Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Restoration of the Central Brain Begins

When Chu Jun arrived at the training room, he discovered that the gravity chamber inside had already reached ten times the normal level.

“It’s Old Huang again,” he called from outside. “Old Huang, lower the gravity to five times for now. I want to come in and work out too.”

“Just come right in. With your constitution, you can handle ten times, no problem,” Huang Yunshuo replied, his voice heavy with labored breathing.

“I have no intention of dropping dead just yet,” Chu Jun retorted, leaning against the wall. Being able to adapt to ten times gravity was one thing, but having it suddenly pressed upon you was entirely another. Whenever he and Huang Yunshuo trained under ten times gravity, they always started with a warm-up in the zero-gravity chamber, then slowly increased the intensity from one times upward.

“You’re such a fuss, just come in,” Huang Yunshuo said. The gravity abruptly shifted from ten times to five, and he felt his body lighten; his lungs, once crushed by the oppressive weight, could finally gulp in air.

Wearing shorts and a vest, Chu Jun entered, his legs buckling as he almost collapsed to the ground.

“Oh, my aching back!” he exclaimed, steadying himself against the wall, his face darkened with embarrassment. Even at five times gravity, he was barely holding it together—ten times would be unthinkable.

“What level are you at now, Old Chu?” Huang Yunshuo asked.

“Level eight. At last, I’m not as pathetic as I was this morning!” Chu Jun laughed heartily. He, a former top contender in the Glory Heavenly Ranking, had been tormented by mere rookies earlier that day—an experience so humiliating he could hardly bear to recall it. Thankfully, the nightmare was over.

Huang Yunshuo’s support had been crucial; he’d aided them several times in just one day, proving himself a true friend.

“How many credits would it take to fully repair the Mirror mecha?” Huang Yunshuo inquired.

Since the birth of mechas, they had become synonymous with romance and the pinnacle of individual and small-unit combat power. From three-meter exoskeletal combat suits to colossal humanoid machines wielding forty-meter ship-slicing blades, mechas had defined everything from alien jungle skirmishes to massive battles between fleets and the Kong Sang Army. Without mechas, humanity’s fate would have been very different.

The Mirror was a Cardan-1 type light scout mecha—weak and inconspicuous among its kin but had once been the lone guarantee of safety as it traversed the void of space. Three years ago, however, it suffered severe damage and had not left the hangar since. Its survival was precarious; encountering even the smallest Kong Sang scout fighter would spell its doom.

All nine aboard the Mirror were mecha enthusiasts, with Huang Yunshuo, Chu Jun, and Ye Piaoxue the most passionate. Now that Huang Yunshuo had so many credits, the Mirror was the first thing he wanted to repair.

“There are plenty of miscellaneous materials left on the ship, plus what we found on the asteroid below. Complete restoration isn’t possible, but getting it back to seventy or eighty percent should be doable,” Chu Jun said. “As for credits... the amount needed is substantial, and even if we could afford it, no one would choose to repair the mecha first.”

Huang Yunshuo rubbed his hands together. “I think the key is fixing the main brain and updating the data, as well as repairing the hull and light weapons. After that, they’ll have no reason to object—once the mecha is fixed, we can roam the galaxy to our hearts’ content.”

“You make earning credits sound so easy,” Chu Jun muttered, and the two began their workout in earnest. Operating the gravity chamber consumed enormous energy, especially at high levels, so no one dared waste time.

“Everyone! Time to cook, repair, do laundry, or apply face masks!” Yu Shiyin’s voice rang out, bright and cheerful, filling the ship with a sense of joy.

“Someone help me!” Huang Yunshuo dragged his heavy legs, supporting himself against the wall as he shuffled along, completely exhausted. Chu Jun wasn’t much better off.

After half an hour of grueling exercise, all their strength was spent. Huang Yunshuo longed to collapse onto the floor and sleep.

“Old Chu, what are you two doing? Working so hard this early?” Zhao Shengsheng heard the commotion and hurried over, quickly supporting Chu Jun by draping his arm over her shoulder, fussing over him as she helped him away.

Huang Yunshuo nearly coughed up blood on the spot.

“Damn it!” he cursed. These displays of affection made him want to obliterate a hundred fools without even needing a healing spray.

Passing by, Yu Shiyin called teasingly toward Ye Piaoxue’s room, “Piaoxue, Big Huang’s about to give birth; come out and take a look!”

Ye Piaoxue’s voice came from within. “Who knows whose child it is? Is it more important than my laundry?”

Clutching his aching chest, Huang Yunshuo returned to his room, washed up in the bathroom, and changed into fresh clothes. He sat on the sofa, twitching for a while until his fatigued muscles finally began to recover.

At breakfast, Huang Yunshuo surveyed the group.

“We have a problem: which part of the ship should we repair first? I think it’s time to splurge a bit.”

Everyone paused mid-meal, their hearts fluttering with excitement.

“Did you earn a lot of credits?” Yu Shiyin asked quickly.

“Three million!” Huang Yunshuo withheld seventy hundred thousand, reporting the number.

Everyone gasped. Until yesterday, their accounts had been nearly empty—so in less than a day, Big Huang had earned that much? Three million credits! Never in the Mirror’s history had annual income reached such heights.

“That’s a lot! Looks like whether the Mirror can safely dock at the mothership depends on Big Huang. How about we nominate him as captain?” Zhao Shengsheng joked.

Yu Shiyin shrugged. “If he doesn’t want to, what can we do? We don’t really care.”

Chen Juanfeng smirked. “I’m afraid once he’s captain, he’ll get conceited—tonight, he’ll demand to sleep with Shengsheng, tomorrow with Sister Yin, and the next day he won’t even spare my Nana.”

“Are you an idiot?” Song Na grabbed a rice spoon and whacked Chen Juanfeng’s head with a sweeping stroke, making him howl.

“You’re asking for it,” Huang Yunshuo snorted, then simply asked Ye Piaoxue, “Piaoxue, what do you think?”

Ye Piaoxue teased, “Why don’t we build a captain’s cabin first? That way we can properly serve our big shot in the future.”

Yu Shiyin covered her mouth, laughing. “Big Huang doesn’t need any captain’s cabin—Piaoxue’s room is far more enticing!”

Everyone burst into laughter. Ye Piaoxue’s cheeks flushed, but she ignored Yu Shiyin and shot Huang Yunshuo a glare.

“Damn it, their jokes have nothing to do with me,” Huang Yunshuo muttered, then made a decision.

“Let’s repair the main brain. Once it’s fixed, aside from improved scouting and intelligence, the most important thing is it’ll let us upgrade our cyclone helmets—game time will increase from three hours to four or even five, and virtual experience will reach new heights. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Agreed.” Ye Piaoxue, addicted to PvP, nodded first, and everyone else had no objections.

Huang Yunshuo used his authority to open the main brain’s control terminal, connecting to the nearby mothership’s signal source and waiting for its main brain to automatically repair the Mirror’s software issues.

“The total cost is three million credits. In eighteen hours, the main brain’s damage level will drop from eighty-nine percent to sixty percent. We’ll handle some hardware maintenance and aim to get it below fifty percent. At that point, the Mirror’s AI will be mostly restored, saving us a lot of trouble.”

“Wonderful,” Zhao Shengsheng echoed Huang Yunshuo, though the phrase felt a bit embarrassing and her cheeks reddened.

After eating and relaxing on the sofa for a while, Huang Yunshuo didn’t return to his room. Instead, he logged straight into Reforged Era.