Chapter 1: Don’t Scream, I’m Really a Good Guy

Xie Jianxun stood in the middle of the aviation building’s grand hall, waiting in line to buy a ticket for a ship crossing the border.

This was the aviation station on the western side of the Main City Satellite, a bustling spaceport where nearly every airline had docking spots registered—including Federal Ships, large company aircraft, and civilian saucers.

The hall’s ceiling soared high overhead, dominated by a clean, sleek light gray color scheme. The floor gleamed so brightly it reflected the figures of passing travelers.

Crowds surged through, bathed in brilliant lights.

But travelers passing by Xie Jianxun often paused, turned back for a second look at the young man in line, and wore expressions of surprise.

It wasn’t that he was strikingly handsome enough to turn heads.

…It was mostly because he was bundled up so thoroughly.

The young man wore a light-colored mask that completely covered the lower half of his face, a pair of oversized dark sunglasses perched on his nose bridge—and that still wasn’t enough. He pulled up his hood to cover his head too, leaving only a bit of soft, jet-black fringe exposed.

Honestly, if they didn’t know star pirates wouldn’t dare enter a Federation port, they might have pegged him for a fugitive on the run.

Was he some celebrity traveling incognito?

Someone pulled out their Light Brain camera from their wrist, intending to snap a sneaky photo of the young man, only to find him reacting lightning-fast, leaving just the back of his hooded figure behind.

“Hey…”

Could he really be a celebrity?

Soon, it was Xie Jianxun’s turn in the ticket line.

The ticket counter attendant took the cash he handed over and gave him a puzzled glance.

After all, everyone had used Light Brains for payments for centuries; it had been ages since anyone saw physical cash.

Attendant: “Where to?”

Her voice drowned in the noisy background hum of the boarding hall, but luckily Xie Jianxun had good hearing.

The young man was visibly tense, his shoe tip grinding against the floor.

He pulled down his mask, revealing the lower half of his face.

His voice was soft, laced with the naive curiosity of someone who hadn’t seen much of the world: “Hello, to NA-128… for studying abroad.”

The attendant looked down, scribbled a string of numbers on the ticket order, and deftly flipped the microphone aside: “Please show your ID information.”

The young man grew even more nervous; he looked like it was his first time traveling alone, radiating awkwardness and uncertainty everywhere.

“I-I want one ticket for second-class civilian aviation.”

Second-class civilian aviation meant private airlines that had only passed basic qualifications—service was often subpar. Because of that, buying their tickets didn’t require ID.

The attendant checked the box, signaling Xie Jianxun to remove his sunglasses for iris scanning.

He hesitated for a moment, then took them off. The attendant froze.

He had a pair of large, bright eyes with slightly downturned outer corners, golden pupils like solidified precious metal that made his whole presence seem extravagantly valuable.

A pampered little prince.

The phrase flitted through the attendant’s mind.

Not a criminal, not a celebrity.

But strikingly good-looking.

In half a second, the iris scan was done. She fed the order into the machine, and soon the output slot spat out a white-and-blue metal card.

The attendant recited her script: “Hello, your second-class civilian aviation ticket is now active. Please board on time. The ticket includes seven days of breakfast; other expenses are on you… Thank you for using the Western Spaceport service window. Have a pleasant journey.”

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, those beautiful eyes narrowing.

The young man beamed with barely concealed delight, flashing her a brilliant, enthusiastic smile: “That’s great… thank you.”

Relaxed now, he forgot about the sunglasses in his pocket for the moment. He took the ticket and hurried off following the signs to security.

The massive screens in the aviation building lit up, switching from flight info to the latest news broadcast.

Travelers passing below glanced up in unison, and Xie Jianxun, rushing by without knowing why, looked up too.

The screen flickered with glow, the host in a white suit reporting on the lords’ meeting. Everyone’s eyes locked on the empty seat at the top of the conference table.

A traveler sighed softly: “That’s…”

Everyone present knew exactly whose spot it was.

At the moment the meeting began, electronic micro-lights converged, and a virtual projection materialized in the seat.

The camera zoomed in; travelers gasped.

Golden, radiant hair; pupils pure as gems. Even dressed in human-style suit attire, no one would mistake Him for human.

He was no longer mere AI but had evolved into a higher mechanical intelligent lifeform.

The uncrowned king who had controlled the Federation for a century, the God of Machines.

The Main Brain “Emerald.”

Xie Jianxun stood beneath the enormous screen, staring entranced at the Main Brain’s flawless features. It was hard to imagine what aesthetic the modeler had used to craft such a face for Him back then.

The news didn’t air the meeting itself; the host smoothly summarized the lords’ discussions. But the Main Brain, the center of attention, barely spoke. He lazily propped His cheek on one hand, hair falling over, eyes glancing down with what seemed like a faint, amused smile directed at everyone watching the screen.

For a moment, Xie Jianxun felt oddly enveloped, as if gazed upon personally.

The next second, the news cut off, snapping to a missing person notice.

Male, seventeen years old, 170 cm tall, wearing a white hoodie, ran away from home after a family fight.

Attached was a high-definition photo.

Name: Xie Jianxun.

The screen was huge, the impact overwhelming.

Especially when it was your own photo.

“I…”

Xie Jianxun stood there in a daze, retreating several steps.

Beneath the giant screen, the crowd drawn by the Main Brain news had nothing better to do while waiting to board. Why not check out the fun?

“Kids these days all run away from home?”

“Whoa, that’s bad. My nephew didn’t get into the top military academy and ran off one night. We called the cops to find him!”

He tried to pretend nothing happened, slapped on his sunglasses, and bolted—but a hand landed lightly on his shoulder, pinning him in place. A spliced-color jacket dangled in his peripheral vision.

“Look at this lively missing person notice—”

The man recited casually: “Reward for tips… oh, thirty million.”

Exactly the bounty promised at the bottom. The stares felt like he was a walking star coin, brimming with eager interest.

Xie Jianxun blurted: “I’ve got a common face!”

The chattering travelers whipped around en masse, eyeing him like they’d caught their prey. Xie Jianxun clamped his mouth shut, reaching for his mask.

His ear felt empty as a pinky hooked the mask’s strap right off.

The man chuckled outright, pressing down hard on Xie Jianxun’s shoulder to keep him still, threatening in a low voice: “Thirty million. Come with me.”

Xie Jianxun squirmed reluctantly but couldn’t break free from the iron grip on his wrist. The man’s strength was terrifying; just that loose circle left red marks on his skin.

He gave up struggling and let himself be dragged to a nearby rest area sofa.

“Take off the hat, let’s see.”

Xie Jianxun eyed him warily, grudgingly removing his hood to reveal a head of beautiful black shoulder-length hair.

A cute little ponytail bobbed at the back of his head with his movements.

The man flopped onto the sofa, leg crossed, sipping a rainbow drink packed with ice from his pocket—the clinking cubes jingled with his motions. Winter was closing in on the Main City Satellite; it looked throat-freezingly cold.

Xie Jianxun tried spinning a tale: “See, I’ve got black hair. The notice shows gray hair. Total mismatch, right?”

The man bit his straw, glancing over: “Quick dye jobs are fifteen bucks a bottle.”

Xie Jianxun made a last-ditch effort: “Look how pale he is, but I’m so dark…”

The man eyed Xie Jianxun’s exposed small face and the pale, almost translucent hand back, saying nothing—probably figuring no one lied that outrageously.

“I’m just a poor kid, heading out to work and earn tuition money. How could I be connected to that notice…”

Still spinning bald-faced lies.

“Come here.” The man sneered.

Xie Jianxun blinked.

He scooted over hesitantly, only to see the man point at the latest-model Light Brain watch on his wrist.

The man mouthed: “Eight digits.”

Silently exposing him as a little liar.

Xie Jianxun: “…” Busted.

First time running away—no experience.

The man stood, as if the show’s over: “Just changing hair color and style won’t cut it, common-face kid.”

He seemed ready to let him go, interest waning. “If you’re hiding, at least conceal that pretty face better.”

After the man left, Xie Jianxun adjusted his sunglasses and mask, checking his reflection in his Light Brain screen, heart still racing.

Half an hour later, the ship took off. Xie Jianxun, hands empty, joined the security line.

He stepped onto the security platform, waiting for the staff to activate the machine, which focused on scanning his Light Brain for contraband.

Suddenly, chaos erupted at the adjacent checkpoint. Staff in deep blue uniforms arrived with facial recognition devices, sealing off lanes one by one and halting passenger flow.

They announced loudly: Star pirates had infiltrated the spaceport!

All passengers, please stay calm; they’d use the devices to catch the pirates.

Instantly, the entire checkpoint exploded in noise. Passengers behind couldn’t hold back shouts; the area turned chaotic.

Xie Jianxun’s scalp prickled in disbelief.

The big butler was coming for him—and using “star pirate” as the excuse?

The facial scanners moved fast. In a few breaths, they scanned everyone still on the platforms, closing in on Xie Jianxun.

A nearby staffer kindly reminded: “Sir, please remove your mask.”

Xie Jianxun clutched the mask edge, struggling futilely for two seconds.

Even with the mask, the device could identify him—it was just self-deception. He dejectedly stripped off all his disguises, eyes squeezed shut, awaiting doom.

Just as the scanner reached the person next to him, the noisy scanning team halted abruptly.

The whole crowd froze; silence fell. Xie Jianxun could hear his own ragged breaths.

Beep, beep, beep.

The device issued a slow warning.

The scanner pressed his waist communicator, alert but calm: “Sir, please come with us.”

The scanned passenger raised his hands nonchalantly: “Officers, I’m a good guy. Don’t you believe me?”

The scanner repeated: “Please come with us.”

Xie Jianxun opened his eyes and saw that familiar spliced jacket—big patches of light pink and pale yellow, blue graffiti glaring at the waist, black turtleneck hugging the neck, a thin black cord looped three times around, ending in a copper clasp on his chest.

Martin boots thudded across the floor as the man was led away by the scanners.

The remaining staff resumed scanning.

The machine flashed before Xie Jianxun’s eyes—beep—white light, and it skipped him, moving to the next person.

Shocked, he stepped off the platform. The staffer’s smile was gone, but they still tried to reassure him: No star pirates would slip through; travel safely.

Through the long corridor, Xie Jianxun boarded the ship unscathed, found his seat, and scanned his iris to unlock the safety belt.

No one came knocking, no one grabbed him.

He stayed put, squinting around before mimicking others to buckle up. Movement came from the adjacent seat as someone sat down.

He turned his head and saw a familiar face—inverted intake of breath—

“Don’t scream.”

The passenger in the spliced jacket pulled on his safety belt, glancing over with a half-smile. “I’m really a good guy.”