Nangong Wentian sat on a blanket in the corner of the yard, watching golden ginkgo leaves drift down one by one. Autumn had arrived, and the orphanage yard was carpeted with leaves, like a layer of golden fabric.
He was already one and a half years old.
This small body had finally gained some autonomy—he could sit upright, stand up while holding onto something, and point with his fingers at things he wanted. Even his vocal cords and oral muscles had developed enough to produce some simple syllables.
But he rarely spoke.
It wasn't that he couldn't, but that he didn't want to. A one-and-a-half-year-old child who spoke fluently and thought clearly would easily arouse suspicion. So he chose to remain silent, occasionally uttering a few single words like a normal, late-talking child.
Sister Mary was somewhat worried about this, but after a doctor's examination, it was concluded that his vocal cords were fine—it might just be his personality.
Only Nangong Wentian himself knew that he was waiting. Waiting for the right moment, for a time that wouldn't seem too abrupt.
At this moment, he sat on the blanket, watching Xiao Guang and the other children rolling around in the pile of ginkgo leaves. Xiao Guang was already six years old, taller than last year and faster when running. He tossed leaves into the air, then laughed and dodged away.
"Wentian, look!" Xiao Guang ran over, holding a handful of ginkgo leaves, and scattered them over his head with a rustle.
Nangong Wentian blinked but didn't move.
Xiao Guang looked a little disappointed. "Don't you like playing?"
Nangong Wentian thought for a moment, reached out, grabbed a handful of leaves, and imitated Xiao Guang by scattering them. The leaves fluttered down, a few landing on Xiao Guang's head.
Xiao Guang paused, then grinned. "You're playing too!"
He crouched down, leaning close to Nangong Wentian, and whispered mysteriously, "I'll tell you, I found a great place. In the storage room behind the kitchen, there are lots of interesting things! Broken machines, old parts, and…"
Before he could finish, Mary's voice called from the distance, "Xiao Guang—time to eat—"
Xiao Guang responded, scrambled up, and ran off. After a few steps, he turned back and shouted, "I'll take you there this afternoon!"
Nangong Wentian watched his retreating figure, a slight smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
Of course, he knew about the storage room Xiao Guang mentioned. He had even sneaked a look—it was piled with junk accumulated over the years at the orphanage: discarded sewing machines, rusty iron pipes, chairs and tables with broken legs, and some mechanical parts he couldn't name.
To ordinary people, it was trash. To Nangong Wentian, it was treasure.
But he couldn't show too much interest. A one-and-a-half-year-old child shouldn't be interested in mechanical parts.
In the afternoon, the children took their naps.
Nangong Wentian didn't sleep. He lay on his small bed, eyes half-closed, but his ears were tuned to the sounds around him.
Light footsteps echoed in the hallway—it was Mary. She walked to the door, paused for a moment, then continued forward. The footsteps gradually faded as she went downstairs.
Nangong Wentian opened his eyes.
He pushed aside the thin blanket, carefully turned over, and climbed down from the bed. His movements were slow and steady—he had practiced this many times.
Leaning against the wall, he inched his way step by step toward the door. It wasn't fully closed, leaving a narrow gap. He squeezed through sideways, then followed the hallway toward the staircase.
His destination was the storage room behind the kitchen.
But when he reached the staircase, he stopped.
Mary and Tanaka's voices drifted up from downstairs.
"Were these books delivered today?" Mary's voice.
"Yes, donated by kind people. They said they're for the children," Tanaka replied. "But they're all science books—too advanced for the kids to understand."
"Let's put them in the library. They can read them when they're older."
Nangong Wentian's heart stirred.
Books.
It had been a year and a half since he arrived in this world, and he had never come across any systematic source of knowledge. Until now, he could only rely on overheard conversations for information—scattered, vague, and full of subjectivity. But books were the crystallization of knowledge.
He needed these books.
Changing direction, he gripped the stair railing and descended step by step. At a year and a half old, his legs were still too short, making the stairs a challenge, but he was patient.
Finally, he reached the first floor.
The clatter of pots and pans came from the kitchen, where Mary and Tanaka were busy. Nangong Wentian hugged the wall and moved silently toward the library.
The orphanage's library was actually a converted storage room, with a few worn-out bookshelves lining the walls. The door wasn't locked; he pushed it open gently.
Dozens of books sat on the shelves, all donated by kind-hearted people. The pages were yellowed, corners curled, and some were torn, but the illustrations remained clear.
Nangong Wentian's gaze fell on the cover of the topmost book.
It depicted a massive ring—a schematic of a space colony. Beside it were the words: Our Cosmic Home.
He reached out to take the book down, but the shelf was too high for him to reach.
Glancing around, he spotted a small stool nearby. With effort, he dragged it over, climbed onto it, and finally managed to grasp the book.
It was light, and he easily cradled it in his arms.
Then he sat on the floor and opened to the first page.
"Earth, our home. The blue planet that nurtured human civilization…"
Nangong Wentian scanned the simple text and illustrations. It was a children's science book—straightforward in language but packed with enough information. He read quickly, his mind absorbing the knowledge like a sponge.
Earth's diameter, equatorial circumference, the ratio of oceans to land, the composition of the atmosphere—these basic facts aligned closely with his memories from his previous life. This suggested that the physical laws of this world hadn't fundamentally changed.
He continued flipping through the pages.
"The Moon, Earth's satellite, is rich in Helium-3 resources. Helium-3 is a clean nuclear fusion fuel and a vital energy source for humanity's journey into space…"
Nangong Wentian's finger paused on that page.
Helium-3.
He had known about this substance in his previous life, but in this world, it held special significance. In the coming war, Helium-3 would be the Moon's most critical resource and one of the focal points of contention between the Earth Federation and PLANT.
The book included an illustration—a mining base on the lunar surface, with massive robotic arms digging and transport ships coming and going.
He silently committed this information to memory.
Then he turned the page.
"In the Universal Century, humanity began large-scale migration into space. To assist humans with complex tasks in space that were inconvenient for the human body, scientists developed the prototype of the 'Mobile Suit.' These early humanoid machines could move flexibly in space, helping astronauts complete tasks such as satellite construction and resource extraction..."
Nangong Wentian's eyes lit up.
This passage was completely different from the origin of Mobile Suits in his memory. In the setting of Gundam SEED from his previous life, Mobile Suits were developed as weapons from the very beginning. But in this book, the origin of Mobile Suits was "Assistive Mecha"—a tool to help humans work in space.
He continued reading.
"As technology advanced, the performance of Mobile Suits grew stronger, and their applications expanded. Some countries began using them for military purposes, equipping them with weapons and armor. But initially, they were only meant to help humanity better explore the universe..."
Nangong Wentian fell into thought.
So in this world, the origin of Mobile Suits was peaceful. It was only later that they were used for war.
This reminded him of the UC and 00 technologies in his mind. In those worlds, Mobile Suits were weapons from the start. But here, he had the opportunity to return the technology to its roots—to make Mobile Suits tools to help humanity, not machines of slaughter.
He turned to the next page, which featured a blurry photo—a massive white robot standing in a testing ground, surrounded by technicians in work uniforms.
"This is the most advanced Mobile Suit Prototype currently, still in the testing phase..."
Nangong Wentian stared at the photo, trying to discern technical details from the blurry outline. But the photo was too unclear; he could only make out the general shape—humanoid, with a head, torso, sturdy limbs, and thrusters on its back.
Comparing it to the UC and 00 technologies in his mind, he quickly assessed: the skeletal structure was bulky, the joint design crude, the energy system outdated, and the material strength insufficient. But—it already had movable joints, the concept of a cockpit, and ideas for weapon mounting.
The foundation was already there.
What he needed to do was infuse more advanced technology into this base.
"Wentian?"
A voice suddenly rang out.
Nangong Wentian tensed, quickly closed the book, and looked up.
Xiao Guang stood at the door, tilting his head as he looked at him. The six-year-old Xiao Guang still had leaves stuck to his face, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"What are you doing here?" Xiao Guang walked over and crouched beside him. "Sister Mary said you were sleeping."
Nangong Wentian didn't answer. He simply pointed to the book in his hand.
Xiao Guang looked at the cover and read aloud: "Our... Universe... Home?"
He didn't know many words yet, so he could only stumble through a few.
"What's this?" Xiao Guang pointed to the photo of the Mobile Suit in the book.
Nangong Wentian couldn't speak. He could only gesture—pointing to the robot in the photo, then to the sky, and finally making a flying motion.
Xiao Guang understood.
"A robot? A flying robot?" His eyes widened. "This thing can fly?"
Nangong Wentian nodded.
"That's amazing!" Xiao Guang jumped up excitedly. "I want to build robots too! Build flying robots!"
Nangong Wentian looked at this six-year-old child, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him. Xiao Guang didn't know that in the future world, these "flying robots" would be used to kill people. Right now, he was just an orphan fascinated by machinery, a child who couldn't even fix a toy car.
But that passion was real.
Nangong Wentian reached out, pointed at the MS in the book, then pointed at Xiao Guang, and gave a thumbs-up.
Xiao Guang froze. "You… you mean me?"
Nangong Wentian nodded.
Xiao Guang grinned, beaming with joy. He scooted over, sitting close to Nangong Wentian, and together they stared at the page with the MS photo.
"This robot is huge," he said. "Bigger than a house, right?"
Nangong Wentian thought for a moment, then nodded. An MS really was bigger than a house.
"Then how does it eat?" Xiao Guang asked.
Nangong Wentian almost laughed. He shook his head and pointed at the text on the page—though he knew Xiao Guang couldn't read it.
"It doesn't eat? Then how does it get energy?" Xiao Guang scratched his head. "Never mind, I'll figure it out myself when I grow up."
He stood up and took Nangong Wentian's hand. "Come on, I'll take you to the storage room. There are lots of old machines there. Maybe we can take them apart and study them."
Nangong Wentian let himself be led out of the library.
Before leaving, he glanced back at the book lying open on the floor. The page was still turned to the MS.
He said silently in his heart: Xiao Guang, one day you'll build robots a hundred times more powerful than this with your own hands. I promise.
In the evening, when Mary came to call the children for dinner, she found that neither Nangong Wentian nor Xiao Guang was in their room.
After searching around, she finally found them in the storage room—the two children crouched in a pile of junk, Xiao Guang holding a rusty wrench, trying to unscrew a bolt. Nangong Wentian watched beside him, occasionally pointing to show him where to turn.
"What are you doing?!" Mary was startled and rushed over to pull the two children away.
Xiao Guang raised the wrench in his hand, excitedly saying, "Sister Mary, we're studying machines! I'm going to build robots someday!"
Mary didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She snatched the wrench from his hand. "What robots? This is a junk pile! Be careful not to hurt yourself."
She picked up Nangong Wentian and noticed the child was covered in dust, but his eyes were bright, and there was a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
She paused.
This child, usually so listless, was rarely seen so spirited.
"Do you like these things too?" she asked softly.
Nangong Wentian blinked but didn't answer.
Mary sighed and held him a little tighter. "Come on, let's go eat."
As they left the storage room, Nangong Wentian looked back. Xiao Guang was still there, reluctant to leave the pile of junk.
He thought to himself: Xiao Guang, remember these things. You'll need them someday.
At night, all the children were asleep.
Nangong Wentian lay in his small bed, gazing at the moonlight outside the window. Today's gains were significant—he had read about the origins of the MS, confirmed the technological level of this world, and discovered the key resource Helium-3.
That knowledge pieced together in his mind like a puzzle.
The MS was originally an Assistive Mecha, later used for war. This meant that technology itself had no inherent good or evil—it all depended on who used it.
He wanted to change this world, to return technology to its original purpose—to help humanity, not to kill.
But he needed power. The kind of power that could influence the course of events.
Outside the window, a Training Aircraft streaked past once more, its contrail shimmering silver under the moonlight.
Nangong Wentian watched the aircraft and silently vowed: Wait for me. One day, I will make Mobile Suits tools for helping humanity again.
He closed his eyes, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
One and a half years old.
He could already walk, express himself simply, and even read books.
Though he couldn't speak much or do many things yet, at least he had made a start.
Tomorrow, he would continue observing, listening, and silently memorizing every name and every detail in his mind.
Then, when the day came that he could speak, he would begin to act.
Outside the window, the night breeze rustled through the ginkgo leaves.
The infant drifted into a deep sleep.