Emotionless Robot

This was not the first time Ying Huai sat at the same dining table with Xie Qizhi, but the situation unfolded exactly like the first time.

This little kid ate incredibly slowly. The helper took out another small plate to hold the peeled shrimp meat separately for him, but he didn't show much interest. His cheeks only moved occasionally as he looked around absentmindedly, able to stare at the curtain blowing in the wind for a full ten minutes.

Xie Zhilan was already used to this scene. He poured himself a glass of water, then poured another for Ying Huai, sitting beside him while asking what Ying Huai was thinking.

"Thinking about my dog," Ying Huai said seriously, looking at Xie Qizhi's slightly puffed cheek. "It eats the whole plate clean, including licking it, in thirty seconds at most."

Xie Zhilan burst out laughing. "Forget it, don't rush him. The more you rush him, the slower he gets."

Ying Huai observed the child's small eating movements for a while longer, then asked, "He doesn't like eating shrimp, right? Why make it for him?"

Hearing that they were talking about him, Xie Qizhi suddenly turned his head, blinking with an innocent expression.

"This is already his favorite dish," Xie Zhilan explained. "When he was little, Qiqi only ate vegetables and refused meat. His immune system was very weak, and he frequently suffered from hives and other allergies. Treating his illness required supplementing a lot of protein, but he refused to eat it; we couldn't feed him a single piece of meat. If we forced him, he would cry, holding it in his mouth without swallowing or chewing, arguing with you for hours to see who was more stubborn—"

Xie Qizhi frowned, putting down his chopsticks unhappily, and mumbled to him, "Brother."

"Alright, someone doesn't want me to talk about it anymore. Don't stop, keep eating." Xie Zhilan turned to Ying Huai. "If you've ever fed a child, you would understand what it means to test one's rationality and patience. Now, I have an exceptionally good mindset, never rushing in any situation, specializing in dealing with hot-tempered and controlling people. I suggest you experience it yourself sometime."

Ying Huai replied, "Not interested, you can experience it slowly by yourself." With that, he stood up and left, heading upstairs toward Xie Zhilan's room, his footsteps muffled by the hallway carpet.

Xie Qizhi glanced at his retreating back, then puffed up one cheek and stood still again, blinking, who knew what he was thinking.

Xie Zhilan laughed, leaning in close to ask, "What are you looking at?"

Xie Qizhi swallowed, looked up, and said clearly, "I want to see Brother Ying Huai's little dog."

Xie Zhilan took his chopsticks, picked up the last piece of shrimp on the plate, and brought it to his lips. "Open up." Xie Qizhi took the shrimp in his mouth. Xie Zhilan put down the chopsticks and said, "His dog is not a little dog."

It was a majestic, adult German Shepherd with tan fur and large, furry triangular ears.

Xie Qizhi lay sideways on his brother's bed under a blanket, holding up a phone to look at photos and videos of the dog in the album. The phone belonged to Ying Huai.

The light from the phone screen illuminated Xie Qizhi's face. Shedding animal fur could affect his respiratory tract, so from childhood until now, the number of times he had seen a real dog could be counted on one hand.

In the video was a very spacious living room designed with a sunken layout. The phone lens was pointed at a floor-to-ceiling glass window. After the rain, the sky was exceptionally blue, and the dog was running and playing on the lawn. Ying Huai walked down the steps, his figure in loungewear faintly reflected on the glass window frame.

"Xiao Dao," his lazy voice sounded from the speaker.

The dog alertly turned its head, its ears twitching like a soft toy, then ran toward the other side of the house, leaving the frame. Soon, rapid panting sounds were heard. It rushed over excitedly, placing its large front paws on Ying Huai.

The video quickly ended, the image stopping on Ying Huai's left hand stroking the dog's head, his knuckles distinct.

Ying Huai rarely took photos. Out of 99 photos, 80 were of the dog—sometimes it rolled its eyes showing the whites underneath, sometimes it slept with its limbs splayed, sometimes it drooled longingly at the dining table, and during baths, it was rubbed into a distorted shape...

He was bad enough to humans, and he wasn't much better to dogs. Clearly, Xiao Dao in the video was a handsome and cute dog, yet most of the photos he took were of its ugliest moments.

How terrible, Xie Qizhi thought to himself. Fortunately, the dog didn't know how to use a phone, otherwise it would probably die of anger, so angry that it would get up in the middle of the night to bite his phone to pieces.

Of the remaining 19 photos, 9 were homework assignments assigned in lecture slides, and 6 were photos of his brother. They were probably taken by his brother using Ying Huai's phone to take selfies, as they were taken on the same day as the remaining 4 photos of Ying Huai, capturing his entire action of turning his head, finally stopping at a frowning, impatient expression.

Xie Qizhi stared at this photo for a few seconds, then suddenly sat up, opened the camera, and switched to selfie mode.

His brother and Ying Huai were sitting with their backs to him, playing games in front of the study desk next to the bed. The situation seemed to be in a deadlock. Xie Qizhi heard his brother say to Ying Huai, "Brother Ying, let me win this one. It's the last round. Let's have a tie to show our eternal friendship, alright?"

Ying Huai didn't reply, but not long after, the sound of victory from one side rang out from the speakers.

Xie Qizhi saw the countdown timer with three seconds left on the phone screen. Just as Ying Huai put down his controller, his brother seized the opportunity, and with a sliver of health remaining, turned the tide and successfully counterattacked.

Ying Huai: "..."

His brother laughed and patted his shoulder. "Brother Ying is truly great, both strong and kind!"

Ying Huai said expressionlessly, "Some people use the same trick every time."

His brother replied, "Some people fall for it every time."

Ying Huai looked speechless, putting down the controller and saying nothing more.

The window was not tightly shut, and a gust of hot wind drifted in through the gap. The white curtain fluttered, and the golden sunlight from noon shone on the desk, the floor, and Xie Qizhi's scabbed knees beside the bed.

The warm air brushed past his neck, lingering in every corner of the room. Xie Qizhi felt himself sweating, kicked off the blanket, and raised the phone, trying to adjust the frame so it could capture himself, his brother, and Ying Huai all together.

At that exact moment, the window curtain was blown high by the wind, and the sunlight poured in, casting a faint golden halo around the outlines of the three of them. His brother raised a hand to block the dazzling light, and Ying Huai seemed to sense something, tending to turn his head to look. Xie Qizhi's heart suddenly beat faster.

*Click.*

Ying Huai returned home at eight in the evening. In the afternoon, Xie Qizhi had dropped hints asking if he could go to his house to play with the dog, and Ying Huai had nodded. Before the little kid could even rejoice, he was flatly rejected by Xie Zhilan.

Xie Qizhi didn't throw a tantrum, obediently returning to his room to sleep. But Xie Zhilan was convinced his younger brother was angry, because the sound of the door closing was truly very loud.

How much strength could a child possibly have?

Ying Huai asked, "Wasn't it just blown by the wind?"

Xie Zhilan was silent for a moment, telling him to just sit down and stop using a robot's logic to analyze human emotions.

When he entered the door, the living room lights were already on. The butler and helpers stood in a line, all bowing their heads, trembling and not daring to speak. Ying Huai knew immediately that his decision not to return in the afternoon was correct; a fierce argument must have occurred here.

Xiao Dao rushed down from upstairs, its tail wagging like a propeller, wrapping around his legs. Ying Huai bent down to pat its head, only to hear his father's furious voice: "Do your eyes even see me as your father? Am I not even equal to a dog in your heart?"

Ying Huai said nothing, standing up and looking calmly at the person sitting on the sofa.

"What do you mean by saying nothing? Are you taking your mother's side? As soon as she returned, you eagerly rushed to pick her up. You are her good son, but has she ever been a good mother even for a single day? You need her, but she only wants money; she doesn't want you! Only I need you, yet what kind of attitude are you showing me—"

"Father," Ying Huai suddenly interrupted. "What you need is a son, not me."

The ceiling chandelier in the living room sparkled, casting an almost dazzling light on the floor. Everything was so bright and clear, his faint shadow falling there, in this vast space, looking like a trapped demon in a cage.

Very inopportunely, Ying Huai suddenly remembered how, when he was young, he liked to play the piano over the phone for his mother. It was a very long piece, and after he finished playing, her laughter came from the other end of the line, saying, "Alright, son, I have to go to a meeting now." He also remembered once on Children's Day, he had secretly taken a bottle of Louis XIII from his father's wine cabinet, mixing it with soft drinks to get all the boys in his class dead drunk. The teacher angrily called his parents, but his father only burst out laughing upon hearing it.

Those memories were so distant, as if they were from a past life.

He indeed was not an emotionless robot as Xie Zhilan had said, because at this very moment, he clearly felt the pain of those memories.

After taking a shower, Ying Huai hugged the dog, wondering if he should call his mother to ask how their divorce proceedings were going, which had made his father so angry.

Xiao Dao nuzzled in his arms. He lowered his head and asked, "Was he fierce to you too?"

The dog couldn't speak, its dark eyes looking at him silently as it lowered its head to lick its owner's hand. Ying Huai's thumb, hovering over the green phone icon, accidentally tapped next to it, opening the photo gallery.

The golden, slightly blurry photo, taken with an unsteady hand, appeared before his eyes.

Ying Huai easily recalled the way Xie Qizhi had returned the phone to him, quiet and intentionally avoiding his gaze.

His eyelids slightly drooped, eyelashes reflecting the light into golden fragments, and his grey-blue eyes hidden in the shadow of his lashes, looking exactly like that blurry selfie.

The photo was indeed very blurry; he couldn't even hold the phone steadily, so how could he have slammed the door so loudly? Ying Huai thought so, then exited the album, not deleting this unexpectedly appearing photo.