At dawn, Ye Cheng's inner clock woke her. Still half‑asleep, she dragged herself out of bed, washed up in a fog, and drifted like a ghost into the kitchen. She grabbed a spatula, ready to make breakfast—when a voice she didn't immediately recognize said behind her,
"Breakfast is already prepared, Owner."
Half‑dreaming, Ye Cheng went rigid. For a split second she thought a burglar was in her house. She spun around, clutching the spatula like a weapon, eyes wide enough to pop.
Yang Yu froze in the doorway, uncertain whether to step in or retreat. After a long pause, seeing her just staring, he ventured, "...Owner?"
Ye Cheng dropped the spatula with a clack, squatted, clutching her head. Her brain revved back to life, flashing through fragments of yesterday's memories at lightning speed.
Yang Yu knelt quickly, lifted her chin despite her instinctive resistance, and laid a hand on her forehead. No fever. He hesitated, wondering if he should call Aunt Zhou, but Ye Cheng caught his wrist, took a deep breath, and steadied herself. "I'm fine. Let's eat."
Breakfast was a bowl of something like rice porridge—plump grains, clean and tender with a faint sweetness—plus two small cakes. She was tempted to ask about the ingredients but didn't want to seem suspicious, so she finished quietly, rinsed her mouth, and retreated to her room to fiddle again with her Subspace Ring.
A few minutes later, she ran back out, looking worried. "Tudoudou, come help me with this."
Yang Yu, restless and already looking for more chores, obediently walked over and sat beside her. Ye Cheng opened her personal record on the holo‑screen from her ring. The deposits column showed a long number, but next to it were two gray‑lit characters: "Restricted."
"What does restricted mean?"
"Because you're underage," he explained, "laws of the United Nations prohibit unrestricted use of private assets. You have a fixed monthly allowance."
Ye Cheng rubbed her temple, calculating.
She'd already checked everything in her accounts. In Yilan Star's economy, her father's remaining liquid funds weren't much. The insurance settlement was substantial, but—just as Yang Yu said—being underage meant a limit: 5,000 Union Credits a month for living expenses.
She had also looked up Ye Zhiqiu's condition and the government policy on his treatment. The government would cover standard care and hospitalization—but anything beyond that would cost extra.
Remembering the warm voice in the calendar recording, and seeing the father's presence lingering in his daughter's room—in the clothes, the small keepsakes—Ye Cheng firmed her resolve. Since she had inherited Ye Zhiqiu's daughter's body, she would take responsibility for that father too. Whatever the outcome, she wanted him to have the best treatment possible.
Her tuition would indeed be government‑funded—but only the baseline. A better school, like the Astral Academy Aili mentioned, cost at least 760,000 Union Credits per year, depending on major—a genuine elite academy.
She didn't have a burning wish to be a noble student. But the cheapest schools were almost half a planet away and required boarding. Astral Academy, on the other hand, was local—and offered day programs.
Given her introvert tendencies and her college‑era habits, boarding life was the last thing she wanted. Astral Academy was clearly her best option.
Money, though, was the problem towering over all others.
"Can I even get a job at fifteen? Would anyone hire me? How much could I earn?" Ye Cheng muttered as she flipped through job listings.
Traditional work—wiping tables, washing dishes, delivering food—was done by robots now. Only the most exclusive restaurants still hired human attendants, and those required certified adults, ages twenty and up.
Beast hunter? Sounded heroic—but "personal safety not guaranteed" appeared right in the first line. That noped her out instantly.
Private mech workshop assistant? No age restriction, no mortal peril! …but applicants had to assemble Dawn‑grade parts.
Earlier that morning she'd looked into the codified ranking system—"Midnight," "Dawn," and so on. Full title: Verdant Dawn, the third of ten grades spanning from First‑Tier Pitch‑Dark Midnight to Tenth‑Tier Dim‑Violet Fall.
Forget Dawn‑grade; even Midnight‑grade entry‑level parts looked to her as intricate as old‑world CPU chips.
She was fifteen and useless here—no skills, no credentials. What, then, go live at some far‑off boarding school on the other side of the planet?
Yang Yu, seeing her frown creasing deeper, silently expanded his own Subspace Ring display and projected his personal file. "Does Owner need credits? I can earn some."
"It's me who should earn, not you," she said, still sulking over the listings. "You've got room and board with me—that's enough." She knew slaves earned only United Credit Points, which all belonged to their owners anyway. Besides, he already handled every household task, leaving her nothing to do. Sending him out to work would be exploitation.
And she had checked the math—one meal like yesterday's, factoring in labor, still left plenty to spare. With 5,000 Union Credits a month, two people could live comfortably. Any income beyond that was her problem to solve.
Yang Yu didn't argue. He simply tapped through a few more screens, enlarging his detailed profile and transferring a copy to Ye Cheng.
She blinked hard at the data. The man was practically omnipotent: certified miner, licensed high‑tier beast hunter—both advanced qualifications.
While she herself—the "newborn" Ye Cheng—had no formal education or even basic world literacy. She was slower at housekeeping, worse at cooking… Yet this young man, with credentials worth a fortune, had been demoted to the bottom of the slave rankings and whipped within an inch of his life, for things beyond his control?
Yang Yu, unaware of her storm of thoughts, brought up photos of ores and beasts he'd once captured. Ye Cheng flipped through them—until she froze.
In one image loomed a gigantic rhino. The very same kind that had tried to trample her.
Yang Yu's eyes darkened. "That's a Rockfire Megarhino. They live in Yilan's wilderness and forest edges. Extremely territorial—attack anything that trespasses. My second master… died to one of these."
Ye Cheng knew—from his file. But something else occupied her mind.
She had chosen to stay on Yilan, to live and learn there, and slowly understand this world—but she hadn't forgotten that when she lost consciousness, she'd been beside a mech. That mech was now sealed in her white wrist ring—the device Aili had called by its proper name: Subspace Ring.
Had anyone inspected her ring? Had they realized she carried a mech? Was her father truly just a scientist? Or had their "accident" been more than a random border skirmish?
"Owner?" Yang Yu prompted. Ye Cheng had gone pale, her lips pressed white.
"I'm fine," she managed. "Just… let me think."
She shut herself off in her head again.
Even with no technical knowledge she could tell Shennong wasn't an ordinary mech. The Rockfire Megarhino was a two‑story predator savage enough to wipe out an entire expedition—and Shennong had split one in half with a single lash.
By the universal scale, what grade was that? What kind of person was Ye Zhiqiu? Thoughts spiraling, she suddenly jumped up and ran to his room, hunting for clues.
The décor was simple. On the desk sat a photograph: a tall, slender man with gentle, handsome features—and seated in front of him, a vacant‑eyed little girl.
So that was her "father."
Ye Cheng brushed a thumb over the photo, a faint ache rising in her chest.
Her own awakening, she thought, had come at the cost of Ye Zhiqiu's sleep. She'd gained everything she'd never dared wish for: a healthy body, a father's love, and, for once, a home that was hers.
Alongside that came a terrifyingly powerful mech, a web of mysteries, and an almost superhuman companion…
She clenched her fists and steadied herself. Gains demanded responsibility. Since she had inherited this life, she would see that responsibility through.
The drawer held only clothes and personal trinkets—no notes or journals. Then she remembered: this was the future. Anything worth keeping would be in a Subspace Ring—and his had been utterly destroyed.
So, no leads here. She trudged back to her room, flopped onto the bed, pulled the quilt over her, and activated her ring's screen to browse mech databases online.
In civilian circulation, the highest mech grade was Crimson Noon Crystal, sixth of ten tiers, mostly conventional machines. The military and research labs used advanced types—bio‑mechs or elemental mechs—usually a full grade higher, Bright Zenith and beyond.
Shennong possessed high‑level AI and could channel elemental energy—meaning it was at least Bright Zenith‑level. In short, far beyond civilian reach. But if it was simply an experimental research mech Ye Zhiqiu had developed, how could it wield such raw destructive power? To whip a creature that big in half—what kind of force did that require?
With Shennong nested inside her Subspace Ring, Ye Cheng realized she wasn't just holding a machine—she was sitting on a bomb.
Head spinning, she scrolled through more pages until a title on a mech‑enthusiast forum caught her eye. It detailed maintenance protocols—and in the storage section, discussed environmental needs for different models.
Civilian Subspace Rings provided a generic space simulating cosmic conditions, perfectly adequate for normal mechs. High‑grade models, though, risked wear in such environments; they needed chambers with simulated elemental flow—requiring a second‑level space in the ring.
She had sensed something similar: whenever she accessed the ring mentally, she could feel two pockets of space—one small, cluttered with odds and ends, and another vast and open, where Shennong rested. That must be the second‑level space.
She researched further and finally relaxed a bit. The standard Portable Personal Integrated Information Storage Unit—the Subspace Ring's full name—was network‑linked and, when equipped with a Source Crystal, opened a simulated‑universe storage space.
Most rings had only one level. Creating a second required complex procedures and high‑grade Source Crystals, and it was invisible to outsiders since the second space was exclusively bound to the owner's consciousness.
Meaning: Shennong was safe, for now.
As that thought settled, a young man's voice echoed suddenly through her mind.
"Fortunately, the current environment is unsuited for deployment. Please do not summon me under these conditions."
Ye Cheng nearly leapt off the bed.
The pleasant voice continued calmly, "Thank you for replenishing my energy. However, I cannot unlock full functionality for you. Our contract is incomplete."
Pressing a hand over her hammering heart, she answered mentally, "You're… Shennong?"
"Correct. Your energy and call have reawakened me—temporarily."
"Then, could you answer a few questions?"
"Ask."
"Is this… mental communication?"
"Yes. No one else can perceive us right now."
Ye Cheng's excitement flared. "Then tell me—what's your mech grade?"
"...Apologies. That, I cannot reveal at present."
She'd expected as much. So she pivoted immediately:
"Then tell me this instead—how do I make money?"