Chapter 34:  The General’s Over-the-Top Drama

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

Even someone as lively as Li Yan didn’t know how to continue the conversation at this point. Should he say, “Hello, Uncle Lu”?

Looking at Lu Yao’s face, smooth without a trace of age, bearing only the calm wisdom accumulated over the years, he simply couldn’t open his mouth. Lu Yao felt his mind finally settle for a moment. The filming crew was still busy with the shoot, and he didn’t need to appear on camera for now. He glanced at the time one last time and turned to leave.

“Chief Engineer Lu!”

Just as Lu Yao stepped out of the warehouse, Li Yan, along with his assistant, hurried after him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the Assembly and Testing Department to check on the total assembly and testing of the FL03 mecha,” Lu Yao said.

The new gravity system’s model fit was very good; Lu Yao didn’t need to worry too much, but he liked to keep a close eye on things. Besides, this block of time had opened up, so there was no need to stand idly behind the cameras.

The Assembly and Testing Department and the Integrated Manufacturing Department were mainly responsible for technical implementation. The site was spacious. Li Yan kept walking beside Lu Yao and took this moment to ask, “Chief Engineer Lu, did you watch the first episode of the documentary last night?”

“No,” Lu Yao said. He had been collecting Torque’s motion data and programming the embedded AI.

“Director Wang’s skills are really impressive. The production is flawless. Ratings are high, and the number of viewers keeps growing. The General score fluctuates between 9.4 and 9.6,” Li Yan said, his voice tinged with excitement. It was his first time filming a documentary. “Jaeger Industries released Star River Craftsmen a few days before us, which drew some early attention. Its view count is high, but currently, our rating is ahead—just 9.0.”

9.0 wasn’t low, but the crew had never expected a competitor for a mecha documentary. They had been shocked when Star River Craftsmen received so many positive reviews.

Li Yan paused, then continued, “Since we aired later, our view count is lower, but it’s catching up quickly. By the time the next episode airs, it should be even.”

Mecha documentaries initially circulated only among enthusiasts, but Jaeger Industries had invited veteran actors to star. Li Yan admitted his own popularity couldn’t match theirs. Coupled with Jaeger Industries’ heavy investment in promotion, their documentary’s view count had even surpassed top-ranked entertainment shows.

Li Yan and the crew had initially been worried, but unexpected gossip online suddenly spiked Steel Titans’ clicks and discussion. Compared to complex mecha and data, gossip—simple and universal—spread instantly across the Star Net. Moreover, this was a heavyweight rumor.

Netizens speculated that Lu Yao might be pregnant. Keywords like “General ex-husband,” “recently divorced omega engineer,” and “mysterious military alpha” combined into a viral spectacle.

The crew’s worries that audiences might be uninterested in cold industrial content vanished immediately. Now netizens were zooming in on the first episode, trying to identify the alpha’s identity and confirm if Lu Yao really was pregnant.

Zhou Yunchen’s return to the Rose Sector hadn’t been announced, but Li Yan knew there was no mysterious alpha—the person seen with Lu Yao was General Zhou Yunchen, and Lu Yao’s gagging was simply motion sickness from the mecha.

Still, after reading too many speculation posts, Li Yan began doubting himself. Could Chief Engineer Lu really be pregnant? Otherwise, why would General Zhou be so close to Lu Yao after the divorce? No… if he were pregnant, how could he have divorced Zhou Yunchen? Could the truth be—this was some kind of “tyrannical General lets me run with child” drama?

“Chief Engineer Lu, have you seen the online discussions?” Li Yan tried again. “I mean, they’re saying—”

“Lu Yao.” A deep, magnetic voice suddenly cut in, perfectly interrupting Li Yan mid-sentence. The voice was very familiar. Li Yan’s brow twitched. He turned and immediately met Zhou Yunchen’s sharp eyes. His back shivered. “General Zhou, hello.”

Anyone confronted with the subject of gossip in person would flinch. Standing ten paces away, Zhou Yunchen had called out to Lu Yao, making Li Yan feel even more that the cold-faced General seemed to know what he was about to ask.

Lu Yao frowned and turned to see Zhou Yunchen in a black combat uniform. His breath was slightly faster; a few strands of hair had escaped, giving the impression he had arrived in a hurry.

“General Zhou,” Lu Yao nodded slightly.

“Sorry,” Zhou Yunchen took a few steps forward, stopping less than a meter away—closer than Lu Yao’s normal social distance. He thought to step back to give space, but retreating felt impolite, almost as if rejecting Lu Yao. He froze.

Lu Yao, however, did not step back either. His raven-like long lashes twitched. “There’s a bit. The next test will enter space. Deus will send you the exact departure schedule. Please, don’t be late. The ship waits for no one.”

Tension flowed between them. Li Yan felt utterly useless, certain he could never complete the task his “parent” had given him. He shouldn’t even be here—he should be under the bed.

Lu Yao’s tone remained cold and flat, even carrying a faint hint of reproach. But when addressed to Zhou Yunchen, an inexplicable thread of subtle intimacy seemed to weave between them. Coupled with the shadow cast by Zhou Yunchen’s tall figure, the two were entwined as one.

Even if Lu Yao wasn’t pregnant now, one day he might be. If not… Li Yan could only sadly and sympathetically conclude that the great Federation war hero General Zhou Yunchen might be… powerless. Otherwise, why would Lu Yao have divorced him?

Li Yan was called back by the filming crew. A few minutes later, Director Wang personally rushed to the No. 3 maintenance platform. Lu Yao was opening a 3D projection of the design schematics, explaining Distant Star’s improved functions to Zhou Yunchen.

“Hello, Chief Engineer Lu, General Zhou, hi hi, I’m Wang Chuanshan, the director for this documentary,” Director Wang called out, his smile wide as he hurried over.

Lu Yao looked up. “Do you need any assistance?”

“Well, Chief Engineer Lu, General Zhou, the crew is considering whether we could have General Zhou appear on camera, filming you working on mecha improvements.”

Director Wang had seen the online discussion about that one GIF last night. He had his PR team suppress some of the more vulgar comments. In theory, he could have used military authority to delete all related content online, but he chose not to.

Everyone present that day knew there was no third-party alpha and no pregnancy. General Zhou had come simply regarding mecha matters. Clarification would have been simple—but finding a topic with this level of viral attention again would be difficult.

So it was better to have General Zhou appear on camera, leaving netizens to sort out the truth themselves. This way, the ridiculous rumors would be dispelled, and the documentary’s view count would increase. Why not? The only question was whether General Zhou would agree to appear. Lu Yao frowned. “Our contract doesn’t include that.”

“Chief Engineer Lu…”

“It’s okay,” before Director Wang could start persuading, Zhou Yunchen spoke. “I can join the shoot.”

Lu Yao looked at him in surprise.

“Filming shouldn’t interfere with mecha testing, right?” Zhou Yunchen asked.

“It won’t,” Lu Yao answered.

“I don’t mind appearing. If there’s classified tech on Distant Star, please coordinate with Director Wang.”

“Alright.”

A hidden possessiveness took root in Zhou Yunchen’s mind, growing quietly but sometimes slipping out uncontrollably. Even though the alpha in that GIF was technically himself, he didn’t want anyone thinking Lu Yao had another alpha by his side. He wanted to appear in the same frame as Lu Yao.

So he accepted the filming invitation, even though it might carry some risk—no one outside knew Zhou Yunchen had already returned to the New Blue Star. Two hovering camera spheres followed him into the cockpit, but Lu Yao didn’t board Distant Star with him, saying he would assist remotely.

Out of the camera’s view, Zhou Yunchen sat in the pilot’s seat, strapped in, face cold, and started Distant Star. Lu Yao’s voice came through again. “Hello, General Zhou, I am—”

Zhou Yunchen cut the audio preemptively, preventing the spheres from recording the rest.

The AI voice sounded shortly after: “General Zhou, Chief Engineer Lu Yao of the First R&D Base requests access to the mecha’s internal channel.”

“Accepted.” Zhou Yunchen waited for Lu Yao’s voice to come through the cockpit’s surround sound. But the air remained silent—only the hum of the hovering camera spheres and… an electrical current sound from the right side.

He turned cautiously and saw Lu Yao’s translucent figure, appearing from top to bottom in midair. It looked as if he were seated on a chair, though no chair was visible—he floated there like a suddenly materialized ghost.

“Lu Yao?”

Lu Yao blinked, seeming to adjust to the environment. “Hello, General Zhou.”

“You’re…” Zhou Yunchen thought Lu Yao was merely accessing the mecha’s communication channel.

“This is the mecha’s brain-computer simulation mode, letting me monitor its condition remotely.”

“That’s not in the mecha manual.”

“Right, brain-computer simulation requires senior engineer permissions and isn’t activated outside the R&D base.” Lu Yao summoned a light screen and made a few gestures. A semi-transparent barrier rose between them and the camera spheres, isolating their conversation. “Mecha engineers leave a lot of backdoors inside. It’s… an unwritten rule of the industry.”

Such backdoors could be dangerous for pilots, but Zhou Yunchen didn’t comment further. He simply said, “You have your reasons.”

“Something like that,” Lu Yao said. “General Zhou, let’s follow the test procedure we discussed. First, we’ll check atmospheric aerodynamic stability and the gravity system’s operation.”

The top panel rotated open again, sunlight spilling in. Under countless camera lenses, Distant Star gleamed silver as it took off, the turbulent air waves making the footage sway. Looking up, only a silver star breaking through the clouds could be seen.

The test lasted six hours. Lu Yao remained on the ground, unaffected by the repeated accelerations and decelerations, his exceptional mental discipline maintaining the brain-computer connection smoothly. The test went flawlessly.

When Distant Star returned to the maintenance platform, Lu Yao’s record sheet was filled with “pass” marks.

“All indicators are fine,” Lu Yao said. “General Zhou, I’ll log off now. FL03 says they need me over there.”

“Wait,” Zhou Yunchen called as Lu Yao’s 3D projection was a third gone. “Lu Yao, there’s one more thing I need your help with.”

Lu Yao paused. Zhou Yunchen first stood, turned off the hovering cameras, and placed them on the external ladder. The crew around the maintenance platform saw him removing their cameras and assumed the session was over. But in the next moment, Zhou Yunchen closed the door and returned to the cockpit.

“What is it that we shouldn’t see?”

Lu Yao guessed that he might hear some highly classified information next, so he notified the ground technicians to temporarily leave, leaving him alone in the brain-computer interface room. Zhou Yunchen returned to the pilot’s seat, swiveling it to face Lu Yao. Lu Yao tried to turn as well, wanting to speak face-to-face with Zhou Yunchen, but it seemed…

“My chair won’t turn,” Lu Yao tilted his head toward Zhou Yunchen. “Can we—”

Before he could finish, Zhou Yunchen stood up, walked over, and leaned against the instrument panel, looking down into Lu Yao’s ice-blue eyes.

The broad shadow of Zhou Yunchen’s back blocked the harsh light from the external spotlights. Lu Yao blinked, and the dryness in his eyes seemed to lessen as he looked at Zhou Yunchen’s backlit figure.

“It’s about the Psychic Core System,” Zhou Yunchen said. “Previously, I deliberately sabotaged the psychic core.”

Lu Yao furrowed his brow, recalling the incident. “Right. I know.”

But Zhao Minghe had never explained the reason. “At the time, I was leading an assault squad chasing alien beasts, but there was a navigation drift. I was sure the problem was in the psychic core, yet we never identified the specific cause.”

“Drift?” Lu Yao was startled. That was an absolute taboo in space warfare.

“Yes. The deviation rate was almost 60%.” This wasn’t just drift; it was completely off course.

“A 60% deviation rate and no identified cause?” Lu Yao’s gaze deepened. Impossible. Without major damage, the psychic core shouldn’t produce such a massive error.

“We examined it from the macroscopic level. Here’s the investigation report,” Zhou Yunchen pulled up the file from his personal AI assistant and transmitted it to Lu Yao. “Including structural recovery, fluctuation checks, and environmental reports from the mecha’s traveled routes.”

Lu Yao flipped through the report and asked knowingly, “You want me to check the microscopic structure of the Psychic Core System?”

“Yes. That requires your permissions and precision instruments. Distant Star is fixed now, but I worry the anomaly could recur, whether naturally or deliberately.”

Lu Yao caught the underlying tone. “I’ll keep it confidential.”

He promised so decisively that Zhou Yunchen fell silent for a moment. Lu Yao looked up, only seeing the shadowed, indistinct eyebrows and eyes.

“This could be dangerous,” Zhou Yunchen said. You should think it through, you don’t have to agree so quickly.

Lu Yao’s gaze lingered on Zhou Yunchen’s tightly pressed lips, like a range of craggy mountains.

“I only repair mecha. Everything else is yours to consider,” Lu Yao said, almost ignoring the danger Zhou Yunchen mentioned. He had always focused only on mecha—perhaps now he could also include the pilot. “Distant Star is temporarily docked at the base. The remnants of the previous psychic core have also been delivered. Some justification is needed to store it.”

The psychic core had already been dismantled into scrap metal, usually slated for immediate space debris disposal. How could it be kept without drawing attention?

Lu Yao continued, “The base has an internal museum. I’ll say it’s a commemorative exhibit for TL series first-generation components. For the specifics, you coordinate with Deus. I have his highest permission and clearance level.”

Zhou Yunchen’s lips moved slightly. He looked at Lu Yao’s serious, meticulous expression. Even though they were discussing a hidden hazard, he found Lu Yao more beautiful than ever.

“Good.”

After Lu Yao disconnected the brain-computer link, Zhou Yunchen asked the AI, “Were the images and audio just now recorded?”

“Yes, General Zhou. Everything is recorded. Should I archive it?”

“Archive it… into a private encrypted database.” Zhou Yunchen paused. “Retrieve the audio files Lu Yao left; I want to modify the startup prompts.”

“Understood, the control panel is ready.”

Perhaps this counted as some… unexpected delight.

After the test, Zhou Yunchen didn’t leave immediately. For the entire afternoon of filming, the General appeared on camera. Feeling the subtle suppression of an S-level alpha’s pheromones, Li Yan, working with Lu Yao on the script, found the hairs on his body standing on end.

Lu Yao, the omega, seemed entirely oblivious to the undercurrent of pheromones between the two alphas. After work, Li Yan peered at Zhou Yunchen, assuming he would leave together with Lu Yao, but the General departed first.

Could Zhou Yunchen really be… incapable? Lu Yao left work as usual, intending to feed the cats, only to be stopped in the empty garage. A tall alpha in a full black suit stepped out from the shadows of a column like a specter, extending an arm to block Lu Yao’s path.

Lu Yao halted and squinted at him. The alpha’s expression remained impassive. “Mr. Lu, Mr. Teng wishes to see you.”

Before Lu Yao could respond, the alpha sidestepped, revealing a black flight vehicle behind him. The cockpit door opened automatically, showing the backseat with the lower half of a man in a gray suit.

The light fell on the leather seat, shadows sharp and deep, cloaking his upper body. Lu Yao remained silent for a moment, then got into the vehicle under the alpha’s watchful gaze.

The door closed, and the vehicle lifted off, soaring into the sky. Sitting beside Lu Yao, a middle-aged Beta sat upright, eyes forward, and spoke slowly: “Mr. Lu, I came to see you because of some messages circulating online.”

Lu Yao leaned back, saying nothing. The sunset behind them cast the R&D base into the distance as the vehicle headed toward the city.

Mr. Teng continued, “I want to know if they’re true.”

“Go on.”

“Are you… pregnant?”

Lu Yao turned to look at Mr. Teng’s serious, lined face. Lu Yao was absolutely confused.

Author’s note: 

Although ABO dynamics exist in this story, this work does not include children or the MC being pregnant.

 

 

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