Chapter 8 – Is there something wrong with this literary youth?

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Letting go? Not a chance.

Song Yan would have to be out of his mind to hand over command to someone unreliable.

After confirming the ship was in good condition, he slowly steered it away from the dock. “Sit tight. Stop talking.”

Xie Chenyu said, “I’ve flown real ones, I’m experienced. Let me do it.”

Song Yan was unmoved. “This is a simulation cabin. The fact that we’re grouped together means we’re in the same skill bracket.”

Xie Chenyu extracted the main point: “Got it, you haven’t touched a real one.” Otherwise, he’d probably have retorted with “I’ve flown one too.”

Song Yan’s nerve was struck. He suppressed the urge to shoot and slanted a look at him: “That’s because I’m a minor, I can’t touch them.”

At Whale Wanderers, everyone was individualistic, there were hardly any who followed the rules.

But when it came to him, this bunch had surprisingly reached a rare consensus.

Learning combat and marksmanship was fine, it could provide self-defense.

Playing with instruments, equipment, and mechas was also fine, it was a skill, after all.

But spaceships were a no-go, because galactic law prohibited minors from flying them.

Song Yan felt their interpretation of galactic law was completely different. According to galactic law, he couldn’t even touch a gun, but no one at Whale Wanderers saw a problem with that.

In short, they could teach him to fly spaceships in the virtual section, but in the real world, he wasn’t allowed to touch them for now. He could guess their concerns, so he obediently complied.

Xie Chenyu was taken aback: “You’re a minor?”

He couldn’t help but check the profile, only to find the other’s info wasn’t public. “Proof?”

Song Yan asked, “If I show you, will you behave?”

Xie Chenyu replied without hesitation, “Yes.”

Song Yan then took a moment to make some information public. Xie Chenyu re-checked and indeed saw the undrage icon, which meant his daily practice time was restricted.

A minor with impressive combat skills, capable of handling several of his moves.

Xie Chenyu was curious about his piloting skills and no longer worried about potentially hitting a new low score. He turned and sat properly.

Song Yan asked, “Not gonna try to take over anymore?”

Xie Chenyu answered promptly, “Captain’s yours. I’ll follow your lead.”

Seeing that there wasn’t the slightest trace of reluctance in his tone, Song Yan thought about what triggered the shift. He guessed maybe the guy was the type who respected elders and cared for the young, so he set aside his earlier coldness and impatience, and started to play along: “I’ve always played solo mode. I shot at you because I wanted to send everyone away and see how far I could go alone on this difficult map. So, Uncle, could you please indulge me?”

Wow, the kid’s face changed so quickly?

Xie Chenyu looked at him: “Why ‘Uncle’? Call me ‘Brother’.”

Song Yan asked, “If I do, will you indulge me?”

Xie Chenyu found it a bit amusing: “Yes.”

Song Yan knew when to yield: “Brother.”

Xie Chenyu chuckled in response, leaning back comfortably in his chair, and gestured “please,” ready to observe.

Song Yan automatically treated him as if he weren’t there, his expression becoming focused.

Before them was the vast, dark universe, with distant stars twinkling, beautiful and mysterious.

Xie Chenyu looked at the star map projected in mid-air, thinking that it truly resembled the “Thorn Vortex.”

The Thorn Vortex was one of the outer edges of known starspace.

It contains several incredibly rich resource planets, but their harsh environment makes development extremely difficult.

That region is plagued by magnetic field disturbances, frequent wormholes, and numerous chaotic asteroid belts, collectively resembling a massive, slowly rotating vortex. Currently, humanity has only explored a small portion. Aside from a few resource planets, no other discoveries have been made yet.

This map, marketed for its difficulty comparable to the “Thorn Vortex,” thus only provided a small set of coordinates.

Xie Chenyu estimated these only covered about one-tenth of the entire map, with the vast remaining unknown areas requiring their own exploration.

Even with one-tenth of the star map, the situation was not optimistic. Fortunately, this kid’s skill was indeed good, and the entire process had been surprisingly smooth.

The ship pushed onward, into uncharted territory.

Xie Chenyu checked the ship’s condition.

The hull had been hit twice on each side by asteroids, but thanks to timely course corrections, only scrapes were left on the exterior—in such an extremely harsh flying environment, navigating this far with a completely unfamiliar star map, even he wouldn’t have done much better.

With no star map hints beyond this point, how far could this kid go?

Song Yan had forgotten there was someone else beside him.

His expression became even more focused, not letting any detail escape his notice.

If an unavoidable asteroid belt blocked the way, he’d use firepower to blast through. If space became unstable, he’d accelerate early to avoid wormholes. Even when hit, he didn’t panic, minimizing damage as much as possible.

—Still able to go on.

He stared intensely into the darkness ahead, thinking, still able to go on.

Simulated training uses a holographic cabin precisely to create an immersive experience.

Xie Chenyu was violently tossed with the spaceship, sharp alarms blaring in his ears, and flashing red lights before his eyes.

He steadied himself and looked at the main console, feeling that the kid’s struggling forward posture almost conveyed a brutal and ferocious determination.

It wasn’t an impatient coldness, nor was it feigned obedience.

It was something raw, intense, and unyielding.

That thought had just formed when another impact slammed him into the seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a massive asteroid belt barreling toward them.

Song Yan was adjusting the spaceship’s direction and immediately went to activate the firepower, but then his heart skipped a beat.

No, I was a beat too late. I couldn’t make it in time... He watched them getting closer and closer, waiting for his own end, but he heard a sudden roar.

Xie Chenyu blasted them apart with a single shot and sat up straight.

“Your trial session’s over,” he said. “I’ll take over the observation and fire control. Keep going.”

Song Yan knew this was the limit of what he could manage solo. He responded with a quiet “Mm,” and kept flying forward.

With a skilled teammate sharing the tasks, Song Yan’s pressure significantly decreased. However, the spaceship was ultimately too severely damaged. When they encountered another wormhole, they couldn’t escape.

Xie Chenyu said, “Can’t break through, how about…”

Song Yan said decisively: “Unload the arsenal.”

Xie Chenyu thought the same and, without hesitation, unloaded the weapons bay and fired a shot with the last of their firepower.

The explosion instantly created a shockwave, propelling the spaceship outward and successfully freeing it from the wormhole’s gravity.

But without firepower support, they became even more stuck, unable to move an inch.

The two of them soon encountered the meteor belt again. Xie Chenyu watched as the spacecraft got knocked aside and he let go of the controls with a smile, catching a glimpse of the person next to him pressing the escape pod button, and thought to himself: pretty gutsy.

Operations were impossible inside the escape pod, and there was no view.

They drifted in the darkness for five minutes, waiting for the “failure” pop-up, which indicated the escape pod had also been destroyed.

The simulation cabin lit up again.

Xie Chenyu looked to the side. The kid, who had just been full of wild energy, now wore a calm, indifferent expression again.

Song Yan stood up: “I’m going to sleep. Bye.”

Xie Chenyu said, “Wait—”

The words weren’t finished before the person in front of him vanished in an instant.

He laughed in frustration, no longer in the mood to start another round, and logged off as well.

Then there was a “ding” sound.

The communicator received a message just then: 【Boss, finished checking.】

Xie Chenyu raised an eyebrow.

He wasn’t the type to snoop into someone’s entire background for no reason. His marriage to Song Yan was based on a general introduction from his grandfather and a brief understanding of the Song family’s affairs, and he’d let it go. If his uncle hadn’t acted strangely, he wouldn’t have checked again

He hadn’t expected to get results so quickly after giving the order that morning.

He replied: 【Say it.】

The other person reported: 【Song Yan’s father had another identity—codename Windflow. He was the founder of the Whale Rovers. Song Madam was also a member of Whale Rovers. Rumor has it that the incident back then happened during a mission. The ship crashed in the Thorn Vortex, and to this day it hasn’t been recovered.】

Xie Chenyu’s pupils contracted.

The other side sounded worried: 【You sure it’s just a contractual marriage? That bunch of lunatics from Whale Rovers are super protective. Song Yan’s the son of their former leader. If you break his heart and they find out, won’t they tear you apart?】

Xie Chenyu dismissed him with a couple of brief sentences, standing still.

No wonder his uncle liked Song Yan, he was an old acquaintance.

He remembered that his uncle and Windflow had a good relationship, and he even had a vague impression that he had held the child in Windflow’s arms when he was a child.

So that sweet-smiling little baby from back then was actually Song Yan. In the blink of an eye, he was nearly an adult now.

Xie Chenyu felt a complex emotion toward Song Yan for the first time and instinctively tapped on their chat window.

His finger hovered over the input interface for two seconds. He composed himself, intending to close it, but accidentally hit the greeting button, and a message was instantly sent.

He froze for a moment, and then he felt utterly terrible.

No way could he admit it was a misclick. Otherwise, he’d have to explain why he was opening someone’s chat window in the middle of the night. The more he explained, the worse it’d sound.

He quickly tried to salvage the situation, rushing into the kitchen to take a photo.

At this moment, Song Yan was changing into his pajamas.

Not clearing the spaceship mission didn’t make him feel frustrated. After all, there was a gap between simulation and reality, and he hadn’t even flown a real spaceship yet, nor was his skill at its peak. He knew he would eventually traverse that “Thorn Vortex.”

He heard his communicator ring. After he finished changing, he heard it ring twice more, so he tapped to check and saw three messages.

Xie Chenyu:【Hi, you there?】

Xie Chenyu:【[Image]】

Xie Chenyu:【Look, a dessert personally made for me by my beloved Elizabeth!】

Song Yan: “……”

Not sleeping in the middle of the night, is there something wrong with this literary youth?

What happened to “not disturbing each other”?

He turned off the light, lay down, and couldn’t be bothered to respond.

A few seconds later, he abruptly sat up. He felt he couldn’t lose, and it didn’t fit his persona either.

However, showing off back would be a step down, and besides, he had nothing at hand to send. So, he thought for a moment and started typing.

Xie Chenyu successfully navigated the situation, letting out a sigh of relief.

He put the dessert back in the freshness cabinet and awaited a reply.

Song Yan:

【Yan Yan has already gone to bed. He’s not in good health, and always sleeps early.】

Xie Chenyu:【…Oh.】

Song Yan:【If Mr. Xie has anything urgent, I can pass it along tomorrow.】

Xie Chenyu:【No need. It’s fine.】

Song Yan:【Mm.】

Song Yan:【Yanyan is a light sleeper. If it’s not something important, I hope you won’t disturb him this late at night again. Also, since this is a contractual marriage, I hope you’ll abide by the agreement. Wishing you and your beloved a pleasant trip.】

Xie Chenyu: “……”

As an honor student, he was always the one being pursued. This was the first time an Alpha had pointedly told him to stay away from his Omega, and what’s worse, he couldn’t even retort because he had sent the first message.

He resisted the urge to cut off his hand and, with a blank expression, closed the chat window.

On the other side, Song Yan waited a few seconds. Seeing that he had gone silent, he lay back down on the bed, feeling completely at ease.