When Blan saw the laser cannons materialize out of nowhere, it was too late to intervene. He watched Ziye's mech disintegrate, urgently activating his micro-jump engine to fly toward her direction, simultaneously engaging his tractor beam to pull her back.

The instant the beam ignited, he suddenly remembered: the tractor beam was primarily for metallic debris. Ziye was human, not metal. He could only pull in the cockpit she was sitting in, not her directly.

This was serious trouble!

Blan hastily cut the tractor beam and pressed onward toward Ziye.

At that moment, the alert system flashed blue.

Blan glanced instinctively at the control interface. In the top-left window, he saw another Disaster-class mech. He let out an unexpected, "Eh?" and paused, realizing this situation probably didn't involve him...

Ziye had been screaming hysterically for some time when she suddenly saw a Disaster-class mech gliding toward her like the most elegant of knights. Aesthetically, the Disaster-class wasn't flashy. Its fuselage was a dark palette of raspberry and deep black, punctuated by silver-gray accents on either side, giving it a distinctly metallic sheen.

Yet, this cold machine felt to Ziye like a tiny skiff glimpsed in an endless ocean. She was too overwhelmed with relief to speak. She didn't even have time to wipe her tears, waving frantically at the mech.

The mech stopped, and the hatch hissed open, revealing Tang Wen before her.

His eyes were strikingly beautiful, shining particularly bright in the deep expanse of space—ethereal and aloof, as if nothing happening in the cosmos could possibly touch him...

Seeing Ziye’s pale face and trembling body, he seemed momentarily surprised. Before he could speak, Ziye lunged into his embrace. He instinctively held her, then felt awkward and tried to let go. But seeing her crying so hard she couldn't tell north from south, he hesitated, then placed his hands on her shoulders, patting them with an almost clumsy motion. He assessed the situation calmly: "Stop crying. You look terrible when you cry; your nose wrinkles, and your mouth pouts up like a morning glory."

Ziye: ...

She silently wiped her tears and snot onto his chest.

Tang Wen frowned and poked her head lightly. "Little kindergartner, please don't smear your mucus on me!"

Ziye felt mortified, but the terror of tumbling out into space, falling onto some unknown planet, was so intense that she clung to him stubbornly.

Tang Wen looked awkwardly at her, then up at the star-dusted void.

He had no experience dealing with matters like this.

Frowning deeply, his face falling with displeasure, he activated his hypersignal to Blan: "Ziye is crying."

Blan was slightly surprised. He had assumed Ziye was the tough sort and could handle such incidents, even if the sudden disintegration of her mech was unexpected.

Imagining Tang Wen's helpless expression, he teased him: "Hold her close, pat her back gently, and say, 'There, there, don't cry, it was my fault'..."

Tang Wen’s refined face went ashen: "Immediately terminate those tedious thoughts running through your head!"

Blan decisively severed the hypersignal, roaring with laughter.

Who told him to stir up trouble? Serves him right!

Blan would never admit that he, too, was inexperienced with crying women; everything he suggested came straight from cheap interstellar TV dramas.

Tang Wen stood rooted to the spot until his feet went numb; Ziye showed no sign of stopping her tears.

Utterly stuck, he finally retreated into the pilot's seat. Ziye, unable to balance, stumbled forward, collapsing into his lap with such force that his bones ached faintly.

For a fleeting moment, he considered throwing Ziye out into space and piloting the mech back alone.

But looking up, he met the angry eyes of Little Sprout, which seemed to convey, If you dare leave her, I’ll fight you to the death. Tang Wen poked a finger toward its eyes; it "whooshed" aside and activated the mech's auto-pilot.

Auto-pilot was slightly slower than manual control. By the time Tang Wen returned to the research institute, Blan was already there, having salvaged even the wreckage of the Disaster-class.

"Blan, quickly, lift her out!"

Blan stood on the landing platform with his arms crossed, gazing up at the profound heavens, gently shaking his head: "Lalala, I didn't hear anything."

Tang Wen was furious. "I'm firing you."

Blan sighed and shook his head, instructing the robot S-RDD to board the cockpit and help Ziye down. Then, turning to Tang Wen as he descended afterward, he remarked, "Your IQ has dropped."

Tang Wen, enraged and embarrassed, swept past him in a huff, completely ignoring his presence.

Blan didn't stop, adding fuel to the fire: "The front of your uniform is dirty. Take it off later; robot S-SSD can wash it for you."

Tang Wen spun around sharply, but Blan was already following the robot toward the living area. Tang Wen frowned at the damp patch on his lapel, remained silent for a long moment, his pupils darkening slightly, and murmured to himself, "I am unhappy."

Robot S-RDD carried Ziye into the living room and set her down on the sofa. Blan sat beside her, seeing her small and helpless as a newborn rabbit, and patted her shoulder soothingly. "It's alright, it's alright now, we're all here!"

Ziye had stopped crying. She hesitantly looked up at him. He instructed the robot to bring her a cup of warm milk and said gently, "Drink some to warm yourself up."

Ziye accepted without refusal, taking small sips of the milk.

After a few swallows, sensing the atmosphere was strange, she looked up curiously. Tang Wen stood rigidly by the doorway, frowning, looking at her with a sense of loss.

She lowered her gaze and continued drinking the milk.

The 50° milk flowed down her throat, warming her from the inside. Blan sat beside her companionably, while Tang Wen stood watch. Seeing that she wasn't speaking, no one else did either.

Once Ziye finished the milk, she gently placed the cup on the coffee table and stood up. "I should head back now."

Blan stood up too. "Wait, it's cold outside."

Ziye turned back, and in the next second, she felt a sudden warmth envelop her as she was wrapped in a thick, cozy coat. Blan, with practiced efficiency, fastened the few buttons in quick succession and patted her shoulder. "You're not in good shape; you'll catch a chill easily."

Ziye saw he had taken the coat from the coat rack. It was a fashionable style, a shade between sky blue and smoke gray, appearing elegant and pristine, paired with a cool glacial tone that held a faint sense of distance.

However, the lining was soft and smooth, carrying a subtle fragrance Ziye had never smelled before—like the sky glimpsed on Silver Star on a late spring evening: faint, clean, soft, not hot, yet rich.

This must be Tang Wen’s coat?

Ziye tilted her head up to look at Tang Wen, who was staring accusingly at Blan. He seemed annoyed that Blan had taken his clothing. He turned his head when he noticed Ziye watching him, suddenly walked over to her, stood directly in front of her, and said with a touch of plaintive grievance, "Cool colors don't suit you." With that, he removed the decorative scarf from his own neck and wrapped it around hers.

This action was somewhat sudden.

Ziye was completely unprepared, staring blankly as he looped the scarf around her neck again and again. The magenta and jade plaid instantly brightened the cool color of the coat.

"You don't need to."

"It doesn't matter."

Tang Wen stubbornly finished tying it, then, mimicking Blan, patted her shoulder. "You're not in good shape; you'll catch a chill easily."

Ziye was at a loss for words and finally managed a simple "Thank you."

Little Sprout flew onto her head and settled down, tugging at her hair: "Ziye, actually, this scarf looks ugly on you too. You look like a sticky rice dumpling right now."

Ziye was speechless.

Her emotions came quickly and left just as fast. The recent fear had dissipated, leaving behind only a profound sense of exhaustion. She had no energy to argue with Little Sprout. She set the navigation beacon and initiated the auto-pilot, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring blankly in her seat.

Stepping outside, the temperature was 16°C. Ziye waved goodbye to them, clutching Little Sprout, and left in the shuttle. Blan and Tang Wen exchanged a glance, then boarded another shuttle, quietly following behind her.

Along the way, Tang Wen complained, "Why did you give her my coat to wear?"

Seeing Tang Wen on the verge of exploding, Blan laughed. "Those four shots you fired were excellent."

"Naturally," Tang Wen replied proudly.

Blan rubbed his forehead with a helpless expression. He didn't really want to say it, but Tang Wen's emotional intelligence was sometimes painfully low—though his own wasn't much higher.

So he explained: "Ziye thought I fired those four shots, viewing you as the heroic savior. You put me in a difficult position; I borrowed your clothes as a gesture of goodwill, which serves as my small compensation."

Thinking about Tang Wen sheepishly offering up his own scarf, Blan almost laughed out loud.

Having spent so long with Tang Wen, he understood his personality intimately. No matter how mature or elegant Tang Wen appeared externally, deep down, he was an arrogant, highly intelligent child with extremely low EQ.

However, beyond childish pique, Tang Wen likely wanted Ziye to be treated well.

Tang Wen had been poorly guided in his childhood and never learned how to treat others kindly. His current demeanor was somewhat reminiscent of a late-stage infant in a cognitive development phase.

Tang Wen pouted and glared at him: "But you still shouldn't have taken my clothes."

Blan countered: "Then why didn't you snatch them back when you had the chance?"

Tang Wen glared at him in frustration. For some reason, he suddenly felt he was looking at an adult version of Ziye. Feeling a strange sense of satisfaction, he patted Tang Wen’s head. "Good child, I'll teach you the piano tomorrow."

As soon as he finished speaking, Tang Wen turned his face away, pointedly ignoring him.

Blan noticed his ears turning red and smiled faintly.

Because he had made Ziye cry, Blan worried she wouldn't return to the research institute. The next day, when he went to pick her up, Ziye arrived on her own, carrying the coat and scarf neatly packed in separate bags. Her expression was unexpectedly serene.

Blan’s spirits lifted considerably. Interacting with rational women was always the easiest; it saved him the trouble of flipping through How to Pleasing Crying Women for answers.

Tang Wen was upstairs, peeking down at Ziye. When he saw that Ziye hadn't spared him so much as a sidelong glance, he turned back sullenly and struck the piano keys aimlessly with his fingers, looking as pathetic as possible.

Blan nearly burst out laughing at the sight.

He thought happily to himself, Oh, Tang Wen, Tang Wen, you finally have your day! -RS