What are you yelling for?

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Bai Ling’s mental stability test results clearly stated:

• Mental Strength: SS
• Mental Pressure: 197 Pa (Normal range: 60–180)
• Mental Stability Rate: 61% (Passing grade: 60%)

Clearly, the level of mental strength and the stability rate were not necessarily proportional. In fact, there’s a saying in the industry that the stronger a pilot’s mental strength, the lower their stability. The more power one wielded, the more energy was required to keep it in check.

One slip-up, and it was easy to suffer a backlash.

The tragic victim who had used drugs to boost his mental strength was a bloody example. If the power you sought to control exceeded your threshold of endurance, whose cerebral vessels would burst if not yours?

However, there were exceptions to every rule. Talents who possessed both high mental power and high stability did exist, though they were as rare as phoenix feathers or unicorn horns.

As Bai Ling was about to walk out of the testing hall, he suddenly heard a burst of exclamations behind him.

“Mental strength SSS, pressure 100, stability 90%… My god! What kind of textbook excellence is this?”

“He’s truly blessed by the heavens. I’m dying of envy.”

Bai Ling looked back just as a man stepped down from the testing platform.

The man was tall and wore a fully enclosed face visor; not a single hair was visible. The silver-black mirror finish of the visor reflected the faces of the crowd, filled with either jealousy or awe.

The black-clad man tilted his head slightly toward the door.

For some reason, even though he couldn’t see the man’s face, Bai Ling instinctively felt that the stranger was looking at him through the crowd.

Perhaps it’s just my imagination.

Just then, Lu Xun came looking for him, so Bai Ling pushed the matter to the back of his mind and went to collect his altered combat suit.

After grabbing their clothes, they wove through the bustling, noisy waiting area and climbed the high-tech, open-work automatic spiral staircase. The second floor was the media work area and the public lounges for pilots were on the fourth floor and above.

As they passed the media area, Bai Ling’s gaze swept indifferently across the room before suddenly stopping on a single point in the crowd.

He spotted an old acquaintance.

The broadcaster happened to look over at the same time, so Bai Ling walked over to chat: “How’s the new job? Settling in alright?”

“Haha, thanks to you, I’m getting there. You know, I used to do news broadcasting; I haven’t had much contact with live tournament coverage. I’m having to learn all the technical mecha terms on the fly: energy cells, ion shields, cannons… It’s actually quite interesting!”

The broadcaster had shaved his beard and changed into a cheap but clean new suit. He hadn’t thrown away his tattered hat, though; it was tucked habitually under his arm as if it were a part of his body.

Bai Ling could tell that he wasn’t just in a good mood; his spirit was also more energetic.

Everything is moving in a good direction.

This sentiment inexplicably surfaced in Bai Ling’s mind.

“By the way, I’ve made some headway on that matter you entrusted to me last time.” Noticing Bai Ling’s slight look of confusion, the broadcaster smiled, his deep wrinkles crinkling. “Did you forget? The radio.”

“You found the radio parts?” A light flickered in Bai Ling’s grey eyes. He had only mentioned it in passing; he hadn’t expected there to be actual hope.

“Yes. A friend of mine says an underground second-hand dealer has them.” The broadcaster used his newly purchased communicator to add Bai Ling’s ID and sent the information over:

“Here’s the address. Once you arrive, just give the code. The code is…”

With people coming and going, the broadcaster looked around warily before leaning in and lowering his voice seriously:

“The code is: Big 1.”

Bai Ling: “…?”

Simple, crude, and certainly easy to remember.

Afterward, the broadcaster took Bai Ling for a quick tour of the media area.

He was only privately employed by Uriel, so unlike the major platforms, his space was just a tiny, pigeon-hole-sized booth. Even the footage used for his commentary was borrowed from the larger media companies.

Bai Ling knew that this man had once been a pillar of the Old Empire’s Central News Channel, a legitimate heavyweight news anchor. Back then, a broadcast would have involved an entire styling team and someone dedicated just to holding his herbal tea.

Now, the broadcaster had used his first week’s wages to buy a thermos. As he took a sip of plain water, a look of pure happiness crossed his face.

It was the gratitude of a man who had regained a life he thought lost.

Bai Ling thought to himself: Am I not the same?

The broadcaster was like a reflection of him, but there were millions of other “hims” in this world who weren’t so lucky. They all shared similar experiences, remnants left behind by the collapse of a nation, tossed aside by the changing times, lost and without a place to belong.

If I can reach out and pull them up, so they can find their place again, then…

Perhaps I haven’t wasted this second chance at life.

---

He changed into his combat suit and headed to the warm-up training field.

The area, capable of holding fifty mechas simultaneously, was packed with contestants from various associations. With twenty minutes until the start of the match, many were taking the opportunity to adapt to their machines, eagerly swinging light-particle weapons. The field was a dizzying blur of motion, forcing Bai Ling, who just wanted a place to rest, back indoors.

Perhaps due to the combined effect of the winter rain and his cold, a dull ache began to throb in his lower abdomen again.

Bai Ling filled a disposable cup with hot water, cradling it in his palms for warmth. He stared out the large floor-to-ceiling window and his eyes were fixed on the mechas, scanning from one to the next.

He didn’t lack operational experience, so there was no need for last-minute cramming.

For him, the most important thing before a match was observing his opponents: collecting information and analyzing the pilots’ habits from the mechas’ movements to find their flaws.

After watching for a while, his gaze locked onto a purple mecha less than fifty meters away.

It was a heavy-duty model, carrying two guns, a photon sword, and a multi-round cannon on its back. Perhaps the unit was overloaded, because it walked unsteadily, shaking three times whenever it jumped and landed. This drew bouts of laughter from the pilots inside the lounge.

“What the hell! Did that guy borrow his legs? He can’t even stand straight.”

“Maybe he’s on drugs. He’s probably having a blast in that cockpit right now.”

Bai Ling shot a cold, warning look back at them. “Making jokes about accidents? I suggest you show some decency.”

The two alphas downed their water, tossed their cups into the trash, and asked recklessly, “Who are you? Since when do you get to control what we say?”

Bai Ling said shortly, “The person who’s going to beat you to a pulp.”

Having said his piece, he ignored their snarling and posturing and turned back to the field.

Brawling before a match was strictly forbidden; anyone caught would be disqualified, but the committee had no rules against trash-talking.

The two alphas clearly knew this; they grumbled a few curses but, realizing they couldn’t touch him, eventually quieted down and went back to getting water.

“Oh, looks like the guy finally realized he needs to unload.”

The purple mecha stood still at the edge of the field, its hand reaching toward its back. But whether it was poor BCI synchronization or the pilot getting distracted, it missed the weapon twice. It looked as if it were struggling with itself.

The training ground erupted in amused laughter.

The only one not laughing was Bai Ling.

Lu Xun walked over and said with certainty, “That person’s definitely too greedy. The regulations say you can carry at most four weapons, so he loaded them all. Now he’s so heavy he can’t even lift his arms.”

Bai Ling thought for a moment and suddenly said, “No.”

Lu Xun looked at him, confused. “What’s wrong?”

Bai Ling didn’t answer, his expression growing grimmer by the second. He knew mechas well. Heavy models were designed with a margin of error; if the manual stated a load capacity of 70 tons, the actual value could usually fluctuate by about 20%.

This was for safety and to maximize the mecha’s transport capability under extreme conditions.

But the purple mecha before them was nowhere near its maximum load. This model could climb snowy cliffs even when overloaded; how could it be so stiff that it couldn’t lift an arm just by carrying four heavy weapons?

An alpha nearby commented: “Finally, he’s pulling it out.”

He was referring to the cannon stored in the back slot.

The onlookers began to turn their bored gazes away. However, in the next second, the purple mecha’s head dropped, and it suddenly raised its mechanical arm.

The crowd’s eyes widened in shock as they collectively saw the blue light suddenly erupting from the dark barrel of the cannon.

It was high-concentration electrical particles.

“BOOM—!!”

The heavy shell grazed a line of mecha heads at an angle, and the massive force caused the ground to shake violently. Countless shards of glass sprayed downward, and the two slow-reacting alphas were sent flying by the shockwave.

“The mecha has gone rogue! Run!”

Before the smoke could clear, amidst the screams of terror, Bai Ling grabbed Lu Xun and stood up from behind a barrier wall.

He coldly turned his head and barked an order:

“Get to your machine and crank the shields to the max! Protect this building!”

Lu Xun was stunned by his sudden commanding aura and answered subconsciously: “Oh, okay, right!”

But before he could finish his sentence, he saw Bai Ling charge into the smoke-filled battlefield.

While everyone else was fleeing for their lives, one person brushed past them, resolutely heading toward the most dangerous area.

The crowd looked back to see a figure leaping nimbly through the mist. With a kick of his long legs, he hooked an elbow around the swaying mecha’s arm in a terrifyingly risky swing-jump, landing as light as a swallow on the mecha’s tilted front windshield.

“Is he crazy? What’s the difference between charging in now and suicide?!”

“The security team is on its way! Everyone, get to your mechas!”

The pilots finally snapped out of it and began summoning their units. A few had considered rushing in to restrain the rogue mecha, but upon hearing that security was coming, they hesitated.

—What if I get injured? Wouldn’t that mean an automatic forfeit from the match?

As the crowd struggled with their inner conflict, a thunderous explosion suddenly erupted. They watched in horror as the berserk mecha fired directly at the second floor.

The second floor was packed with media personnel; the incident had only started three minutes ago, and they were still in the middle of evacuating. If a shell hit the second floor and caused casualties among international media, the incident would instantly escalate.

The Empire was the host of this tournament. This would not only be the most serious mecha accident in the Empire’s history, but it could also trigger a diplomatic crisis with the Interstellar Alliance.

Just then, a stunning flash of azure-blue reflected under the training ground’s floodlights.

Zooming in with their mecha cameras, the witnesses discovered it was a gemstone embedded in a short blade.

Someone screamed into the comms in shock:

“The Lake Askid Blade! That’s a weapon only high-ranking nobles are entitled to use!”

Before anyone could speculate on the identity of the suicidal pilot, the exquisite, expensive blade, worth more than ten mechas on the field, slammed down.

Driven by an impossibly sharp whetstone drill, the mecha’s front glass, rated to withstand three direct hits from thermal weapons, shattered instantly, webbing with spiderweb-like cracks.

Bai Ling exerted the full power of his prosthetic leg and kicked the glass into pieces.

In the zoomed-in shots of the crowd, his snow-white hair was tossed by the biting wind, revealing sharp, cold features. He slid into the cockpit and vanished from sight; a second later, the mecha that had been firing chaotically stuttered for a moment.

“…No way? Is he trying to take control of someone else’s mecha?”

“All mechas have bio-locks; no one but the registered pilot can operate them. This guy has guts, but where’s his common sense!?”

Inside the cockpit, Bai Ling kicked the unconscious pilot aside and took the seat.

He knew all about bio-locks to prevent thefts, of course.

Back when he was the leader of the poorest revolutionary army on Wild Planet, his legion’s equipment came from two sources: stealing and scavenging. When it came to cracking bio-locks, if Bai Ling claimed to be second best, no one in the galaxy would dare claim to be first.

Moreover, thanks to General Sava in the neighboring district, who had more money than brains, Bai Ling had scavenged plenty of similar heavy-duty mechas.

“Line E45 to M97…” In just five seconds, Bai Ling tore open the cable box beneath the console. Without blinking, he snipped two wires and pressed them together by force.

He needed both hands for the console and had no one to help, so he completely ignored the red safety warnings on the screen, pinning the wires under his boot to keep them in place.

Layers of “WARNING” messages popped up on the screen, the alarm blaring loud enough to make his eardrums ache.

The onboard AI repeated robotically: “Attack, attack, continue executing orders!”

Bai Ling’s eyes scanned the dense columns of error reports on the screen, his mind analyzing the cause at explosive speed. Over-commanding, command errors… these are mistakes even a novice wouldn’t make.

He typed the [Stop] command, no response. He tried [System Self-Destruct], still nothing.

He simply yanked the connection cable for the AI system, and its voice died instantly.

Normally, anyone would have given up by now. But Bai Ling immediately switched to manual mode, bypassing the AI entirely.

From this moment on, he was the only central processing system this 70-ton hunk of giant iron could rely on.

He needs to be more precise than an AI; not a single decimal point in any command could be wrong.

His fingers flew across the control panel as he typed a full page of data commands within ten seconds, his hands moving so fast they left afterimages.

“Snap!” With a crisp sound, he slammed the Enter key.

Like a giant whose power had been cut, the mecha groaned to a halt.

The onlookers collectively exhaled. Is it over?

But Bai Ling’s nerves remained taut. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw warning boxes still popping up in the lower right corner; the AI, pushed to the background, was stubbornly fighting him for control.

Bai Ling knew he couldn’t delay any longer.

Utilizing the ten seconds he had fought so hard to gain, he grabbed the intercom and shouted outside with resonant force: “Rattlesnake, fire at me immediately! Hit the energy cell!”

“FIRE AT ME—!”

That voice, sharp as a blade and cold as frost, echoed across the field.

For a split second, everyone who heard it felt their hearts tremble.

---

Meanwhile, inside the aircraft

Yu Chen’s forest-green eyes snapped open, and an inexplicable sense of unease seized him.

Uriel looked in the rearview mirror and asked cautiously, “What’s wrong?”

Yu Chen picked up his cane, his words brief: “I’m going to go take a look.”

---

On the field, Rattlesnake was facing the greatest crisis of its life—

It must obey an order to fire upon its own Master.

“Rattlesnake, trust me!” Bai Ling’s voice echoed again, powerful and steady.

Rattlesnake was a mecha with a synchronization rate of 87% for a reason. It took only 0.001 seconds to make its decision: Trust Master’s skill!

A terrifying shell erupted from the barrel, whistling as it tore through the air, heading straight for the purple mecha’s abdomen.

As if tearing through space, a fierce fire radiated outward, and the energy fuel tank detonated. A wall of thick black smoke swallowed everyone’s vision in an instant.

“It’s over… that pilot definitely didn’t survive…”

Everyone shook their heads in regret.

Lu Xun dropped his shield, screaming hoarsely, “Bai Ling! Bai Ling, answer me! Waaaaah!”

“What are you screaming for?” A cold, impatient voice cut through the air.

All the pilots, including Lu Xun, froze.

At the edge of their vision, the smoke cleared to reveal a tall figure. He walked steadily out of the haze, dragging a man by the back of his collar.

He tossed the unconscious pilot onto the ground and tilted his head slightly, revealing cold eyes dirtied by soot.

His face was smudged with engine oil, the corner of his mouth was nicked, and there were scratches on his arm, but his demeanor was so calm you’d think he hadn’t just single-handedly stopped a disaster-of-the-century, but had simply gone out to pick up some trash.

The tournament security team finally arrived, lugging giant fire extinguishers.

The security chief rushed forward: “Are you alright, pilot? Any injuries? We owe you a lot for your quick reaction.”

Because of previous accidents, there were ultra-particle shields between the official arena and the stands.

But who would have expected something to happen on the warm-up field?

The security chief wiped sweat from his brow.

Bai Ling peeled off his shredded gloves, his expression indifferent. Habitually, he said, “Make sure you write the accident investigation report thoroughly, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The security chief saluted instinctively.

It wasn’t until Bai Ling had walked some distance away that the chief realized something was wrong. “Yes, sir”? He’s not my boss.

But then again… how could a youngster have such a soul-shaking presence? Even when the Imperial General had come to inspect the tournament, the chief hadn’t felt this kind of awe.

The pilots jumped down from their mechas and gathered in front of the building, looking at each other in silence.

They saw shame in each other’s eyes.

Though less than five minutes had passed from start to finish, these mercenaries, who usually considered themselves the pinncle of the Empire’s civilian pilots, had been useless. It was truly…

Humiliating.

Seeing them looking at him, Bai Ling felt inexplicably annoyed. He reached back to pull his jacket over his exposed back, only to realize his hands met nothing.

His jacket had fallen off the moment he had sprinted to the rescue.

Suddenly, dozens of hands reached out like fish darting for food, each holding a freshly removed, still-warm jacket. These alphas, who usually held their heads high, now lowered themselves to the dust, eagerly hoping to offer him their clothes to cover his body.

Bai Ling arched an eyebrow in displeasure, his piercing gaze chilling the crowd of alphas into retreating.

Just then, amidst the noisy crowd, he caught the familiar sound of a cane tapping the ground.

Bai Ling’s heart skipped a beat. His first reaction wasn’t joy that Yu Chen had found him, but fear: an alpha, upon realizing their omega was in mortal danger, might lose control and perform a massive protection maneuver.

“That was so dangerous, I was scared to death. I really thought that white-haired pilot had sacrificed himself,” someone nearby sighed with lingering fear.

Bai Ling glared at the man: “Shut up.”

But with the merman’s ears being so sharp, they could monitor his heartbeat; how could he not hear the gossip?

Bai Ling looked over the crowd and saw the masked figure, feeling a slight surge of relief. He pushed through the wall of people and hurried over, grabbing the merman’s iron-like waist. Leading the old blind man toward an open space, he whispered into his ear:

“I’m fine. Don’t do anything to the crowd; there are too many eyes here.”

Yu Chen: “I smell blood on you.”

The tone was so restrained and somber that Bai Ling knew he was on the edge of a breakdown.

Bai Ling lied through his teeth: “It’s someone else’s.”

Yu Chen suddenly grabbed his hand, lowered his head, and silently licked his bleeding wrist.

Bai Ling: “…!”

This is a hallway! There are people everywhere!

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Author’s Note:

(In an operatic, praising tone) Ah, our Little Bird wife—high attack, low defense!