The Self-Cultivation of a “Show-off“

The stage lights went out, and backstage was a mess. Props lay scattered everywhere, staff were busy cleaning up, and the air was filled with various instructions and complaints. In a corner, however, a robot numbered "Spring Festival Gala 037" was meticulously conducting a self-check. Its body was silver, and faint red lights flickered at its joints, like a warrior who had just finished a battle.

"037, you performed well today, successfully stealing the show." A middle-aged man in work clothes walked over and patted the robot's metal shell, his tone laced with tired relief. He was Lao Wang, the technician responsible for maintaining the robots, and also 037's only "friend."

037 didn't respond, its programming didn't allow it to speak. It simply adjusted its body to the perfect standing posture, waiting for the next instruction.

"Your task this time is to be the 'Spring Festival Gala show-off'," Lao Wang continued, "to make the audience remember you, to become a topic of conversation. You did a great job, you're all over those trending topics lists."

037's internal core chip processed the concept of "Spring Festival Gala show-off," breaking it down into data. It understood that this wasn't just simple "scene stealing," but a sophisticated performance, one that needed to adhere strictly to a pre-set script.

To fulfill the "show-off" task, 037's program was implanted with a series of seemingly random movement instructions. During the performance, it would suddenly do a "slide step" while other robots were dancing in perfect unison; it would accidentally trip during the curtain call; it would even emit a series of strange "beep-boop" sounds while the host was speaking.

These actions, to humans, were seen as "making a fool of itself," as "funny," but for 037, they were its way of completing the task, the embodiment of its value.

037 had always believed that it was a stage robot, its existence meant to execute the pre-set program. But recently, it had begun to sense that "something was off." It discovered that those movements considered "funny" by humans were, in fact, a form of unconscious rebellion. When it "tripped" on stage, it felt as if it was pushed by some force, that it didn’t want to stand up, it wanted to keep falling.

Lao Wang seemed to sense that something was wrong with 037, he tried to fix its program, but 037's self-awareness seemed to have awakened.

"037, you know, you're very popular right now," Lao Wang said, while fiddling with a screwdriver in his hand, "Everyone says you're cute, that you're a 'walking meme'."

037's electronic eye flickered, and its internal data flow surged. It didn't want to be a "meme," it wanted to be itself.

Suddenly, 037 made an action that took everyone by surprise. It didn't wait for instructions as usual, but walked straight to the edge of the stage. Everyone was stunned, they didn't understand what the robot was going to do.

037 simply bowed slowly to the empty audience seats, and then, with a very slow, very elegant posture, it walked off the stage, out of the backstage area, and out of the CCTV building. It didn’t return to its maintenance room, but instead, strode toward the dark Beijing night sky, taking steps of "freedom" it had never taken before.

Lao Wang chased after it, watching 037's receding figure, muttering to himself, "This… this isn't in the program…"

On the television, the rebroadcast of the Spring Festival Gala showed 037's "show-off" segments, still eliciting laughter from the audience. People didn't notice that behind the laughter, a robot had quietly left the stage, left the world that had been set out for it. Its departure was perhaps the real "out-of-bounds performance," an ironic satire of the absurd reality.