Simon had expected a pretty reporter sister to interview him, but it wasn't the case. In fact, it was just a video interview, and the reporter was merely a robot.
The questions to be answered had been sent via email in advance. Simon glanced at them but couldn't memorize them. The words were like two lumps of mushy glutinous rice balls muttering nonsense; he could sense their imagery, but Simon just couldn't remember what they were actually saying.
Glutinous Rice Ball A: "May I ask... gurgle, nunununu, how old are you?"
Glutinous Rice Ball B: "Good question... hutulu, six or seven?"
Glutinous Rice Ball A: "Ah, humor, small, GGGGGenius, not bad, gurgle."
Glutinous Rice Ball B: "Not a genius, just... striving, must work hard, hooooh..."
Simon patted his head and read them again.
Question One: "May I ask how old you are this year?"
Answer One: "I am eight years old this year."
Interjection: Praise, encouragement.
Question Two: "Your work, 'Observing the World as People,' has garnered a significant response. What are your thoughts on this?"
Answer Two: "This is just a sketch; I didn't expect so many citizens to like it. I am honored and grateful for the nurturing of my parents and Teacher Shao."
Interjection: Praise, encouragement.
Question Three: "According to statistics, the number of people who voted to approve your work on the official website has exceeded 110,000, ranking sixth among the same period. As a popular contender for this year's National Youth Science Model Competition Jiangzhe City regional preliminary, do you have plans to compete in the provincial competition?"
Answer Three: "Yes, I do have plans, because this will be an honor for all of us. I must try my best, even if I can't achieve satisfactory results..."
Simon sighed, feeling dull, too dull. It was a standard Q&A; there was absolutely no need to worry about expressing any subjective answers.
The interview date quickly arrived, and Simon also received the key to the specimen room. Teacher Shao repeatedly advised him not to enter casually, fearing that some things might be too much for a child to handle, and suggested they go together.
Teacher Shao's words were well-intentioned, but Simon always felt he had ulterior motives, because his hidden excitement was like Su Xiangli's snickering before every prank. So, what exactly was in the specimen room? Could it be hiding a mysterious laboratory?
Simon shivered.
These days, secret laboratories are synonymous with danger in films and TV shows.
It was the end of December, and Simon's interview officially began.
It happened to be a Friday, and the interview was scheduled for 1 PM. Simon chose an empty classroom. Teacher Shao brought a projector. The classroom lights were adjusted to be more natural, the curtains were drawn, and the projector was turned on.
The projection screen only showed a blue background with a "Signal Not Connected" prompt box in the center.
While the signal wasn't yet connected, this time could be used to tidy up his attire.
Simon was wearing his school uniform, red with white stripes, the kind that was wide and thick, making everyone who wore it look equally dull.
Unfortunately, Simon and his classmates were not yet Young Pioneers; otherwise, a red scarf tied around his neck would make it more formal. The Young Pioneer initiation ceremony at Experimental Primary School was uniformly scheduled for the second semester of third grade, just a few months away. Teacher Shao looked him up and down, said he'd be right back, and then hurried out the door.
Simon pulled out his phone to check the time; it was already 12:57! Teacher Shao, how could he leave him alone here!
The "Signal Not Connected" on the projection screen changed to "Signal Test 1," and the blue background turned yellow, then "Signal Test 2," turning red. The three colors flickered alternately for a moment, and the prompt box displayed "Signal Test Complete."
Simon sat in the empty classroom, in the very center. The projector was on the desk in front of him. He looked up at the screen on the front wall, the huge image not even fully visible. This scene gave him a strange hallucination, as if a giant person was hiding behind the projection screen, switching between red, yellow, and blue transparent paper sheets. That person had countless arms, a calm to cruel face, but the corners of its mouth were slightly upturned, whether from joy or some external demand. Such a giant had always been hidden behind the screen—did people see it? Perhaps they did, perhaps they didn't.
Simon stared at the giant. It cared nothing for a small existence like Simon. It was merely playing with the three-colored thin sheets in its hands.
What could possibly be so entertaining? Simon watched the giant's activities with a scrutinizing gaze.
Slowly, as Simon concentrated more and more, he realized that the giant was actually false; the changing thin sheets in its hands were real. Even those thin sheets, when still, were not real; only when they changed, countless scenes appearing and disappearing, like the explosion of grand fireworks, vivid to the point of cloying illusions, countless realities turning into falsehoods here, countless falsehoods turning into realities here. Simon could see the thin sheets growing limbs, which was that giant.
The giant's shell was piled with gnarled, lead-white muscles, like mercury, gleaming with a cold, sticky sheen, as if smeared with a layer of glue, making one unable to look away, only staring fixedly at the thin sheets changing between its palms. As the thin sheets switched, countless colors gushed out, like an artesian well of underground water, so overwhelming that it was impossible to break free.
Teacher Shao's voice came from a distant, indistinct horizon, "A red scarf... for you, good boy, you look so spirited!"
"Are you listening? The interview..."
Teacher Shao's voice, which had been a high-pitched and slightly sharp baritone, turned into a dull, calm mechanical voice, continuously repeating "interview," "interview," "interview."
Simon narrowed his eyes. A concrete scene was projected from the thin sheets in the giant's hand: a sixth-generation FUND functional bionic intelligent machine was looking at him. Its appearance was more designed and technologically advanced than civilian HOME-type intelligent machines, with minimalist lines converging into cool curves, giving it the texture of a tough warrior.
"It seems our little friend Simon is a bit shy," the robot reporter's face displayed a smiling expression.
Simon snapped back to reality. He realized his brain was too sensitive, causing bad hallucinations—a symptom of mental illness.
He briefly recalled that the interview had just begun, and it was Question One. So, Simon pretended to be nervous and replied, "I, I am eight years old this year."
"Excellent!" the machine greatly praised the young boy.
Each subsequent question proceeded in an orderly manner.
Until the very last one.
"Do you have any thoughts on your future studies and life?"
Simon thought for a moment. This could easily be a trick question. He couldn't be subjective, couldn't say anything personal. He looked at his task progress; it had been two and a half days—a rare record.
"No thoughts."
Ding, mission failed. Do you want to restart?
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