Chapter Twenty-Six

“Mu… Mu… are you okay? Answer me! Mu…” The cockpit had become a vacuum, and a growing sense of dread gnawed at Ye Chong’s heart. His helmet was pitch black; he could see nothing at all. Desperately, Ye Chong called out to Mu in his mind, but there was no response whatsoever.

Panic seized him. His connection with Mu relied on brainwaves—how could their link suddenly fail? Had something happened to Mu?

Ye Chong yanked the helmet from his head.

Through the transparent protective shield, what he saw left him utterly stunned.

The cockpit was in complete disarray. Power combs floated haphazardly in midair. The iron serpent lizard scales that had patched the gaping hole were gone, and the original opening, once only the size of a palm, had widened enough for a person to crawl through. All the air had long since leaked away. The cockpit walls were twisted and fractured, a distressing sight. The lights flickered erratically, and the cockpit was eerily silent—utterly devoid of sound.

What… what on earth could have happened?

Suppressing his terror, Ye Chong shouted hoarsely, “Mu… Mu… what’s wrong? Answer me! Stop this, come out… come out… I know nothing can happen to you… nothing could possibly happen to you… You’re so strong… who could defeat you… Mu… stop hiding… come out… come out…” His cries grew hysterical.

His rasping voice echoed within the shield, but there was no answer. Exhausted to the point of collapse, his wails began to sound like a lone, desperate wolf at the end of its road.

At last, Ye Chong could go on no longer; he drifted into a fitful sleep within the protective shield.

Beep, beep, beep—a shrill alarm jolted Ye Chong awake. He sat up abruptly. A button beneath his seat was flashing madly.

He leaned closer to check, and the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. Misfortune never comes singly; when it rains, it pours. The air inside the shield was nearly depleted, and once it was gone, the system would automatically open the shield to prevent suffocation of the pilot.

Beep—the alarm abruptly ceased. With a swish, the protective shield opened. The sudden rush of air sent Ye Chong spinning upwards, his back slamming hard against the wall. Quick as a flash, Ye Chong grabbed a hook on the cockpit wall and steadied himself. The exertion left his chest burning, but he swallowed hard, freed his left hand, and felt around his waist until he found a tube with a nozzle. He shoved the nozzle into his mouth and finally managed to catch his breath. Color returned to his cheeks.

This emergency kit had always been Ye Chong’s treasured possession—he never thought he’d actually have to use it! It was an antique survival kit from the famous Windini Company, produced fifty years ago. Ye Chong had picked it up because of the beautiful carvings on its casing, intending to use it as a decoration at home, but his father recognized it at a glance. At the time, Ye Chong hadn’t cared for it and tossed it to his father. It wasn’t until his father fell terribly ill—on this garbage planet, there was no such thing as medical care. When people got sick, they could only tough it out; if they survived, they lived, if not, death was certain. Unexpectedly, the little box greatly alleviated his father’s illness and helped him pull through. Only then did Ye Chong truly grasp the value of this small kit.

His father told him it contained pure oxygen, enough for an adult to breathe for two hours.

From then on, Ye Chong cherished the emergency kit dearly. He never imagined it would save his life today.

There was no time for embarrassment. The pressing issue was to find a solution; the kit’s oxygen would only last two hours. His father had already used it once; if he conserved it carefully, he might stretch it to three hours at most.

In other words, if he couldn’t figure a way out within three hours, he’d suffocate to death.

Ye Chong surveyed his surroundings—the entire cockpit was laid bare to his eyes. Faced with life and death, he found himself growing calm. Mu might be in trouble, but there was nothing he could do for now. The oxygen system in the mech had been destroyed, and all stored oxygen had leaked out.

Was this truly the end? Ye Chong forced a bitter smile.

Such a huge breach—had the cockpit been struck by something?

He gently kicked off the wall, floating slowly toward the tool chest in the corner. The sensation of weightlessness was profoundly unsettling; Ye Chong, always strict with himself, found his body unresponsive, robbed of the control he was used to on solid ground. He chided himself for worrying about such things at a time like this.

He opened the toolbox and retrieved a coil of high-strength fiber rope, securing one end to the cockpit seat and tying the rest around himself. In space, without gravity, drifting aimlessly meant certain death.

Well, if he truly had to die, dying in Mu’s embrace wouldn’t be so bad, he mused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He tried to keep his spirits up; the stronger his will to survive, the better his chances. Ye Chong forced himself to banish his fear of the unknown—perhaps it was his intense survival instinct at work.

Cautiously, he floated toward the breach.

Beyond was a black void, like the gaping maw of some primeval beast, ready to devour everything.

Ye Chong switched on the laser torch strapped to his wrist, took a deep breath of the emergency kit’s oxygen, steeled himself, placed both hands on the edge of the breach, and drifted out.

His nerves stretched to the breaking point, his face numb with tension. Never in his life had he been so anxious.

What lay outside? An asteroid? Mutant creatures? Or something even stranger? To humans, the unknown always inspires fear.

The beam of his wrist laser swept over everything around him.

Ye Chong froze, speechless at the sight before him.

In his mind, he could vividly picture the scene: Mu, traveling at high speed, for reasons unknown, had crashed headlong into a vertically moving starship—one that, inexplicably, had failed to evade. As a result, Mu had rammed deep into the starship’s hull. The violent impact was likely the cause of Mu’s damage, Ye Chong surmised.

Mu’s body was still half-embedded within the starship’s hull.

From Mu’s cockpit, a narrow corridor stretched out, filled with floating debris. The walls were riddled with cracks and blackened by explosions. The lighting system was completely destroyed; the corridor was shrouded in pitch darkness and an eerie gloom.

Now that Ye Chong understood what had happened, he felt much calmer. In fact, this gave him hope—perhaps there was still a chance to survive! His morale soared.

Sweeping the laser beam over every corner, Ye Chong floated carefully deeper into the passageway.