Chapter Seventeen: Skin

“Bootlicker, bootlicker, everything you could want, bootlicker, bootlicker, in the end you’re left with nothing.” Li Daoran licked his lips, muttering under his breath. It was clear he was unconvinced by Chen Ming’s words.

At this moment, he was doing push-ups, shirtless, his lips slightly damp. He had just finished another set of seven hundred. Having learned his lesson from yesterday, he simply didn’t bother wearing any clothes this time.

It felt much easier than yesterday, probably because he was under less psychological pressure today. After showering, getting dressed, and styling his hair, he felt ready for anything and strode out the door.

“Mech Bay.”

Following the route displayed on his wristwatch, he arrived at a warehouse brimming with technological allure—it looked like a giant bowl turned upside-down, silver-white metal speckled with faint black dots, the surface smooth and seamless, the whole vast structure appearing as a single piece.

Li Daoran was awestruck, unable to stop himself from whispering, “Cool.”

As he approached, he couldn’t find a door. His wristwatch glowed faintly.

“Permission recognized. Access granted. Li Daoran, please enter,” an electronic voice announced.

The seamless metal receded, as if being devoured, dissolving to reveal a tunnel just wide enough for one person. After Li Daoran entered, the silvery metal flowed back into place, sealing off the entrance like water.

He walked through the narrow, pitch-black passage, just wide enough for a single person, and then abruptly emerged into a cavernous, dazzlingly bright space.

Blinding white light illuminated the base. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust; if an enemy were to invade, those seconds of blindness would spell instant death.

As his vision cleared, he saw dozens of mechs of various designs arranged along one side: the heavy firepower class Balen Whale, the light reconnaissance mech Patrol, the all-terrain combat mech Jungle Leopard, the aerial combat Storm, and many others—so many he barely knew where to look.

A familiar figure appeared before him.

Li Daoran called out loudly, “Hey, Little Star, you’re here too!”

Xu Xingxing stumbled at the sound, turned, and saw Li Daoran grinning and waving at him from a distance. His expression darkened as he turned away, pretending not to recognize him—who was this ‘Little Star’ anyway? Certainly not him.

But unexpectedly, Li Daoran ran straight over, slung an arm around his shoulders, and repeated, just as loudly, “I knew it was you at a glance, Little Star! You’re here too, that’s great!”

Xu Xingxing wriggled free and turned away. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

Li Daoran paid no mind to the curious glances of those around him. As far as he was concerned, if he wasn’t embarrassed, then others would be. He put on a look of mock surprise.

He said, “Little Star, it’s me! Class monitor, Li Daoran! Aren’t you the vice monitor? How could you not recognize me? Did you lose your memory?”

Now all eyes landed on Xu Xingxing. Several wore expressions of sudden realization, as if connecting the dots. Xu Xingxing didn’t have the nerve to keep up the act. He grabbed Li Daoran and hurried him away—who knew what else he might say if left unchecked.

In a quiet, unnoticed corner, Xu Xingxing ground his teeth and said, “Li Daoran, what are you trying to do? Don’t think being the class monitor gives you the right to humiliate me.”

Li Daoran quickly waved his hands. “It’s a misunderstanding, really! If you want to be class monitor, I’ll go talk to Xiong Shan. I didn’t even want the job. Who knows what craziness made Xiong insist I take it? If you ask me, Brother Xu is the one who deserves it—the people’s favorite, hands down!”

Xu Xingxing was left dazed by this blatant flattery. His upbringing prompted him to reply, somewhat proudly, “Not at all, Brother Li, you give me too much credit. Being monitor isn’t that important, just a title. Since Instructor Xiong appointed you, you must have qualities I lack.”

Li Daoran nodded. “True, but I don’t usually tell anyone. I’ll tell you in secret.”

Xu Xingxing’s eyes lit up, and he leaned in, ready to listen.

But Li Daoran leaned over and whispered, “My specialty is my specialty.”

Then he stood aside, waggling his eyebrows. Xu Xingxing looked thoroughly baffled—he had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

Seeing Xu Xingxing genuinely didn’t get the joke, Li Daoran lost interest—the fun of a joke was lost if only one person got it. He patted Xu Xingxing on the shoulder. “Come on, Little Star, we’ll be late.”

Xu Xingxing looked after Li Daoran’s retreating figure with confusion—for the first time, he felt he really couldn’t read this person.

He shook his head, hurried after him, and muttered, “You’re going the wrong way, idiot. Follow me.”

Without protest, Li Daoran changed direction and trailed after Xu Xingxing.

“Mechs are extremely valuable. If you really want to learn to pilot them, courses in mech maintenance and the history of mech development are essential as well. Only by understanding mechs from every angle can you entrust your life to them. But remember, mechs are just tools—don’t believe any nonsense about them being lovers, second lives, or that ‘where the mech is, the pilot lives’ rubbish.

“A skilled mech pilot is worth more than ten, a hundred mechs. The resources White Deer Republic invests in your training could build ten different mechs for each of you. More importantly, if you lose a mech, it can be replaced. If a pilot dies, the mech is nothing but a display piece. So don’t get yourself killed for no reason. I won’t mention the name of that famous pilot who got drunk and fell to his death.”

Xu Xingxing’s expression flickered, but he quickly masked it—Li Daoran didn’t notice a thing.

“So, what makes a skilled mech pilot? Here’s the standard: being able to master more than ten different types of mechs. Of course, there are rare individuals lacking in talent but with enough determination to master a single model and become pilots by special exception—but that’s still extremely difficult. If you haven’t reached the standard, don’t call yourselves pilots outside these walls. You’re just enthusiasts—save yourselves the embarrassment. Got it?”

“Good. The next part is important—it’s your first step into the world of mechs. If you can’t pass this, don’t bother coming to the next class. You’ll just waste your time. Mechs are not toys. If you lack the talent, it’s best to give up early.”

“Now, look here. This is the most basic auxiliary driving apparatus. What does it look like to you? That’s right, a skeleton. Or, as we call it, an exoskeleton assist device. Why do you need it? For survival. The impact forces of massive mechs and the strength required to operate them are beyond what mere human flesh can endure. That’s why we need these devices for auxiliary control.”

“The core of the exoskeleton is these slots—this is where the energy cells are inserted. If you run low on power, you need to end the battle quickly and swap out the energy cell before re-engaging. Otherwise, it’s extremely dangerous—once the power is gone, you can’t operate the mech with your own strength alone. This is crucial—remember it. If you can’t, don’t come back—we don’t need people wasting resources and dying needlessly.”

“Our White Deer Republic has a unique approach to mechs, and our research into auxiliary devices is second to none. You must have noticed the appearance of this base when you entered. Those silvery, speckled surfaces aren’t made of steel or other ordinary materials—they’re a type of organism, biologically similar to grass. Our entire nation worked together to cultivate them. Other countries have their own versions, but the properties are all different. We’ll talk more about that later.”

“For this lesson, let’s focus on the skin of the White Deer Republic. Yes, we call this organism ‘skin,’ because it is, quite literally, the skin of the mech.”