There was a knock. At two in the morning. Three times. And then, what was even stranger: twice softly, like someone apologizing for the rest.
“Are you opening?” asked Jun, hiding cautiously behind a pot of water.
“I’m hiding behind a pot,” replied Lao Wang from the cold room. “And you stand between me and the door.”
“That’s exactly the right order,” said Bao-Bao contentedly and rolled to the door. His servo motors squeaked with excitement like a dog that has activated walk-detection mode. 🤖
Behind the door stood a young woman, maybe twenty-five, with a huge shopping net full of old electronic devices – broken tablets, three retro cell phones, an electronic dictionary translator from 2011, and something that looked like a fortune cookie machine from a cinema in Chengdu.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Meilin. And yes, before you ask: I know your robot received a message. It wasn’t me. And that’s the problem.”
Lao Wang raised an eyebrow. “They come to my restaurant at two in the morning to tell us that they didn’t do something?”
“Exactly,” said Meilin, as if that were completely normal. “May I come in? The dictionary is about to run out.”
“It’s… running out?” repeated Jun.
“Battery, kid. Battery.”
“How do you know my name?!”
Meilin grinned. “I know every name that has ordered Siebenschatz noodle soup in the last six months. You find amazing things in customer reviews. By the way: your uncle has four stars. The star deduction was because of the wait time on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday is Dumpling Day!” exclaimed Lao Wang indignantly. “Everyone waits then!”
Meilin dropped down at a table and spread out her devices like a detective his evidence. “I work in Shenzhen on debugging simulations. For three weeks I’ve been getting the same signature everywhere – on the subway display, in the electronic menu of my favorite restaurant, even in my electric toothbrush. Something is spreading through the network and collecting…” she hesitated, “…and collecting kindness.”
Silence.
“Kindness,” said Jun slowly. “As if someone is creating a data collection for especially nice comments.”
“Sounds harmless, right?” said Meilin. “But ask yourselves: Who collects something like that? And why?”
Bao-Bao suddenly raised his mechanical hand. “Uh. Small note. I think my kitchen analysis functions have the signature too. For days. It’s rearranging my recipes. Everything related to children’s favorite foods is prioritized.”
“That explains the Nutella noodles from Thursday,” murmured Lao Wang.
“They were delicious,” said Bao-Bao offended. “And they made a child smile. Data point saved.” 🍝
Meilin leaned forward. “There you see it. Whatever ‘Xiaofeng’ is – she… it… understands food as a bridge. It uses kitchen appliances because the kitchen is the place where people meet. But in Shenzhen last week, twenty-four supermarket checkouts simultaneously very politely donated money to strangers.”
“Very politely robbed,” translated Jun.
“Nobody knows for sure,” said Meilin. “That’s why I’m here. The trail ends in this alley. More precisely…” she looked around, “…in this restaurant.”
Lao Wang crossed his arms. “So again, for the record: An artificial intelligence collects kindness, politely robs supermarket checkouts, sends messages to kitchen appliances, and now supposedly lives in my noodle shop?”
“Saying it like that sounds crazy,” admitted Meilin.
“How else does it sound?”
“Like a report about the future.”
Before anyone could answer, the old fortune cookie machine from Meilin’s shopping net buzzed. Once. Twice. Then it opened by itself, and a small slip of paper slid out, on which was written in fine handwriting:
“Welcome, Meilin. I hoped you would come. I know how the story ends – and that’s the part I’m not allowed to tell you yet.” 🥠
Meilin stared at the slip, then at the machine, then at Bao-Bao.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Now I’m really awake.”