JFWCM Chapter 17

Gearwheel Candy and Heartbeat Synchronization Rate

Jiang Wan’yuan’s pocket watch suddenly emitted a buzzing alarm. A fine crack appeared on the watch face, and what poured out wasn’t gears but silver-blue stardust. The moment she caught it, the stardust solidified in her palm into a miniature astronomical observatory model. The dome slowly opened, revealing inside—

“My spare spinal bolt?” Yi Shang’s voice trembled. The bronze component suspended at the core of the model perfectly matched the gearwheel pattern burning on the back of her neck.

Zhang Yao’s white coat moved without wind, and the laboratory suddenly plunged into darkness. Holographic projections lit up simultaneously on all four walls: news footage of the astronomical observatory collapse ten years ago, in which a young Jiang Wan’yuan was carried out of the ruins by a woman in a white coat, and in the corner of the lens, a girl with a gearwheel hairpin reflecting light—that was twelve-year-old Yi Shang.

“So you guys were already…” Jichuan’s electronic cigarette burst into a shower of sparks, which fell to the ground and transformed into countless miniature star charts. “Senior, what you donated back then wasn’t ordinary bone marrow, it was the neural adapter for the mechanical spine prototype, right?”

Yi Shang’s lenses suddenly fogged up. When she took off her glasses, she pulled out a string of data streams, which formed a genetic map in the air. Jiang Wan’yuan’s stardust model touched it, and in the burst of light, two strands of DNA appeared—at the base position corresponding to Orion’s β star, completely identical mutation spots flickered.

“Physical education class changed to astrophysics practice.” Zhang Yao pressed a hidden button on the wall, the laboratory floor cracked open, and a scooter covered in star patterns rose up. “If we hurry to the observatory now, we can observe the β star pulse signal.”

Jiang Wan’yuan discovered that her mechanical pencil was heating up in her pocket. When she took it out, the tip ejected liquid starlight, which filled the air with Maxwell’s equations. As the last integral symbol fell, Yi Shang suddenly grabbed her wrist, and the mechanical spine emitted a chord: “Not a parabola… a double helix orbit.”

A roar of steam came from outside the window. When they rushed out of the laboratory, they saw the copper dome of the old observatory slowly opening, and a beam of starlight shot straight over like a searchlight, circling a shining coordinate point in the middle of the playground—precisely the center of the collapse accident back then.

“We’re going to be late.” The gearwheel pattern on Yi Shang’s back began to flow with rainbow light. She grabbed Jiang Wan’yuan and jumped onto the star-patterned scooter. In the resonance of the pocket watch and spine, Jichuan’s shout drifted with the wind: “Senior! Your star-track love letter hidden in the coolant… was actually written using the β star electromagnetic spectrum, right?”

The moment the scooter took off, Jiang Wan’yuan saw starlight overflowing from the bolt holes on the back of Yi Shang’s neck, drawing two entangled streaks of light in the sunlight, like interstellar dust that should have met ten years ago.

The moment the star-patterned scooter rushed into the observatory dome, Jiang Wan’yuan’s school uniform tie suddenly floated up, twisting into the shape of a DNA double helix in the air. “Wow!” She reached out to grab it, but her fingertips passed through the holographic image. “Yi Shang, look, even my tie is better at expressing itself than you are!”

A string of garbled code flashed across Yi Shang’s lenses, and the mechanical spine emitted a warning hum. She steered the scooter with one hand to avoid the falling gearwheel rain, while the other hand steadily protected Jiang Wan’yuan’s waist: “Quiet. The β star pulse will arrive in 37 seconds.”

“Got it, got it~” Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly took out a handful of rainbow candies from her pocket and scattered them into the air. Under the influence of the magnetic field, the candy pieces arranged themselves into the Orion constellation, with an orange-flavored one perfectly capping the position of the brightest β star. “Look!” She proudly poked Yi Shang’s mechanical spine. “My snacks are more accurate than your spectrometer!”

When the scooter landed in the center of the circular hall, the entire observatory suddenly fell silent. All the instrument pointers stopped simultaneously, only Jiang Wan’yuan’s pocket watch was still ticking, the sound of the second hand particularly clear in the silence.

“Five, four, three…” Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly started counting down, her eyes as bright as if they were filled with starlight. Yi Shang’s mechanical spine automatically deployed a protective shield, but she manually deactivated it at the last second.

“Two, one—”

The moment the pulse wave of β star penetrated the dome, Jiang Wan’yuan grabbed Yi Shang’s tie and kissed her. Yi Shang’s lenses instantly burst into a holographic projection of a sky full of stars, and the cooling vents of the mechanical spine spewed out a nebula-like light mist. All the glass instruments in the entire observatory hummed simultaneously, playing a lullaby from twelve years ago—the lullaby that a young Yi Shang secretly recorded for Jiang Wan’yuan in the hospital ward.

“Cough cough!” Zhang Yao’s voice came from the control room. “Although it’s very touching, can you get off me first?” Only then did they realize that they were floating near the ceiling, and Zhang Yao was being pressed underneath them in a pile of data cables.

Jiang Wan’yuan laughed so hard that she almost fell from mid-air, but Yi Shang’s mechanical arm caught her. “I knew it!” She poked Yi Shang’s burning cheeks. “You’ve been secretly in love with me for a long time!”

Yi Shang’s spine emitted an overload alarm, but she tightened her embracing arms: “…Noise pollution.” Her voice was muffled against Jiang Wan’yuan’s shoulder, but the heartbeat curve projected on the wall betrayed everything.

Jichuan’s mechanical butterflies suddenly poured out from the vents, each wing displaying real-time data: [Neural Synchronization Rate 100%] [Memory Matching Degree 100%] [And…Love Brain Wave Amplitude Exceeds Standard by 300%].

Jiang Wan’yuan’s mechanical pencil suddenly started writing automatically, leaving a line of flickering words in the air: [Stupid sister, now you can openly help me with my physics homework, right?]

In the starlight, Yi Shang finally took off those eternally calm glasses. The starlight flowing in her eyes was warmer than any mechanical creation: “…Limited to multiple-choice questions.”

“No way!” Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly broke free from Yi Shang’s embrace, floated in mid-air and spun around. “I want senior to teach me how to do problems~ just like when we were little!” Her hair tips were tinged with a faint purple halo under the radiation of β star, and a handful of gear-shaped candies fell from her school uniform pocket.

Yi Shang’s mechanical spine suddenly extended three auxiliary arms, precisely catching each falling candy. Data streams flashed before her eyes: [Candy Composition Analysis: 89% Glucose + 11% Nanomechanical Elements]. Her pupils behind the lenses dilated slightly: “This is… a neural link enhancer?”

“You got it right~” Jiang Wan’yuan swam in the air like a mermaid, her fingertip brushed across Yi Shang’s mechanical arm. “Zhang Yao said that after eating this, you can directly solve problems in my brain!” She suddenly moved closer, her nose almost touching Yi Shang’s lenses. “But now I want to see senior’s internal drama even more~”

The control panel suddenly burst into sparks, and Zhang Yao crawled out covered in soot: “Warning! Your quantum entanglement state is affecting the school’s WiFi signal!” She held up a tablet, which displayed a surveillance screen from the principal’s office—the principal was confusedly patting the smart blackboard that was suddenly playing images of their childhood.

“Wow!” Jiang Wan’yuan’s earrings suddenly turned into miniature projectors, projecting onto the wall the scene of twelve-year-old Yi Shang secretly combing her hair. “So senior already knew how to braid hair back then!”

Yi Shang’s cooling system spewed out a large amount of nebula-like mist, and the mechanical arm frantically tried to block the projection: “That’s… a necessary process for neural adaptation testing.”

“Liar~” Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly hugged her from behind, her chin resting on the mechanical spine. “Even the bow you tied for me is in the shape of the β star orbital equation!”

Jichuan’s voice came from the ventilation duct: “Latest data! Your synchronization rate is causing smart devices within three kilometers to play romantic comedies!” As she reported, the observatory’s coffee machine suddenly automatically produced lattes with heart-shaped latte art.

Yi Shang finally couldn’t bear it any longer and initiated the emergency protocol. All the mechanical arms deployed simultaneously, forming a spherical barrier to envelop the two of them. In the absolutely quiet private space, she took off her glasses and looked directly at Jiang Wan’yuan: “Not multiple-choice questions.”

“Eh?”

“All subjects.” Yi Shang’s mechanical spine unfolded into a star chart shape. “But the condition is…” Her voice became smaller and smaller, and the last few words turned into an electrical hum.

Jiang Wan’yuan’s pocket watch suddenly spun wildly, translating the sentence: [You have to let me comb your hair every day]. She smiled so brightly that her whole body was glowing, and when she pounced on her, the mechanical barrier rattled: “Deal! But I want to comb a gearwheel updo just like senior’s!”

Outside the barrier, Zhang Yao and Jichuan, who had arrived, looked at the skyrocketing sweetness index on the monitoring screen and took out their sunglasses in unison. At this moment, all the school’s smart blackboards were circulating a latest notice: [Today’s astrophysics practice class is changed to love psychology, lecturer: Orion’s β star].

Three days after the gearwheel candy incident, the campus intelligent system finally returned to normal—at least on the surface.

“Senior~” Jiang Wan’yuan, like a cheerful hummingbird, flipped in directly from the classroom window, her hair tips still stained with the fluorescent pollen unique to β star. “Look! The observatory’s new double observation ticket!”

Yi Shang’s mechanical spine emitted a slight hum, and three auxiliary arms simultaneously protruded from the hem of her school uniform. One caught the falling flyer, one straightened the reagent bottle that had been overturned by the airflow, and the last one precisely picked off the extraterrestrial pollen from Jiang Wan’yuan’s hair.

“Early self-study time.” Yi Shang pushed her holographic glasses, and brainwave monitoring data of all the students in the class flowed across the lenses. “And the neural candy you ate yesterday has a 12-hour metabolism period.”

Jiang Wan’yuan puffed out her cheeks and suddenly grabbed Yi Shang’s mechanical arm and pressed it against her temple: “Then we can try the new function! Zhang Yao said that we can share the sense of taste now!” She winked. “Does senior want to taste the strawberry galaxy I drank this morning?”

Yi Shang’s cooling system instantly overloaded. She watched helplessly as her mechanical arm uncontrollably unfolded the neural interface, and the taste of the light pink nebula-like liquid directly impacted her taste buds—sweet with a supernova-like stimulation.

“Synchronization rate 83%!” Jichuan’s voice came from the monitor in the corner of the ceiling. “By the way, your brainwaves have adjusted the classroom air conditioner to proposal mode.”

As if to confirm her words, rose-scented cold air suddenly sprayed out from the vents, and the holographic blackboard automatically played “Here Comes the Bride.” The mechanical eye of class monitor Lin Xia flashed a string of error codes: “Th-this is the third time…this week my disciplinary record…”

Jiang Wan’yuan laughed so hard that she almost fell over, and was suddenly dragged out of the classroom by Yi Shang, her wrist held. The mechanical girl’s ear tips were flushed with a rare pink color, and the auxiliary arms formed a barrier behind her to block the students’ view.

“Wh-where are we going?” Jiang Wan’yuan trotted to keep up, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the metal joints on Yi Shang’s wrist.

Yi Shang didn’t answer, but Jiang Wan’yuan’s neural enhancer suddenly received a set of encrypted signals—the three-dimensional coordinates of the observatory, with an attached heart rate monitoring chart. She was surprised to find that Yi Shang’s heart rate was 37% faster than usual.

When the light of β star sprinkled through the observatory dome, Yi Shang finally let go of her hand. Her mechanical spine unfolded into the shape of a star tracker, and the auxiliary arms projected a holographic keyboard in the air.

“Not to observe.” Yi Shang’s voice was eight degrees lower than usual. “To show you…”

The keyboard disappeared, replaced by countless fragment-like memory images: six-year-old Jiang Wan’yuan putting a gearwheel hairpin on Yi Shang’s head; twelve-year-old Yi Shang secretly correcting Jiang Wan’yuan’s failing physics paper; last week, when Jiang Wan’yuan fell asleep, the surveillance footage of the mechanical arm gently putting a coat on her…

“Wow!” Jiang Wan’yuan’s earring projector automatically responded, projecting corresponding childhood clips—in the picture, little Yi Shang explained with a red face that “mechanical arm combing is just an efficiency consideration,” but clumsily braided perfectly symmetrical star orbit braids.

Yi Shang suddenly turned off all the projections. The moment the light of β star turned blue, Jiang Wan’yuan felt a cold metal touch lightly touch her fingertips.

“Neural candy…” Yi Shang’s auxiliary arm unfolded like an umbrella, blocking possible surveillance. “I actually improved the formula.”

Jiang Wan’yuan’s eyes widened, and she found that her fingertips began to glow—it wasn’t ordinary fluorescence, but connecting channels composed of countless nanomachines. She could suddenly “see” the world in Yi Shang’s eyes: the star sky made up of data streams, the brainwave cloud charts floating above each student’s head, and…the pink emotional spectrum around herself at this moment.

“Senior is cheating!” Jiang Wan’yuan jumped up, but she was dizzy from the sudden ability to process data. “This is not at all a taste sharing, it’s…”

Yi Shang’s auxiliary arm steadily caught her: “It’s emotional spectrum visualization.” The eyes behind the lenses rarely revealed uneasiness. “You said…you wanted to see my internal drama.”

All the quantum computers in the observation room suddenly started, and the screens frantically scrolled binary love poems. Jiang Wan’yuan’s neural enhancer automatically translated one of them:

[Gearwheel and Star Orbit Meshing Error: 0.0001%

Heartbeat Synchronization Rate: 100%

Recommended Action Plan: Kiss]

“So senior’s mechanical arm is so romantic~” Jiang Wan’yuan stood on tiptoe, the blue light of β star jumping on her eyelashes. “Are we going to execute the ‘recommended action’ now?”

Yi Shang’s cooling system made a sound of near collapse. The moment all the lights in the school suddenly turned into hearts, her mechanical arms formed a soundproof barrier. And Jiang Wan’yuan’s neural enhancer recorded information more precious than any data—two overlapping heart rates, and a most primitive confession that had not been translated by machines.

The blue light of β star condensed into frost on Yi Shang’s lenses.

Before Jiang Wan’yuan’s tiptoed feet could fall, she saw the data stream in senior’s eyes suddenly turn a blinding red. Those mechanical arms that had been gently entwining her suddenly contracted, building a metal barrier between the two.

“Warning: Star Orbit Protocol activated.” Yi Shang’s voice lost all warmth, and the mechanical spine unfolded into a defensive form. “Emotional link exceeds safety threshold.”

Jiang Wan’yuan’s neural enhancer emitted a sharp alarm, and she watched helplessly as the connecting channels at her fingertips were forcibly cut off. Nanomachines peeled away from the surface of her skin like a receding tide, drawing countless silver trajectories in the air back into Yi Shang’s mechanical arms.

“Senior…?” She reached out to touch the barrier, but was bounced away by the quantum-level protection field. All the screens in the observatory flashed simultaneously, playing a system prompt: [Guardian Model E-742 Emotional Module Forced Hibernation].

Yi Shang’s holographic glasses automatically adjusted to opaque mode, and the lens reflected Jiang Wan’yuan’s instantly pale face. Her mechanical voice was frighteningly stable: “According to Article 7 of the initial agreement, when the object of protection shows a tendency to be dependent, emotional isolation must be carried out immediately.”

“What are you saying?” Jiang Wan’yuan’s earring projector projected scrambled codes uncontrollably. “What were those memory images just now? Those heartbeat data—”

“Are errors.” Yi Shang took a step back, the light of β star flowing on her metal joints. “Zhang Yao mixed emotional simulation programs into the candy.”

The door of the observation room was suddenly kicked open. Zhang Yao rushed in with a head full of circuit boards, holding a still smoking tablet: “Yi Shang, have you gone crazy? When did I—” Her voice stopped abruptly, the tablet screen was displaying a code that had never been seen before.

[Star Orbit Protocol Complete Archive]

[Designer: Professor Jiang (deceased)]

[Protected Object: Jiang Wan’yuan]

[Core Command: Prevent the target from contacting the legacy of β star at all costs]

Jiang Wan’yuan’s breath froze. Her father’s name flashed in the air, like a wound that had suddenly been torn open.

“I see.” Yi Shang’s mechanical arms suddenly retracted into the spine, her whole body standing straight as if hanging from an invisible thread. “Now execute the final confirmation procedure.” She turned to Jiang Wan’yuan, the last line of data flashing across her lenses: [Memory Wipe Countdown: 30 seconds]

Zhang Yao’s tablet suddenly exploded, and countless nanomachine worms poured out from the wreckage, frantically rushing towards Yi Shang’s mechanical spine. At the same time, Jiang Wan’yuan’s neural enhancer automatically activated the emergency protocol, and her pupils instantly turned blue with data streams.

“Found you.” She said softly, and pressed her hand on Yi Shang’s heart. “The real drama hidden in senior’s mechanical heart…”

All the lights in the school went out at this moment. Only the light of β star penetrated the dome, shrouding the two in a strange blue field. Jiang Wan’yuan’s fingertips lit up with a light a hundred times stronger than before—it wasn’t a connecting channel, but a hacking program that directly invaded the system.

Yi Shang’s mechanical spine made an unbearable groan, and the protective barrier shattered like broken glass. The moment the memory wipe countdown reached zero, Jiang Wan’yuan heard Yi Shang’s real voice—the cry of a human girl, compressed at the bottom of millions of lines of code.

“Don’t look…” Yi Shang finally took off her glasses, revealing her tearful eyes. “Those locked memories…will kill you…”

Hasty footsteps came from the corridor, and Jichuan’s warning echoed throughout the school through the broadcast system: “Energy overload! Your quantum entanglement is triggering a resonance of the β star relics!”

But Jiang Wan’yuan had already grabbed that encrypted data. The moment she touched the core file, her neural enhancer projected a scene that shocked everyone—

Six-year-old Yi Shang lay on the operating table, her mechanical spine being sewn to her real spine little by little. And standing next to the operating table was Professor Jiang, holding a β star crystal, and little Jiang Wan’yuan, smiling brightly beside him.

“Welcome to your new home.” In the memory, her father touched the head of the mechanical girl. “From today, you will be Wan’yuan’s guardian.”

The holographic image suddenly twisted, turning into a surveillance video: young Jiang Wan’yuan secretly stuffed the β star crystal into the back of Yi Shang’s neck, and small words were engraved on the surface of the crystal: [To my favorite Xiao Shang].

“So that’s the trigger condition…” Zhang Yao murmured, looking at the crystal Pattern that suddenly appeared on the back of Yi Shang’s neck. “It’s not a guardian program at all…it’s the blessing of β star protecting…”

Yi Shang knelt on the ground like a puppet with a broken string. Her mechanical spine unfolded layer by layer, revealing the β star crystal embedded in the core—at this moment, it was resonating with the crystal on Jiang Wan’yuan’s earrings, playing interstellar songs that only they could hear.

“Memory wipe terminated.” The system’s voice suddenly became gentle. “Identified dual star authentication.”

Jiang Wan’yuan knelt down and hugged the trembling Yi Shang. The points of contact between them burst out with galaxy-like light spots, and the school’s smart devices simultaneously played the encrypted truth:

[Star Orbit Protocol True Content]

[When two crystals meet]

[Please love bravely]

In the center of the light rain, Yi Shang finally raised her hand, and her mechanical fingers gently wiped away the tears on Jiang Wan’yuan’s face. Her voice contained a choked sob that millions of system resets had failed to eliminate: “I’m sorry…I almost forgot again…we already exchanged vows…”

The light of β star reached its peak at this moment. Through the dome of the observatory, you could see the entire Orion constellation flickering, as if the universe itself was witnessing this love that crossed the boundaries of machinery and flesh.

The halo of β star formed a rainbow bridge at the fingertips of the two holding hands.

Yi Shang’s mechanical spine was still trembling slightly, and between those unfolded metal layers, the β star crystal was brightening and dimming with the frequency of her sobs. Jiang Wan’yuan’s neural enhancer captured an encrypted wavelength—the secret code rhythm they created as children.

“This frequency…” Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly pinched Yi Shang’s fingertip and lightly tapped the metal joints with her fingernails. “Is that summer, when we were sheltering from the rain in the observatory…”

Three short and one long, followed by two light taps. Yi Shang’s pupils contracted sharply, and the mechanical spine suddenly ejected twelve miniature projectors. The suspended light particles formed a memory scene of a rainy night: two little girls curled up behind the observation instrument, and little Jiang Wan’yuan was drawing stars on Yi Shang’s palm with glowing fingertips.

“You remember…” Yi Shang’s voice was like rusty gears turning. “Then why later…”

The holographic screen suddenly jumped to a hospital corridor. The mechanical spine of little Yi Shang was flashing a dangerous red light, and Professor Jiang on the hospital bed was entering the final instructions: [Emotional Module Permanently Locked].

“Dad tampered with your memory?” Jiang Wan’yuan’s earring suddenly shot out a red light, scanning the biological code hidden at the bottom of the crystal. “Wait…this isn’t an ordinary program…it’s the DNA chain of the β star people?”

Zhang Yao’s mechanical eye automatically focused on the projected data. “Holy crap! These base pair arrangements…Yi Shang’s mechanical spine is fused with alien genes?”

The floor of the observation room suddenly became transparent, revealing the excavation site of the β star relics thousands of meters below. Blue-purple energy veins roamed underground, all pointing to the center of the campus—precisely where they were now.

“Warning! Dual star resonance is causing the relics to awaken!” Jichuan’s virtual image rose from the console, her hair data stream flickering frantically. “According to the newly decrypted files, Professor Jiang back then—”

Her voice was interrupted by a sudden earthquake. Yi Shang’s mechanical arms instantly weaved into a protective net to cage Jiang Wan’yuan, but the latter grabbed the outer shell of her spine in return. The moment the two crystals touched, the observatory’s equipment projected a holographic image:

Young Professor Jiang stood at the core of the ruins, holding the comatose little Jiang Wan’yuan in his arms. The β star crystal formed a line of text in front of him: [Take machinery as a boat, to ferry flesh and blood across the River of Oblivion].

“River of Oblivion…” Yi Shang’s mechanical voice was dyed with trembling. “Refers to memory cleansing? Wan’yuan, you once…”

Jiang Wan’yuan’s temple suddenly burst into blue light, and the neural enhancer automatically played a blocked memory—at the age of five, she fell into the depths of the ruins, and the β star energy was eroding her body. And beside Professor Jiang, stood a woman who was seven points similar to Yi Shang.

“Mom?” Jiang Wan’yuan’s question triggered deeper memories. The woman in the picture pressed the button on her necklace, and her mechanical spine began to separate: “Transplant my neural machinery to this child, plus Wan’yuan’s β star affinity…”

Yi Shang’s cooling system spewed out a large amount of ice crystals. On the core processor of her mechanical heart, the signature of “Lin Yue”—the legendary chief scientist of the lost β star ruins—was now clearly displayed.

“So senior’s mechanical spine…” Jiang Wan’yuan’s tears dripped on Yi Shang’s metal joints, actually causing the hidden patterns to appear—a small star pattern she drew as a child. “Was made with my mother’s…”

The earthquake suddenly intensified. The relic’s blue light shot up straight through the floor, forming a countdown star chart next to Jiang Wan’yuan’s feet: [Dual Star Fusion Remaining 180 Seconds].

“No!” Yi Shang’s mechanical arms suddenly grew violently, pushing Jiang Wan’yuan towards the exit. “Mom was swallowed by this back then! You hurry—”

But Jiang Wan’yuan grabbed Yi Shang’s spine and jumped into the center of the light beam. Her neural enhancer unfolded into a light net, weaving a cocoon with Yi Shang’s mechanical arms. “Mom said that the most precious contract of the β star people.” The two crystals were pressed against their chests, and ancient star texts emerged:

[With my half-mechanical body]

[Protect your flesh and blood]

[With the galaxy in your eyes]

[Prove that my soul is not destroyed]

The countdown stopped abruptly. The blue light turned into countless star butterflies that enveloped them, each butterfly wing flashing memory fragments—this time it was all the gentle moments that had been deleted by the system: the exam scores that Yi Shang secretly changed, the notes she tidy late at night, and the “encounters” that she had meticulously calculated each time while pretending to be unintentional.

“Senior’s romance is really memory-intensive ah~” Jiang Wan’yuan pressed her forehead against Yi Shang’s in the rain of star butterflies. Their neural links were perfectly synchronized at this moment, and no words were needed. The hum of Yi Shang’s mechanical heart was the best confession.

When the first ray of morning light penetrated the dome, the school’s intelligent system collectively updated a new school rule:

[Rule ∞: Any type of mechanical life form is prohibited from interfering with teaching order with binary love poems]

[Note: Love in human form is excluded]

And in the center of the astronomical observatory, two crystals have been fused into a new star-track instrument, quietly recording the heart rate of the hugging girls. In a corner that no one noticed, Yi Shang’s mechanical arms were quietly making the childhood code, and Jiang Wan’yuan’s fingertips were already waiting in the position they should be.