Apocalyptic Fantasy Kitchen

She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep. Rubbing her eyes, she hugged the pillow in her arms. “Awu, what time is it now?” She squeezed the soft pillow again. “It’s three o’clock, Fang Qing. You sure can sleep.” The voice was close, but no one else was supposed to be here. Who could it be? She sat up and, with force, threw the pillow onto the floor. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” The pillow twisted and, with a poof, transformed into a small puppy. It lifted its eyes, squinting lazily, with a pair of dead-fish eyes. “I did call you. You just didn’t wake up.” “So annoying,” she muttered, standing up and patting her clothes. Instantly, the fabric clinging to her skin loosened. She looked down and said, “Awu, I don’t like this color. Change it.” The little puppy barked once, and her clothes turned into a set of sweet, comfy loungewear. “I’ve never seen such a lazy human before. You could easily do this yourself.” Awu ran over and picked up the blanket on the floor, resigned to tidying it up. “I’ve never seen such a nagging robot,” the young woman replied, running her fingers through her long, curly hair and stretching. “Alright, I’m hungry. Go make something to eat.” “Don’t you have those instant biscuits?” Awu muttered while tidying up. “A single one of those gives you all the nutrition you need for a day.” “But where’s the fun in that?” The young woman glanced back at the puppy that acted like a nanny. No doubt about it—it was the latest robot model. It had cost her years of savings, but it was worth it, even if it talked too much and nagged too often. “Convenient,” Awu said coolly, in a voice that resembled a man around her age. If she closed her eyes and just listened, she could almost believe it was a real person. “I don’t settle like you do. We humans live to eat and enjoy…” Awu rolled its eyes. “So that’s why you went to Planet No. 2 to get an International Chef’s Certificate?” “Exactly.” The young woman smiled, tapped her face, and a misty, inexplicable glow filled her eyes. With a spin, a pristine white chef’s uniform appeared on her. “How do I look?” she asked, inspecting her outfit. “No one’s going to see you,” Awu shot back mercilessly. “You’re such an unlovable robot,” she grumbled. She patted her clothes again, returning to her loungewear. In a flash, she vanished into thin air. “Fang Qing, you lazybones!” Awu shouted at the empty air. “Not my fault you’re a robot,” her teasing voice echoed back. Biting down on the neatly folded blanket, Awu grabbed the pillow next. Its internal computer program was decidedly grumpy—after all, it was an intelligent robot, not her personal maid. Huffing, it glanced at their spaceship, then hopped to the window. Outside the universe stretched vast and empty, but a blue planet hovered in the distance. Curious, it murmured, “Is that Earth of the 32nd century? Something seems off...” Its eyes darkened, numbers scrolling rapidly within. “Can’t figure it out,” Awu shook its small dog head. Since its program didn’t include this information, it resumed cleaning, making the tiny spaceship spotless. This was the 32nd century—a world of advanced technology, where humans were the smartest and most powerful species. Robots were their best partners and friends, each designed to match their owner’s personality. Fang Qing’s only dream was to eat well and find someone to marry. That was why she had gone to Planet No. 2 for her International Chef’s Certificate. Don’t be fooled by the tiny chip; once activated, it granted access to a personal kitchen linked to a pocket dimension. Only certified holders could enter, and the chip was embedded via memory transfer—there was no cheating. Awu lay down, staring at the empty spaceship. “Fang Qing, do you still have any money left?”