The "Empathy Mimicry (Basic)" function felt like a loaded weapon. Lin Wei hesitated to use it, a visceral resistance rising within him. The idea of simulating another person's emotions, of subtly mirroring their feelings to gain rapport, felt like a deeper level of manipulation than anything he had attempted so far. It wasn't just understanding; it was becoming.
He decided to test it in a low-stakes environment. Chen Hao, with his easygoing nature and constant desire for connection, seemed like a relatively safe subject. They were hanging out in their dorm room, Chen Hao excitedly showing off a new mobile game he had downloaded.
"Dude, you gotta try this," Chen Hao exclaimed, his eyes glued to his phone. "It's a massively multiplayer online role-playing game. Super addictive."
Lin Wei watched him, the interface subtly prompting him: [Empathy Mimicry (Basic) Available. Recommended for enhanced social bonding. Caution: Prolonged use may lead to emotional bleed-over.]
He focused, consciously trying to align his own emotional state with Chen Hao's. He tried to feel the same excitement, the same enthusiasm for the game. It was strange, almost like acting, but instead of projecting emotions outward, he was trying to draw them inward, to resonate with Chen Hao's feelings.
As he did, he noticed subtle shifts in Chen Hao's behavior. Chen Hao's smiles seemed a bit wider, his laughter a bit louder. He leaned closer to Lin Wei, his voice taking on a more intimate tone.
"Seriously, Lin Wei, you'd love it," Chen Hao said, his eyes sparkling. "We could play together, form a guild. It would be awesome."
Lin Wei felt a surge of… something. Was it genuine enthusiasm? Or was it a reflection of the emotions he was simulating? He couldn't quite tell. He felt a stronger connection to Chen Hao, a sense of shared excitement, but it also felt… artificial.
He deactivated the "Empathy Mimicry," the feeling fading almost instantly. Chen Hao's demeanor didn't change drastically, but the subtle shift in their dynamic was noticeable. The intense connection was gone.
"Maybe later, Chen Hao," Lin Wei said, forcing a smile. "I have a lot of reading to catch up on."
Chen Hao shrugged, his enthusiasm dimming slightly. "Alright, man. But you're missing out."
Lin Wei felt a pang of guilt. He had used the system, even in a minor way, to enhance their interaction, to make Chen Hao like him more. It had worked, but it felt… dishonest. He had manipulated Chen Hao's emotions, however subtly, to achieve a desired outcome.
[DPP Gained: 2 (For successful, low-level application of Empathy Mimicry). Caution: Emotional bleed-over detected (minor). System recommends limited use of this function.]
[DPP: 57]
The system's warning was chilling. "Emotional bleed-over." The thought of losing his own emotional boundaries, of becoming a mere echo of other people's feelings, was terrifying. He decided to restrict the use of "Empathy Mimicry" to situations where it was absolutely necessary.
His academic life continued to be a blend of intellectual stimulation and social maneuvering. He excelled in his classes, not just through rote memorization, but through a deeper understanding of the professors' expectations and biases, gleaned from subtle observations and the system's analysis. He knew which professors valued originality, which valued rigor, and which valued conformity. He tailored his approach accordingly, achieving consistently high grades.
His relationship with Zhao Ming remained complex. They were academic rivals, but also, in a strange way, allies. They respected each other's intellect, even if they often clashed on methodology and personality. Lin Wei found himself increasingly fascinated by Zhao Ming's unwavering drive, his relentless pursuit of perfection.
[Target: Zhao Ming]
[Primary Emotion: Focus (Extreme)]
[Underlying Desire: Recognition (Extreme), Avoidance of Error (Extreme)]
[Psychological Vulnerability: Inflexibility (High), Pressure (Self-Imposed, Extreme), Fear of Criticism (Moderate)]
He realized that Zhao Ming's arrogance was a mask, a defense mechanism against his deep-seated fear of failure and criticism. He was driven not by a desire to dominate others, but by an almost pathological need to prove his own worth.
One evening, as they were working late on a particularly challenging assignment, Zhao Ming suddenly stopped, his hand hovering over his keyboard.
"This… this is wrong," he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Lin Wei looked up, concerned. "What's wrong?"
Zhao Ming pointed to a complex equation on the screen. "I made a mistake. A small one, but… it invalidates the entire calculation."
He looked genuinely distressed, his face pale. Lin Wei had never seen him so vulnerable.
[Target: Zhao Ming]
[Primary Emotion: Distress (High)]
[Underlying Desire: Avoidance of Error (Extreme), Validation (Extreme)]
[Psychological Vulnerability: Perfectionism (Extreme), Fear of Criticism (Moderate), Self-Doubt (Elevated)]
Lin Wei felt a pang of… something. Pity? Empathy? He almost activated "Empathy Mimicry," but stopped himself. He didn't want to exploit Zhao Ming's vulnerability. He wanted to help him.
"It's just one mistake, Zhao Ming," Lin Wei said, his voice gentle. "Everyone makes them. We can fix it. It's not the end of the world."
Zhao Ming looked at him, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. "But… it has to be perfect. It always has to be perfect."
Lin Wei realized that Zhao Ming's fear of failure wasn't just about academic performance; it was about his entire self-worth. He had built his identity around his intellect, around his ability to achieve flawless results. A single mistake threatened to shatter that carefully constructed facade.
"It doesn't have to be perfect, Zhao Ming," Lin Wei said, his voice firm but compassionate. "It just has to be good. And it is good. It's brilliant, actually. Just fix the mistake, and let's move on."
Zhao Ming stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're right," he said, his voice regaining its usual composure. "It's just one mistake."
He fixed the equation, his movements precise and efficient. The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a quiet sense of shared relief.
Lin Wei felt a strange sense of connection to Zhao Ming, a connection that transcended their academic rivalry. He had seen past his arrogance, past his facade, to the vulnerable, insecure human being beneath. He had used the system, not to manipulate, but to understand, and in doing so, he had forged a genuine, if fragile, bond.
[DPP Gained: 10 (For navigating a complex emotional situation with empathy and without direct manipulation).]
[DPP: 67]
The system, surprisingly, rewarded him generously for his approach. It seemed to value genuine connection over calculated manipulation.
But as he lay in bed that night, the faint blue interface still a constant presence at the edge of his vision, a seed of doubt began to sprout in his mind. Was he truly using the system for good? Or was he slowly becoming dependent on it, losing his own ability to connect with people on a genuine, unmediated level?
He looked at the number: 67 DPP. He was gaining power, gaining understanding. But the more he gained, the more he wondered: what was the ultimate cost of this knowledge? And was he willing to pay it? The game was becoming more complex, and the stakes were rising higher than ever.