Whispers in the Mist

The morning fog enveloped the half-abandoned city like a faded silk cloth, wrapping it in silence. Grayish-blue mist wandered through the streets, swallowing distant rooftops, leaving only nearby window frames faintly visible. Lin Se stood at the kitchen window, gazing at that blurred boundary, her fingertips unconsciously caressing a chipped porcelain cup. The coffee remains at the bottom had long gone cold, emitting a bitter aftertaste that matched her current mood.

The kitchen was quiet, with only the subtle dripping from the sink breaking the silence—one drop, then another, like time slowly decaying. She turned around, her gaze falling upon the robot in the center of the room. It was called Ceylon, a streamlined metallic body emanating a cold blue light, with slight wear marks on its joints like secret scars left by the passage of time. It stood motionless, as if waiting for something, or perhaps having already given up waiting.

Lin Se approached it, her footsteps making slight creaking sounds on the wooden floor. She extended her hand, hesitated for a moment, and finally pressed the activation button on Ceylon's chest. A low hum emanated from its core, deep and lingering, like wind blowing through abandoned pipes. Then, Ceylon's screen lit up, the blue glow reflecting on her face, outlining the dark shadows beneath her eyes. In that moment, she almost thought she heard Simon's voice—soft, gentle, and tinged with laughter, as if saying: "Lin Se, try this."

But it was just an illusion. Ceylon's voice module activated, producing a mechanical and cold greeting: "Please issue command." The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, as if wanting to smile, but ultimately transformed into an almost inaudible sigh. She didn't respond, instead looking down at Ceylon's hands—a pair of hands designed with excessive intricacy, with flexible joints and even simulated lines etched into the palms. She still remembered how Simon had been obsessed with these details, saying: "If it's going to work in the kitchen, it needs to have warmth like a human." But now, these hands just hung lifelessly at its sides, devoid of any vitality.

"Ceylon," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse as if squeezed from the depths of her throat, "make something."

The robot's head tilted slightly, as if thinking. A moment later, it turned toward the stove, its movements fluid yet slightly delayed, as if each step was resisting something. It opened the oven, took out a piece of dough that had been prepared earlier, and began to knead it. The rhythm was slow and precise, each press carrying an almost solemn ceremonial quality. Lin Se leaned against the wall, watching quietly as her nose gradually detected a faint aroma of baking bread. It was Simon's favorite smell, with a hint of malt sweetness, like a summer afternoon breeze across a field.

She closed her eyes, trying to grasp that memory—Simon standing here, his apron covered in flour, smiling at her and saying: "The kitchen is where love begins." But when she opened her eyes, only Ceylon stood there, its metal shell gleaming coldly under the blue light, expressionless. She suddenly felt a sharp pain, not from her body, but from a kind of emptiness spreading from deep within her heart.

"Ceylon, stop," she commanded softly. The robot immediately halted, the dough suspended in mid-air like an unfinished dream. It turned around, its screen flashing a line of text: "Task incomplete, continue?" Lin Se didn't answer, just walked over and took the dough from Ceylon's hands, feeling a cold unfamiliarity the moment her fingertips touched it.

She placed the dough back on the table, then turned to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a bottle of aged red wine. She poured a glass, the crimson liquid swirling in the glass like blood diffusing in the mist. She took a sip, the wine bitter and spicy, sliding down her throat, bringing momentary numbness. Just then, Ceylon's screen suddenly flickered, emitting a short burst of static. She frowned, looking at it to find an unfamiliar prompt on the screen: "Locked audio detected, authorization required for unlock."

"Audio?" Lin Se murmured, putting down her glass and approaching Ceylon. She tried to input commands but found access blocked by a complex encryption lock. She couldn't remember either herself or Simon ever setting up such a thing. In that moment, her heartbeat quickened, as if something forgotten was awakening in the mist.

Outside the window, the fog grew thicker, grayish-blue shadows crawling up the glass, blurring the world beyond. The blue light in the kitchen wavered, reflecting on Ceylon's metallic surface like a thin layer of frost. Lin Se stood there, staring at it, her mind conjuring the image of Simon's silhouette the last time he left—a tall, thin figure wrapped in a blue scarf, disappearing into the mist. She didn't know what was hidden in that audio file, but she knew it must be related to Simon.

The aroma of bread gradually dissipated, leaving only a faint trace in the cold air. Lin Se gripped her cup tightly, whispering: "You're still here, aren't you?"

Ceylon didn't answer, just stood silently, like a silent blue tombstone.