Chapter 26: Blood in Distant Star

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

Lu Yao furrowed his brow, beginning to doubt the young actor’s professional abilities. Luckily, the directing team stepped in just in time to rescue Li Yan.

“Chief Engineer Lu, it’s such an honor to work with you,” Li Yan said.

Lu Yao shook his hand but didn’t want to waste time on formalities. He asked directly, “How should I cooperate with filming?”

“Just work as usual. We want to capture the base’s workflow authentically,” the director explained. “Li Yan will handle questions and dialogue. Some are scripted, others he will improvise. I’ll send you the script so you can review it first. If anything seems sensitive, we can discuss removing it.”

“Following me the whole time?”

“Yes. The documentary will unfold from your perspective, though the editors may insert narration from other staff, handled by Crew B.”

Lu Yao nodded. “I’ll go change into my work uniform. Lead the way.”

He guided the crew toward the base’s central office area while the director barked at Li Yan to step into the frame instead of standing there like a statue.

Li Yan seemed to awaken from a daze and hurried to keep up. He had dark, glossy eyes and stood taller than Lu Yao, but he hunched his shoulders slightly beside him to avoid forcing Lu Yao to tilt his head up. Yet he clung too close, like an eager but clumsy large dog that pressed against strangers without hesitation.

Lu Yao preferred the aloofness of cats and naturally felt little fondness for overly affectionate “dogs,” especially when it came to a human behaving like one. He subtly shifted a few steps aside.

“I’ll first handle the day’s paperwork in my office. Later today, I’ll inspect the weapon and strategic labs to review the added components and separation experiments,” he said.

Li Yan asked according to the script, “I heard the FL03 mecha is almost finished?”

“Almost,” Lu Yao replied, loosening up slightly with a work-related question. “Assembly of the three prototypes is about eighty percent complete. They should be ready to leave the factory in a couple of days.”

“And then they’ll be operational?”

“Not yet. They still need to go through testing procedures.”

With smart robots assisting, assembling a mecha according to schematics wasn’t difficult. But whether it could truly be deployed required repeated real-world tests, with continual adjustments for problems discovered during testing.

“So… we might get to see a testing scene?”

“Yes.”

By the time they arrived at Lu Yao’s office, he changed into a silver-gray work uniform, secured confidential files, and invited the crew inside. The crew set up cameras to film the interior while Lu Yao sat quietly, activating privacy mode on his screen as he worked.

His office was expansive. A wide desk and visitor sofa took up most of the space. Lockable file cabinets were essential, but otherwise, decorations were sparse—cold metal and inorganic glass dominated.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the base stretched out in icy expanse. Dozens of giant mecha were lined in formation, tiny human figures scurrying about atop them. Soundproof glass muted the activity, leaving a haunting stillness. It was hard to imagine how humans had constructed these silent metallic giants. The photographer clicked in admiration.

Li Yan, however, noticed another window with a virtual display. It faced Lu Yao’s desk. A glance revealed a vivid forest scene, moss climbing wet tree trunks, birds flitting across the branches.

“Chief Engineer Lu, do you like to watch nature while you work?” Li Yan asked, wondering if he had glimpsed beneath Lu Yao’s icy exterior.

“It’s not a preference,” Lu Yao said matter-of-factly, devoid of emotion, as though a robotic ad readout. “My eyes were injured. The doctor advised looking at greenery to protect them.”

Li Yan paused. “Ah… right, eye protection. But… how did you get injured?”

Lu Yao’s gaze locked on Li Yan’s youthful face. His tongue pressed lightly against his upper teeth, his eyes cold, and beneath the slit of icy blue, frost ran deeper. Li Yan’s throat constricted instantly.

Lu Yao turned to the director. “This involves Federation secrets. I suggest cutting this segment.”

“Understood,” the director agreed immediately.

Afterward, the crew worked quietly, not disturbing Lu Yao. Once they filmed all needed shots and waited half an hour for him to finish his tasks, they were led to the weapons and strategic laboratory.

The lab manager greeted the large group. Non-filming areas were strictly blocked. Most filming focused on question-and-answer interactions. Lu Yao offered no commentary for the camera; he merely answered when addressed. Li Yan, however, kept circling, asking nonstop.

“Chief Engineer Lu, I’ve filmed several mecha-related movies, including Thunder Armor and Three-Hour Rescue… featuring many new mecha designs. How would you evaluate them?”

Lu Yao paused, candidly. “I don’t watch many films.”

Li Yan felt awkward and shifted questions. “Dr. Wei Zhaopin, who handled mecha concept design, once worked at the First Research Base. Do you know him?”

Li Yan worried Lu Yao might say he didn’t. Instead, Lu Yao frowned slightly, considered, then replied, “Yes, I remember him. He worked here for five years before leaving. I didn’t expect him to join the film industry—it suits him.”

“I also greatly admire Dr. Wei’s rigorous technical skills.”

“Rigorous?” This was the first time Lu Yao continued a conversation himself. “Perhaps, but his imagination and passion are more remarkable.”

“That… isn’t that good?”

“Not bad. Such people fit well in film, but not in the mecha industry.”

“Why? Is imagination not valuable?”

Lu Yao looked at the young actor. “Broad vision and abundant inspiration are great, but unlike in art, there’s no thrilling excitement here. Technical and scientific work is monotonous repetition. All imagination and passion eventually erode, and he would grow bored.”

Li Yan hadn’t expected Lu Yao to offer such sharp, cutting insight about his own line of work. It was so far from what he had imagined that it left him momentarily stunned. “And you?” he asked. “Would you ever grow tired of it?”

“Myself?” Lu Yao’s gaze swept over him. “I have nothing to say.”

He wanted Li Yan to speak less, but the young actor seemed struck by the answer, frozen in place. The tension caused his pheromones to leak slightly. Harmless, yes, but still a little impolite in the presence of an omega.

Li Yan’s assistant tugged at his sleeve to remind him, but Li Yan had completely forgotten about any tasks or ambitions. Subconsciously, he pressed on. “Then what about war? Or interstellar exploration? These are the mecha’s main battlefields. Couldn’t such brilliant creations, entrusted with magnificent missions, become… less dull? Like… like the Distant Star streaking across the stars, sharing glory and honor with General Zhou Yunchen amid blood and fire.”

The scarred Distant Star flashed through Lu Yao’s memory. He opened his mouth to respond, then paused. This was, after all, a documentary with promotional purposes. For the sake of research funding, it would be unwise to speak the unvarnished truth. Those grim, disheartened thoughts shouldn’t appear here.

But the moment had passed. Lu Yao pressed his lips together and said, “That’s… a different matter.”

Fighting beasts amid artillery fire, marking humanity’s farthest reach in the star seas, extracting core energy on unfamiliar planets… Would such deeds truly inspire excitement? Once again, Lu Yao’s mind filled with the blood-soaked chaos of the Distant Star’s cockpit, the scent of blood rushing into his nostrils.

When death and suffering were near, even the heart of a firsthand witness could not remain calm.

 

 

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