Zhou Yue's uncle?
Baisha's jaw tightened, her grip on the wrench subtle but ready. "Let's be clear—I didn't kidnap Zhou Yue."
By rights, they were even—she'd half-saved him, he'd half-saved her. Sure, Zhou Yue took the brunt of the ghost bug's wrath in that cave, with Baisha playing sidekick. But if he hadn't dragged her deeper, she'd have skipped the S-grade nightmare and bolted. Hauling him from Hanbo to Lanslow was partly to cover her tracks, true, but she didn't ditch him—she got him patched up.
No debts, no guilt.
"I know," Ning Hongxue said, his smile smooth as silk. "My nephew's a double-S mech pilot. This place couldn't hold him."
"Let's talk inside," he added, glancing at the shop's second-floor window. "Not ideal out here."
Baisha bit back a retort. You're cloaked, genius—I look like a lunatic talking to air. She abandoned her half-fixed flyer and followed him in.
The door shut, and a translucent, egg-blue barrier flickered around Ning Hongxue, rippling before fading. He caught her stare. "You and A-Yue—friends?"
"Sort of," Baisha hedged.
"Must be," he mused, his throat shifting, pale neck elegant under his collar. "No other reason he'd linger here. He trusts you."
Baisha exhaled, struck again by Zhou Yue's looks—clearly a gift from his mother's side. This family's beauty was a league of its own.
She led Ning Hongxue to Zhou Yue's door, pausing. "I'll stay out. Let him explain." She needed to crawl back under her flyer and cool off.
Ning Hongxue nodded. She turned, catching his smile fade as she hit the stairs, his coat now off, shoulder stars glinting cold.
Inside, Zhou Yue sat reading, but at Ning Hongxue's entrance, his eyes widened, composure cracking. "Uncle?!"
"Been a while, A-Yue," Ning Hongxue said, breezy.
Zhou Yue recovered fast. "Why are you on Lanslow? Aren't you in the Sixteenth District?"
"The Sixteenth's stabilized," Ning Hongxue replied. "I reported to Central, got reassigned."
The border's vast, split into districts. Lanslow's Thirteenth, though remote, thrived on starbug bounties, strict discipline forging a "desert pearl" rivaling main-star Loden, even birthing Rainis Academy. The Sixteenth, though, was a wasteland—barren planets, grayed-out on star charts, no life, no economy. Worse, it bordered the Empire across a meteor belt, a lawless haven for pirates, smugglers, and alien drifters. Chaos reigned; warlords carved fiefdoms, some even sparking rebellions for a criminal "paradise."
Central loathed the Sixteenth—a thorn too costly to pluck, ignored by most. Eight years ago, Ning Hongxue was sent to "assist" its governor, a polite exile. Yet, from obscurity, he tamed it, sidelining the governor to rule alone. His report—peace restored, forces ready—stunned Central. A nobody major, now a major general, his three silver-snow stars gleamed proof.
Zhou Yue's eyes misted. "You're back."
Ning Hongxue's smile warmed, brushing Zhou Yue's cheek. "I saw A-Ying in the Capital. You've both grown. He heard you were in trouble, nearly quit Saint-Cyr to find you. I traced you from Hanbo to confirm you're safe."
Zhou Yue paled.
"I saw the ghost bug's corpse," Ning Hongxue said, soothing. "Your mech, too—anyone curious could tell you survived. Why stay on Lanslow? Your aptitude's fraying, isn't it?"
Zhou Yue extended his hands, nearly normal. "It's… almost gone."
Ning Hongxue studied them, noting the fading taint. Zhou Yue's S-grade aptitude was purging it. "Then why no word to A-Ying?" His gaze flicked toward Baisha's direction, a glint in his eyes. "Not because of your new friend?"
"Not Baisha," Zhou Yue said, voice soft as snow. "She saved me but pushed me to go home."
His eyes dimmed. "I just thought… vanishing wouldn't be so bad."
Silence stretched, heavy.
Ning Hongxue sighed, rubbing his brow. "Your hypersense needs damping. Lanslow lacks the tech—you'll struggle."
"An implant suppressor's enough," Zhou Yue murmured. "I'm used to it."
Three seconds of stifling quiet.
Ning Hongxue opened his eyes, dropping persuasion. "What about A-Ying? Got a plan?"
"Tell him I'm healing somewhere safe, can't return yet," Zhou Yue said. "Don't say where. Without me, he'll thrive at Zhou's."
Investigators could pin him here, but Ning Hongxue's arrival before Zhou's clan showed their stance. They knew ghost bugs—hypersense users like Zhou Yue were doomed if tainted. If he crawled home, fine; missing, they wouldn't scour the border, avoiding Central's scrutiny.
Zhou Yue had a twin, Zhou Ying—near-identical, but brighter. No crippling hypersense, gifted as both pilot and designer, the clan's true prodigy.
Ning Hongxue studied Zhou Yue, confirming his resolve. "I won't push you."
"Good kid," he added softly. "I won't push."
Their further talk was beyond Baisha's earshot. She fixed the flyer's thruster, musing on her creeper. She and Zhou Yue were square, but his Lanslow stay—food, lodging, her healing aid—could tally separately. A clan heir like him could spare crumbs worth her decade's grind. No extortion—just, say, a hundred thousand credits to cover Jingyi and Yaning's first-year fees. Fair, right?
She wiped imaginary drool, scheming.
Minutes later, Ning Hongxue emerged, coat folded over his arm, uniform crisp. "We're done. Come in."
Baisha packed her tools, entering to find Zhou Yue downstairs in the living room. Leaving already? Her lodging and healing bill…
Before she spoke, Ning Hongxue said, "About my nephew, we need your help, Miss Bai."
First time anyone called her Miss since transmigrating. His words, though, left her torn between warmth and unease.
"A-Yue's had few friends," he said. "You've shared hardship. Family matters keep him from home—I'd like him to stay on Lanslow, recover. As friends, we won't burden you. I'll cover his expenses, ensuring neither you nor the shop's owner lose out. Thoughts?"
Baisha blinked. "No problem."
What choice did she have?
"Good," Ning Hongxue said, his smile disarming. "I hope you and A-Yue look out for each other."
He opened his optic-link. Baisha, sensing opportunity, did too. He transferred credits—her screen flashed zeros. Three hundred thousand.
"A token," he said, warm. "I'll check on him in six months."
Baisha's eyes gleamed, Zhou Yue now a walking vault. "Keep it," he said. "My uncle's covering me. But I need a new optic-link. Don't want to go out—can you grab one?"
Another transfer—two hundred thousand.
Baisha gasped. Her top-tier link, bought for ten grand, was still cutting-edge after five years. Two hundred thousand? She'd need a starship dealership.
She voiced this, and Zhou Yue fell silent, struck by Lanslow's tech lag. Ning Hongxue offered a solution—a high-end optic-link site. "Heard you're in academy prep? I'll order two with military-grade chips—study tools included."
Baisha's eyes sparkled. She sent back Zhou Yue's two hundred grand, thrilled. "Much obliged."
Ning Hongxue placed the order. "They'll arrive soon."
Baisha's mind raced—tuition solved, plus a beastly link for Yaning and Jingyi. Yaning's cabin obsession? This link's chips would crush it. A cabin purchase wasn't even a pipe dream now.
The joy of sudden wealth.
Zhou Yue was the best friend she'd ever made—thank stars she'd dragged him back.
Money smoothed everything. Baisha, buoyant, saw Ning Hongxue off like a god of fortune, his cloaking reactivated. Even cameras missed him.
"You killed a ghost bug, saw through my barrier—your aptitude's beyond exceptional," he said softly. "Report your grade; every resource is yours." No need to gush over mere credits.
"Zhou Yue and I hashed this out," Baisha replied. "Fate brings what's mine—glory, wealth, it'll come. Right now, my family needs me."
"The world shifts," Ning Hongxue said, cutting. "Those you cherish—family, friends—can turn. Like A-Yue, exiled, alone, not by choice but necessity."
Baisha met his gaze. "Nothing trumps the people I love."
His lip curled, a faint sneer. "Hope you keep thinking that."
His words carried weight, but as he vanished, Baisha couldn't crack their meaning.
That night, clutching three hundred thousand credits, she returned to the orphanage. Yaning and Jingyi, also out, glowed with the day's wins. The trio, reunited, buzzed with quiet joy.
"I've got a surprise," Baisha said.
Yaning and Jingyi exchanged looks. "Us too," Yaning said.
They spoke at once.
Baisha: "I've got our tuition covered!"
Yaning: "We found a fast-cash gig!"
Baisha: "???"
Yaning: "???"
"How so quick?" Jingyi asked, stunned. "How much?"
"Three hundred grand, fresh today," Baisha said, smug, flashing her balance. Yaning and Jingyi gaped.
Two years' Central tuition, secured. By junior year, subsidies or side hustles would cover the rest.
"What's your gig?" Baisha asked. "Tuition's set, but we're still broke."
Yaning hesitated, sheepish. "Me and Jingyi… underground boxing in Backstreet."
Baisha paused. "That's illegal, right?"
"Sponsored by the sheriff," Yaning said, waving it off. "They pay him off—safe as houses. They even insure fighters. Legit enough?"
"Insurance?" Baisha said, dry. "You mean payouts for corpses."
Black-boxing was grim—one bad hit, and you're done. Gray-zone rules meant no accountability; the dead just ate dirt.
"Too late," Jingyi said, arms crossed. "We fought three matches today—all wins. Pay's low now, but higher tiers mean bigger cuts."
Backstreet's fights had four ranks: G4 to G1. Newbies started G4, clawing up. G3 bouts paid a thousand credits; G2, five grand minimum. G1 fighters—ring stars—raked millions, with bookies running bets on wins and odds, top dogs getting cuts.
"Tickets range two hundred to two grand," Jingyi said, counting fingers. "Front-row seats get scalped—organizers and touts split the take. Plus betting pools… they're swimming in cash."
"They didn't want Jingyi fighting at first," Yaning said, stifling a laugh. "Said she had to move the ring's sandbag to sign up. She punched it so hard, the boss holding it flew."
Baisha: "…"
Jingyi frowned. "They're sharp. I'm new—supposedly no bets till ten fights. They opened a pool anyway, cashed in big."
Her looks—slight, fierce—drew crowds, and the house wouldn't miss a profit.
"You're students," Baisha said, rubbing her temple. "One dirty fighter, and it's trouble."
Black-boxers played foul—clean moves were a courtesy.
"Who roped you into this?" she asked.
Yaning: "Huoman."
Baisha: "…"
"He said at our age, he was racing mechs," Yaning whined. "We're stuck on Lanslow, so boxing's our shot. Real men carve futures with fists."
Baisha thought: Tell him to stop fainting at army badges first.
"School's drills are stale," Jingyi said, unbothered. "Huoman wanted us to see real scum fight, build grit. Boxing's fun—way better than thrashing prep softies."
Baisha didn't get it. Hadn't they taken enough beatings growing up?
"Got another match in a week," Jingyi said, grinning. "Come see."
A week later, rest day.
Baisha flew Yaning and Jingyi to Backstreet. Jingyi, in the back, raised a brow as Baisha parked with ease. "How many times you been here? You're a pro."
Baisha counted. "Uh… seven, maybe?"
Jingyi huffed. "No wonder you're AWOL lately. All for Zhou Yue?"
Baisha grinned. "Today, I'm all yours."
The fight was nightly—neon's glow stoked the crowd's blood. Two shaved-head goons, one side yin-yang, guarded the door, checking tickets.
"Hey, Miss Jingyi," one said, waving her through. "Been waiting. Big match tonight—keep that winning streak."
Jingyi nodded, at ease with the muscle. Yaning, her "assistant," slipped in free.
Baisha, though, got stopped. "Miss, ticket?"
Jingyi fought, Yaning assisted—Baisha alone paid. G4 bouts cost two hundred credits. She wired it, got a glowing wrist sticker, and entered.
The underground ring was dim, red light spilling from a snack bar. Fluorescent patches—wrists, clothes—lit the crowd like deep-sea fish. Jingyi tapped her shoulder, passing a coconut juice and pointing. "There."
Blazing lights hit the raised ring, four screens and two drone-cams capturing every move.
Thud. Thud.
Fists clashed, metal ringing like swords. Two fighters, decked in alloy guards and exosuits, traded blows, feet twisting, gears humming. Punches sparked, too fast for shadows.
Baisha blinked. Star-era black-boxing wasn't bare-knuckle—it was mech-fisted warfare.