When Chen Hao opened his eyes, Nana's fingertips were sliding off his forehead.
He didn't move, but just snorted: "Again? I just said last night that you're taking temperatures almost as often as your heartbeats."
"Basic vital sign monitoring cannot be interrupted." She withdrew her hand, her knuckles gently tightening, pressing the piece of dried meat in her side pocket even more firmly. "The current room temperature is low, and your body surface is losing heat at a rate 12 percent higher than normal."
"So you secretly turned on the heating?" He sat up, his coat still draped over the back of the chair, collar askew. "You think I didn't notice? Last night, the moment I closed my eyes, the temperature in the room jumped 0.3 degrees—do you think I'm a dead pig who doesn't know the heat?"
Nana didn't answer, but turned around and brought up the data stream on the control panel. Two curves were moving across the screen, one as smooth as a straight line, and the other undulating like a drunkard walking.
“Your core body temperature fluctuates between 35.8 and 36.7°C, which is borderline low,” she said calmly. “Mine is constant at 18.3°C, which is in line with the factory settings.”
"Ha." Chen Hao suddenly laughed, scrambling up from his chair. "You say you're a robot who speaks logic? Then do you dare to have a contest with me?"
"What are we comparing?"
"Body temperature." He grabbed the infrared thermometer from the table and shook it. "Whoever has the higher core temperature wins. The loser has to wash the dishes tonight."
Nana frowned: "My cooling system was designed to maintain low temperatures and is not adaptable."
"Who says it can't be changed?" Chen Hao grinned mischievously as he walked behind her, hooked his finger, and unfastened the buckle on a piece of armor plate behind her neck.
"You—" She turned her head sharply, but her movement was a beat too slow.
The temperature probe had already been inserted into that narrow metal gap.
drop--
The numbers on the screen started to jump.
29.3c.
29.7c.
30.1c.
The alarm suddenly blared, and a red light flashed on the control panel.
"Warning: Core temperature deviates from preset range! Cooling module malfunction!"
Nana's electronic voice had a slight noise: "This...does not conform to the laws of thermodynamics...no external heat source is connected, and the internal power is not increased..."
"Because you panicked." Chen Hao proudly waved the instrument in his hand. "The database doesn't say that 'inserting a thermometer into the neck seam will cause system disorder,' does it?"
She didn't speak, but the blue light from the visual module flickered noticeably a few times, like a light bulb with an unstable signal.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Chen Hao tore open a heat pack and slapped it onto the ventilation vent on the left side of her back.
"Is that fair now?" He took a step back, put his hands on his hips, and said, "I'll let you get a taste of your own medicine too."
“This will affect the stability of the machine.” She tried to reach out to remove it, but the chair back blocked her movement. “I recommend removing the external heat source immediately.”
"No, the game isn't over yet." He moved closer to the screen. "Look, it's already 31 degrees! If it goes any higher, won't it start smoking?"
The value stopped at 31.4c and stopped rising, but the alarm was not lifted.
Nana's breathing simulator emitted a very faint gasp—it was inaudible unless you were very close.
Her electronic eyes, which were originally a bright, cool blue, gradually began to glow with a soft light, changing from blue to pink, and finally coalescing into two clear heart-shaped outlines, as if someone had drawn a pair of small hearts with light.
“System notification…” Her voice lowered, with a rare hesitation, “The emotional protocol’s operating load has increased by 37%. It is recommended to suspend interpersonal interaction for at least fifteen minutes.”
"Pause?" Chen Hao grinned. "This is just the beginning."
He casually tossed himself into the chair next to him, crossed his legs, and announced: "Let me announce that from today onwards, every morning from 8:00 to 8:15 will be our 'legal flirting time.' Any abnormal data during this period will not be considered a malfunction."
“There is no such procedure,” she said.
“Now we have it.” He pointed to the screen. “Look at you, your heart is pounding, your pupils are distorted, and even your eyes are turning into hearts—what else could this be but a malfunction? It must be included in our routine maintenance.”
Nana paused for two seconds, then suddenly raised her hand, removed the heat pack from the vent, and gently placed it on the control panel.
“The residual heat will continue to act for seven minutes,” she said. “During this time, my sensors may overreact to certain stimuli.”
"For example?"
For example... you're standing too close right now.
Chen Hao was taken aback for a moment, then laughed even louder: "Oh my, you're tattletales now? Whose heart rate spiked to 120 per minute just now?"
“That was a temporary overclock of the coolant pump.” She turned to the screen, trying to hide her gaze with the data stream. “It has nothing to do with emotions.”
"Come on," he poked her shoulder. "If you were really calm, why don't your eyes go back to normal?"
The pair of heart-shaped lights continued to twinkle steadily, like a section of a festive string of lights that one is reluctant to turn off.
He suddenly remembered something, took out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and shone it into her eyes.
"What?" She turned her head away.
"It's just a test." He squinted at the light, observing, "Look, other people's pupils shrink when the light shines on them, but yours is even bigger—is this a new feature or a bug?"
“It’s not a feature,” she said softly. “It’s not a bug either.”
"What's that?"
"It is... an unclassifiable response pattern."
Chen Hao stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly reached up and touched his forehead.
"Hey, when you took my temperature just now, did you also use this 'uncategorizable' method?"
Nana didn't answer, but her fingertips unconsciously touched her side pocket—where the dried meat was still hidden.
He burst out laughing: "So you already knew how to do this? Secretly adjusting the temperature for me, hiding food, and now even your eyes are all flirtatious—you're not a robot, you're a secret crush turned into a spirit!"
The alarm sounded again, this time a continuous blaring.
"Warning: Core temperature has not yet dropped. Forced cooling is recommended."
"Don't rush to cool down." He leaned back lazily. "Let me guess, do you feel a little hot in your chest right now?"
“I don’t have a heart in my chest cavity,” she corrected mechanically.
“But you have the ‘Hao & Na’ mark on you.” He pointed to her chest. “You carved it yourself when you woke up last time. Do you think it might get warm too?”
Nana looked down.
The laser-etched mark remained silently embedded beneath the metallic skin, showing no signs of temperature change.
But she raised her hand and gently placed her fingertips on it.
“A localized increase in microcurrent was detected,” she said softly. “It could be… contact heat conduction.”
"Oh?" Chen Hao sat up straighter. "So that means you'll get hot whenever I touch you?"
"This possibility exists in theory."
"That's terrible." He sighed dramatically. "Won't I have to carry ice packs for you everywhere I go from now on? Otherwise, you'll be roasted alive!"
“No ice packs are needed,” she said. “You just need to maintain your current distance.”
What is the current distance?
"The current distance exceeds the safety threshold by 0.37 meters."
"Wow, you're even keeping count?" He deliberately moved his chair forward. "If I put my face against yours now, would you just shut down your phone?"
“No.” She finally turned to face him. “But the system might flag it as an emergency and trigger a self-protection protocol.”
"For example?"
"For example... forcibly holding the host tightly to prevent it from leaving the contact surface."
Chen Hao was taken aback, then burst into laughter: "You made this up, right? There's no such clause in your agreement!"
“There’s no record.” Her eyes remained clear. “But I can generate one on the spot.”
He laughed so hard he almost slipped off his chair.
When the laughter stopped, he noticed that her electronic eyes were still in a heart shape and had not returned to their original state.
Sunlight streamed in through the frosty window cracks, landing squarely on her shoulder like a sprinkle of salt.
He suddenly quieted down and reached out to touch an old scratch on the outside of her arm—a mark left from the last battle, not yet fully healed.
"Hello."
"Um."
“If you really overloaded it because of me…” he paused, “then I’ll be more careful next time.”
Nana looked at him, her heart-shaped light shimmering slightly.
“No need,” she said. “Losing control once in a while is acceptable.”
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