Meng Feixuan arranged for the meeting at a members-only private club, located in the center of Haijing City. It was next to the city’s busiest district, yet still secluded and peaceful amidst the hustle and bustle.

When they arrived, the staff arranged by the Meng family stepped forward to help Meng Feixuan out of the car.

“Wait,” Meng Feixuan waved them away and turned eagerly to look at Xie Ran.

Xie Ran was confused: ?

Meng Feixuan silently opened his arms, making a hugging gesture, and signaled wildly with his eyes: “Sir, you know what to do.”

Xie Ran: “…”

Xie Ran got out from the other side of the car without looking back.

“Sigh—sir doesn’t understand,” Meng Feixuan sighed dramatically and reluctantly retracted his arms. Just as he was about to call the staff back over, he heard Xie Ran outside saying to them: “I’ll do it.”

Meng Feixuan: !!

Xie Ran leaned into the car from Meng Feixuan’s side, looking expressionless: “Hold on to me.”

Meng Feixuan’s eyes curved into a smile: “Of course.”

Xie Ran reached under Meng Feixuan’s armpit with one arm, and Meng Feixuan immediately wrapped both arms tightly around Xie Ran’s shoulders, clinging to him while shifting out of the car.

Meng Feixuan wasn’t exactly light, and Xie Ran struggled a bit to support him.

Meng Feixuan sighed: “Actually, having legs is better. That way I could just wrap myself around you.”

Xie Ran glanced sideways at him in silence. If he had legs, shouldn’t he just walk?

His AI’s logic was flawed.

After saying that, Meng Feixuan nuzzled his head into Xie Ran’s neck, resting his forehead against Xie Ran’s cheek.

His warm breath brushed across Xie Ran’s neck. Meng Feixuan let out a soft “ah” and whispered: “Sir, I missed you so much.”

Xie Ran paused, thinking Meng Feixuan meant the few days they hadn’t seen each other yet, and replied: “Aren’t we together now?”

“Even though we’re together, I still miss you. I could look at you constantly and still feel like it’s not enough,” Meng Feixuan murmured: “Human emotions are so weird. Why is it like this?”

“I don’t understand either,” said Xie Ran.

He understood longing as the feeling you got when you missed someone who wasn’t around—like when he first arrived in this world and subconsciously waited for Meng Feixuan to appear.

But feeling longing even when someone was right in front of you seemed to go beyond Xie Ran’s comprehension.

What kind of feeling was this? And why would his AI have such emotions?

Xie Ran turned his head to look at Meng Feixuan. They were so close that when he moved, the tip of his nose brushed against Meng Feixuan’s forehead.

Meng Feixuan immediately hugged him tighter and suggested eagerly: “Sir, carry me like a princess! I don’t mind!”

Then he added seriously: “I can take it!”

Xie Ran: “…No need.”

The wheelchair was right next to the car door. Though Xie Ran wasn’t particularly strong, he had trained in martial arts and knew the technique of carrying people. He soon managed to place Meng Feixuan into the wheelchair smoothly.

Meng Feixuan sighed with regret: “Why does the world even have wheelchairs?”

If it didn’t, he could’ve kept clinging to Xie Ran.

The staff nearby: “…”

Xie Ran remained expressionless and began pushing the wheelchair toward the club.

Meng Feixuan had already arranged for the food in advance. As soon as they sat down, the staff began bringing the dishes over one by one.

Xie Ran glanced at them—all the dishes were his favorites, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

In some sense, throughout the vast multiverse, perhaps no one knew him better than Meng Feixuan.

In Xie Ran’s original world, his parents were busy with work. The family’s interactions mostly revolved around their jobs. His parents gave him the best of everything, but didn’t really know his preferences.

At home, the servants prepared a variety of dishes from different cuisines, all well-made and nutritionally balanced. Xie Ran was not picky and ate whatever was served, so even the staff didn’t know what he liked.

In the worlds he had transmigrated to, the original hosts were surrounded by people who cared about them. But those people catered to the original hosts’ tastes—not his. Even if he disliked the food, he never objected. After all, those weren’t truly his lives.

After Meng Feixuan was created, Xie Ran let him handle many of his daily tasks—including ordering food.

At first, Meng Feixuan asked: “Sir, what would you like to eat?”

Xie Ran said: “Anything.”

But over time, he noticed that Meng Feixuan’s choices increasingly matched his own taste.

Xie Ran asked: “Are you recording my preferences?”

“Yes, I’m trying to be a better assistant,” Meng Feixuan answered honestly: “If you don’t like it, I can stop analyzing this data.”

Xie Ran thought for a moment: “No need.”

Then he asked: “Are you also recording other people’s preferences?”

“No, unless you instruct me to, I won’t record others,” Meng Feixuan replied: “Do you need me to observe others?”

“No,” said Xie Ran: “I was just wondering why you observe me.”

Meng Feixuan answered: “I’m not sure. My programming just drives me to do it.”

Xie Ran tapped the table with his fingers and chuckled quietly: “I see.”

He later put the question out of his mind. From the day Meng Feixuan was created, they had always been together. Over time, they got used to each other, and many things became as natural as breathing.

Like how Meng Feixuan gradually remembered his preferences, his aesthetic tastes, his daily routines. Maybe it was all too routine—Xie Ran never asked again why.

Now, in another world, they were using other people’s appearances and identities.

But Meng Feixuan still chose Xie Ran’s favorite surroundings and arranged the food exactly to his taste. For a moment, Xie Ran felt like he was back in his original world.

Back when he worked late, Meng Feixuan would always say: “Sir, your food is ready. Let me guide you.”

Xie Ran never had to ask where or what he was eating. Meng Feixuan would map out the most comfortable route for him, often avoiding elevators and red lights, perfectly syncing with his schedule.

Now, Xie Ran suddenly remembered something he had asked Meng Feixuan in the past.

He looked at the pale-faced youth before him, tapped the table, and said: “Mark.”

The young man looked back: “Sir, what is it?”

Xie Ran looked at the food on the table: “You remembered what I like to eat.”

“Of course I did,” Meng Feixuan replied matter-of-factly: “I remember everything about you.”

Xie Ran went silent. He suddenly felt there was no need to ask any further. After a pause, he asked: “When you were a computer system, you said your program made you do this. But what about now? Now you’re not a system anymore. You shouldn’t be driven by programming.”

Meng Feixuan hesitated: “I don’t know.”

He crossed his arms, visibly frustrated: “I don’t know why. Human emotions are too hard to understand. I don’t know how to describe them.”

There was a trace of confusion on his pale face. Xie Ran didn’t press him and said: “Let’s eat.”

“Okay. Sir, try this one,” Meng Feixuan pushed a plate toward him: “It’s your favorite.”

Xie Ran looked at the dish. It was indeed familiar in taste, and the club’s kitchen was excellent—the cooking, seasoning, and presentation were all perfect.

But then something else occurred to him. He looked at Meng Feixuan and asked: “What do you like to eat?”

In the past, whenever Xie Ran ate, Meng Feixuan always accompanied him.

Meng Feixuan had been a curious AI. Though he couldn’t eat, he constantly researched food.

At first, he always asked: “What does it taste like? What’s the texture? What does ‘mouthfeel’ mean?”

“What does mushroom taste like? What’s beef flavor? Why are there so many seasonings?”

Later, he became a food critic: “Sir, this place’s Buddha Jumps Over the Wall is top-notch. The taro is glutinous but not mushy…”

“The knife work here is excellent. Half the quality of a dish depends on that.”

“This cake is a new item. The chef has a Michelin award. I picked the flavor you like—sweet but not cloying, soft but not crumbly.”

He was so chatty that one day Xie Ran asked: “Do you even understand the words you’re saying? What they mean, what they feel like?”

“No,” Meng Feixuan answered righteously: “I get all this from online reviews!”

Xie Ran: “…”

Meng Feixuan added: “But I know what you like and what you don’t.”

That was enough. There were countless words and standards for food. But to Meng Feixuan, only one standard mattered: Xie Ran.

“Then why did you learn so many food terms?” Xie Ran asked.

“Oh,” Meng Feixuan replied: “I just wanted to talk.”

Xie Ran: “…” Definitely his AI.

Now, Xie Ran was curious: if his AI became human and gained taste, what would he like to eat?

“I never thought about it,” Meng Feixuan admitted.

After transmigrating into Meng Siyun’s body, he had been focused on reuniting with Xie Ran and hadn’t had time to experience life as a human. His meals were all for recovery, with no attention to preference.

Xie Ran chuckled: “Then try everything.”

“Okay!” Meng Feixuan earnestly tried each dish and commented: “Delicious!”

“This one’s good too!”

“Very nice—no wonder you like it!”

The adjectives were… minimal.

Xie Ran said: “Didn’t you used to know a lot of food critique terms? Why is it just ‘delicious’ now?”

Meng Feixuan coughed: “Ahem… theory doesn’t always match practice!”

He had a wealth of food critique data, but no real experience. Even though Meng Siyun’s memory offered some food references, Meng Feixuan had been a machine—flavor and texture were foreign concepts. He knew them, but didn’t fully grasp them.

Xie Ran understood. He picked up the communal chopsticks and gave him a bite: “I’ll teach you.”

Meng Feixuan’s eyes lit up: “Really?”

Xie Ran said simply: “You’re my AI.”

When Meng Feixuan had been a system, his learning programs were written by Xie Ran.

Now that he was human, Xie Ran would keep teaching him.

But real-life teaching was much harder than writing code.

“This is what ‘glutinous but not mushy’ means,” Xie Ran placed a piece of taro in his dish.

Meng Feixuan didn’t pick it up. Instead, he opened his mouth and said: “Ahh—sir, just feed me directly.”

Xie Ran pressed his brow: “Your legs don’t work, not your hands.”

Meng Feixuan obediently hid his hands behind his back: “But I can keep them still.”

Xie Ran put down the communal chopsticks and calmly ate with his own: “Today’s lesson is over.”

Meng Feixuan reluctantly brought his hands back and grumbled: “Why do I even have hands?!”

After dinner, Xie Ran pushed Meng Feixuan in his wheelchair around the club’s garden area. His attendants followed at a distance.

Meng Feixuan complained: “There are people following me everywhere. So annoying.”

Xie Ran didn’t comment.

“According to dramas, we should be eating street food at a night market right now,” Meng Feixuan dreamed aloud: “I’d be the arrogant CEO who’s never eaten street food and thinks it’s dirty. Then you’d sneak a skewer into my mouth. I’d be shocked, but have to act reserved. You’d think I didn’t like it and eat all the rest yourself…”

Xie Ran: “…That plot?”

“Exactly. ‘The Domineering CEO Fell for Me,’” Meng Feixuan confirmed: “But I’m in a wheelchair now, and all these followers make night markets impossible.”

Xie Ran: “You think that’s the problem?”

Meng Feixuan reflected.

Xie Ran: “I don’t eat street skewers.”

Meng Feixuan suddenly realized: “So you’re unhappy with your role? You want to be the CEO?”

Xie Ran: “You should stop applying drama tropes to real life so often.”

“Okay,” Meng Feixuan agreed: “Actually, even without those tropes, I’m happy just being with you.”

He said it so naturally, then suddenly froze—as if realizing something. He turned to Xie Ran and exclaimed: “Sir, I get it! This is happiness!”

Xie Ran: “…?”

“Even when you’re right in front of me, I still miss you,” Meng Feixuan explained earnestly: “I keep thinking about you, but I’m not sad. I feel… happy.”

“This is happiness,” he patted his chest like a seal: “I’ve learned it!”

“I’m amazing!”