As a Life‑Care Officer for many years, Aunt Zhou knew the government's procedures by heart. Within just a few days, Ye Cheng's mining‑trip application was approved. And the moment the Level‑Two lockdown caused by the mixed‑blood riot was lifted, she and Yang Yu were on their way.
At the spaceport, Aunt Zhou gave her third and final lecture.
"Ye Cheng, listen to me—stay put in Sunset City, the largest city outside the eastern mountain mining zone. Let your slave go into the mines. That won't count as a violation. Don't follow him in! Dust storms there aren't a joke."
Ye Cheng bobbed her head like a pecking chick. The moment Aunt Zhou turned to leave, she pressed her palms together toward her departing figure and whispered, "Sorry, Aunt Zhou, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
Yang Yu felt a headache forming. "Forgive me, Owner, but… why are you apologizing?"
She showed him her little tiger‑tooth grin. "Because I'm not going to do what she said."
…Of course.
Waiting for the flight was boring. Ye Cheng glanced around, restless, and when she spotted the clusters of people in the terminal's entertainment zone—alongside the souvenir, food, and leisure sections—her eyes brightened. She tugged Yang Yu over to try something new from this era.
The gaming area blazed with light and sound, machines of every design dazzling her. She pressed up to the counter, eyes gleaming. The staffer met her gaze with a professional smile and pointed toward a glowing notice: "Under‑18s Prohibited."
She drooped. With her baby‑round face, yellow sundress, and height not even up to Yang Yu's chest, she looked thirteen at best. No way anyone would believe she was fifteen. Dejected, she turned to leave.
Just then, a red‑haired young man who'd just unlocked his gaming access called out. "Hey—why don't we have a match?"
Ye Cheng looked up. He wasn't even staring at her—his eyes were locked challengingly on Yang Yu.
Yang Yu gave the man one flat glance before turning back to Ye Cheng. He took orders only from her.
She thought, Well, since I can't play, maybe Tudoudou can have some fun. "Sure," she said, "what game?"
The red‑haired man wore a collar too, matching his hair in crimson—a clear sign of high‑grade elemental energy. Not a slave, obviously; the brighter colors were reserved for strong, often well‑paid mixed‑bloods.
He flicked a glance at Ye Cheng, then back at Yang Yu. "Can he pilot a mech?"
She turned inquisitively to Yang Yu. He nodded once. His earlier master's father had been a mech manufacturer; he'd received real training.
"Then let's try Mecha Unrivaled. Kills the boredom." The man strode straight toward the most extravagant simulator pod in the zone.
Ye Cheng recognized the name—it was the most popular network‑linked mech sim in the entire United Union. Ads for it were everywhere, claiming to reproduce 99 percent of civilian mech data and even a slice of military specs, simplified for play. Many mech‑training schools used it as a hands‑on tutorial, since not everyone could afford—or dared—to own a real battle machine.
The red‑haired man tapped the deluxe pod's shell. "The full‑cab version really beats a visor! Worth every credit." He whistled and climbed in.
Yang Yu entered the pod opposite. After a quick glance to ensure no one was watching, he motioned to Ye Cheng. She laughed and squeezed in beside him. He sealed the hatch.
The luxury cabin was full‑scale—a tight fit for two, mirrors of real cockpits, every control configurable. Ye Cheng leaned over the chair‑back, chin propped in her hands, fascinated as Yang Yu's fingers danced expertly over startup switches.
"Owner," he reported, "his mech is selected: space‑grade humanoid, heavy arms, close weapon—a photon‑charged power axe."
"Uh… whatever that means," she murmured. "You pick yours. I don't get any of this."
He worked quickly. "Mine: space‑grade humanoid, light arms, close weapons—photon longsword, earth‑infused shield. Map: Specter Ruins, outer‑space setting."
The simulation's explosions offered only visual thrills; vibration feedback was faint. Having once been literally knocked unconscious by real artillery, Ye Cheng found this tame.
Yang Yu moved with calm precision. To her, his hands on the console were as natural as in the kitchen. She began to suspect she'd picked up something priceless.
He, oblivious to her admiration, focused entirely on the duel.
The opponent was good, every swing of that glowing axe aimed to cleave. Several times, Ye Cheng thought Yang Yu's sword would pierce straight through—only to see the enemy dodge at the last instant.
Now the axe's light grew blinding. Her heart twitched, but she didn't dare distract him. The clash quickened—then the red mech released all eight shoulder missiles at once and charged, sparks streaking. Enveloped in fire, it vanished from sight—only to reappear inches away, axe poised for a killing strike!
Yang Yu barely flinched. His mech raised its left shield. Mud‑colored energy rippled across it—and was sliced clean through like tofu. The axe's edge blazed toward the cockpit. Ye Cheng gasped—
—and the attack froze. The word VICTORY flashed across the screens.
Yang Yu unlatched the hatch calmly, stepped out first, then offered his hand to steady Ye Cheng as she climbed down.
They looked up at the giant display. His mech's shield arm hung half‑severed, the blade stopped barely two meters from the cockpit—while the longsword in its right hand had already pierced the opponent's core.
A moment later the red‑haired player emerged—grinning, not angry. He strode over. "Hey, how about a job?"
Without even glancing at him, Yang Yu checked the time, bent slightly toward Ye Cheng, and said quietly, "Owner, boarding will begin soon."
She nodded, slipping her arm through his, chin high as they headed for the gate. He hesitated, then followed her lead docilely.
Behind them the redhead called out, "Follow her and you'll die a slave!"
Neither turned.
"Why hide your real strength?" he added softly.
Ye Cheng's step faltered, but Yang Yu's didn't. He guided her steadily onward. The redhead shrugged and walked off to another terminal.
Once aboard, Ye Cheng realized they were the only passengers in the small cabin—a reminder of how desolate the eastern mining regions were.
Yang Yu sat beside her, glancing her way several times, words unspoken. She noticed and turned from the window. "Tudoudou, I never meant to keep you bound forever. I just hope you'll stay with me a while—at least until I'm a little more grown up." She hesitated, then added softly, "Please."
"…Yes." He exhaled and lowered his voice. "Owner, do you know the New Human mech‑craft master, Yang Jin?"
She blinked and shook her head.
He looked down at his Subspace Ring. His tone fell to a whisper, nearly drowned out by the hum of engines—calm but cold, like snow falling on grass. "My former master was his only son. And I… was Editor Yang Jin's last student."
He said no more.
Curious, Ye Cheng opened the net on her ring and searched. As her eyes skimmed Yang Jin's biography, they grew wider and wider.
—Ninety years ago, before relations between New Humans and the First Empire collapsed completely, the United Union's chief liaison and head of mech‑development sent to the Firsts' realm had been Yang Jin. His innovations refined the entire manufacturing system—an Edison or Gates‑tier genius whose work had advanced civilization itself.
Yang Yu meanwhile stared at his ring, lost in memory.
He'd met the man at eleven, newly released from a month in jail for "dereliction." Broke and hungry, he hunted beasts in the forest to trade for supplies. One day, gravely wounded after a hunt gone wrong, he was found by the elderly Yang Jin's research convoy. The old man, who had no slaves, took pity and paid him for odd jobs.
Later, learning that the boy would serve as caretaker to his frail son, Yang Qian, he formally offered the role.
At first Yang Yu was uneasy—his new master was older, distant. But time revealed a gentle spirit. Sickly and childless, Yang Qian treated him like family, taught him himself, and hired instructors for him. Grateful, Yang Yu repaid that kindness with loyalty and simple labor.
When the old man saw his fascination with mechs, he began true instruction. Retired but still a legend, Yang Jin poured what remained of his life into the young student. Yang Qian, uninterested in machines, nonetheless encouraged them both.
It lasted only a few years. Years of unshielded exposure to Source Crystals had poisoned Yang Jin beyond cure. In a world where most lived past two hundred, he died at a mere one‑hundred‑thirty‑three, leaving his life's work to the Union and an assortment of private notes to his son.
But treasure invites thieves. With manuscripts of immense value, Yang Qian soon found himself hunted. Preferring death on his own terms, he set off traveling with modest attendants—Yang Yu among them. Many wanted what he carried. His public declaration that the notes would be buried with him only drew darker eyes.
Evidence later suggested their "pirate ambush" had been planned long before.
When Ye Cheng looked up from the archives, Yang Yu anticipated her question. "I was the only survivor," he murmured. "Even now the Firsts and New Humans both find that hard to believe. So do I." He unclenched whitening knuckles. "I fought back in my mech, but there were too many. I was already half‑dead when… the young master came for me himself, pulled me aboard, and set me in the escape pod." His voice broke slightly. "He rammed the enemy's mech head‑on."
Ye Cheng's throat tightened watching his face.
"I crashed on Golden Star XI, then managed to sneak back. The rest—you know."
She understood how precarious his life must have been—as a mixed‑blood, as the last witness to such a legacy. Her sympathy deepened; she patted her chest solemnly. "Don't worry—I didn't hear a thing."
"…Thank you." He checked the time again. "You should rest, Owner."
She was tired indeed. After reading so long, she fetched a cup of milk from the service droid, handed it to him, took a blanket, covered half herself and half him, and soon drifted off—head settling gently onto his shoulder.
Yang Yu gazed down at the sleeping girl. Guilt stirred for the truths he still held back—but no regret. His eyes cooled as memory overtook him.
The truth was darker than the version he'd told.
When the pirates closed in, the crew panicked, stealing a pod and abandoning him and Yang Qian—only to be blown apart moments later. The pirates wanted Yang Qian alive and held fire. Yang Yu fought until his mech was in shreds, every weapon spent. Exhausted, he saw the young master pilot the damaged ship himself, haul him aboard, and shove him into the last pod—covering his launch toward Golden Star XI before steering the vessel headlong into the enemy line.
Later, First Empire forces found the crashed pod. By the time they searched space again, the pirates had vanished. Believing Yang Qian's father's manuscripts were hidden on him, they interrogated Yang Yu repeatedly—with torture. He, unstable and half‑mad with loss, finally threatened to rip off his own Element Lock. Only then did they back off, throwing him into prison.
When reports came that some of Yang Jin's drafts had been recovered from the old butler's house on Yilan Star, the Firsts lost interest.
They sent him to the mines. He saved money, slipped onto a smuggler ship, and returned to Yilan. There, convicted for "extreme negligence," he received three rounds of public whipping—fifty lashes each—stripped of credits and ranking. With nothing left, he hunted beasts between sentences to stay alive.
And it was during one such hunt that he found the unconscious Ye Cheng beside the bisected corpse of a Rockfire Megarhino—and the imprint of a mech.
He had met her before: years earlier, her father Ye Zhiqiu had visited Yang Qian, discussing material research for mech components. The two men had become good friends; he remembered the small, vacant‑eyed girl trailing behind.
Seeing her alone in the forest among the wreckage, he was shocked. He suspected at once that Ye Zhiqiu's identity was more complicated than it appeared—and when he saw the mech traces, he knew it. No "ordinary scientist" could have produced that kind of destruction.
He investigated quietly through slave channels and discovered Ye Zhiqiu and his daughter were said to have gone traveling. The incident's timing aligned perfectly with Yang Qian's death.
Finding Ye Zhiqiu mortally injured and his Subspace Ring shattered, Yang Yu hid Ye Cheng carefully in the pod and lured rescuers to the site under the guise of coincidence. After ensuring her survival, he returned to take his final whipping, then intended to investigate further—only for fate to deliver Ye Cheng herself as his new master.
She remembered nothing of the past, not even the world's basics. So he stayed close. For his lost benefactor, for his teacher, he would follow every clue—and never forgive those responsible.
Outside, night spread wide. The ship's engines hummed softly across the dark sky, carrying them toward the distant, waiting city.