Chapter One

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Legend of the Mecha Warrior

Garbage Star No. 12 was a refuse planet in the Faer Star Domain. As its name suggested, it existed solely to hold waste. With the relentless march of science and the dawn of the Great Spacefaring Era, human life fundamentally changed. The once-pressing issues of energy and ecology eased as humanity rapidly expanded. One after another, new stars were discovered, and the maturation of interstellar development technology made life ever swifter and more humane. Yet this progress brought with it an explosion of waste. The cost of recycling this refuse was too high, but to let it accumulate unchecked would foul the living environment, inciting the wrath of local inhabitants. Thus, nations began transporting vast quantities of garbage to these refuse planets. Such worlds were either barren rocks with no mining value or exhausted planets stripped of all resources. No one lived on them, making them the perfect dumping grounds.

Under a leaden sky, mountains of debris stretched endlessly, silent and lifeless. Cold metallic wreckage exuded a unique chill, its luster smothered by dust, with only the occasional uncorroded patch reminding one of its former glory.

Most believed this dead world utterly devoid of humans. The environment was too harsh—no water, no food, nothing needed for life. There was only one thing here: garbage.

But was this refuse planet truly as lifeless as it seemed?

Ye Chong glanced up at the old-fashioned analog clock on the wall—a piece he’d scavenged three years ago at the foot of a junk hill ten kilometers away. Its tactile sensor had been broken then; it took Ye Chong a week to repair, and after that, the ancient pendulum clock it replaced was retired forever.

Faer Standard Time, 3:42. Ye Chong knew that in thirteen minutes, the outside temperature would reach its most tolerable level—a window that would close again at 6:17. During other hours, the outside was either as scorching as a furnace or as bitter as deep winter.

Barring any surprises, last night should have been garbage-dumping time. Ye Chong considered going out today to see if he could scavenge anything new. He wasn't short on food—the last hunt of hundred-bite rats had left him with more than half uneaten, enough for three days. Besides, he had a fair stock of organic liquid meals, though their taste was far inferior to fresh meat—dry and flavorless. It had been a long time since he’d bothered with them.

Faer Time, 3:55. At that precise moment, Ye Chong shot out the door like an arrow loosed from a bow. Every second was precious. The site where the unmanned garbage ship had dumped its load was half an hour away—an hour round trip, leaving less than an hour and a half to scavenge.

He moved like a wild beast, leaping and weaving with astonishing agility through the narrow gaps between piles of refuse. He knew this terrain by heart; he was sure he could navigate it blindfolded.

The wind howled past his ears, and Ye Chong relished the exhilaration of speed—but he remained alert, wary of his surroundings. On a garbage planet, survival meant constant battles with mutant creatures that might appear at any moment.

Though unfit for human habitation, this place was a paradise for mutants. The harsh environment barely troubled life forms with strong survival instincts, and the abundance of resources—waste—allowed creatures like the hundred-bite rat, for whom almost anything was food, to multiply at alarming rates.

Unlike other unexplored worlds, where mecha warriors would venture for adventure and glory, not one would set foot here, not even for a second. With no hunters, mutants had little to fear.

Ye Chong’s home was deep within a garbage mountain, accessible only via a great crack less than four meters wide. Jagged metal bars thrusting into the path made it treacherous.

But Ye Chong’s speed never faltered. His legs were explosive—each stride covered great ground. Perhaps he moved more like some kind of ape, his agility almost superhuman. But alone on this refuse planet, there was no one to witness such feats except himself.

With a mighty thrust, Ye Chong vaulted into the air, grabbed a titanium pole overhead, swung himself around with a few acrobatic flips, and landed firmly on the mountain’s surface.

He did not rush onward, but instead stroked the unremarkable black metal ring on his left middle finger with his right index finger and called out, “Winnie!”

A blue-gray mecha appeared before him. Ye Chong muttered to himself out of habit, “If only I could find a neural receiver this time. Voice control is such a pain.” With that, he slipped nimbly into the cockpit.

Winnie, like most humanoid mechas, stood about ten meters tall. Her bulky torso and limbs made her look like a solid lump of iron, with a bare domed head that seemed almost comical. Time had dimmed her surface, but sharp spikes set irregularly into her round shoulders and knee joints gave her a menacing edge. Her body was covered in scars—claw marks, bite marks, all harrowing to behold. Yet, she was impeccably maintained, not a speck of dust on her. Clearly, Ye Chong cherished her deeply.

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Without Winnie, Ye Chong would not have survived. He was sure he could never match two hundred-bite rats on foot, and they never traveled in groups smaller than five. On Garbage Star, weakness meant death; the law of the jungle reigned supreme.

Winnie’s story began with Ye Chong’s adoptive father, Gao Shichang. That was all Ye Chong knew of him. According to Gao, he alone lived on the garbage planet until one day he found Ye Chong, with those very characters written on his body. How Gao arrived here or what he did before, he never spoke of.

Gao scavenged this mecha himself. Originally a standard civilian model, it had been transformed beyond recognition by his intermittent tinkering. Gao claimed that outside, mechas were as common as household appliances, but their high reclamation rate made finding even a scrap here a matter of luck. Under his adoptive father’s influence, Ye Chong developed a passion for mechas, and Gao taught him everything he knew. The two often debated fervently around their battered old home computer. This mecha was named Winnie; Gao said her engine was a classic model.

Unlike his father, who found joy in modification alone, Ye Chong seemed born with an instinct for piloting. Thus, Winnie was always under his control. Gao once said that Ye Chong might one day become an outstanding mecha warrior.

After surviving an encounter with five hundred-bite rats, Ye Chong began consciously training his combat skills. Since tasting fresh rat meat, he had lost all interest in the organic liquid meals the food machine produced.

Years of practice had honed him. Now, aside from a handful of truly fearsome creatures, nothing on the garbage planet could threaten him. Still, a single misstep could mean death.

Unfortunately, Winnie was simply too old. Even with modifications, the lack of quality parts and, crucially, proper tools meant her performance was already pushed to its limits. Most debilitating was her outdated AI.

Though Gao was a mechanical genius, he was hopeless with computers.

He’d said once: the engine is a mecha’s heart; the AI, its soul.

Now, Ye Chong found himself hamstrung by Winnie’s sluggish controls.

The only advanced feature was her electronic eye. When Ye Chong had found it and brought it to Gao, even he didn’t know its model—perhaps something recent, he guessed, given his decades marooned here. He could hardly imagine what the outside world had become.

It was this advanced eye that had saved Ye Chong from danger more than once.

Old as she was, Winnie remained Ye Chong’s only option until he found a new mecha.

He carefully set Winnie’s speed to eighty percent of maximum—a balance between haste and reaction time.

The journey was uneventful, and Ye Chong soon reached his destination. The endless fields of refuse were broken by several zones distinctly newer than the rest—his target.

“Scan initiated.” Winnie’s voice was slow and measured, showing her age. Ye Chong sighed, but kept his eyes sharp. Every time Winnie began a holographic scan with her electronic eye, all other functions ceased—likely a symptom of her outdated AI. In these moments, Ye Chong relied entirely on his own vigilance.

He muttered as he scanned for mutant creatures, “Come on, old girl, do your best today. I haven’t seen anything good in ages. C’mon, c’mon…” He hummed an old tune. On a world with only himself for company, Ye Chong had grown used to talking aloud. He doubted he would still be able to speak otherwise.

Though his expression remained calm, his body was tense, on high alert.

“Scan complete!” To Ye Chong, the words were heavenly music. He let out a long breath.

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“Set to alert mode!” Ye Chong commanded. He then carefully studied the scan output. Several bright red dots stood out on the map—enough to excite him. It seemed he would not return empty-handed after all.

In the trash heap, Ye Chong spat out grit that had fallen into his mouth through a seam in the mecha.

“Damn it! Not a single useful thing. Am I really this unlucky?” he groaned. The earlier excitement had vanished. After searching so many spots, all he found was junk. Only one location remained—the smallest target. Judging by its size, he doubted it could be anything worthwhile, but Ye Chong lived by the rule: better to make a mistake than miss a treasure. He dove into the mountain of refuse.

Later, half-reclined in his chair, chewing freshly roasted rat meat, Ye Chong toyed with the day’s only find.

It appeared to be a metal pendant, its dark luster glinting. It was no bigger than three fingernails, perfectly round, with curved blades around its edge and covered in intricate, chaotic patterns that seemed almost to follow a hidden order. Alas, a missing section and several broken blades betrayed its damaged state.

“What is this?” Ye Chong mused. “What strange material…”

His thumb grazed one of the curved blades, drawing a thin cut he barely felt. Only when a bead of blood welled up did he notice the pain.

“So sharp!” he exclaimed. “Could this be some sort of hidden weapon?” He stared at the drop of blood clinging to the blade.

Then, something bizarre happened.

The blade absorbed the bead like a sponge. Metal that drinks blood? Ye Chong recoiled in shock. He was certain—he’d just touched it, and it was absolutely metal. He could swear he wasn’t hallucinating.

And the strangeness didn’t stop.

The pendant began to hum softly, the curved blades retracting into its body. The mysterious patterns on its surface started to move. It was as if the pendant had come alive, triggered by his drop of blood.

Ye Chong’s face turned utterly blank with shock.

A voice, without warning, sounded in his mind: “Dual-proton verification complete. Brainwave match confirmed. Brainwave lock engaged!”

Ye Chong jolted upright, shouting, “Who’s there? Show yourself!” His hawk-like eyes narrowed, scanning the surroundings, hand inching towards the dagger strapped to his thigh.

“Are you certain?” The voice sounded uncertain this time.