Ye Cheng was stunned by how cleanly the young man dropped to one knee.
She'd heard it from others and seen it in writing, but she'd assumed the word "slave" wouldn't map to some ancient, backward system in a society advanced enough for rampant mechs. The slave she'd personally selected shattered that assumption the moment he appeared.
The boy, about her age in her former life, knelt with perfect form, head bowed in absolute submission, as if he were used to living below others. The black collar at his throat and the scars across his back were too stark. Ye Cheng felt a twist in her chest.
"With that, the contract is complete. From today, he is your private property. Ms. Zhou will take you home shortly." Aili spoke at an even pace, each word precise. Facing Ye Cheng again, her tone gentled. "In three months Yilan Star's schools will hold entrance exams for new students. Regardless of your results, the government will guarantee your right to study. But if you want 'Astral Academy'—a top‑tier institution—you'll have to earn it yourself. Also, your father Mr. Ye Zhiqiu's treatment costs will be fully covered by the government. We sincerely hope you'll keep your spirits up."
"Thank you, Ms. Aili." Ye Cheng bowed. Aili stepped forward to return the courtesy, then nodded to Aunt Zhou and departed with her team.
Aunt Zhou patted Ye Cheng's shoulder in a small gesture of comfort, then tapped the Subspace Ring at her wrist. A plain black coat dropped to the floor.
Yang Yu stood, bowed to Aunt Zhou—who had already taken Ye Cheng by the hand and turned to go—and only then picked up the coat and slipped it on. He followed without a word.
The instant they stepped outside the hospital, the world drew Ye Cheng's attention and wouldn't let go. She felt like she didn't have enough eyes—or brain—to take it in all. Flight vehicles and light‑trails braided across the sky in ordered layers. There weren't many pedestrians. Floating ads drifted in the air: food, clothing, housing, transport—and, impossibly, interstellar mech MMOs.
An autonomous light‑track cab glided them toward their destination. Yang Yu sat silent as a statue. From warm, talkative Aunt Zhou, Ye Cheng collected tidbits: their place was a lake‑view home in a convenient district; if she didn't feel like going out, delivery bots could bring meals, water, clothing—any civilian goods she wanted; District A had full access to the interstellar network for browsing other worlds' infosphere or taking remote classes…
Ye Cheng kept a straight face while her heart did cartwheels. A home with a lake view and spring in the air! Broadband and takeout on tap! Maybe there'd even be no mortgage! Heaven had punted her into the far future and sicced a giant rhino on her, but it hadn't been entirely unkind.
Also… she flicked a glance at Yang Yu across from her, then quickly shifted it to the window—she seemed to have acquired an extremely easy‑on‑the‑eyes attendant.
Aunt Zhou walked Ye Cheng to the door, urged her to settle in and call anytime, then turned to Yang Yu. "Your owner paid to use an Advanced Therapeutic Unit so you'd recover this quickly. Be grateful. Always watch your owner's condition. If necessary, I specifically permit you to contact me over her head. Understood?"
"Yes," Yang Yu said.
Aunt Zhou added a few more reminders, then left them—one tall, one short—staring at each other on the threshold.
Ye Cheng tipped her head back to look at the silent youth and held out her hand. "Hello. I'm Ye Cheng. You're mine now?"
Yang Yu didn't take the hand. He shifted, as if to kneel again, and Ye Cheng hurriedly caught his arm. When he glanced at her, she guided him to the panel by the door and said earnestly, "Don't be nervous. I just wanted to ask… how do I open it?"
He paused. The corner of his mouth seemed to twitch. He gently took her wrist and waved her Subspace Ring over a small sensor. A lilting chime sounded. The vintage brown wood door swung inward.
Ye Cheng had expected a stark, cold, minimalist apartment—her body's father was a scientist, after all. Instead, a tender green potted plant sat on the entry cabinet, and a pastel‑pink wall display showed a calendar in a cartoon rabbit theme. Farther in, beige curtains stirred; sunlight spilled through and set dust motes adrift above the table.
Her gaze slid back to the calendar by the door. Each date had a tiny illustration next to the number. The last darkened square stopped a few days ago. Curious, she reached out and tapped today.
A gentle male voice chimed: "Today is Xiao Cheng's birthday. Remember to buy a present tonight."
Ye Cheng's finger trembled. A soft, hazy candle glow lit in the back of her mind—too distant and blurred to bring the faces by the flame into focus.
How long had her real parents been gone?
She tapped the previous date.
"Return trip today. Take Xiao Cheng to the hospital for her routine checkup, and get a haircut while we're at it."
The day before that.
A short melody, no message.
She kept tapping back until the day they left.
"Taking Xiao Cheng on a trip today. We'll pass Golden Star XI. From a distance it's a beautiful world. Once we board, I'll point it out to her."
Ye Cheng drew a long breath and curled her hand into a fist. "Today… is my birthday."
"Please wait a moment," Yang Yu said from behind her, and strode past.
Ye Cheng swapped into soft grass‑green house slippers, drifted into the living room, and stared at the little plant on the coffee table. After a while, she pinched herself twice—yep, that hurt—smacked her forehead, and sprinted for the kitchen.
What was she doing zoning out when the other party was injured?!
She burst into the kitchen to find Yang Yu already moving, fast and sure, while she had no idea where to begin.
The doorbell rang. Yang Yu came out, crossed the foyer in three steps, opened the door, and glanced back at Ye Cheng. "Owner, payment please. The groceries."
This time she didn't need instruction. She held her left wrist up to the delivery bot's head. The bot beeped, spun twice, and toddled off, chipper.
Yang Yu scooped up the bags and tossed, "Thank you, Owner," before disappearing into the kitchen like a gust. Ye Cheng scurried after him.
From past to future, a kitchen was a kitchen. Even though the ads on the ride home had told her you could live on pastes, gels, and pressed blocks of synthetic nutrition, traditional food clearly still reigned; the tools in this kitchen were ones she knew. Appetite had always been a human pursuit.
Yang Yu's hands moved deftly as he cooked. Watching him a moment, Ye Cheng grew curious about his past. She looked down and started fiddling with her Subspace Ring.
She pressed a small button; a pale‑blue holo‑screen unfolded, showing her personal profile. She skimmed, didn't dive into her own details, and instead flipped to Assets → Contracted Slaves to pull up Yang Yu's file.
Nineteen years old. Mixed‑blood. He'd had three owners; all three had died. Ye Cheng was the fourth.
The first, a mine owner from a minor planet under the New Human United Nations, had been killed in a dispute.
The second was a regular student studying on Yilan Star, fond of plant and animal research. He'd joined a hobbyist botany expedition. On departure day he'd left Yang Yu in the city to handle procedures and entered the forest with the group. The entire expedition vanished en route. Three days later, rescue teams found they had all died in the bellies of exotic beasts. For that, Yang Yu was convicted of dereliction, jailed for a month.
The third—and most recent—had the surname Yang; he'd given Yang Yu his current name. He was the only son of a mech manufacturer under the NHUN, terminally ill and recuperating on Yilan Star.
After his father died, he inherited a fortune. Unwilling to wait to die in one place, he took a few attendants and slave Yang Yu traveling across the stars. On the return leg of a long trip, heading for the hospital, pirates hit their ship. The young man refused to surrender, shoved the wounded Yang Yu into an escape pod, and blew his ship—and himself—rather than be taken.
Yang Yu crash‑landed on Golden Star XI and went back to old work in the mines to survive. Later, after saving up, he returned to Yilan Star.
Despite clear evidence that his former owner had personally forced him into the pod and voluntarily rammed the pirates, the tribunal still found Yang Yu grossly derelict. They wiped his accumulated United Credit Points, demoted him to the lowest slave tier, and sentenced him to three rounds of whipping at a penal facility—fifty lashes per round.
He'd taken the last round only days ago. If Ye Cheng hadn't picked him and paid for treatment, he'd have been stuck face‑down in bed for half a month.
Ye Cheng looked up at Yang Yu's busy back, then down again and skimmed the interstellar network on the holo‑screen for laws on slavery. After a quick scan, she turned and slipped out.
Five minutes later, she came back into the kitchen carrying a civilian healing unit and set it up behind him.
Yang Yu's hands stilled. He started to turn, but Ye Cheng spoke first. "From today, you're my person. No kneeling in my house. I'll open a monthly allowance of 500 Union Credits for you from my account. If you need to make a big purchase, come to me for payment. Also, you don't need to sleep on my floor. I prefer sleeping alone. Let's see—the guest room on the second floor should work, right?"
"I—"
"If your United Credit Points are too low to do anything, I'll figure it out. Lastly, about changing your name with each owner—I think 'Yang Yu' is great. It's just, back home we have a food called yangyu—potato. Mind if I call you 'Tudoudou' in private?"
"Whatever pleases Owner."
The healing unit was heavy; Ye Cheng's arms ached from holding it. "Any better?"
Yang Yu finally stopped moving. "Better," he said quietly, then stepped aside to show her the counter.
A neat, beautiful cake sat there—smooth white cream, jewel‑bright candied fruit, delicate piped borders in glossy color. It was only a small piece, exactly one serving.
Ye Cheng's eyes widened. "You can bake?"
Yang Yu thought, Didn't you even glance at what you were paying for?
It was a bad habit of Ye Cheng's. In her previous life, her parents' legacy had covered her modest needs, and she had a few trickles of income besides. She rarely paid attention when buying small things.
With her health poor and her parents divorced and gone early, she'd had few desires. She drifted, with only two or three casual friends and no deep ties. A birthday cake… who knew how many years it had been. Faced with the miracle of a cake, her brain shorted a little.
Beside it sat a bowl of fried rice—each grain kissed gold, flecked with scallion—a decent presentation, but clearly far less effort than the cake.
Noticing her glance at the rice, Yang Yu bowed his head. "My apologies. I… haven't eaten in two days." Right on cue, his stomach rumbled.
Ye Cheng blinked, then stepped aside and pushed the bowl toward him. "Eat. Now."
He was clearly starving. He grabbed the chopsticks, lifted the bowl, turned away, and dug in without a word. Ye Cheng found a bright little knife, cut off a small piece of cake onto a side plate, and slid it toward him.
Yang Yu glanced over. Ye Cheng gave her first real smile in days. "Borrowed flowers to offer the Buddha."
He caught the cake with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. Behind him, Ye Cheng stood and ate cake too. Honestly, she was hungry as well.
After they finished, they worked together to tidy Ye Cheng's room, then Yang Yu firmly barred her from lifting another finger. She was exhausted anyway, so she obeyed—bath first for her, while he went to set up the second‑floor guest room.
In the bathroom, Ye Cheng ignored all the fancy options and chose the most traditional shower. Only under the hot water did she finally loosen.
Too much for one day. She was done thinking. After, she flash‑dried her hair with the unit by the mirror, flopped onto the soft bed, and dropped straight into sleep.
Yang Yu's room had its own bath. When he finished, he tapped his Subspace Ring and a simple duffel appeared on the floor. Its contents were plain at a glance: a few changes of clothes, a black longsword, a scatter of personal odds and ends, nothing more.
A slave's Subspace Ring had no secrets; the owner had full access. The fact that Ye Cheng hadn't bothered to check surprised him.
He shrugged off his coat in the bathroom, glanced in the mirror, and stilled at the sight of the still‑open wounds across his back.
So his new owner truly did lack common knowledge.
When did the penal facility's lashes amount to "just whipping"? The special lash carried Elemental Energy at Fifth Tier, Chaoshi‑grade. How could a household healing unit at Third Tier, Liming‑grade possibly handle that?
Yang Yu flicked his fingers. A bead of silver‑gold mist gathered at his fingertip, then unraveled into threads that wound over his body, fusing gently into the torn flesh on his back. The whip marks knit at a speed the eye could follow; moments later, his skin was whole again.
He checked the mirror, satisfied, and turned on the shower. Steam blossomed in the bright bathroom.
—