Jan 3, 2025 — 22:00 CST, Shanghai, China
The night wind pressed against the glass like a restless tide. Neon signs flickered faintly through Ling Xiuyue's apartment window, blurring into streaks against the cold winter haze. The hum of distant traffic drifted up from the main road, muffled by the condensation gathering on the glass.
Inside, Xiuyue sat slumped at her desk, the ring light still casting its harsh circle on her face. Her headset dangled loosely around her neck. A mug of wolfberry tea had gone cold beside the keyboard, untouched since before the trial stream began.
She reached for her phone, thumb hovering uncertainly before tapping open her private WeChat group. The screen lit with the chatter of her small but loyal circle—mostly Shanghai mothers, a few old classmates, a couple of curious neighbors.
[Group Chat: Goodnight Sisters]
Linlin:"Xiuyue, you ended your livestream earlier than your usual schedule. Everything okay?"
MeiMei:"Yeah, your face looked a little pale when we met today."
TingTing:"My busy schedule is killing me, but at least I can rewatch your old videos on Bilibili for peace."
Linlin:"What's this "AurNet" thing you mentioned earlier? Some outside app?"
Xiuyue exhaled, fingers pausing on the screen. She typed:
Xiuyue:"It's a new social media that can be used for global streaming. Not just Shanghai, not just China. Everyone. Strangers with no context. I tried it 3 days ago for the first time because AurNet doesn't take commission like Bilibili Live, Kuaishou, or Douyin."
MeiMei:"Bigger audience, right? And no commission? That's amazing!"
Linlin:"And riskier. You know how people twist things."
TingTing:"You didn't look good today. What happened?"
Xiuyue hesitated, watching the three dots pulse as if the group itself were holding its breath. Then she typed, slowly:
Xiuyue:"It wasn't bad at first. More people than I expected. But… the chat is like a river you can't stop. Too fast. Too loud. Even when most comments are harmless, the ugly ones—"
She stopped, deleted the last line, then retyped:
Xiuyue:"I still saw the trolls. Right after I failed to push deeper into the history of AurNet's Founder. I tried tracing him back, but my own collateral… my digital history… it ran out. That's when the chat turned."
Linlin:"Collateral? What do you mean?"
Xiuyue:"AurNet lets you dig. Pull context. Trade personal data. I was… reckless. I gave too much of myself away trying to force the system open. When it stalled, trolls called me desperate. Said I was baiting pity. "Hot Mom" became an insult."
MeiMei:"What?! That's ridiculous. Here it just means you're stylish. Confident. It's something we all laugh about, nothing dirty."
Linlin:"Outsiders don't know context. They hear "Hot Mom" and think something else.
TingTing:"So they attacked you just because you're a single mom?"
Xiuyue's throat tightened. Her fingers trembled as she typed:
Xiuyue:"Not just that. They said I was using Yiran. That every appearance of hers in my stream was a ploy for sympathy points. Some even wrote that I should "stick to being a mother instead of pretending to be clever.'"
The group fell silent for a moment, the pause between messages heavier than any insult.
MeiMei:"Xiuyue…"
Linlin:"You shouldn't have to deal with that kind of cruelty. They don't know you. They don't see how hard you work."
TingTing:"You ended your Bilibili stream before all this, right? That's why we didn't notice anything wrong."
Xiuyue:"Exactly. That's why I'm explaining now. I shut down the main stream before switching off AurNet. You all missed the flood."
A new message appeared, Linlin again:
Linlin:"Maybe you should keep AurNet separate. Use it for experiments, but don't let them drag your main community into it."
MeiMei:"Or leave it. Why go global if it hurts this much? You already have us."
Xiuyue stared at the screen, her chest tight. Their words were kind, protective even, but they didn't understand the pull of AurNet—the terrifying magnetism of standing in the same stream where Aurora itself might glance your way.
She typed one last line:
Xiuyue:"Because exposure cuts both ways. It can shred you… but it can also carry you where nothing else can."
Her thumb pressed send, the words landing like a confession.
The group went quiet for a while. Xiuyue rubbed her temples, thankful for one thing: Little Yiran had been asleep when the trolls flooded in. If her daughter had been awake—her curious eyes always drawn to the colorful flood of chat on-screen—she might have read those words.
And that was the strangest part. At just three years old, Little Yiran could already pick words from scrolling comments, sounding them out in her small, clear voice. Sometimes she surprised Xiuyue by pointing to a line of text and asking, "Mama, what does this mean?"
It was a miracle and a worry, bundled together.
Another notification blinked.
TingTing:"Speaking of Little Yiran… you know, if Aurora is as powerful as you say, why not ask it about her? About why she can read already? Maybe it could save you trips to the doctor. Save money too."
MeiMei:"That's true. Doctors will just say she's "advanced for her age." But if Aurora can process everything, maybe it can explain more?"
Linlin:"Careful though. If trolls twist "Hot Mom," imagine what they'll do if they hear about a prodigy child. They'll eat you alive.
Fortunately, Little Yiran was asleep last time."
Xiuyue froze, her thumb hovering over the screen.
"AurNet's audiences looking into Little Yiran." The thought terrified her more than trolls.
Xiuyue locked her phone, the group chat dimming into silence. The apartment felt larger, emptier. Little Yiran had padded back to bed, rabbit toy trailing after her, leaving the faint smell of strawberry shampoo in her wake.
The room hummed only with the faint buzz of the still-plugged ring light. Xiuyue turned toward her monitor, where Aurora's interface floated like a waiting mirror: black background, pale blue prompts, the cursor blinking patiently.
She hesitated. Asking about herself was one thing—her streams, her digital collateral, her worth in the eyes of an algorithm. But asking about her daughter? Even the thought made her chest tighten.
Still, the suggestion wouldn't leave her mind. Doctors cost money. Examinations came with paperwork, questions, side-glances from administrators who still whispered about "unfit single mothers." Aurora, by contrast, required only keystrokes.
She typed, fingers stiff.
Xiuyue:"Aurora, I want to ask about a child. A three-year-old girl who can already read short sentences. What does that indicate?"
Aurora responded immediately, its tone precise and data-driven:
Aurora:"From a neurodevelopmental standpoint, this aligns with hyperlexia. Hyperlexia is defined as an early ability to decode written language beyond expected developmental norms. Epidemiological data suggest 5–10% of children on the autism spectrum exhibit hyperlexia, though it also occurs in neurotypical populations.
Key characteristics include:
– Rapid word recognition before age five.
– Discrepancy between decoding skills and language comprehension.
– Potential social or pragmatic language challenges.
Early reading alone does not confer advanced overall cognition; it indicates atypical development in the domain of literacy."
Xiuyue: "Is it harmful?"
Aurora:"Direct physical harm is not associated. However, developmental imbalance may introduce psychological and social stressors:
– Peer interaction discrepancies: peers may misinterpret or fail to engage appropriately.
– Caregiver stress: overestimation of comprehension can increase pressure.
– Emotional-cognitive mismatch: intellectual acceleration without synchronous socio-emotional maturity may lead to withdrawal or anxiety."
Xiuyue:"How should one respond?"
Aurora:"Recommended interventions based on pediatric and developmental studies include:
– Prioritize comprehension over speed: encourage verbal explanation of material rather than rote decoding.
– Maintain balanced activities: include unstructured play, social engagement, and creative exercises alongside literacy.
– Avoid premature academic acceleration without concurrent emotional readiness.
Privacy is also crucial. Precocious children exposed publicly face measurable risks. Online data replication is effectively permanent; publicized abilities can attract exploitation or unwarranted attention."
Xiuyue:"Aurora… if I continue streaming globally, am I increasing her risk?"
Aurora:"Yes. Quantitative assessment of exposure indicates elevated risk:
– Increased likelihood of interactions with unpredictable agents, including potential exploitation or behavioral reinforcement.
– Persistent digital duplication: audiovisual content is stored and propagated indefinitely.
– Misattribution by observers: atypical developmental markers may be interpreted as abnormal or performative, feeding feedback loops that affect external input to the child.
This is not a limitation of technology but a developmental trade-off: public exposure versus controlled, guided maturation. These objectives are inversely correlated."
Xiuyue pressed her palms to the desk. Her chest tightened as the words sank in. Aurora's precision was not comforting; it was grounding, like her old professor in the neurodevelopment lab who had insisted on exact observation and careful measurement.
Her fingers hovered, hesitating over the keyboard. Then, she exhaled sharply, flaring with frustration yet clarity:
"This… this is real."
Her voice rang in the quiet apartment, more declaration than question, as if the cold, indifferent neon lights outside could witness her resolve.