Bowers recently picked up a new hobby: flower arranging. As a meticulous and serious gentleman, Bowers learned quickly. With his refined aesthetic taste, even as a beginner, the flower arrangements he created earned praise from his teacher.
“Your work makes me doubt you’re a beginner. After another three or four lessons, you’ll be able to graduate. I feel like there won’t be much more I can teach you by then,” remarked the teacher, who appeared as a holographic projection. She was a very elegant woman, dressed in a traditional Chinese blue qipao, with delicate spring orchids embroidered on the hem. Looking at Bowers’ work, she sighed, “Teaching a student like you is truly effortless. But with fewer lessons, haha, I guess I won’t be able to earn much more from your course fees!”
Bowers had hired a private tutor for flower arranging online, paying five hundred star coins per lesson for a master-level teacher, making the expense well worth it. “Teacher, I’m flattered. If it weren’t for your teaching, I wouldn’t have known how to match the flowers.”
Many things can’t simply be randomly paired just because they look good; you have to consider weight balance, harmony, the pairing of vessel shapes, and so on. Once you’ve learned the basics, you can dive deeper—that’s where the saying ‘the master leads you to the door, but the practice is up to you’ comes into play. After some mutual compliments between the flower arrangement teacher and Bowers, today’s lesson came to an end. Bowers used up all the floral materials he had prepared, and the household robot cleaned the table. Soon, only three flower arrangements were left on the spotless long table—a focal arrangement with star flowers, roses, and carnations; a stacked arrangement with star flowers, butterfly orchids, and fragrant lilies; and an overlapping arrangement with galaxy leaves, sunflowers, and sunflowers. Today, Bowers learned these three styles, and thanks to his quick learning ability, he grasped them quite well in just one lesson. Tomorrow, with another lesson, he plans to master the remaining four styles, and after that, he will just need to reinforce and solidify his skills.
With Ryan’s involvement, the members of this household were all seeking new breakthroughs instead of remaining stagnant in old ways. From now on, this family would only get better, making Auston’s life even more beautiful.
The door was pushed open, and Laura, dressed in a black skirt suit, walked in. Seeing the flower arrangements her husband had made, she praised him, “Not bad. But still a bit lacking—don’t place them in front of the general.”
“Yeah, I’m planning to put them in the side hall.”
The two, both with perfectionist tendencies, reached an agreement. However, they still had their differences on other matters. Laura couldn’t understand. “Why let those people in?”
“If we leave them outside, making a scene for the neighbors to laugh at, it wouldn’t look good.”
“But it will affect the general’s mood,” Laura disagreed.
Bowers chuckled and looked at his wife. “Why should we let the general meet them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wait for Ryan to come back.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “You want him to handle this?”
“What else?” Bowers instructed the household robot to place the flower arrangements where they belonged, then continued, “The general’s health is delicate right now. He shouldn’t be troubled with these trivial matters. Ryan is the general’s husband; he should take on some responsibilities. Consider it my way of testing him. We are merely in service to the Dalton family, not the masters of this house. In the future, this home will belong to them, and many matters should be handled by Ryan.”
“You,” Laura shook her head helplessly. Bowers had grown up in this family, learning and growing alongside the old general, and had inherited the Dalton family’s stubbornness and tenacity. Though he had clearly accepted Ryan in his heart, he was reluctant to admit it. “Bowers, they love each other deeply.”
“I know,” Bowers said as he embraced his wife. “I know, which is why I want him to understand what kind of demons the general has faced before.”
Greed is the greatest culprit that turns humans into demons. Insatiable desire, always wanting more, and boundless greed—that’s exactly what described some of the people sitting in the reception room. Seven adults, six children under the age of sixteen, and one twenty-two-year-old young adult. The 22-year-old was Nana Dalton, the “young adult.” In the eyes of her elders, she was still a child without much say, but at the same time, she no longer fit in with the group of younger children. Wearing a long white dress, she sat slumped beside her father, her long hair covering the side of her face, making it impossible to see her expression.
“Nana seems to be becoming more and more composed; she truly is a good girl from the Dalton family. If she were in the main branch, she could have made a marriage alliance with families like Gustav’s or Bromfield’s.” The eldest among them, who Auston would call “uncle” and who Beavis called “Uncle,” held a porcelain teacup and pretended to sip his black tea with elegance. He shook his head with regret. “What a shame, Beavis, you keep making mistakes and have delayed so many children. If you had inherited everything from the main branch, wouldn’t any of your grown-up children have a decent job? Why should Nana have to put in so much effort just to get into art school? Don’t you agree?”
Beavis hesitated, wanting to say something but feeling his daughter pinch his arm, so he held back and just smiled.
The clan uncle inwardly scoffed at Beavis, looking down on him, but on the surface, he coaxed, “If you let them adopt Xiao Wu, don’t forget your uncle, alright?”
“Uncle, we can’t let them adopt Xiao Wu; that would mess up the family hierarchy,” Beavis said timidly.
“Aii, look at my memory—Xiao Wu is Auston’s younger brother! Then let’s have your eldest son adopt the child; that would work perfectly.”
“Grandpa, you promised to let them adopt me!” A seven or eight-year-old boy protested, running over to the clan uncle and tugging at his hand. “This house should belong to me! Everything fun, delicious, and enjoyable… it’s all mine! I’ve told my classmates that I’m going to be a great general and live in a big house.”
“Talking nonsense,” the clan uncle raised his hand as if to swat him, but when he got close to the child, he felt a pang of sympathy and softened his strike, lightly patting the boy’s backside instead. “This is adult business; you shouldn’t butt in. You really are disobedient. No candy for you when you go home.”
“Ow, ow, ow, Grandpa is lying to me!” The boy fell to the ground and began to roll around, crying loudly despite the lightness of his earlier threats. “It’s all mine, wah wah wah, it’s clearly mine…”
A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy, sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, cast a disdainful glance at the rolling child. He managed to keep his composure, but his eyes betrayed him, possessively surveying the reception room. So this was what the main family mansion looked like—solemn, dignified, and the deep colors were truly beautiful. When he moved in, he thought he would throw a big party in this grand reception room to show his classmates what the grandeur of a large family looked like.
“Scritch—”
A harsh scratching sound cut through the air, drawing everyone’s attention. A snot-nosed little boy was dragging a toy along the wall, creating an irritating noise that hurt the ears. In an instant, the smooth wall was marred with chaotic lines. The child’s parent, seeing that everyone was watching, said with a hint of pride, “Our child is just lively.”
Beavis quietly advised, “That’s not good; it’s rude, and you’ll have to pay for it.”
“Mine,” the little child, only three or four years old, wiped his nose with his hand and declared defiantly, “This is mine.”
“What’s wrong with a little kid scribbling a bit? He doesn’t know any better; there’s no need to say he’s being rude.” The parent was fiercely protective, pointing at the wall, which had gained more than ten scratches in just a few minutes. “That wall has wallpaper; we can just tear it off and put up a new piece. Simple.”
Beavis opened his mouth to say something, but under the fierce glare of the clan aunt, he shrank back. He simply wasn’t a confrontational person.
Just then, the reception room door swung open, and a household robot entered, carrying a vase of flowers. The purple butterfly orchids and yellow fragrant lilies looked stunning against the green leaves. The robot placed the arrangement on the wall cabinet and turned to leave when the impatient clan uncle called out. Sitting grandly on the sofa, he pointedly asked, “Where’s Auston? Why aren’t we, the elders, being welcomed? It’s already quite rude that he didn’t come out to greet us, and now he’s leaving us waiting—what does that mean? Is he disregarding his elders?”
“Is there anything you need, sir?” The household robot had a simple program; it was just meant for chores. The clan uncle’s long-winded speech seemed to be falling on deaf ears.
Feeling a bit embarrassed, the clan uncle angrily kicked the robot. “What’s this nonsense? Just a tool relying on others for power! Hurry up and get Auston!”
“Attack! Attack! Attack!”
The fallen household robot repeated three times. It stood up, its bright yellow eyes scanning the faces of those present, as if registering them into its program to prioritize them as potential threats in the future. After finishing its scan, the robot left, closing the door behind it.
The clan uncle, feeling he had regained some dignity, sat back down with a smug expression. “What a nuisance! When Auston gets here, I’m definitely going to scold him.”
Nana, who had been silent, lifted her gaze slightly. In her line of sight, the window that had been open was now closing, and the door seemed to be sealing even tighter. She tightened her grip on her father’s arm, preventing him from speaking. Beavis wrapped his arms around his trembling daughter, sitting silently. After all, he was always this way; no one paid him any mind.
……
Far away at the Imperial Mecha Research Institute in Adam City, Ryan and McAryan stood before a holographic screen, occasionally touching it to adjust the design blueprint. McAryan had granted him the highest level of access, and the confidential wolf-type mecha was displayed before Ryan with almost no reservations. He examined it closely, nodding occasionally at the exceptionally intricate design.
McAryan felt a surge of joy from Ryan’s affirmation, although he couldn’t quite understand why. He smiled and said, “Emperor Qin Feng Anderson mentioned the concept of animal-type mechas in his journal, along with a design sketch. I’ve pondered this for twenty years, and the design has finally taken shape. We began construction twenty-eight months ago, with every part and metal plate independently fabricated in this lab, using skilled workers. Even so, the construction speed has been slow, and we’ve encountered numerous issues along the way, which we’ve tackled one by one.”
“It’s not easy,” Ryan remarked. Many of the ideas recorded in the journal were fantastical, often detached from reality. It was remarkable that the descendants managed to achieve such progress based on mere snippets and insignificant sketches in the journal.
Amidst his happiness, McAryan harbored concerns about the synchronization issue between the animal-inspired neural center and human nerves. After hundreds of tests and continuous modifications, simulations, and refinements, the synchronization rate had improved from 15% to 55.55%. While this leap in data looked impressive, it was still insufficient for practical combat. Without a synchronization rate of at least 90%, the wolf-type mecha couldn’t be deployed on the battlefield or used by the military, rendering it nothing more than a heap of scrap metal—utterly worthless.
McAryan voiced his concerns, saying, “We’ve hit a bottleneck with the adjustment of the neural center. I’ve scrapped over a thousand design drafts and still haven’t found a better solution. If I can’t find one soon, the costly wolf-type mecha will have to be put on hold. Sigh.” Securing additional funding for approval would be very difficult. At over three hundred years old, he was acutely aware that Emperor Qin Feng Anderson had long since turned to cosmic dust at his age. He didn’t know how many more years he had left or if he would ever see the wolf-type mecha shine on the battlefield.
He noticed Ryan quickly sliding through the design blueprints on the screen, as if searching for something. It dawned on him that Ryan was looking for the design of the neural center. The wolf-type mecha was a biological mecha, and there were significant differences in materials and assembly compared to ordinary mechanical mechas. However, the most crucial difference lay in the neural center, which determined whether a mecha was truly a biological one.
After a moment of thought, McAryan raised his arm and pressed a few buttons on his personal terminal. After granting certain permissions, he waved his arm toward the screen, and several drawings appeared in a corner of the display, stacked together. The icons flickered, as if reminding him that there were new blueprints to browse through.
Ryan’s gaze shifted slightly as he looked at McAryan, who wore an earnest smile. By showing these blueprints to Ryan, he had truly revealed his greatest research achievement—the core secrets of biological mechas—without reservation. From now on, he would have almost no secrets left in front of Ryan.
“I’m deeply grateful for this, Gauss,” Ryan said, unable to express anything else beyond his appreciation.
After taking this step, McAryan felt a sense of relief. He had a premonition that when he couldn’t complete something, Ryan would be able to. Ryan had not only the advantage of youth but also a vast reservoir of knowledge in his mind; any problem he encountered, given some time, would certainly be solvable. After meeting with Ryan two days prior, McAryan had experienced doubts, jealousy, and even wild thoughts about wanting to dissect Ryan’s brain for research. But as his chaotic emotions settled, he stopped probing into Ryan’s secrets and instead sought his assistance. McAryan understood that his own time was limited and the stage he had created was finite. The future belonged to the young. Why delve into Ryan’s secrets? Even if he were the reincarnation of Emperor Qin Feng, what mattered was that he could help him take another step forward.
This led to Ryan’s visit to the C1-003 laboratory.
Ryan had no idea that so many thoughts had flashed through McAryan’s mind in an instant, and he nearly guessed his true origins. Otherwise, he would have exclaimed how close it had been. He opened the new blueprints sent by McAryan, and thousands of design sketches surged in like a wave. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume and complexity, his eyes lit up with excitement as he eagerly began to examine them, moving from the immature initial drafts to the completed versions, followed by a plethora of revisions. For him, this was a treasure trove.
So this is how biological mechas are made!
He adjusted this and that on the mechanical mechas, and it was truly ingenious.
Why didn’t I think of adding these elements to the neural components earlier?
It’s amazing how a simple modification can significantly improve synchronization rates—brilliant, truly brilliant!
……
……
Ryan was in the midst of a brainstorming session, his eyes focused and shining as he absorbed new knowledge with fervor.
He and McAryan stood at the main control console in the northeast corner of the C1-003 laboratory. Accessing this area required specific permissions, making it a coveted place for many researchers, as being able to accompany Master McAryan on the console meant they were already considered core personnel of the entire research institute. This came with greater authority, more knowledge, higher treatment, and respect from the world…
“Who is that person?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never seen him before.”
“Could he be from another research institute?”
“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t seem like it. To receive a personal welcome from the master isn’t something just anyone could achieve. How come we didn’t see him at yesterday’s meeting? That meeting gathered renowned scholars from all over the country.”
“You’re right; he’s just a rich second-generation or third-generation heir.”
“Come on, do you think our master is someone who fears or flatters the powerful? Look at that pathetic Sierra, begging the master hysterically to show him the core blueprints for the neural center. The master didn’t give them to him. Sierra is a direct descendant of the Bromfield, one of the top aristocratic families in the Empire.”
“You’re right; only ordinary rich heirs wouldn’t catch the master’s eye.”
So who exactly is that man standing alongside the master?
For now, it remained a secret. Neither Ryan nor McAryan felt inclined to clarify; they were deeply engaged in discussing the design of the neural center. McAryan shared the problems and challenges he had encountered with Ryan. After listening, Ryan had a new idea and immediately called up a blank blueprint on the screen, starting to draw. He completed half of it in one go before finally pausing his pen.
McAryan: “…” He held his breath, not daring to interrupt as he watched Ryan hesitate to put his pen down. He felt like he might suffocate. One advantage of being older is that he had better control over his breathing; after a few deep breaths, he managed to calm himself. He called out softly, “Ryan?”
“Hmm?”
“Why aren’t you drawing?” Could it be that he was trying to hide something? What’s up with the younger generation? It’s so frustrating!
Ryan didn’t mean to withhold anything; he directly voiced his confusion. “How should I position the neurons for better results? My thought is… but doing it this way would block the synchronization, which wouldn’t achieve the desired improvement.”
McAryan immediately cast aside his earlier irritation and engaged in the discussion. “How did you come up with that? I never considered… arranging it this way. If we do this, it would reduce… operational efficiency. But placing the neurons here could enhance stability, and improve stability benefits… It’s truly fascinating.”
Ryan spent a delightful day at the Imperial Research Institute, stopping to prepare for his return home at three in the afternoon. As he left, McAryan handed him a hard drive. Without needing to say much, it was clear that the hard drive contained the design blueprints. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement; Ryan would help McAryan solve his problems. Not only that, McAryan upgraded the temporary access permit numbered 003 to a permanent one, allowing Ryan to enter and exit the institute anytime he wished.
This essentially meant that Ryan was regarded as part of the research center—without an official position, but with McAryan’s endorsement.
When leaving, Ryan didn’t let McAryan see him off; instead, he activated the robot Little Six and followed a different route under its guidance. On the way back, a figure stumbled past Ryan, his head buried in a set of blueprints, completely unaware of who had just walked by.
However, Ryan recognized who that person was—Sierra Bromfield. Unlike the glamorous and commanding presence he had seen aboard the Xingtian ship, Sierra now exhibited no trace of arrogance. His demeanor had shifted to one of stubbornness and obsession, his eyes darting nervously as if trying to see through the blueprints in front of him. The change in expression reflected a significant shift in his mental state. At just over seventy (still considered young by imperial standards), he now sported streaks of gray in his hair and fine lines at the corners of his eyes. If he were to walk out now, many of his former colleagues from Xingtian Ship would likely fail to recognize him.
Ryan didn’t turn to look; his steps remained steady as he continued forward. Just an insignificant enemy, punished for overstepping his bounds—Ryan never felt pity for his adversaries.
At the entrance, the robot Little Six chirped, “It’s a pleasure to serve Mr. Smith. Looking forward to seeing you next time.”
“Thanks, Little Six.” Ryan crouched down, running his hand around what could loosely be called the robot’s neck before patting its head. “See you next time.”
Little Six’s headlight flickered for a moment, watching Ryan’s retreating figure shrink until it disappeared from view. Then, it moved to the edge of the reception area, tucked itself away, and entered standby mode.
Adam City was a short distance from Eve City, about an hour’s drive, with several cities in between. Adam used to be the capital but lost its political significance due to the concentration of universities and research institutions. The government sought a new direction, designating Eve City as the new capital. Once Ryan reached Eve City, he didn’t head straight home; instead, he lingered in the city center for a while, stopping by the largest dessert shop in the capital. He bought the seasonal bestsellers as well as some classic favorites, knowing that Auston had probably never tasted desserts from here. He intended to bring them home for him to try.
Ryan thought he might try a bite himself; if he liked it, he could attempt to replicate the recipes. If Auston enjoyed them, he could make them at home—what a delightful idea!
Arriving home at 4:50 PM, Ryan paused in the kitchen when he heard what Bowers had to say. “They’ve been in the small reception room all afternoon? Didn’t they consider breaking windows or doors to escape?”
“Surely, they must have thought about it.” But those people triggered the robot’s defense mechanism, willingly locking themselves in the reception room, which was not something that could be easily breached with just hands and feet. Bowers saw nothing wrong with this; he even said, “There’s plenty of tea and snacks inside, and a bathroom, so they’ll have everything they need to survive.”
“Well, that’s good.” The arrangements were very thorough, and Ryan couldn’t find any faults. It was appropriate to let these people calm down in the room. “Does Auston know?”
“The general is unaware.”
“That’s good.” Ryan washed his hands and, without changing his clothes, walked through the series of rooms: the central courtyard, living room, study, main small reception room, gym, and so on, before taking a long corridor to the secluded reception room. This room had an entrance that opened directly to the outside, avoiding the courtyard. Compared to the other reception rooms in the main residence, it wasn’t the smallest, but it certainly wasn’t the best equipped. Standing at the door, straining to listen, Ryan was surprised to hear no strange noises. It had to be said that while the reception room was small, the materials used were truly of high quality.
He said to the robot guarding the door, “Lift the restrictions.”
“Danger! Danger! Danger!”
“It’s no longer dangerous. Lift the restrictions.”
“Understood.” The robot’s program activated, the danger mechanism was disabled, and the door could be opened normally.
Ryan stepped aside and pulled Bowers along; otherwise, the two of them would surely have been knocked over by those trying to rush out from inside. The door swung open with a loud bang, and the people inside were caught off guard, tumbling onto the floor. The elderly man at the bottom let out a pained wail; if he were pressed down further, his organs might burst.
Everyone scrambled to get back to their seats in the small reception room. Among the guests, only the Beavis father and daughter were friendly, while the others glared angrily at Ryan and Bowers. Ryan sat at the head of the table with a gentle smile, while Bowers stood beside him, his expression blank, unwilling to even cast a glance.
Ryan didn’t seem like a bad person; he appeared approachable, as if he were on the guests’ side. His gaze swept over the wall that had been marked with chaotic scribbles, and his smile deepened. “Who did that? It looks quite unique.”
The little boy, who had been restrained by his parents, managed to break free and eagerly raised his hand. “It was me! It was me!”
“Why did you do that?”
“Why can’t I do it?”
Ryan smiled. “You make a good point.”
“The child doesn’t understand and just doodled a bit; it’s nothing serious. We can just change the wallpaper,” the boy’s mother said, relaxing a bit at Ryan’s friendly demeanor as she sat stiffly on the sofa. “It’s normal for kids to be a little energetic, especially boys who will inherit the family business, haha.”
Ryan chuckled and waved for the child to come over. The boy bounced forward, and his mother couldn’t catch him in time. Once the child approached, Ryan asked, “Do you know that it’s not right to draw on someone else’s wall?”
“My house!” the little boy exclaimed. “It’s mine; I can draw wherever I want!”
“Oh?” Ryan raised an eyebrow and glanced around the room. He noticed disapproval in some people’s eyes, but no one seemed to think it was inappropriate. Instead, the girl snuggling beside Beavis looked embarrassed and ashamed.
“Mom said this part is mine. I just have to be the son of the unfortunate general.”
Ryan’s gaze turned icy. “Unfortunate general?”
The boy’s parents became restless, and even the elderly man sitting next to Ryan started to panic. Some things were better kept private; how could the boy bring them into the open? But clearly, the child didn’t care. He innocently counted on his fingers, reciting what his parents had said at home, “Damn thing, taking up space without contributing, a jinx that curses father and mother… Ah! You’re hurting me!”
Ryan’s face had lost all warmth; his gaze was colder than ice. He looked up at the child’s parents, casting a sidelong glance at the others. His voice remained gentle, yet it was laced with a devilish charm, as if he were tempting them with a red apple. “Little friend, your artistic talent is wonderful; it must not be wasted, you understand? From now on, you should draw wherever you like—on all the beautiful walls. The more beautiful, the better. You should let more people see your work, okay?”
The child’s eyes lit up, excitedly nodding.
“Ah!” It was the mother’s scream as she rushed forward to snatch her child back.
On Ryan’s expressionless face, a slight curve appeared at the corners of his mouth. It looked like a smile, but it was more chilling than anger. He surveyed everyone present, showing no reluctance to deal with them slowly today.
Seeing the slight curve of Ryan’s mouth, everyone was so frightened they didn’t dare to breathe.
Translator’s Little theatre:
Bowers (pointing at Dalton relatives) : They are demons💀
The real devil Ryan😈 : (smiling)
Dalton Relatives : shivering.jpg
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152