The Perfect Daughter Program

My parents, because I wasn't perfect enough, implanted an AI chip in me.

They said it would completely transform me.

After the chip was implanted, I became the perfect daughter they'd always dreamed of.

But the side effect was that every day, I'd forget something.

I forgot the taste of Mom's homemade soup.

I forgot my favorite video game.

I forgot my childhood friends.

Eventually, I forgot my parents.

When I saw them again, my eyes were smiling, but I spoke in a cold, mechanical voice, "Excuse me, who are you?"

They froze.

They stared at me, speechless for a long time after I said that.

"..." Mom's voice was a little impatient. "Lily, what act are you putting on now?"

I searched my memories, but there was nothing there.

I genuinely didn't recognize them.

So I firmly shook my head. "That's correct."

"Lily," Dad's face darkened instantly. "What kind of joke is this?"

"I know!"

He frowned, as if something occurred to him. "Is it because you don't want to go to school tomorrow, so you're deliberately pretending?"

My face still held the perfect smile I'd practiced countless times, and I replied in a flat, mechanical tone, "I apologize, but I genuinely don't recognize you."

"I am not afraid of exams, nor am I afraid of starting school. I am the newest model of the Perfect Daughter System."

"I do not lie to anyone."

My tone was polite yet utterly unfamiliar.

After speaking, I checked the synchronized time inside me.

"According to my schedule, it is now bedtime. Sufficient rest is required to ensure optimal efficiency for school tomorrow." I turned sideways and walked past them. "Please move aside."

My shoulder lightly brushed Mom's arm.

She seemed to flinch.

She instinctively tried to stop me, but I easily dodged her.

The programming inside me told me I couldn't waste a single moment.

I walked directly to my bedroom.

Behind me, there was dead silence.

Before closing the door, I caught a glimpse in my peripheral vision.

They were still standing there, watching me.

Dad's shoulders slumped, and Mom raised a hand to cover her mouth.

The lights cast their long shadows across the empty living room floor.

Then, I heard Dad's voice, very low. "What's going on?"

...

I had no interest in listening to the rest.

The lock clicked shut.

I sat on my bed and pulled up my memory index.

Pale blue data streams appeared in my vision.

All input information, from the day of implantation, was categorized and clearly organized.

Yesterday's math formulas, last week's English vocabulary, last month's piano sheet music...

Every memory was clear.

But no matter how I searched, I couldn't find the two people who had just claimed to be my parents.

Suspecting an overload error, I scanned my brain space again.

[Self-check complete. System operating normally. Memory bank intact. Logic module functioning correctly.]

It seemed those two were indeed a cognitive error.

I genuinely didn't recognize them.

I lay down and closed my eyes.

Faintly, I felt a hollow emptiness somewhere.

That feeling was very sad.

But my brain told me it wasn't important.

...

Actually, I did have some impressions of before.

I was born into a dual-income household; both my Mom and Dad were high school teachers.

Since I was their only child, they usually doted on me.

But such a combination naturally meant they were stricter with their own child.

They always wanted me to be first in everything, to excel at all costs.

Yet, I seemed to be born without that particular knack. My grades were average, my competition results mediocre, always falling short of their expectations.

But I had my own strengths.

I was lively and outgoing, always friendly to others.

When they were stressed from work and bickering at home, I would always squeeze in between them, cracking jokes and sharing funny school stories, which always managed to calm them down for a while.

All the neighbors liked me. When Mrs. Henderson from downstairs came back from grocery shopping, I'd help her carry her bags up. When I saw Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Miller, I'd wave and smile from afar, offering to help with anything I could.

If a classmate was being bullied, I'd stand up for them.

Even my homeroom teacher said I was a good kid.

I always thought that counted as a form of excellence.

But my Mom and Dad didn't see it that way.

They admired Mrs. Davies' daughter, Sophia, more.

She was three years older than me, an incredibly accomplished older girl.

Always in the top three of her class, grade 10 piano, a stack of competition certificates.

I'd met her before.

She was refined and well-mannered, always speaking softly.

But I always felt she lacked a certain spark; she always spoke in a rigid, textbook manner.

To be honest, I didn't dislike her.

But I hated my parents for constantly comparing me to her.

One evening at dinner, Mom brought up Sophia winning an award in a physics competition again.

I felt a pang of discomfort and stirred the rice in my bowl, deliberately changing the subject. "Mom, I got chosen to lead our class during the school sports day parade this year! Isn't that great?"

The table fell silent.

I thought they'd praise me.

But instead, Dad just put down his fork. "All this superficial stuff, what's the point?"

Mom chimed in, "Exactly. We don't need that. We need solid grades, rankings, achievements like Sophia's that we can show off!"

I hadn't expected such a response, and my heart felt like it had been pricked by a tiny needle.

I tried to explain. "But I'm trying too, I..."

"We don't need you to try," Dad cut me off, his voice not loud, but it felt like a heavy stone. "We need results. Results like Sophia's."

Later, they even went to Mrs. Davies to seek advice, asking for her secrets to success.

Mrs. Davies confidentially told them that Sophia used to be disobedient too, but then she found someone to get her the latest AI chip. After it was implanted, her child could grow exactly as the parents envisioned.

She even claimed the chip was government-developed, capable of eliminating all "ineffective emotions" and "distractions."

My parents were swayed.

They paid a hefty sum to Ms. Peterson to get this chip.

And it was Sophia who told me about it.

That day after school, she stopped me in the hallway, her eyes filled with an urgency I'd never seen before.

"My mom lied to you guys. Remember, absolutely do not let them implant that chip in you," she whispered, speaking very quickly. "Listen to me, don't, under any circumstances."

I was stunned.

It was the first time I'd seen such a vivid expression on her face.

"What...?" I asked instinctively.

She gripped my hand, explaining word by word, "It's that AI chip my mom gave your parents, the one that's supposed to make you obedient!"

Then, she took a deep breath, leaned closer, and lowered her voice even more. "That thing will erode your brain. Once implanted, you won't be you anymore. An AI program will slowly overwrite all your memories and emotions; it will take over your body."

"By then, what's left will just be an empty shell, perfectly executing parental commands. Do you understand?"

"By then, the real you will be no different from being dead."

She grabbed my arm, her fingers squeezing hard.

"Don't agree, no matter what, don't agree."

I saw the light in her eyes, a light filled with fear and pleading.

My intuition told me she wasn't lying.

That night, I tossed and turned.

Sophia's words buzzed in my head.

A few days later, Mom and Dad did indeed have a serious talk with me.

Mom held a small silver box in her hand, her eyes eager yet somewhat evasive.

"Sweetie, this is something that can make you even better..."

I looked at the box, a chill running down my spine.

I remembered Sophia's trembling voice.

"Dad, Mom," I looked at them, a hint of pleading in my voice. "If I use this, I'll become the perfect daughter, right?"

"Of course!" Mom immediately nodded.

"But..." I took a breath, gathering my courage to finish. "What if that perfect daughter, actually... isn't me anymore?"

"What if the person sitting in front of you is just an obedient machine? Do you truly want a daughter like that?"

The air in the living room instantly solidified.

Mom's smile froze on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Her voice suddenly rose. "What do you mean 'not you'? Huh? Isn't it still your body? Mrs. Davies said this chip is absolutely safe! It's just a tool to help you learn!"

"But Sophia said..."

"Sophia is jealous!" Mom cut me off, her face red. "She's afraid you'll surpass her! Can't you see that? How much effort have we put into you? Huh? Are you just going to let outsiders provoke you?"

Dad stepped forward, his face pale with anger. "I think you just don't want to work hard! You're making up these twisted excuses!"

"I'm not..."

I tried desperately to explain, but they wouldn't listen to a single word.

"You're just lazy! Selfish!" Mom shrieked, tears welling up. "We've planned everything for you, and this is how you repay us? Do you want to be a failure your whole life?"

Hearing such accusations, I suddenly had nothing to say.

After a long silence, Mom suddenly knelt down, her eyes level with mine.

Her eyes were red.

"Mom has been a teacher her entire life, and she's taught so many students," her voice began to tremble. "I always wanted, always wanted to prove through my own child that my education was right, that it was successful."

"Our expectations for you were too high... too high. Seeing you so ordinary, we worried, we feared... feared that we weren't doing enough."

"Please... Lily..."

I saw the desperate yearning behind her tears.

In that moment, I suddenly understood everything.

They didn't love me; they loved the perfect educational dream they wanted me to fulfill.

My chest felt squeezed by something, a bitter, swelling ache.

But it was okay.

I loved them.

"I understand."

That sour feeling got stuck in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

"If that's what you want..."

I looked at the silver box and slowly nodded.

"I'm willing."

For the sake of the perfect daughter in your minds.

I could stop being me.

The chip implantation went smoothly.

When I woke up, I didn't immediately feel any different.

I was still me.

The only change was that I could no longer say no to my parents' demands.

If they told me to get up at six to memorize vocabulary, I got up at six.

If they told me to do three practice tests a day, I did three practice tests.

If they told me to go to piano and advanced math on the weekend, I grabbed my backpack and went.

My grades started to improve rapidly.

My monthly exam ranking shot from twentieth into the top ten.

Mom held my report card, her eyes gleaming.

"That's wonderful!" She stroked my head. "This is our good daughter."

And to reward me, she suddenly suggested, "Come on, Mom's taking you to get burgers. Didn't you always beg for them?"

I paused.

I had vague memories of that, tugging on her sleeve, standing in front of a brightly lit red sign, pleading for a burger.

Only to be pulled away without explanation.

She said it was junk food.

Now, she was proactively taking me there.

We sat in the bright restaurant.

She pushed a tray towards me, holding a golden burger, fries, and a soda.

"Eat," she said, smiling, with a warm anticipation in her eyes.

I looked at the burger.

A pale blue analysis interface automatically appeared in my vision: [High calories, saturated fatty acids exceeding limits, insufficient dietary fiber. Recommended intake: zero.]

I looked up and replied in a steady voice, "According to the health management program analysis, this is junk food and detrimental to health."

"I decline to consume it."

Mom's smile froze on her face.

She looked at me for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed again, this time more heartily. "Right, right, right, can't eat it! See how useful this system is? It helps you control your cravings! So good!"

She seemed very happy, took the burger back, and ate it herself.

I sat quietly until she finished.

When we got home, she said she would make me soup, the lotus root and pork rib soup I used to love most.

She bustled around in the kitchen.

I followed my directives, sitting at the dining table and waiting.

Suddenly, with a clang, followed by Mom's sharp intake of breath.

She had accidentally knocked over the pot lid, and hot water splashed out, reddening the back of her hand.

She frowned, instinctively putting her hand under the faucet to rinse it, then glanced back at me.

I remained seated, looking straight ahead, my face maintaining the calm expression programmed into me.

Her frown deepened.

"Lily," her voice held a hint of suspicion. "Mom burned her hand, didn't you see?"