C3 – Z51 Molding Space
It was nearly ten o’clock when Wen Huaimu wearily made his way ho.
His family was a simple one: just his parents and himself.
His folks had been successfully running a fast-food joint for years, making them quite well-off.
That evening, only his mother, Ai Shayu, was ho, engrossed in a Korean drama on TV.
Upon hearing the door, Ai Shayu glanced over her shoulder and then refocused on her show, calling out, “Why so late today? Your dinner’s in the fridge. Heat it up yourself.”
Wen Huaimu grunted in acknowledgnt and headed straight for the kitchen.
After reheating his al, he carried it to his room and locked the door behind him.
This odd behavior piqued Ai Shayu’s curiosity, but the drama’s climax on TV soon recaptured her attention, overshadowing her concern for her son.
Alone in his room, Wen Huaimu devoured his al, all the while lost in thought as he stared at the blank wall across from him.
At fifteen, he was no longer a boy; he was a young man who demanded respect.
Strong as he was, there was no reason for anyone to push him around!
He was determined to get back at that despicable woman!
A whirlwind of chaotic thoughts swirled in Wen Huaimu’s head, yet he realized that executing such sches was virtually impossible in the real world.
His appetite vanished. He tossed his bowl aside and lay back on his bed, gazing emptily at the ceiling.
What was his next move?
Did he want to endure bullying until he finished school and started working?
The thought brought him pain, and in distress, he covered his face with his blanket and tossed and turned.
Wen Huaimu threw back the blanket and examined the ring on his finger.
A fortune-teller had given it to him that night. The ring’s design was simple, but its engravings were peculiarly intricate. Staring at it, it seed less like a ring and more like an abyss harboring esoteric secrets.
“What an odd ring. It hardly looks like an antique,” Wen Huaimu mused as he twirled the ring on his finger, his curiosity piqued.
Wen Huaimu’s body tensed as he stared in astonishnt at the ring on his finger.
Monts ago, it seed as if the patterns on the ring’s surface had briefly glowed. Was he imagining things?
But this ti, he was certain. It had definitely lit up.
Could this ring actually emit light?
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his finger as the briefly glowing ring seed to sprout a thorn, piercing his skin.
“Gene extraction?”
“Gene verification?”
“Genetic compatibility at 95%, verification successful. Z51 modding machine identity bound, owner confird.”
The chanical voice echoed, one announcent after another. Wen Huaimu then felt a mysterious connection form between himself and the ring, as if it had beco an extension of his own flesh.
“What in the world is happening?” Wen Huaimu was utterly bewildered.
“Master, the Z51 modding machine is now bound to you. Would you like to activate it?”
“Activate what?” Wen Huaimu asked, his question more reflex than thought.
“Owner confirmation received, molding space is now active,” the chanical voice intoned once more.
“It’s active?” Wen Huaimu mumbled, still trying to grasp the situation.
Regardless of Wen Huaimu’s reaction, the ring continued its display. A sequence of lights flashed, and a luminous gateway materialized before him.
Wen Huaimu was astounded; the scene before him far surpassed his limited understanding.
For a fleeting mont, he wondered if this was an alien invasion, the stuff of legends—a space tunnel, perhaps!
“The molding space is open, Master. Please step inside,” the chanical voice instructed.
Wen Huaimu inhaled deeply.
Despite his amazent at the bizarre spectacle, the voice’s directive helped him focus.
He could at least be sure this wasn’t an extraterrestrial incursion. Aliens wouldn’t acknowledge him as their master.
His curiosity piqued, Wen Huaimu felt drawn to the enigmatic portal of light.
What could it be? The odd prophecy from the fortune-teller now seed to click into place in his mind—a serendipitous adventure!
Could he have encountered a figure of legend?
He wavered, torn between the desire to step through the light and discover its secrets, and the innate human fear of the unknown. If the gateway led not to treasure but to a monster, his fate would be far from fortunate.
“I’m going in. If it’s a trap, death might be a welco escape from this life!” After a long contemplation, Wen Huaimu clenched his jaw and stepped through the portal of light.
Instantly, a blinding flash transported him into an alien space. It was a pristine, white room, roughly the size of a small apartnt, housing four towering machines that blinked with red and yellow lights.
Beneath these machines stood four massive Crystal Cabinets, their translucent beauty captivating. Wen Huaimu gaped, his eyes darting around in bewildernt.
“Welco, Master, to the Z51 Molding Space, a premium product of the Interstellar Empire. This is one of only thirty such spaces, and you are its sole registered user,” announced a chanical voice.
He spun to find a small tallic sphere hovering before him, a red pinpoint of light on its surface staring back like an eye.
Accustod to the shock by now, Wen Huaimu felt an odd sense of ease. He pondered briefly before inquiring, “Who are you?”
“Master, I am your Spatial Intelligence, here to assist with the managent of all space operations,” the sphere replied in its robotic tone.
“Could you explain the purpose of the Z51 Molding Space?” Wen Huaimu asked, his voice tinged with excitent.
“The Z51 Molding Space exists to execute your commands, Master, creating various talent-requisite power devices.”
“How does one mold talent?” Wen Huaimu was taken aback. Could people be molded too?
“Master, please approach and review the instruction manuals located in front of each piece of equipnt. They are there to help you beco acquainted with the machinery. I can handle the actual operations,” the sphere instructed.
“Do you have a na?” Wen Huaimu suddenly realized he didn’t know how to refer to this entity and asked.
“Z51 Molding Intelligence.”
“Then I’ll call you Coldy,” Wen Huaimu decided, inspired by the sphere’s chanical voice.
“Z51 Molding Intelligence will now be known as Coldy, as per the Master’s command. The data has been updated,” the sphere’s red ‘eye’ blinked in acknowledgnt.
Wen Huaimu exhaled, a sense of authority settling over him. It appeared that he truly was in control here, even able to rena the Spatial Intelligence to his liking.
Wen Huaimu wandered around the stark white room, quickly realizing he didn’t recognize a single piece of equipnt. With no other option, he picked up so docunts resting atop the machinery and began to peruse them slowly.
The room’s equipnt had a cutting-edge appearance, yet the descriptions were surprisingly straightforward. After reviewing the material, Wen Huaimu gained a basic understanding of the machines.
There were four primary machines in the room, categorized broadly as small, dium, large, and alien. Each corresponded to a Crystal Cabinet of varying sizes.
The Crystal Cabinets were designed for four distinct statures. The smallest was about one ter twenty-three, roughly the height of a young teenager, while the largest stretched over two ters, nearing three—heights he couldn’t fathom in any person he knew.
Staring at the machines, Wen Huaimu was montarily at a loss for words. Finally, he turned to his companion and inquired, “Coldy, what kind of talent can these machines produce?”
In a tone as chanical as the room’s ambiance, Coldy responded, “Which type are you referring to?”
“How about this one?” Wen Huaimu asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“The small molding machine is capable of creating beings of any race under 1.3 ters tall. It’s programd with one hundred thirteen such races identified by the Interstellar Empire. Here’s the interface,” Coldy explained.
As Coldy’s voice echoed, a holographic interface materialized before the small molding machine. Dozens of unfamiliar racial nas scrolled before Wen Huaimu’s eyes.
He scanned the strange nas, feeling lost, until one suddenly stood out—a na he recognized, shining like a beacon among the unknown.
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