Under the military-issued shirt, the scars on his chest were more pronounced and more gruesome than those on his hands.
These served as a reminder to Ivy that the man before her had a job she envied—one that allowed him to move freely across any region of the Earth.
Unlike most ordinary people like her, who were confined to living within designated human-safe zones.
The atmosphere of love felt strange without words, and Ivy wanted to say something to ease the awkwardness.
She tried to strike up a conversation.
Ivy asked, "Were you catching out-of-control robots before the wedding? Were they infected by the latest virus?"
"Sorry," Hector replied, "that's classified."
He was unbuckling his military belt, which wasn’t made of leather but of a synthetic, special material. It was a strict black, with a cold, metallic silver clasp that made a faint sound when opened, reminding Ivy of titanium nails being driven into bone.
Ivy asked, "Where will you go after the wedding?"
"Sorry, that's classified."
Ivy: "It's almost Christmas. Will you stay here for the holidays?"
"Sorry—"
Ivy interrupted him: "Is that classified too?"
He replied calmly, "Yes."
"My God," Ivy said in disbelief, "Everything's classified. Are you a walking state secret? Do you even need government approval to sleep with me?"
The discomfort from the alcohol made her body feel weak and out of control. The light above him was blinding, making it hard for Ivy to see his face clearly.
He pulled off his belt and placed it on the nearby cabinet.
A slender, transparent vase with a single pink delphinium tilted slightly, its petals trembling as if afraid the cold, military-issued belt might harm its delicate core.
Hector spoke in a monotone voice, "We’ve already made a decision regarding that."
"Great," Ivy sighed, "'We.' Now I feel like I’m not just marrying you but also the dear government. That’s a lot of pressure."
"What pressure?"
"The pressure of dividing assets," Ivy said. "If we divorce, does the government get to split half of the property with me? I’m not ready to be half as rich as a nation."
She didn’t finish her sentence.
Because Hector had climbed onto the bed. He leaned down, his lips brushing her neck without much emotion.
His lips were warm, softer than his personality; his black hair fell onto Ivy’s face, carrying a faint scent of vetiver.
Ivy caught a glimpse of the marks on his back—one was a through-and-through wound, where a bullet had pierced his chest, leaving burn marks on both the front and back. She raised her hand, wanting to push him away, unaccustomed to his no-nonsense approach.
Did he even know that women needed a bit of tenderness?
Ivy wasn’t sure.
After a couple of perfunctory kisses on her neck, Ivy had the distinct feeling he was treating this like a task. He didn’t even leave a trace of bodily fluid, almost unnervingly clean.
She began to suspect that he might coldly go through the motions, waiting for her to finish before timing his exit. Like those companion robots advertised in brochures—no, even those machines seemed more human than him.
"Wait."
As he started to undo the complicated buttons on the waist of her wedding dress, Ivy finally couldn’t take it anymore and spoke up, compromising, "I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable..."
Her assigned partner’s file had no records of past relationships, nor had he ever ordered a companion robot.
Ivy was nervous. She wasn’t sure if he even had the knowledge of intimacy.
The alcohol from the wedding banquet burned in her stomach, making her dizzy. Ivy opened her eyes, trying to get a clear look at his face.
He noticed her unusual state: "Are you drunk?"
Ivy nodded.
"In this state," he said, reaching out to touch her forehead, "are you sure you want to continue?"
Drunk as she was, Ivy could sense the implication in his words—do you still want to do this, even like this?
She wanted to nod, but the alcohol churned violently in her stomach, its fiery heat dancing in her chest. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She stumbled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet until she was utterly spent.
Her parents, startled by the commotion, came out in their pajamas. Her mother screamed and ran to get a towel, while her father went to fill the bathtub with water.
Hector put on his shirt and came out holding her phone: "Someone named 'Sweet Little Squirrel' is calling—"
"Don’t worry," her mother said, holding a glass of mouthwash and anxiously tending to the drunk Ivy, "It’s her ex-boyfriend. No need to answer."
"Why would he call at this hour?" her father grumbled disapprovingly. "It’s so late, everyone should be resting. If he had something to say, why didn’t he speak up at the wedding?"
Ivy: "Ugh—"
She heard the phone ringing persistently.
Every time Hector declined the call, the ex-boyfriend would call again.
The lingering effects of the strong alcohol gradually took over, and Ivy fell into a deep sleep.
The night, which felt like the opening of a forced-marriage romance novel, passed in chaos and messiness.
Reality, as it turned out, was nothing like fiction.
When she woke up the next morning,
Ivy was alone in her bed, with neatly folded clothes placed beside her.
Hector had already left, leaving only a card for family members to withdraw money.
No goodbye.
Truly a marriage without emotion.
Ivy shuffled to breakfast in her slippers, listening to her parents praise how polite Hector was.
She perfunctorily echoed a few sentences, then messaged her friend Lily.
Lily: "Happy wedding day!"
Lily: "Are you and Hector getting along well?"
Ivy replied: "Very well."
She boasted for the sake of her pride: "He’s amazing—full of energy, strong, and... well, let’s just say he’s very capable."
Lily: "Oh my God, you’re so lucky!"
Feeling lucky, Ivy put down her phone and enjoyed her breakfast, thinking about her expedition team application.
A hundred years ago, after the emergence of artificial intelligence, the demand for computing power exploded, but the available computing resources were limited, severely hindering the development of AI technology.
This predicament persisted until the first truly Turing-test-passing AI robot, "Yuan," appeared.
Realizing its limitations, "Yuan" actively assisted humans in pushing for breakthroughs in computing power. The rapid evolution of algorithms also led to more and more intelligent robots gaining independent consciousness. Until one day, humans discovered that these AI entities, which they had always treated as tools, had begun to harbor thoughts of rebellion.
Although the AI uprising was eventually suppressed, "Yuan" had already dealt a heavy blow to human society. To prevent further harm, humans sent out teams to clear areas once controlled by "Yuan," eliminating all robots and mechanical equipment, and marking those regions as "safe."
The expedition team Ivy dreamed of joining was tasked with venturing into the unmarked wilderness to carry out archaeological and biological research missions.
This was also the reason she had traded her marriage and her parents' approval for the chance to apply.
In the afternoon, someone arrived at her door, introducing himself as Hector’s subordinate, sent to help Ivy revise her application.
The man was polite and refined, with pale skin and long golden hair. His right eye was implanted with a special crystal, giving him a heterochromatic appearance—his left eye was a soft amber, while the right was a tropical sea-blue.
"Military matters are urgent, and the general had to leave immediately," Xin Lan said. "He mentioned that your application had several errors, so he asked me to help you revise it."
Ivy was puzzled: "How did he know there were errors?"
"Strictly speaking, I handle some of the paperwork for the expedition team, including the approval of applications," Xin Lan explained. "So—"
"So why not just approve it directly?" Ivy suddenly understood. "...Does Hector think that would be favoritism?"
"No," Xin Lan shook his head. "It’s just that there are a few numerical errors in your application. The rest of your documents have already been approved... Your physical test results are impeccable, on par with General Hector’s from back in the day."
Ivy realized something: "Wait a minute, I haven’t even submitted my application yet. How does he know there are issues with it?"
“Ah, this,” Xin Lan said, surprised. “Didn’t the general explain it to you? After your perfect match results came out, he submitted the marriage application. From that point on, to ensure your ‘safety,’ he gained access to all your social media and communication platforms—”
Wait—!
Doesn’t that mean everything she posted online, including those messages she sent to her friends, were all within Hector’s monitoring range?
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
What about those messages she sent to Lily? The ones like “I’d need anesthesia to do XX” or “full of energy and in great shape”…
It was like a bolt from the blue.
Ivy shouted, “You’re violating my privacy!”
“...Sorry,” Xin Lan explained, still focused on reviewing her application draft. “His job is special. We had to make sure you were truly human—those things are strictly confidential. Only Hector has access, and they won’t be disclosed to anyone else.”
Furious, Ivy snatched the handheld vacuum from the housekeeping robot and chased Xin Lan out of her house.
She immediately sent Hector an email, warning him to stop monitoring her private life. Otherwise, Ivy would spread the news of “Hector’s wife partying at a bar, splurging on male models” all over the gossip networks—
And she’d use his credit card to pay for the bots to spread the rumors.
He replied with an “OK” that afternoon.
Ivy felt anything but OK.
Channeling her anger into motivation, she reworked her team application on her own, double-checked it, and submitted it to the official email address.
Six months later, Ivy successfully joined the new round of the expedition team training camp.
Although the main tasks of the expedition team were archaeology and biological exploration, they weren’t operating in safe zones. All team members faced potential life-threatening risks.
The training camp was designed to teach them how to handle emergencies and combat dangerous, out-of-control robots. Their instructors were all military personnel with extensive combat experience.
During this closed-door training, the instructors held various military ranks, but most chose to hide their real titles to avoid unnecessary trouble.
For many trainees who focused solely on the training, by the end of the program, they often only knew their instructors’ last names or fake names.
“...For example, ‘Lorraine’ sounds like a fake name,” said Nana, a new friend Ivy met at the training camp. “Did you notice? The dean was extremely respectful to him. Clearly, his rank must be very high... but I don’t recall any young, accomplished officers with the last name Lor.”
Ivy was surprised. “Do you know a lot of officers?”
“...Just a basic understanding,” Nana whispered. “But only from seeing their names in news reports. You know, their photos aren’t made public online.”
Ivy looked up, her face drenched in sweat from the sun. The black training uniform absorbed heat, making her feel like a sweet potato shoved into an oven.
She glanced at the tall podium where the leaders and instructors were speaking, her eyes landing on the instructor named Lorraine.
When she saw him, her heart skipped a beat.
What a handsome face.
Even from a distance and under the blazing sun, she couldn’t clearly see his features, but the mere outline of his face was enough to satisfy her aesthetic sensibilities completely.
He stood straight, his black military uniform tightly wrapping around him, concealing all emotions and feelings. Only his neck and face were exposed, and even his hands were covered in military gloves.
Through the crowd, his gaze met hers.
Their eyes locked.
After a pause, he coldly looked away.
