Chapter Twenty-Three: The Strength of Azure Star

Li Daoran paid no mind to what Chen Ming had said; in fact, he even found it somewhat comforting. Chen Ming was someone who could understand him.

Nonetheless, he stood up, eyes blazing with anger, and spoke: “And you still have the nerve to say anything? Do you remember what you told me before you left last time? What’s this business about the technological gap not being that big? Explain to me what you meant by ‘not that big a gap’? Yes, I know you all—no, we humans—are extraordinary. If that world were some ancient, barbaric land, or a war-torn feudal era, I wouldn’t be worried at all.

Because I know, so long as I follow your instructions, leading humanity to rise and dominate the wilds, or even becoming emperor and unifying the world, none of it would be a problem. In fact, I could just lie back and wait for you all to draw up a plan, and it would be done. Even if there were some setbacks, I would never doubt our ability to succeed.”

He paused to catch his breath, then continued, “But now? No matter how hard I try, I feel nothing but confusion and fear about the future. Because I see no hope. Mechs, achievements—aside from those two complimentary injections at the start, I haven’t accomplished anything. I can’t even manage to live off someone else properly.”

A snort of laughter escaped.

The five people turned toward the doorway, where Tamm—towering like a mountain—stood expressionless, as if he hadn’t just failed to stifle a laugh. The room fell quiet for a moment.

Li Daoran’s fervor faded, replaced by dejection, as he said, “I really am just an ordinary person. Thirty kilometers is already my absolute limit. Doing seven hundred push-ups in an hour is killing me; I’ve pushed myself so hard.

But even if I forced myself, I could maybe do a thousand push-ups in an hour—but two thousand? I know I can’t. And as for the eighth-level mecha’s minimum requirement of thirty reps per second, that’s completely beyond me. If I could, I would have given up long ago. But you keep reminding me—I can’t. Not only can I not give up, I have to achieve it. So why can’t someone else do it? Tell me, why?”

There was no hysteria in his questioning, only a low, doubtful voice. His eyes, unfocused and lost, cast a heavy silence across the room.

“Natasha, are you ready?” Chen Ming suddenly asked.

“Yes, all done. We can continue,” Natasha replied.

Li Daoran looked at Chen Ming in confusion.

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“It’s just a requirement from the Propaganda Department. After all, you stopped livestreaming as soon as you came back, and the public is very curious about your daily life and mental state. So Natasha records the moments worth commemorating, and later, professional actors will artistically adapt them for broadcast. She was just recording earlier.”

Natasha nodded, and with uncanny precision and mimicry, flawlessly reenacted Li Daoran’s earlier confession, word for word.

If Li Daoran could relive his time, he would choose to erase two moments: one, the ambush on Liu Meng; the other, that confession just now.

The most embarrassing moment for a person is acting out while drunk, but what’s worse is having someone recount your antics to you once you’re sober.

“Come on, don’t look so glum. I thought what you said was great! Just teasing you, of course we wouldn’t broadcast it like that. What about our morale? It would cause panic,” Chen Ming said with a smile.

“Really?” Li Daoran eyed Chen Ming skeptically.

“Of course,” Chen Ming replied with conviction. But things would be different once everything stabilized—he kept that thought to himself.

Li Daoran breathed a long sigh of relief. “Alright then, I’m done. Now it’s your turn.”

David turned on the screen, pulled out a tablet, and connected it. A prepared presentation appeared.

David began his explanation: “Mr. Li, I can’t quite understand your anxiety. From my perspective, your worries stem from a lack of knowledge. I must admit, your country has done well in basic education, but in truth, you have no idea what cutting-edge science and technology can accomplish. Many of our people may seem unbelievably foolish, but there are plenty of geniuses like me.”

Li Daoran frowned. The words rubbed him the wrong way, but seeing Chen Ming nodding in agreement, he held his tongue.

“First of all, let me explain what you may think are their most advanced technologies. 3D imaging technology—we can achieve it, but it’s extremely costly, so we can’t popularize it. I’m envious that their tiny energy cells can provide so much power. It’s unbelievable. According to my calculations, the energy contained in the watch on your wrist already exceeds what a small nuclear power plant could supply in a month.”

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“Next, the mechs that struck you hardest—they are beautiful, truly beautiful. To me, they embody mechanical aesthetics and fulfill my fantasies about mecha. But once I took them apart and examined them, I realized: all that glitters is not gold. Did I use that saying correctly?” David said smugly.

“Carry on, ‘Nine-Leak Fish’,” Li Daoran couldn’t help but jab at David.

“Nine-Leak Fish? Is that a type of fish? Nine leaks? Is there a deeper meaning? You don’t have to explain. I’ll figure it out. It must be a compliment,” David muttered, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Just keep going. You can ponder it on your own time,” Chen Ming chided, barely suppressing a laugh.

David scratched his head and continued: “Look at this mech—my favorite, the Vanguard. The technology in the eighth-generation mechs has only just begun to impress me; at last, it’s almost on par with our latest tech, even surpassing us in some areas. As for anything below the eighth generation, we can build them, but we can’t get them running—the same old issue: energy. So I won’t mention those.

Let’s look at the engine. What can I say? There’s no sense of beauty—just brute force. A simple structure paired with an energy cell achieves power we’d never dare to dream of. Honestly, anyone who loves the aesthetics of raw power would be ecstatic to see it.

Next, the transmission system. It’s remarkable—far superior to ours. With our current technical reserves, we couldn’t produce such a variety of mechs for operational use. However, the transmission system isn’t difficult to learn. There are no technical barriers. We’re working hard to deconstruct and innovate.

Then, the weapons systems. Daoran’s world has its own unique energy system, so their research focuses are different—mainly energy weapons, completely unlike our traditional physical artillery. The two worlds have taken divergent paths, so there’s not much to compare. But I do think their weapons systems are better—they don’t devastate an entire planet after a war, nor leave enduring poisons. Their energy is essentially the purest, so no matter how powerful, it won’t cause irreparable harm to the environment.”

“The weapon development in Daoran’s world follows a clear trajectory. Their weapons were originally focused on long-range attacks, but the advent of a single technology—energy shield—disrupted that balance. Development then became a game of spear and shield, with both sides reaching a bottleneck and settling into equilibrium. Or rather, the shield system gained the upper hand—defense is always easier than offense.

Look at this video: both sides’ mechs fire at each other, both shielded, so ranged attacks are largely ineffective. At this point, they close in and grapple. A more advanced mech uses a chainsaw-powered sword—what I like to call a ‘ship-cleaving blade’—for a fatal blow.

From this, we can infer that energy shields offer no protection against physical attacks. But why hasn’t Daoran’s world developed weapons like our rocket launchers or other physical systems? Our hypothesis is that Daoran’s world lacks gunpowder—just as we lack energy cells, they have no gunpowder. So, in terms of weaponry, each world has its strengths and weaknesses.”