Mu Chenxing was filled with grief when someone sidled up to him.
“You gonna make it?”
Mu Chenxing looked up.
Shen Mingshu stood in front of him, looking down condescendingly. “You really have no clue about your own limits, huh? You jump into training without ever trying levitation stuff before. I thought your body was built tough.”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
This guy!
He snapped irritably, “How do you know I haven’t tried it?”
Shen Mingshu: “With your fa—with your family’s situation? It’d be weirder if you had!”
Mu Chenxing froze.
Levitation zero-gravity projects were all about physical adaptation.
He was a transmigrator, so it made sense he’d never done it. But the original body was a native—how had he never tried?
Yet Shen Mingshu knew he hadn’t.
…Did the Mu family have terrible finances?
Shen Mingshu went on, “Isn’t the point of PE to build strength? You’ve been running laps for half a semester—how come you can’t even last half an hour? Your body’s way too fragile.”
Mu Chenxing shoved down his questions and struggled to his feet. “Who said my body’s fragile? I just need to adapt.”
Before Shen Mingshu could reply, Yuan Hong clapped from afar. “Break’s over. Line up!”
Everyone’s gazes snapped to Mu Chenxing, Shen Mingshu included.
Yuan Hong turned too, catching the medic’s eye nearby. “Mu Chenxing, sit this one out.”
Mu Chenxing: “!”
He hurried forward. “Teacher, I just puked—no injuries. I can keep going.”
Yuan Hong: “You can’t. They’re doing extra drills in zero-G. You wanna go up and hurl again? Solo training for you today. Catch up with the group once you pass zero-G.”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Yuan Hong: “Your regular fitness is fine anyway… You’re not gonna waste the full two weeks on this, right?”
Doubting eyes scanned him.
The group stifled laughs.
Mu Chenxing: “…”
He could only watch tearfully as his teammates headed off to other drills.
Yuan Hong was extra thoughtful, though—left him a coach and a medic to monitor.
And so, Mu Chenxing’s agonizing levitation training began.
One tube of meds lasted two hours.
Training under the effect helped adaptation speed up, so once the group left, he dove back in with the coach.
Half-hour sessions alternated with ten-minute breaks. Before lunch, his final go ended with the teacher helping him out again.
He’d long since emptied his breakfast; now it was just stomach acid.
The medic offered another tube.
Mu Chenxing shook his head. “Gotta adapt sometime.”
The medic didn’t push.
Lunch break neared, and both teachers urged him to stop. Mu Chenxing just slumped against the wall.
The main group returned from elsewhere—utterly drained.
Pure exhaustion, of course.
Mu Chenxing eyed them enviously. “Lucky. I wanna join too.”
Cue a playful dogpile.
Exaggeration, anyway.
Forget him being wiped from puking; the Omegas who’d been drilled all morning were half-dead too.
Without the medics watching their vitals and insisting they were fine, they’d have collapsed.
The group shuffled to the nearest Cafeteria for lunch amid sparse crowds.
With a 90-minute break, eating and transit left under 30 minutes rest.
The other Omegas managed; Mu Chenxing, after multiple rounds of puking, could barely stomach food. But he knew better—forced down half a bowl.
Post-meal, their life coach herded them to a building next to the Training Hall. They’d cleared a conference room for quick naps.
Half an hour flew by. Afternoon training resumed as usual.
Mu Chenxing skipped meds this time, toughing it out raw.
Two rounds and lunch was gone.
By end of afternoon, he finally felt a sliver of adaptation.
But he was wrecked.
Everyone else too, pretty much.
Dinner? No appetites. It was Mu Chenxing, still half-dead, who reminded them: “Thirteen days left. Skip meals and we won’t last.”
The obediently trained Omegas teared up at “thirteen days.”
“Wahhh, I don’t wanna do this.”
“I wanna go home.”
“Too scary! We’ve trained nine hours already!”
Mu Chenxing: “Not nine. Ten-minute breaks every half hour.”
The Omegas glared.
“Those count as breaks?”
“Class breaks are ten minutes—for this grind? Should be half an hour!”
“God, tomorrow too? My heart’s iced over.”
The Omegas sniffled, wiping tears between bites—like it was a funeral feast. Outsiders might’ve thought they were at a wake.
Mu Chenxing touched his nose, deflated. “My fault. If I hadn’t pushed for training camp… Sorry.”
But the Omegas comforted him:
“School’s obsessed with this project. They’d have dragged us anyway.”
“You didn’t know it’d be this brutal.”
“You’re worse off. Don’t blame yourself.”
…
Even the annoying Shen Mingshu grumbled, “Like you could’ve changed the school’s mind? You’re most sorry to me—I wasn’t even in the mix originally.”
Laughter erupted; sympathy shifted to him.
No blame meant Mu Chenxing felt even more responsible for these Omegas.
That night, they crashed before nine. Group chat went silent.
Tong Xiao and his dormmates conked out instantly.
Mu Chenxing had burned energy on basic zero-G moves, but mostly nausea. No sleepiness yet—he curled up searching levitation gear.
Pei Yao messaged: Baby~
Mu Chenxing jolted: I have a name. Act normal.
Pei Yao ignored it: Heard you hurled all day.
Mu Chenxing: …Yuan-teacher’s such a blabbermouth?
Pei Yao: Yuan-old-man’s reliable. But you know zilch about your boyfriend’s shamelessness.
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Pei Yao: Dress warm. Come out.
Mu Chenxing checked the time— not even 9:30.
No questions asked. He slipped from bed, changed in the dark, snuck out dorm-ward silent.
Command College side. Temp dorm building had no smart locks—just cams at doors and halls.
Streetlights identical, but fewer cams felt like.
Mu Chenxing exited per directions, walked steps—snatched mid-stride like clockwork.
He calmly hooked the man’s arm, deadpan. “Can’t we meet normal for once?”
Windbreaker-clad Pei Yao stole a quick peck. “How’s this not normal? It’s romantic!”
Mu Chenxing: “…What if I get ambushed later and freeze up from habit?”
Pei Yao: “Who in school’s matching my speed besides me?”
Mu Chenxing: “I’ll graduate someday.”
Pei Yao chuckled low. “No sulking. Three and a half years to train reflexes. Plenty.”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Sulking my ass.
“What if I can’t? You know your speed’s elite—be real.”
Pei Yao: “Then no choice. I’ll haul you frontline, personally tu~tor~”
“Tutor” dripped innuendo, mind clearly in the gutter.
Mu Chenxing rolled his eyes, ignoring him.
After a chilly gusty ride, Pei Yao halted.
Mu Chenxing eyed the vaguely familiar flight vehicle. “Middle of night—where to?”
Pei Yao opened the door, nudged him in, followed, sealed it.
Interior lights faded up slow.
“Lone Alpha, lone Omega, one room. Need to go anywhere?” Pei Yao hugged from behind, voice husky. “Time for our romantic night~~”
Mu Chenxing: “Oh? Yeah? Clothes off then.”
Zipped jacket, shrugged it off, shoved past.
Pei Yao: “…”
Mu Chenxing handed it over. “Hang it.”
Pei Yao: “…”
Took it meekly, pressed wall—hooks popped out. Hung.
Mu Chenxing felt the temp. “More off?”
Pei Yao ruffled his hair. “Nah, this works.”
To cockpit: “Bet you skipped zero-G games as a kid. Gear alone won’t cut it. Tonight, rest in the flight vehicle.”
Mu Chenxing: “?”
Followed. “Resting here’s tied to training how?”
Pei Yao: “Forgot? Zero-G’s for planetary grav adaptation. Levitation’s same vibe.”
Tapped floor. “Just installed Levitation Device today—drove it back. Sleep here.”
Installed.
Modding a flight vehicle? Not overnight work.
Mu Chenxing’s zero-G tests with Yuan Hong: under two weeks.
This guy…
Pei Yao grinned. “Touched yet?”
Tilted cheek. “Show me?”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Two steps, tiptoe.
Soft graze, gone.
Pei Yao blinked, backed off big.
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Eyed him. “Weak sauce and loves games.”
Pei Yao: “…”
Awkward nose-rub.
Mu Chenxing eyed center bay. “Where do I crash?”
Pei Yao tapped console. Center split—vents? Nothing.
Mu Chenxing blinked. “Bed?”
Pei Yao: “Who said bed?”
Sauntered over, hooked waist one-handed, tossed—
Mu Chenxing: “!”
Tumbled into airflow somersault—whipped back, rolled opposite—
Tumbling midair~ back and forth~
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Struggled futile, roared hoarse. “Pei Yao!!”
Pei Yao arms-crossed wall-lean, smirking. “Yeah, baby~?”
Mu Chenxing: “Put me down!!”
Pei Yao chuckled. “Why? No more training?”
Mu Chenxing righted—tumbled again.
Fuming: “How’s this training?!”
Pei Yao shrugged. “Your call.”
Saw him roll again, stifled laugh. “Baby, this is 6-to-12 kids’ level. Relax maybe?”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Fuck!
Kids’ level!
He scoffed. “Kids’ strength holds my size? Scamming me!”
Pei Yao: “Kids’ intensity/protection, adult force—er, special edition anyway.”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Pei Yao checked time. “Bedtime.”
Backed to pilot seat, propped legs, dimmed lights, propped chin watching Mu Chenxing tumble casual.
Mu Chenxing: “…No, seriously—how do I sleep? Help a guy out? At least flatten me!”
Pei Yao beamed. “Nope. Up to you.”
Mid-tumble glare, furious. “And you? Not sleeping?”
Pei Yao eyed the flashing waist-abs from rolls, throat bobbed, voice deepened. “You know I’m weak sauce. Can’t risk sharing a bed.”
Mu Chenxing snapped: “This a bed? Anyway, adapting—not tumbling!”
Pei Yao low-laughed. “Mastering flat-out’s training too.”
“And it is a bed.”
“Safeguarded, low-vibe, adult Floating Air Bed…” Voice husky with unspoken hunger. “Mood bed.”
Mu Chenxing got it instantly: “…”
Shit.
“Such an exquisitely peerless skill in nailing the timing to the second—doesn’t it deserve a reward?” (Frantic hinting.)
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