To ease their conversation, the group shed their virtual disguises, revealing their true faces within the cozy confines of the suite.
Baisha turned to her old comrades, her voice warm with curiosity. "How's life at Central Military Academy?"
"Not bad," Ya Ning replied, his smile as easy as a summer breeze. "Compared to other academies, Central's pretty open-minded. They even hand out free mechs."
"Central Military Academy students, huh? That explains it," Sino Uss said, inclining his head toward Yan Jingyi with a nod of respect. "Your moves were impressive."
Jingyi's expression remained cool, her tone measured. "Thank you. You held your own as well."
"Speaking of which," Cen Yuehuai said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully as she glanced at Sino, "aren't the Empire and Federation holding a joint military exercise this year?"
Sino paused, sifting through his memory. "Yes, the schedule's mostly set. Each side's sending about eight hundred to a thousand cadets for a simulated war game."
Given the vast student bodies of both nations' academies, the scale was modest.
"Everyone's scrambling for a spot in the exercise," Ya Ning added, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We planned to catch up with you during the event, but we also figured you'd likely show up in the Unbound City. So, we formed a team, competing in mech duels while keeping an eye out for you."
Baisha's voice carried a trace of regret. "My old account's inaccessible now…"
Her original Unbound City permit had been secured through Ning Hongxue's machinations. After returning to the Empire and switching holodevices, she found the account locked—Ning Hongxue's doing, no doubt, erasing any trace of their connection to shield himself from scrutiny. Her alias, Daily Riches, was lost with it.
Zhou Zhe's brow furrowed slightly. "Uncle never mentioned that to me or A-Ying."
Baisha blinked, then asked casually, "By the way, how's Zhou Ying doing?"
"He's at Saint-Cyr Military Academy, so he doesn't hang out with us much," Zhou Zhe said, opening his friend panel and sliding the screen toward Baisha. "But he's in the Unbound City often—more than us, even. Here's his ID. Want to add him?"
Zhou Zhe's friend list was sparse, with Zhou Ying's ID, Clear Shadow Lingers, glowing at the top. Baisha sent a tentative friend request, and a prompt "?" appeared in reply.
She typed swiftly: [I'm Done Being Human: It's me. Zhang Fachai.]
[Clear Shadow Lingers: …]
Seconds later, a voice message arrived. Baisha tapped it, and Zhou Ying's voice filled the room, gentle yet tinged with reproach, like a soft breeze stirring a still pond. "You… not a word for so long. Do you know how long I've waited? I thought I'd never speak to you again."
His voice, cool and clear, plucked at an invisible string, its resonance tugging at the heart.
Baisha froze. The room's occupants stared.
Jingyi's eyes narrowed, her tone sharp. "What's Zhou Ying playing at, acting all coy? Is he that close with Sasha?" By rights, she and her crew had spent far more time at Baisha's side.
Baisha coughed, typing hastily: [I'm Done Being Human: Be normal. No more voice messages.]
[Clear Shadow Lingers: Why not? Aren't we friends?]
She hesitated, and another message followed: [Clear Shadow Lingers: I get it. You don't mind my voice—it's the others around you, right? You got my ID from my brother.]
The Federation trio bristled. He sent that voice message on purpose!
[Clear Shadow Lingers: I'm short on time, logging off soon. I've apprenticed under a top Federation mech designer and drafted two blueprints. I'll send them for you to review. We'll discuss next time. I'm online every Wednesday and Friday night—find me anytime.]
[Clear Shadow Lingers: Good night.]
Baisha sighed. Zhou Ying's design prowess was undeniable, his mind sharp yet unbound by convention. Their discussions always sparked synergy, homing in on critical insights. A friend to dissect mech theory with was rare indeed.
Yet Zhou Ying's restraint—eschewing an immediate visit—unsettled the Federation trio. His patience and confidence hinted at a long game, a predator biding its time.
Ya Ning shot Zhou Zhe a pitying glance. Baisha's love for mechs was her north star, and Zhou Ying, though late to the race, knew how to play the slow burn. Zhou Zhe, a mech pilot, couldn't compete on that front.
"Seems A-Ying's a regular here," Zhou Zhe said, unruffled. "Why don't we schedule weekly meetups in the Unbound City? Not too often—just notify if we're busy."
With their heavy academic loads, frequent visits weren't feasible. Baisha nodded eagerly. "Sounds good. Shall we meet a week from now?" Starting tomorrow, her mechsmithing courses would consume her time, leaving little room for arena matches. Sino could guide Cen in duo bouts, but for Baisha, locking in a reunion date was ideal.
"Perfect," Zhou Zhe said, his smile faint but warm. "See you next week."
Behind him, Ya Ning gave Jingyi a covert thumbs-up. Zhou Zhe's maneuver was deft—transforming Zhou Ying's private invitation into a group affair. The Zhou brothers, quiet but decisive, were forces to reckon with.
Logging off, Baisha and Cen clambered out of their simulation pods. Cen yawned, bidding her goodnight before they retreated to their rooms.
The next day, Baisha began her mechsmithing courses.
Unlike the combat division's grouped training, the mechsmithing department mixed first- through third-year students, with fourth-years off on internships. Beginners followed a rigid curriculum to earn credits, while junior mechsmiths could skip basics, and mid-level ones, like Baisha, had free rein to craft their schedules, choosing courses and specializations at will. Senior mechsmiths were the pinnacle for most cadets; special-grade status was a rare, almost mythical achievement, stumbled upon rather than cultivated.
As a mid-level mechsmith, Baisha could chart her own path. Having spent her formative years in the Federation and self-studying in the Empire, she now seized the chance to systematically master Imperial mech design. She'd enrolled in several foundational courses and two advanced seminars tailored to her interests and current limitations, a daunting leap that raised eyebrows.
For classes she couldn't attend, she'd review recordings. Dual-majoring demanded results, not attendance, so long as she passed her exams.
The academy issued design tablets to mechsmithing students. Clutching hers, Baisha headed to Introduction to Mech Architecture, one of the three pillars of foundational study alongside energy and manufacturing.
The mechsmithing building resembled a honeycomb, its classrooms encircling a central plaza where a white statue of Vulcan Ronin, Tianquan's founder and the Empire's second emperor, stood—a warrior and mechsmith of legend.
Baisha entered the classroom, finding a dozen students already seated. She chose a spot, instantly drawing covert glances.
"That's the new royal…"
"She's in combat, right?"
"Looks like she's tackling mechsmithing too…"
"Good grief, our department buries newbies in coursework—papers, assignments, I'm drowning. Dual-majoring? Is she superhuman? Will she even graduate?"
The royal aura kept peers at bay, leaving a bubble of empty seats around her, a void that grew conspicuous as more students arrived.
The professor, a Tianquan alumnus and senior mech designer, entered, silencing the room. His lectures were methodical, diving deep yet accessible, delivered at a steady clip. Within half an hour, he'd packed their minds with insights, each point a rung on a ladder to mastery.
Baisha listened intently, cross-referencing her notes, correcting minor errors. Few adjustments were needed, but the clarity was invaluable.
After covering "basic frameworks," the professor announced a quiz. He projected mech components onto the screen, tasking students with assembling them to test their grasp of structure.
"A little pop quiz," he said, smiling. "Who's up for it? Solve five correctly, and you'll earn a point toward your grade."
The room buzzed with enthusiasm—a single point could edge them closer to distinction. Hands shot up.
"Too many volunteers," the professor chuckled. "I'll draw numbers. Let's see… Student 2603?"
The projector froze on "2603," and the professor's expression flickered. Most students in this beginner class bore "0" prefixes, marking their novice status. Junior mechsmiths started with "1," mid-level with "2," senior with "3." Number 2603 was a mid-level mechsmith.
A mid-level in a beginner's course?
His gaze landed on Baisha, who met it with a spark of realization. Her number.
No hesitation needed—this was free points. She strode toward the podium, but the professor, grinning, waved her off. "These questions might be too easy for you. Too simple a win."
Baisha arched a brow. "A promise is a promise, sir. You can't back out now."
She stepped forward, only for him to relent. "Fine, fine, take the point. Don't waste my carefully crafted questions." He'd labored over those problems, each one a gem.
Baisha laughed softly, returning to her seat.
The classroom fell silent, students staring as if she were an alien beast.
"What just happened? She talked her way into a free point?"
"The professor said the questions were too easy for her," one student muttered, squinting at the first problem. "It's not that hard, but it's no giveaway either."
"Royal privilege?"
"Nonsense. Royals follow the same rules here. Taking special treatment publicly? That's shameful. If the professor leaked questions to her, that'd be privilege."
Whispers swirled, but the professor, unfazed, called up other students, critiquing and awarding points as usual.
After class, he beckoned Baisha to the podium. "Isn't my course dull for you?"
"Not at all," she said, shaking her head. "Your insights are incisive and engaging."
He'd noticed her note-taking and asked to see a few pages. After reviewing them, he fell silent.
"I suggest finding a mentor soon," he said earnestly. "Most mentors avoid novices with shaky foundations, but you're a mid-level mechsmith with stellar self-study skills. Students like you are rare. A mentor can tailor a path to maximize your potential."
He met her gaze sincerely. "I'll send you my course syllabus. Can I copy your notes?"
"Of course," Baisha said, amused. Was he suggesting she memorize his syllabus?
"I heard your mech was designed by three special-grade mechsmiths from the Imperial Mech Research Institute," he added, curious. "Zhu Sheng, Tai Shi Rong, Clive David—young but brilliant. Any of them would be fine mentors, though you likely have other options…"
Mechsmithing, evolved over millennia, had plateaued, leaning on refinement over revolution. Designs prioritized data and stability, with "Exemplary-Grade" mechs becoming common while "Legendary" and "Mythical" grades plummeted. For mechsmiths, stability trumped innovation, and academy curricula reflected this conservatism.
For aspiring special-grades, a mentor was crucial.
Baisha pondered, then asked, "Any recommendations?"
The professor pulled up the Mechsmithing Association's special-grade rankings, annotating briskly. This one's retired from teaching, that one's buried in research, another's niche risks misguiding students…
Baisha inhaled softly. "You know them well."
"I once dreamed of apprenticing under a special-grade," he admitted, sheepish. "I researched them obsessively, but lacked the talent. Now, I'm content teaching basics. I'll share my findings—use them to choose."
"Thank you," Baisha said, her gaze drifting to the rankings' apex: Jiang Gui, the top special-grade mechsmith.
Why not aim for the best?
"What about Master Jiang Gui?" she asked.
The professor's first word was, "Difficult."
"Why?"
"Jiang Gui's standards are sky-high," he said, wistful. "He's cordial but distant, untouched by others' influence. Most mechsmiths rely on flashes of inspiration, but Jiang Gui's designs stem from relentless precision and cold objectivity. His breakthroughs—mechs, energy, materials—are a one-man laboratory."
He sipped from his thermos. "Is such a man suited to mentor?"
Genius varied in flavor. Jiang Gui's brilliance, towering and austere, dwarfed others' innovations, potentially stifling students. He was no guide.
Baisha listened, her expression unreadable, lost in thought.
The professor eyed her. "What's on your mind?"
Her sapphire eyes gleamed with resolve. "I'm wondering—if I apprenticed under Master Jiang Gui and surpassed him, becoming the top special-grade, would people say I'd 'outshone the master, starving the teacher'?"
The professor choked, nearly spitting his water. She dares to dream!
Admiration surged within him. Handing over his syllabus had been wise—this student was a force beyond most. If she could sway Jiang Gui, it'd be a coup.
Master Jiang Gui, take this prodigy and save us all! he thought, grinning inwardly.
But jests aside, he offered earnest aid. The Empire's mechsmithing system was robust—senior mechsmiths could access archived courses from past geniuses without a special-grade mentor.
"Top mechsmiths often record lessons for posterity," he said. "If you reach special-grade, Your Highness, you'd do the same."
Sharing and legacy fueled the Empire's ceaseless progress.
Inspired, Baisha realized she could skip slogging through all three foundational courses—recordings, sped up, sufficed. The Architecture professor's syllabus, rich with insights beyond textbooks, mirrored his lectures, ensuring she'd miss nothing. She secured the Energy Overview syllabus similarly, but Manufacturing's professor, a special-grade, taught freestyle, his tangents brimming with gems. Baisha attended diligently, plotting combat division absences to catch every session.
Unbeknownst to her, she was a prize in the eyes of special-grade faculty. Her talent and royal backing—guaranteeing resources—made her a dream disciple. The Architecture professor, ever talkative, spread her bold claim:
"Master Jiang Gui, don't take Princess Baisha—she's vowed to topple you from the top!"
A jest among special-grades.
At a desk sat a man, unassuming yet striking, his deep blue eyes cool as frost, a mole by his nose lending warmth to his serene aura. "If you want her as a student, take her. No need to test me with such talk."
"I don't take students."