Time ticked by as customers trickled in to repair their mechas or pick up their completed machines.
Xie Guanning put on his mask and cap, hands tucked lazily into his pockets. He leaned against the counter, his upward-tilted “peach-blossom” eyes crinkling with a smile. The softness he displayed when alone was gone, replaced by a casual, breezy air. He could chat with anyone, seemingly on good terms with everyone he met.
This was his survival strategy in the Underground Arena.
Just as he sent off his last guest and prepared to breathe a sigh of relief, he caught sight of a tall young man leaning against his doorframe.
Xie Guanning raised an eyebrow. The young man grinned and walked in without an invitation. “Business is booming, I see.”
“What’s wrong?” Xie Guanning asked. “Mecha broken again?”
“Just a minor glitch, but that’s not important.” The young man suddenly leaned over the counter, staring at him with pure amazement. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?” Xie Guanning frowned, subtly leaning back.
Mecha combat usually drained both mental energy and physical strength. While the young man before him—Song Queyang—appeared normal on the surface, traces of his aggressive Alpha pheromones were leaking out uncontrollably. To an Alpha or a Beta, this wouldn’t mean much, but Xie Guanning hated it.
Song Queyang raised his hand. Xie Guanning’s eyes swept over the storage ring on his finger. “Is there a problem with the mecha?”
Song Queyang shook his head, looking intensely interested. “Since the last repair, the flexibility of the right arm has increased significantly. My mecha is already top-tier for its grade. What did you do to push its agility even further?”
Mechas were ranked from E to S. E-grade machines were mostly for show—civilian models with little practical use. Even so, they were expensive enough to be out of reach for average families. Real combat required at least a D-grade machine, and the gap between grades was a chasm involving not just materials, but core energy sources.
Xie Guanning paused, having already anticipated this question. Keeping his expression neutral, he asked, “Want to know?”
Song Queyang nodded vigorously.
Xie Guanning turned around, picked up a book, and glanced at him. “Why should I tell you?”
Song Queyang’s eyes widened, and he leaned in further. “Wait, no…”
Xie Guanning frowned and pressed the book against the man’s forehead to push him back. “Keep your distance.”
Song Queyang rubbed his head, realizing his inquiry was a bit inappropriate for a mechanic’s trade secrets. He stood up straight, but before he could grumble, the youth tapped the table and spoke slowly, “However…”
“However what?” Song Queyang pressed.
“Aside from repairing the right arm, I actually have better ideas for optimization. But since it’s your machine, I didn’t want to dismantle or modify it without permission.”
Song Queyang’s eyes narrowed.
Xie Guanning concluded, “I can’t say much else, but the final result won’t be worse than what you have now.”
Song Queyang was clearly tempted. He scratched his head and let out a dry laugh. “So, you’ve set a trap and you’re just waiting for me to jump in, huh?”
“How could I?” Xie Guanning smiled, his eyes curving behind the mask with apparent sincerity. “I’m just giving you a very honest suggestion.”
Song Queyang didn’t believe a word of it. “I’m curious, though. You have plenty of customers. Why target me?”
Xie Guanning tilted his head, looking innocent. “Maybe… because your mecha is a higher grade?”
D-grade and even C-grade mechas were common in this arena. Xie Guanning had worked on many and used discarded ones for practice. But those were just C-grade. Song Queyang’s mecha was B-grade. In the Underground Arena, B-grade machines were rare, mainly because their owners usually had dedicated private mechanics and didn’t seek help from street shops.
Song Queyang was the exception Xie Guanning needed to seize.
Song Queyang was left speechless by the honesty. He looked at the youth with a complicated expression. “You really know how to pick a target. Fine, is it a deal?”
Xie Guanning laughed. “Is that a yes?”
“You’ve already said all that; how could I say no?” Song Queyang scoffed. “But let’s be clear: if the result isn’t as good as you claim, I’m not paying.”
“Deal.”
Xie Guanning calculated in his head. If this job went well, a huge chunk of his remaining debt to the Xie family would be solved. His mood brightened, and he treated the man with rare kindness until he left. After taking a few more orders, it was nearly midnight.
Xie Guanning returned to his rental—a simple one-bedroom apartment. The kitchen was mostly used for storage, as he didn’t cook except for the occasional bowl of noodles. After a warm shower, he collapsed onto his soft bed, feeling human again. Compared to the Xie villa, this place felt like home.
A few days passed peacefully. He stayed buried in the underground, working on Song Queyang’s mecha and other orders.
Two days before Wen Li’s birthday, Xie Guanning stood up from a mecha and had to lean against the wall for a long time until a wave of dizziness passed. He shook his head, thinking his low blood sugar was getting worse. Late nights, erratic sleep, and barely eating… it’s no wonder, he thought, dismissing it.
He messaged Song Queyang to pick up the mecha and confirmed that his gift for Wen Li had arrived via Interstellar Express. Since he had promised to celebrate Wen Li’s birthday the next day, he closed the shop early to rest.
On the other side of town, Song Queyang was testing his modified mecha in the arena. At first, the subtle yet distinct changes were jarring. But after several rounds of combat, he became exhilarated. Not only was the joint flexibility improved, but the machine felt lighter—as if it required less mental energy to pilot.
Excited, he rushed home to the Song family estate. “Grandfather! Grandfather!”
The butler trailed behind him with a wry smile. “Young Master, slow down, the Master has a guest—”
“What’s all this shouting for? Where are your manners?” a stern voice barked.
Song Queyang stopped in his tracks, his eyes landing on the guest. The man wore casual clothes but sat with a straight, disciplined posture. His profile was sharp, and he was focused on a game of chess with an air of unshakable composure.
“Cousin?” Song Queyang grinned. “When did you get back?”
Jiang Yan turned around. Before he could speak, Song Queyang slapped his own forehead. “Right, I forgot you just returned. It’s rare to see you free. Did the military finally give you a vacation?”
Old Master Song huffed. “You think everyone is like you, doing nothing productive all day?”
“I’m productive!” Song Queyang protested, then turned back to Jiang Yan. “But seriously, you should be able to rest for a while this time, right?”
Jiang Yan’s expression softened as he watched the grandfather and grandson bicker. “The Research Institute suggested I take a break. The military forced a cancellation of my recent assignments and ordered me on leave.”
Song Queyang whistled. “Forced leave? What a dream.”
However, he knew his cousin’s situation. Jiang Yan possessed rare S-grade mental strength. While it made him a terrifying combatant, it came with extreme risks. High-level Alphas were prone to “mental riots.” Usually, an Omega’s comfort could soothe this, but without one, they had to rely on sheer willpower and suppressants. Given that Jiang Yan’s instability levels were rising after his recent campaign against the Zerg, it wasn’t surprising the military had intervened.
“You should just listen to the Institute and find an Omega with a high pheromone match,” Song Queyang advised. “This can’t go on forever.”
Jiang Yan moved a chess piece. “I know what I’m doing.”
Song Queyang rolled his eyes. Sure you do.
Old Master Song, knowing his grandson’s stubbornness, changed the subject. “So, what were you so excited about?”
Song Queyang immediately recounted the story of the mechanic in the underground. The Old Master raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like he has some skill.”
“And he’s quite young,” Song Queyang added. “I wonder why he’s working in a place like that.”
Jiang Yan spoke up, “The underground is a mixed bag. You can’t judge people there by normal standards.” He looked at Song Queyang. “I heard you passed the qualifiers?”
Song Queyang nodded. “A lucky ten-match streak.”
A hint of a smile touched Jiang Yan’s eyes. The Old Master scoffed, “Look at you. Your cousin was the reigning champion back in his day, and he never bragged.”
Song Queyang blushed. “I’m not comparing myself to that monster!”
Jiang Yan cautioned him, “Don’t let your guard down. The qualifiers are a mixed bag, but the semifinals are where the real difficulty begins.”
Song Queyang had an idea. “Then, when the semifinals start, why don’t you come to the arena with me? It’s a rare chance for you to teach me a thing or two.”
The Old Master was about to protest, but Jiang Yan mused for a moment and said, “Alright.”
The Old Master paused, then nodded. “You should rest and have some fun. Go ahead.”
Song Queyang could only roll his eyes at his grandfather’s blatant double standards.