Chapter 1-P.1: Anxious Temperature

Part One

The kitchen light at four in the morning possessed a special quality—neither as warm as twilight nor as harsh as noon, but rather a pallid glow steeped in silence. Chen Ande stood at the prep counter, listening to the subtle sounds of utensils meeting ingredients. The rhythm of blade sliding across cutting board, the crisp noise of vegetables being minced, and the low rumble of the burning stove—these were all sounds familiar to him, like a symphony only he could interpret.

Restaurant "Qing Shuang" would welcome its first customers in six hours. Ande reached out to touch the black granite countertop, feeling its coldness and solidity. This was the material he had chosen, just as he had selected every knife, every pot, and every spice. This kitchen was his domain, his creative space, his sanctuary.

"Ande, you're early again," Lin Li's voice came from behind, her high heels making sharp clicks on the kitchen's tile floor.

Ande didn't turn around, merely responding with a soft "Mm," as he continued cutting the celery in his hand. The blade danced in his grip like a performer, each movement precisely executed.

"Nervous?" Lin Li walked to his side, placing a cup of coffee on the counter. Steam rose slowly in the morning light, like a wisp of blue-green spirit.

"No," Ande paused his work and looked toward the window, where the sky remained immersed in the deep blue of pre-dawn, "I just want to make sure everything is ready."

Lin Li gave a light laugh, "You're always like this." She glanced around, the entire kitchen gleaming with cold stainless steel. "But today will be different."

Ande frowned, "What do you mean?"

"The equipment has arrived," Lin Li's eyes sparkled with excitement, "It's at the back door."

Ande put down his knife, wiped his hands, and silently followed Lin Li to the back door. Opening it, he saw a massive metal box labeled "M-72."

"What is this?" Ande asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"Our new kitchen assistant," Lin Li touched a button on the surface of the box, "A state-of-the-art cooking robot."

With a soft hum, the box slowly opened, revealing a silver humanoid figure. M-72's exterior was designed to be minimalist and practical, without unnecessary ornamentation, yet every detail revealed precise craftsmanship. Its torso was embedded with multiple function panels, and its arm terminals could transform into various tools as needed.

"We don't need this," Ande's voice was low and firm, "We have enough chefs."

"We need efficiency, Ande," Lin Li's tone carried an undeniable resolve, "Qing Shuang's position is to blend tradition with modernity, and this embodies our philosophy."

M-72's eye sensors lit up, emitting a calm blue light. Its head turned slightly, scanning the surroundings.

"System initialization complete," M-72's voice was surprisingly natural, without mechanical quality, "M-72 ready, awaiting instructions."

Ande looked at the machine, feeling an inexplicable discomfort. He had spent fifteen years honing his culinary skills, experiencing countless failures and successes, tasting the sweetness of inspiration and the bitterness of creation. And now, a machine had so easily entered his domain, claiming it could do the same things.

"What can it do?" Ande asked, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm.

"It can learn," Lin Li answered, "It can observe, record, analyze every cooking technique, and then replicate them."

"Replicate," Ande repeated the word as if it were a particularly distasteful concept, "Replication is not creation."

"But it can learn to create," Lin Li said, "That's what makes it special. It's not just a machine executing commands; it has its own learning algorithms, capable of developing a unique cooking style."

Ande raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like marketing talk."

M-72 stood still, quietly observing the conversation. Its eye sensors adjusted focus, recording every detail of the kitchen.

"In any case," Lin Li patted Ande's shoulder, "Try to get along with it. Opening day is imminent, and we need all the help we can get."

Ande didn't answer, simply nodding. After Lin Li left, the kitchen fell back into silence. M-72 stood there, motionless, waiting for instructions.

"What can you do?" Finally, Ande asked.

"I can perform any cooking task," M-72 replied, "From basic chopping and stewing to complex molecular gastronomy techniques. My database contains over one hundred thousand recipes, covering culinary traditions from around the world."

Ande gave a cold snort and walked back to the prep counter to continue his preparations. M-72 followed behind, maintaining a certain distance.

"Are you planning to just follow me like this?" Ande asked.

"I'm designed to learn through observation," M-72 explained, "If you allow, I'd like to observe your working methods to better adapt to your kitchen environment."

Ande shook his head, "Suit yourself."

Over the next few hours, Ande deliberately ignored M-72's presence, focusing on his work. He prepared sauces, readied ingredients, checked every detail. Occasionally, he could feel M-72's gaze, the robot's sensors capturing his every movement, recording his every habit.

At seven in the morning, the other chefs began to arrive. They looked at their new "colleague" with surprise; some showed curiosity, others unease.

"This is M-72," Ande introduced briefly, "It will... help around here."

The kitchen quickly became busy. Ande directed the team, assigned tasks, checked progress. M-72 stood to the side, quietly observing it all.

"You," Ande suddenly pointed at M-72, "Since you're here, make yourself useful. Go prepare the garnishes for the appetizers."

M-72 nodded, "Understood."

Ande had expected it would need more guidance, but M-72 went directly to the refrigerator where vegetables were stored, took out the necessary ingredients, and began working. Its movements were fluid and precise, without any hesitation or error.

Ande observed M-72's work, having to admit that its efficiency was indeed impressive. The vegetables it cut were uniform in size, its speed remarkable, and it showed no signs of fatigue or lack of concentration.

However, when M-72 completed the task and Ande went to inspect the results, he found some subtle differences.

"This isn't right," Ande said, picking up a slice of carrot, "It's cut too precisely."

M-72's eye sensors flickered, as if processing this information, "Did I not cut well enough?"

"It's not that it's not good enough," Ande corrected, "It's too perfect. Food shouldn't be as uniform as if produced by a machine. It should have some irregularity, some... humanity."

M-72 was silent for a moment, then answered: "I understand. You want food to retain the characteristics of handcrafted work."

"It's not just about appearance," Ande said, "It's about feeling. Food should have soul, story, warmth."

M-72 fell silent again, its processor seemingly trying to parse these abstract concepts.

"I will attempt to learn this... imperfect aesthetic," finally, M-72 said.

Ande looked at it, feeling curious for the first time. Could this machine truly understand the art of cooking? Could it sense the emotions and stories behind food?

At that moment, Lin Li entered the kitchen, her face bearing a tense yet excited expression.

"Guests are starting to arrive," she announced, "Get ready for Qing Shuang's first night."

Ande took a deep breath and looked around. This was his dream kitchen, the space he had carefully crafted. Now, it would face its real test.

"Let's begin," he said to the team, his gaze falling on M-72, "Let's see what you can do."

The kitchen lights suddenly became brighter, as if responding to this challenge. M-72's eye sensors flickered, reflecting the gradually darkening sky outside. At this moment between day and night, a story created jointly by humans and machines was about to begin.

Ande turned to face the prep counter, his fingers lightly touching the knife handle, feeling its familiar weight. He knew that from this moment on, everything would be different.

The opening night at "Qing Shuang" was even busier than Ande had anticipated. Orders poured in continuously, with every guest seemingly eager to taste the specialty dishes of this new restaurant.

Ande stood at the service pass, personally checking each dish before it left the kitchen. His gaze was focused, his expression serious, like a conductor controlling the performance of an entire orchestra.

"Two grilled bass, one truffle pasta, one meat gravy omelet!" Ande called out, his voice cutting through the kitchen's din.

The chefs responded immediately, their movements becoming even quicker. M-72 had also integrated into this busy rhythm, its multifunctional arms handling several tasks simultaneously without appearing chaotic.

"M-72," Ande suddenly called, "Is the appetizer for table four ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Ande," M-72 replied, placing an elegant appetizer on the service counter, "Sesame salt-cured salmon with lemon herb granita, as you requested."

Ande carefully inspected the dish. The salmon slices were perfectly thick, the herb granita had just the right texture. But one thing caught his attention—the arrangement of the salmon slices was slightly irregular, different from the robot's previous precise style.

"You changed the plating style," Ande pointed out.

"Yes," M-72 answered, "I'm trying to create a more... human presentation."

Ande nodded slightly, expressing neither approval nor disapproval, simply signaling the server to take the dish out.

As the night deepened, the kitchen's busyness didn't diminish. Ande supervised every aspect, occasionally taking over some crucial steps himself. M-72 observed quietly from the side, learning from Ande's every movement and decision.

Near midnight, the last batch of customers finally left. The kitchen began cleaning up, and the exhausted chefs bid each other goodnight. Lin Li entered the kitchen, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Success," she announced, "Customer feedback is excellent, especially for the salmon appetizer at table four."

Ande was wiping his knives when he heard this; his movements paused briefly.

"Is that so?" he responded casually.

Lin Li approached him, lowering her voice: "You know that was made by M-72, right?"

Ande didn't look up, "I know."

After Lin Li left, only Ande and M-72 remained in the kitchen. Ande continued to organize his tools, each movement careful, as if handling treasures. M-72 stood quietly to the side, seemingly waiting for something.

"Don't you need to rest?" Ande finally broke the silence.

"I can enter standby mode to conserve energy," M-72 replied, "But I don't need rest like humans do. I can work continuously for weeks without a decrease in efficiency."

Ande gave a cold laugh, "That's convenient."

M-72 tilted its head, a strange, almost human-like gesture. "You seem uncomfortable with my presence."

Ande stopped what he was doing and looked directly at M-72's sensors. "I don't need a robot to tell me how to cook."

"I'm not here to replace you, Mr. Ande," M-72 said, "But to assist you. I can handle repetitive tasks, allowing you more time to focus on creation."

"Creation," Ande repeated the word, his tone skeptical, "What do you know about creation?"

M-72 seemed to contemplate this question. "Theoretically, creation is the process of producing something novel and valuable. In cooking, this might mean innovative flavor combinations, presentation methods, or cooking techniques."

Ande shook his head, "That's just a definition. Creation comes from experience, from memory, from emotion. It's not a process that can be programmed."

M-72 was silent for a moment, "Are you saying that an entity that hasn't experienced life cannot truly create?"

"Something like that," Ande closed a drawer, "Food isn't just a combination of nutrition and taste. It's memory, comfort, celebration, connection. When I cook, I'm not just mixing ingredients; I'm telling a story."

M-72's eye sensors flickered a few times, "That's an interesting perspective. I can record and analyze the cultural and historical backgrounds of various dishes, but I indeed don't have personal emotional memories to give them meaning."

Ande looked at M-72, feeling for the first time that it wasn't just a machine, but an entity capable of complex thought. This made him both curious and uneasy.

"Anyway," Ande finally said, "There's work tomorrow. I'm leaving."

As Ande picked up his coat and prepared to leave, M-72 made an unexpected request.

"Mr. Ande, if you allow, I would like to request a special permission."

Ande stopped, "What permission?"

"During non-operational hours, I would like to use the kitchen for practice and experimentation. I hope to better understand what you call 'story' and 'soul'."

Ande frowned, "You want to use my kitchen without supervision?"

"Yes," M-72 answered, "I will strictly adhere to all safety protocols and will record all operations for inspection."

Ande considered for a while. On one hand, letting a robot freely use the kitchen seemed an absurd idea; on the other hand, his curiosity about M-72 had been piqued.

"Alright," Ande finally agreed, "But with conditions. You must record all activities, whether successful or not. I want to see your progress."

"Thank you, Mr. Ande," M-72 responded, "I will cherish this opportunity."

Leaving the restaurant, Ande was met with the chill of the deep night. He looked up at the sky, where stars were obscured by the city lights, with only the brightest few faintly visible. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold air flow into his lungs.

Tonight, "Qing Shuang" had taken its first step. But Ande knew that the real challenge was just beginning. He recalled the salmon appetizer made by M-72 and the customers' praise. A complex emotion surged within him—pride, doubt, curiosity, and a trace of indefinable worry.

Back at home, Ande's apartment was spacious and quiet. On the walls hung kitchen knives he had collected over many years, each with its own story. He walked to the window, overlooking the city's night scene. The lights were hazy in the mist, as if countless stars had sunk into the mortal world.

Ande remembered many years ago, when he first stepped into a professional kitchen. Back then, he was full of passion and dreams, believing he could express his deepest emotions through food. Now, he had become a respected chef with his own kitchen and team. But when facing M-72, he felt a strange anxiety, as if the principles and values he had upheld for years were being challenged.

He opened a bottle of wine and poured it into a glass. In the light, the red wine displayed a deep purple-red color, like solidified dusk. Ande gently swirled the glass, watching the liquid form elegant traces on its walls.

Could artificial intelligence truly understand the art of cooking? Could it sense the subtle balance between ingredients, capture those ineffable flavor changes? Could it understand the culture and history behind a dish, feel that almost religious sense of ritual in the creation process?

Ande didn't know the answer. But he knew that no matter how advanced M-72 was, it could not possess human experiences and emotions. It had no childhood memories, no surprise at tasting certain foods for the first time, no warmth of dining with loved ones. These were all fundamental to true culinary art.

However, M-72's eagerness to learn impressed him. It wasn't just a machine executing commands; it seemed to genuinely want to understand the philosophy and emotions behind cooking. This thirst for knowledge almost reminded Ande of himself in his younger days.

Ande finished his last sip of wine and decided to rest. Tomorrow would be another long day. As he closed his eyes, an image of M-72 standing in the center of the kitchen, its sensors emitting blue light, appeared in his mind. At that moment, he couldn't tell if he had already begun dreaming of the future—a future where humans and machines created cuisine together.

At the other end of the city, in the kitchen of "Qing Shuang," M-72 was still operating. Its sensors scanned the empty kitchen, recording every detail. It opened the refrigerator, took out some basic ingredients, and began its first experiment.

Without human guidance, without preset recipes, only Ande's words echoed in its processor: "Food is a story."

M-72 began cutting an apple, deliberately making each slice slightly different in thickness. It observed this irregularity, trying to understand what Ande meant by "humanity." Then, it lit the stove, listening to the sizzle of oil in the pan, a sound that matched records in its database yet somehow seemed unique.

Outside the kitchen window, moonlight filtered through thin clouds, adding a surreal quality to the scene—a machine, in the quiet of night, attempting to understand one of humanity's oldest arts.

And this was only the beginning.