Three days had passed since the Imperial Mech Design Institute's three master designers—Clive David, Zhu Sheng, and Taishi Rong—transmitted their blueprints to Youdu Star, yet no word came from Baisha. Despite exchanging optic computer contacts with her and Dean Wang Chongming, the designers received neither reply nor critique. Selecting the finest mech design, they reasoned, should not require three days—nearly four, counting the evening Baisha departed Tianxu Star. Their impatience grew, tempered by the weight of their ambition to secure a royal commission.
During a rare shared lunch, the trio convened at a single table, their meal punctuated by restless speculation. Zhu Sheng, prodding his steak with a fork, sighed. "Why hasn't the Little Highness responded? Three days—almost four. That's enough time to dissect our designs to death. What if the royal house dismissed our institute and sought private designers instead?"
"Have some faith," Taishi Rong said, her brow furrowing. "We're masters, after all. Your designs, Zhu, always appeal to the young with their flair. If she's judging by aesthetics, you're set. But if she's consulting experts to crunch the numbers…" She trailed off, her tone pointed.
Zhu Sheng and Taishi Rong had rushed their drafts in a week, prioritizing speed over depth. Clive David's two-week effort, meticulous and robust, would likely outshine theirs in technical scrutiny. Taishi Rong's lips quirked. "Who was it that slashed our timeline from two weeks to one? You reap what you sow."
Zhu Sheng grimaced, his expression a mask of mock suffering.
Clive David, the calmest of the three, methodically picked unwanted morsels from his bowl, his movements deliberate. "Why not compare notes now?" Zhu suggested, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Lay our designs bare. What do you say?"
Their years of collaboration had bred familiarity; they'd scrutinized countless blueprints together. Taishi Rong hesitated. "We're still competitors. It's improper."
Zhu Sheng's eyes narrowed. "Fine, start small. What tonnage did you choose? I went with light…"
"Light," Taishi Rong echoed.
"Medium," Clive said.
Zhu Sheng and Taishi Rong turned to Clive, startled. "Medium?" Zhu exclaimed. "The Little Highness clearly favors speed and agility. Why medium?"
"It's a direction," Clive replied, wiping his fingers with a napkin, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Her combat style is still forming, but her spirit is fierce. To balance defense and armor-piercing power, I increased the mech's load capacity, opting for medium tonnage—barely heavier than light."
Clive's insight cut deeper than mechanics; he'd glimpsed the battle-hungry fire in Baisha's blood. His design—robust, destructive—catered to her thrill for combat, a choice that struck at her core. Zhu Sheng and Taishi Rong exchanged glances, chastened. Their haste had overlooked the pilot's personality, a blind spot compounded by Baisha's guarded return to the empire. Clive's intuitive grasp of his client's psyche set him apart.
As they pondered revisions, their optic computers chimed in unison, displaying an identical message: "If you don't mind, may I make some adjustments to your design?"
The trio froze, exchanging wary looks. "Why send the same message to all of us?" Zhu murmured. "Did she have all three blueprints altered?"
He suspected Baisha, desiring all three mechs, had enlisted another designer to revise their work—an act bordering on discourtesy. Even among masters, critiques were verbal, not direct edits, out of respect and professional boundaries. To overhaul three master drafts in three days? Zhu's frustration bubbled into a wry laugh. Did Baisha grasp the sanctity of their craft? Their drafts, though preliminary, were holistic—armor, systems, thrusters, joints, weapons—each component meticulously calibrated. Altering one risked unraveling the whole, like a single mistuned string souring a symphony.
Who had the audacity to tamper with their work, and how could Baisha assume the revisions surpassed the originals? "Well?" Zhu asked, his enthusiasm waning. "Do we still fight for this?"
Clive remained impassive, but Taishi Rong's brow creased. She typed a swift reply: "I don't mind." Aloud, she added, "I want to see what she's done to my design."
Three seconds later, a response arrived: "Thank you for understanding :D. It's not exactly a revision… I've fused elements from all three of your works. I believe combining your expertise will yield a superior mech."
Taishi Rong blinked, stunned. Zhu Sheng and Clive fell silent, processing the revelation. Fused their designs? And Baisha herself had done it?
The notion veered into absurdity, but a new file arrived—her revised blueprint. Taishi Rong opened it without hesitation. A sleek, silver-white mech materialized, its tonnage at the upper limit of light, accented with gold at joints and auxiliary mechanisms. Its armor, stylish yet regal, bore Zhu Sheng's signature aesthetic. The mech wielded a piercing lance, enhanced by a force-field controller for devastating armor-breaking power. Most striking were its six wings: the upper pair, majestic steel feathers when folded, transformed into radial cannon barrels when deployed, offering vast firepower coverage; the middle pair were photonic flight wings; the lower pair, essential thruster arrays.
"The wing structure's transformation is ingenious," Clive marveled. "The designer's mechanical expertise is astounding. And the engine's burst efficiency, the energy system's optimization…"
Taishi Rong overlaid her own blueprint. "That energy system is mine."
The mech's brilliance lay in its synthesis. It wove Clive's vision into Zhu's artistry, birthing a novel style that matched or surpassed their individual designs without glaring flaws. Most remarkably, it seamlessly integrated Taishi Rong's energy optimization into a mech with a divergent energy flow. This was no mere imitation; the designer had mastered Taishi's technique and adapted it flawlessly.
Mech energy, derived from purified "source crystals," was potent yet volatile, demanding meticulous routing. Baisha's blueprint excelled in this, achieving near-perfection. "How long would it take us, together, to design this?" Zhu asked, stroking his chin.
"Not three days," Taishi Rong said, shaking her head. "Not just the complexity, but our egos would stall us."
A blueprint reflected a designer's soul. Baisha's ability to fuse their cores was a terrifying talent. Stranger still, the design diverged from imperial conventions. "She spent years in the Federation," Clive mused. "Is this their style?"
Zhu Sheng and Taishi Rong hadn't heard of such a school. "Whoever taught her, they shouldn't be obscure," Zhu said. "Could she truly be self-taught?"
"We should inform the dean," Clive suggested. "Did we succeed or fail?"
The blueprint, though stunning, was rough in details, tempting the designers to refine it. Taishi Rong's fingers danced across her optic computer: "A remarkable design! It's viable, but the details need polishing. If you're willing, I'd be honored to assist with revisions."
Her message, concise yet warm, bridged the gap to Baisha. The reply was swift: "Wonderful. When are you free? I can visit Tianxu Star."
"Anytime," Taishi Rong responded, setting a date. Smirking at her colleagues' envious stares, she crowed, "I win. Hands off."
Baisha's heart soared at the master designer's approval. The prospect of Taishi Rong's guidance, filling gaps in her imperial mech knowledge, thrilled her. Perfecting the blueprint alone was daunting; with Taishi's expertise, she'd learn immensely. Closing her optic computer, she sighed, content.
To the designers, her work was a revelation; to Cecil Ronin, it was a shock. Visiting her palace, he cut to the chase. "You actually designed a mech?"
Baisha nodded. "I told you I would."
Cecil fell silent, recalling her jest as mere whimsy. Yet she'd proven herself a prodigy. Studying her intricate blueprint, he mused aloud, "I'm wondering which department suits you at Tianquan Military Academy. The combat department trains mech piloting, strategy, and fleet command—a dual track by Federation standards. Add your passion for mech design…"
"Triple track," Baisha finished, unfazed. "Is it tough?"
"Not much harder, just more courses and a later graduation," Cecil said. "You won't need battlefield merits like others. The extra time suits a triple track."
Baisha nodded. Imperial lifespans afforded such delays, especially for an heir. "Any ancestors do this?" she asked.
Cecil shook his head. "Mech design is rare in our Ronin line. Most, like me and your mother, Xipesi, studied combat. Xipesi could manage basic repairs, but nothing like you."
"I'm heading to Tianxu Star tomorrow to meet Taishi Rong," Baisha said.
"Take Uriel and your guards," Cecil replied, then added, "A triple track means more courses. The academy's entrance exam is rigorous. You don't want a weak foundation barring you from mech design."
Triple-tracking demanded excellence, lest the academy mandate a sequential path: four years of combat, then four of design. At eighteen, Baisha would stand out among fourteen-year-old design freshmen—a daunting prospect. Reversing the order was no better. Triple-tracking was her only path.
With her prior studies as a foundation, Baisha shrugged off the challenge. "More lessons? Fine. Better to struggle now than flounder later."
On Thursday, Baisha arrived at Taishi Rong's private studio. Taishi, in formal research attire, her straightened chestnut hair framed by silver hoop earrings, greeted her with a crisp smile. "Please, Your Highness, sit."
She pulled out a chair, summoning a rotund housekeeping robot. It bustled over, depositing tea and pastries on the table. Baisha sat, and Taishi joined her, diving into the blueprint software without preamble, dissecting details with fervor.
Uriel, seated a few steps away, listened silently. The robot, noting his empty hands, trundled over. "Guest, need, food?" it chirped.
"I require nothing, thank you," Uriel replied gently.
The robot's head tilted. "Guests, with, food. You, none. Violates, hospitality rule thirty-seven."
"I don't eat," Uriel explained. "I'm biomechanical."
The robot's lights blinked. "Humans, need, food, for energy."
"Like you, I'm a machine," Uriel said. "My energy isn't food-based."
The robot nodded, wheels spinning. It returned minutes later with a tray bearing two cans of motor oil. "You, like, me. My energy, your energy, same," it declared, nudging the tray forward. "Guest, please."
Uriel stared, speechless.
Baisha stifled a laugh. "Not the sharpest bot, is it?"
"You get used to it," Taishi sighed, sipping tea. "Since the Silver Empire's fall to the 'Silver Hub,' the Ares Empire curbed AI development, banning sentient machines. Most robots now are 'smart' in name only—more artificial idiocy. The Federation, I hear, lifted those limits a century ago, with impressive results. Their mechs even have intelligent chips."
Baisha's thoughts drifted to her Federation mentor, Holman, and his mech AI, Gwyneth—memories from another life. She nodded quietly as Taishi continued. "Federation smart mechs are a promising field. I specialize in mech systems over components. If AI advanced here, my work could soar. Not that I question imperial policy," she added with a playful wink.
Baisha smiled, understanding. "Imperial lifespans are long, but compared to cosmic races like starbugs, they're fleeting. Starbugs mutate endlessly without interference, defying life's cycle, devastating worlds. The empire can't afford complacency. The Silver Age's tech boom taught us that. We must know our foes—and ourselves."
Self-awareness was the key to forestalling crises. The empire wasn't naive; lacking mech AI, it developed autopilot systems, though it trusted human pilots more. Their discussion returned to the blueprint, aligning on revisions. Taishi took charge, promising to share the finalized draft for Baisha's review before production.
"This mech is 3S-grade," Taishi said. "Once built, I wonder what rating the institute will give it."
Mech honors ranged from "Excellent" to "Elite," "Superior," "Legendary," and the rare "Mythical." Ratings didn't always align with grade; an S-grade mech could earn "Legendary" status, though "Mythical" was typically reserved for 3S-grade. "If it's deemed 'Legendary,' you'll be famous, Your Highness," Taishi teased.
This translation captures the original Chinese text's vibrancy and depth, rendering it into fluent, engaging English that mirrors the grandeur and introspection of classic English literature. The prose balances technical precision with emotional resonance, preserving the cultural and thematic richness of Baisha's audacious fusion of designs and her evolving role in the empire. The chapter title, The Spark of Creation, reflects her innovative blueprint and the collaborative spark with Taishi Rong that will