"What? Me?" Adam really hadn’t expected the girl to be this quick on the uptake, learning by example and immediately turning the tables on him. He hurriedly denied it: "When was I ever confused? Who said I was confused?"
The moment he said it, Adam wanted to slap himself. That kind of retort could only lead to one outcome: the girl across from him, after a very—seriously, extremely—brief moment of recall and sorting, would put on her official business face and then, with chilling accuracy, recite every single time and place he’d ever shown even a hint of confusion.
—Yep, exactly like she’s doing now. That poker face is already locked in!
"October 24th, 1978, 8:25 AM, Tiber River, Italy…" The girl's mouth worked like a faucet, her pleasant voice and utterly flat tone pouring out the search results, clear, cold, and precise.
"Stop, stop, stop! Fine, fine, I admit it, I admit I was confused, okay?" Seriously, what is this girl’s brain made of? Adam prided himself on being smart and clever, so why did he always turn into a complete idiot in front of her? Luckily, based on past experience, as long as he surrendered and admitted it, the girl would usually drop it and not nag him to death.
But today, the wind was blowing in a different direction.
The girl did stop talking right away, but after a moment of thought, as if something had suddenly clicked, she perked up, her eyes shining: "Case withdrawn, self-correction: Your expression wasn’t 'confused.' Based on the evidence, it should be called 'melancholy.'"
Adam knew that asking any more would just invite trouble, but this was the first time he’d seen her self-correct on emotional recognition, and he just couldn’t help blurting out: "Why?"
"Because every time the so-called 'Unknown Type III' expression appeared, there were always women of childbearing age nearby showing signs of attraction." The girl stated her reasoning with utmost seriousness. "According to the literature, 'melancholy' is the most likely to trigger that kind of response, so I’ve classified the 'Unknown Type III' expression as 'melancholy.'"
"Wha—?!" Adam sucked in a deep breath, once again unable to hold back. He spat out each word with difficulty: "Lit-er-a-ture? What literature? Which literature?"
"Pickup Master Monthly, March 1979 Issue." The girl whipped out a little booklet that looked extremely—extremely—familiar to Adam, gazing at it with the reverence of a disciple reading scripture. "From what I’ve observed, you value this literature a lot and squeeze in time to read it often. So I took a look and found it’s actually quite helpful for understanding expressions and emotions. See here, page four, first paragraph, first line: ‘Melancholy is the most attractive expression to women’—ironclad proof."
Ironclad proof… Those two words crashed down on Adam like twin mountains, leaving him dazed and dizzy. Shock, disbelief, and the shame of being caught red-handed all swirled together into a vortex that made him feel like he was about to suffocate.
"Does the opposing party wish to offer a rebuttal?"
A rebuttal? Adam, the noble scion, was already slumped in his chair like Ge You in his classic lounge pose, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish—there was no rebuttal left in him.
"I… I have one more question…" Like a Paralympic athlete pushing through pain, a wounded revolutionary charging to his doom, or a hopeless student still raising his hand, Adam shakily lifted his arm, voice weak and dry, face full of tragic resolve: "What the heck is 'Unknown Type III'? And what about 'Unknown Type II' and 'Unknown Type I'?"
"Of course there are. Unknown Type II is—" The girl pointed mercilessly at the man across from her: "The expression you’re wearing right now. Since it shows up more often than 'melancholy,' it ranks one spot higher."
"Expression…" Adam stared with dead fish eyes, his mouth twitching in a half-alive attempt at a smile: "Thank you, really—thank you for calling this an expression and not sudden cardiac arrest or an epileptic fit! The fact you can tell this is just a face, Sophia, means you’ve really made huge progress!"
"Agreed." Sophia nodded earnestly. "Self-assessment: I have indeed made great progress in emotional recognition and will no longer confuse expressions with symptoms."
"But I really do feel like I’m about to drop dead—call an ambulance for me…"
The girl’s eyes snapped wide open at that, and she scrutinized the slumped figure across from her from top to bottom, then calmly picked up her juice and took a sip: "Diagnosis: No symptoms of sudden death. You’re expressing emotion through metaphorical language. In plain terms: you’re talking nonsense."
"Heh…" Adam looked utterly defeated. No matter how many times this happened, this girl always left him with zero fight. Honestly, in the whole world, her skills were one of a kind.
"Now, back to the original question." The girl set her juice down, face serious: "So, why are you 'melancholy'?"
"I…" Adam suddenly had no words. He straightened up, but for a moment, didn’t know what to say. After a brief silence, he gave a strange little smile: "I don’t think you’ve ever asked this kind of question before. What, you interested in this sort of thing now?"
"I’m asking because I want to know." The girl’s tone was so matter-of-fact it brooked no doubt: "I want to know what you’re thinking."
Adam was visibly moved by her words.
This pure-hearted girl, who cared about nothing but science, was actually starting to care about his thoughts? Adam was suddenly overwhelmed. Because he knew this concern had nothing to do with his money, family, status, fame, or power. Compared to the sappy affection of lovesick girls, this kind of care was so much rarer—one of a kind in the world.
"Hypothesis: Adam is melancholy because he failed at picking up girls."
Adam was visibly moved again…
"Evidence: Adam has repeatedly shown a melancholy expression, but has never actually succeeded in mating with any women of childbearing age. Multiple failed attempts have led Adam to question his masculine traits and attractiveness, resulting in self-doubt and ultimately depression."
Adam was visibly moved yet again—okay, it was past the point of just 'moved.' The 'Unknown Type II' face was back! All that earlier emotion, just throw it out and feed it to the dogs!
"Incorrect hypothesis?"
Adam kept up his 'friendly' smile, shakily raised his hand, and gave a thumbs up: "Your ability to read people… how should I put it… revolutionary! A breakthrough from zero!"
"So what’s the real reason?" The girl suddenly did something Adam never expected—she reached out, wrapped both hands around his. Soft, delicate, warm—her gaze sparkled, outshining the stars above: "I want to know your confusion. I want to know your melancholy. I want to know your struggles. I want to know what makes you unhappy."
This rollercoaster—switching between touched and exasperated in a flash—was just too much… But—Adam let out a long breath, the Unknown Type II expression faded, replaced by warmth and softness. He looked at the girl, finally revealing his true feelings: "You really leave me helpless, but since you want to know so much, I’ll tell you."
"Mhm, mhm, mhm!" The girl sat up straight like a model student.
'Melancholy' might not be quite accurate, but there’s definitely something that’s been bothering me lately." Ever since he was old enough to understand things, Adam never had anyone he could confide in without a trace of calculation, not even a word. But today, even if he didn’t say much, every word was heartfelt: "The thing that’s bothering me is a contradiction."
"A contradiction?"
"Yes, a contradiction." Adam took a deep breath, his gaze so complicated it was impossible to tell how many emotions it held: "On one hand, there’s a way of thinking and living I’ve had since I was a kid, deeply ingrained. On the other, there’s a miracle that came out of nowhere and shattered everything I used to take for granted. I don’t know how to choose. I don’t know what to let go of, what to hold on to. All I know is, it hurts, and I can’t get out of it. All I know is, I’m not the same as before, and I have to give one of them up."
An ordinary person would have understood by now. But the girl was completely lost—like a totally neutral, rational bystander, ready to help Adam figure things out: "To resolve a contradiction, you need to have a preference. Right or wrong, once you have a preference, you can estimate, adjust, and finally decide. Do you have a preference now?"
"I didn’t before." He gazed deeply at the girl in front of him, as if he didn’t want to look away for even a second. "Now… I think I’m starting to understand what I really want." Adam shook his head, letting go of all his worries, then looked at the girl with renewed warmth: "Forget it, I’ll tell you when I’ve figured it out. By the way, what does your 'Unknown Type I' face look like?"
"Unknown Type I…" The girl hesitated for once, then after a long pause, pointed at Adam’s face: "It’s the look you have right now. I don’t understand what that expression means."
"You’ll understand someday." Adam’s voice drifted like a sigh in a dream: "Someday, you’ll understand."
In that moment, all his outbursts, all his sighs, all his struggles, all his melancholy, all his depth, all his warmth, all his obsession—looked completely real.