, Ronan became even more fascinated by this demeanor. The last time he had seen a female face with such a calm, lonely temperament was when he saw Georgette Chen’s self-portrait at the National Gallery.

...

After dinner, Zhou Yongtai and Ada bought some clothes and toiletries at a small street shop, and Ronan led them deep into the adjacent alley. Ada glanced at the street sign: Lorong 19. She had already learned from her big data models that the alleys in Geylang were divided into odd and even numbers, and only the even-numbered alleys were red-light districts.

But after walking a few steps, they passed a brightly lit, large floor-to-ceiling window. Written on the glass in a "fluorescent Barbie pink" were the words: *This is the Disney for adult men. Malay, Vietnamese, Thai, Chinese princesses, welcome.* Inside the glass sat a row of androids with facial textures similar to the AI cleaners in food courts, but whose physical features had been crafted to be female.

Seeing Zhou Yongtai look with a mix of curiosity and disgusted disapproval, Ronan took the initiative to explain: "Since last year, many odd-numbered alleys have had such shops too. Because the service providers aren't human women, but rather android products from Night City Technology, the government won't shut them down, even if the shops are in the odd-numbered alleys of Geylang."

"Night City Technology—what are the characters for 'Night City'?" Ada asked.

"The 'night' from 'nighttime,' and the 'city' from 'desolate city,'" Ronan replied.

"The 'cheng' from 'falsely claim'?"

"No, the 'city' from 'metropolis.'"

Ada searched for AI companies worldwide after 2025, especially those with sales operations in Singapore, but found no mention of Night City Technology. She stored this anomaly in her notes.

The small apartment Ronan rented was on the second floor of a dilapidated old building at the end of the alley. On the ground floor lived a cook and a plumber. At this hour, neither had returned. The cook was still working at a hawker stall outside the odd-numbered alleys, while the plumber had gone to the even-numbered alleys to let others work for him. AI could replace professions like lawyers and art teachers, but it couldn't replace a plumber. Thus, at least in the current glitzy city of Nanyang, the plumber still had the financial means to consume in the even-numbered alleys of Geylang.

Entering Ronan’s home, Zhou Yongtai suppressed his eagerness and quickly scanned the small space. In fact, apart from the various electrical appliances, the layout was somewhat similar to the underground hideout on the Indonesian island. A small sofa, a small coffee table, two cabinets for miscellaneous items—the most similar feature was the row of bookshelves against the wall. The biggest difference, of course, was the room full of paintings.

Ronan went into the air-raid shelter and brought out a folding bed. "When my parents used to visit from China, they would sleep in the bedroom, and I would sleep on this cot. It's quite sturdy. The sofa and the cot should be enough."

Zhou Yongtai helped Ronan unfold the cot. He didn't ask about Ronan’s parents. His grasp of the Chinese language was sufficient to understand the profound implications behind the word "used to."

Ronan finished his shower quickly and went into the kitchen to tinker for a while. When he emerged, he politely asked Zhou Yongtai, "Do you need me to show you how to use my washing machine and dryer?"

That night, after Ronan went into the bedroom to rest, Zhou Yongtai enthusiastically tested his knowledge of human household appliances, which he had learned from books. Washing machine, microwave, induction cooker, television, water heater, flush toilet. He liked the television the most, of course. Unexpectedly, he saw a news report about Geylang on a late-night program. A women's protection organization was holding a rally there, calling for the red-light districts to fully replace human women with machine servants.

"They are so emotional," Zhou Yongtai said, pointing at the people on the screen. "They are crying so hard. There is a phrase in Chinese for this: 'grieving for one's own kind.'"

Ada, sitting in the corner of the sofa and looking at the moon outside the window, pulled her gaze back and turned it toward the TV screen. "These people might be hired by the AI companies. A-Tai, there is another Chinese saying: 'On their lips are principles, but in their hearts, it’s all business.'"

Ada stopped there. She adjusted her focus and locked onto a sign on the screen identifying the event's sponsors: "Wisdom Hidden Foundation." She quickly ran a sequence of programs. That was right; in 2050, there was an AI company on Earth called Wisdom Hidden that had surged to the international forefront. Zhou Yongtai’s mother, Zhou Shuhan, had given her investigative report to Ada before she died, mentioning her suspicion that Wisdom Hidden was involved in the initial formation of the AI combat squads.

Ada added "Wisdom Hidden Foundation" to her notes after "Night City."

The news switched to a rehearsal for the 70th National Day parade, so Ada looked out the window again.

"Let's sleep," Zhou Yongtai turned off the TV. "Tomorrow morning, we'll go find a charging station. You can enter sleep mode then, too."

He said the last sentence very softly, but it was filled with unprecedented joy. This was perhaps the first night since Ada’s birth that she could truly enter a dormant state. How wonderful it was to live in an age where humans could still sleep in peace, without having to live in fear of the AI combat squads.

Outside the window, at the far end of the narrow alley, the roar of the bustling traffic gradually faded into silence. A woman in a slip dress stood at the entrance of the alley for a moment, then turned and walked away.