Chapter 3: A Different Earth
The walk to school gave Lin Feng his first real look at this altered world, and every block revealed something that made his programmer's mind spin with questions.
Hover cars. Not many—maybe one out of every fifty vehicles—but they were there, gliding a meter above the street with a soft humming sound that reminded Lin Feng of electric motors but smoother, more refined. In his original world, hover technology had been purely theoretical, something that appeared in concept videos and never quite made it past the prototype stage.
Here, an elderly woman was parallel parking one into a tight space with casual ease, the vehicle's anti-gravity plates doing most of the work.
"Stop gawking," his mother said, tugging on his hand. "You've seen hover cars before. Come on, or you'll be late."
Right. Of course. In this world, eight-year-old Lin Feng would have seen these things his entire life. They'd be normal, unremarkable, like smartphones or laptops had been in his old world.
But to someone who'd died in 2048 in a world where the most advanced personal transportation was electric cars, this was science fiction made real.
They passed a bus stop where the display wasn't a simple LED screen but a holographic projection floating in mid-air, showing arrival times and routes with crystal clarity. A teenager stood in front of it, waving her hands to interact with the interface, scrolling through options with gestures that looked like something out of a movie.
"Mom," Lin Feng said carefully, "what year is it?"
His mother gave him that look again, the one that was equal parts concern and exasperation. "2050, Lin Feng. Just like it was yesterday. Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"
So not too far off from when he'd died in his original world. But the technology level was at least a decade ahead, maybe more. How had that happened? What had driven such rapid advancement?
The answer came to him almost immediately: the mechas. The Land of Origin.
If humanity had been fighting for survival in another dimension, competing with alien races for resources and territory, of course that would accelerate technological development. War always did. The space race, the internet, GPS—all military innovations that had eventually filtered into civilian life.
They reached the elementary school, a building that Lin Feng remembered as rundown and underfunded. But this version was different—cleaner, better maintained, with solar panels covering the roof and what looked like reinforced construction. Even the playground equipment looked newer, sturdier.
"I'll pick you up at three," his mother said, giving him a quick hug. "Pay attention in class, okay? And if you start feeling sick, tell your teacher immediately."
"I will, Mom."
He watched her walk away, then turned to face the school. Groups of children were scattered across the playground, playing games that looked mostly familiar. Tag. Jump rope. Trading cards.
But some things were different. A group of boys in the corner were playing with toy mechas—not the simple action figures Lin Feng remembered from his childhood, but sophisticated models with movable parts and what looked like LED lights in their chests. They were staging an elaborate battle, complete with sound effects and dramatic narration.
"Then the Tier 15 Assault Frame charged forward, its plasma cannons blazing!" one boy shouted, making explosion noises.
"But the Tier 18 Guardian Shield blocked the attack!" another countered, holding up a defensive-type mecha toy. "No way your Frame breaks through Guardian-class armor!"
"Does so! Assault types have armor penetration!"
"Not against an eighteen-tier difference, stupid!"
Lin Feng drifted closer, listening. The boys were arguing about game mechanics with the kind of passionate intensity that only children could muster for play. But the terms they were using—tiers, frame types, armor penetration—suggested they weren't just making things up. This was based on something real.
"My dad's a Tier 12 pilot," one of the boys said proudly. "He showed me his mecha's specs once. Assault frames can penetrate up to five tiers above their level if they hit a weak point."
"That's nothing. My uncle is Tier 15," another boy bragged. "He works for Azure Sky Industries clearing beast dens in the Green Valley Zone."
"Yeah, well, my older brother's going to be a pilot soon. He's turning eighteen next month. His awakening ceremony is in three weeks."
The conversation continued, but Lin Feng had heard enough. He moved away, his mind cataloging information.
Tiers as measurement of power. Different frame types—Assault, Guardian, presumably others. Corporations that hired pilots for dangerous work. Awakening ceremonies at eighteen.
This world's entire social structure seemed built around these mechas.
The school bell rang, and Lin Feng followed the stream of children inside. The hallways were decorated with educational posters, but instead of the periodic table or multiplication charts, he saw diagrams of different mecha types. Classifications like "Assault," "Defense," "Support," "Speed," each with a description of their typical characteristics and roles.
One poster caught his attention:
KNOW YOUR MECHA TYPES
Assault: High offense, moderate defense. Specializes in direct combat.
Defense: High durability, lower offense. Protects allies and holds positions.
Support: Energy transfer, healing, buffs. Force multiplier in teams.
Speed: High mobility, lower defense. Scout and assassination roles.
Balanced: Average in all stats. Adaptable to various situations.
So even before awakening, children were being taught about mechas. It made sense—if everyone would get one at eighteen, preparation would start early.
Lin Feng found his classroom—Third Grade, Room 7—and slipped inside. The teacher, a middle-aged woman whose name Lin Feng couldn't quite remember, was already starting the morning attendance. He took a seat near the back, still observing everything with the eyes of an outsider.
The classroom itself was more advanced than the schools he remembered. Each desk had a built-in tablet interface, and the blackboard was actually a massive touch screen that the teacher controlled with a stylus and gestures. When she pulled up the day's math lesson, the numbers and equations appeared in crisp, clear resolution, color-coded and animated.
"Today we're going to learn about percentages," the teacher announced. "This is an important skill that you'll use throughout your life, especially if you become mecha pilots. Understanding energy percentages, hit probability, and efficiency ratings is crucial for survival in the Land of Origin."
Even basic math education was tied to mechas and combat. This society was completely oriented around them.
Lin Feng barely paid attention to the actual lesson—he'd learned percentages twenty years ago, after all. Instead, he spent the time thinking, planning, trying to understand the full scope of the world he'd woken up in.
At lunch, he sat alone in the cafeteria, methodically eating while eavesdropping on conversations around him.
"—my sister's mecha manifested last month. She got a Support type, which is kind of lame, but at least she has good potential. The testers said she might reach Tier 20—"
"—did you see the news about the Tianwu Dynasty? They attacked another human outpost in the Eastern Territories. My dad says there might be a war—"
"—Azure Sky Industries is recruiting again. They're offering huge bonuses for anyone who awakens with Tier 15 or higher potential—"
Every conversation was the same. Mechas, the Land of Origin, other races, corporations. It was all anyone talked about because it was all that mattered.
In his old world, people talked about careers, about college, about normal things. Here, everything was about awakening, about what kind of pilot you'd become, about whether you'd be strong enough to matter.
The social hierarchy was clear: mecha pilots at the top, with status determined by tier. Everyone else existed to support them.
And in four years—when Lin Feng would have been twelve in his original timeline—his father would die. The training accident that had destroyed his family's stability, that had sent his mother into depression and poverty, that had derailed any chance Lin Feng had at a good education.
Unless he could prevent it.
But to prevent it, he needed to understand this world. Needed to know what dangers existed, what had caused the accident, how to change the future.
He had ten years before his own awakening. Ten years to prepare, to learn, to become strong enough to protect the people he loved.
After school, Lin Feng didn't go straight home. Instead, he detoured to the public library, claiming he needed books for a project. His mother had looked suspicious but had allowed it, probably just relieved he was showing initiative.
The library was a revelation. Entire sections were dedicated to mecha studies—textbooks on pilot theory, historical accounts of major battles in the Land of Origin, technical manuals on mecha maintenance and optimization. All of it public information, available to anyone who wanted to learn.
Lin Feng grabbed an armful of basic texts and found a quiet corner. He had a lot of reading to do.
"Introduction to Soul Space Mechanics" was the first book he opened.
Every human is born with a dormant mecha existing in their soul space—a mental dimension unique to each individual. The mecha remains inactive until the eighteenth birthday, at which point it undergoes a transformation called "awakening." During awakening, the mecha manifests its true form, and the individual gains the ability to consciously access their soul space and synchronize with their mecha.
The size, type, and potential of each mecha is unique. While genetic factors play a role—children of high-tier pilots often have higher potential—awakening can surprise even expert predictors. There have been cases of children from non-pilot families awakening Tier 20+ mechas, while the offspring of elite pilots sometimes manifest weak or average potential.
Mecha tiers range from 1 to an unknown upper limit. The highest confirmed tier achieved by a human pilot is currently Tier 43, reached by the Three Pillars of Humanity...
Lin Feng read voraciously, his programmer's mind organizing information into logical structures. Mechas were measured by tiers, with each tier representing a significant jump in power. Energy capacity increased with each tier. Equipment could be upgraded through drops from defeated beasts in the Land of Origin.
The Land of Origin itself was described as an "infinite dimensional space" accessible through portals that had appeared simultaneously around the world sixty years ago, in 1990. Before that, humans had been ordinary—no mechas, no soul space, just regular people.
The portals had changed everything.
Through them had come monsters—creatures called beasts that ranged from relatively weak Tier 1 creatures to god-like entities that even the Three Pillars couldn't defeat. But the portals also led to vast territories rich with resources that didn't exist on Earth: Chaos Crystals that could enhance mecha potential, rare materials for equipment crafting, even technology from ancient civilizations that had once existed in the Land of Origin.
And humans weren't alone in that space. Other races competed for the same resources: Genetic Evolvers who modified their bodies, Magic Users who wielded elemental forces, Martial Artists with supernatural techniques, and more. Each race controlled territory, built outposts, fought wars over resources.
It was a multidimensional battleground, and Earth had been conscripted into the fight whether it wanted to or not.
Lin Feng closed the book and leaned back, his mind reeling.
This world was dangerous. Far more dangerous than his original Earth had been. Here, you couldn't just live a quiet life as a programmer, coding in obscurity. When you turned eighteen, you awakened a mecha whether you wanted one or not. And once you awakened, you were expected to fight, to contribute to humanity's expansion and defense.
Those who awakened weak mechas became second-class citizens. Those who awakened strong ones became elites, courted by military and corporations alike.
And those who refused to fight? Well, from what Lin Feng had read, there wasn't really an option to refuse. The social pressure alone would crush anyone who tried to avoid their duty.
His father was a military pilot, Tier 15 according to what the boy on the playground had said. That was considered quite strong—in the top few percentiles of humanity. But in four years, he'd die in a training accident.
Or would he?
The books had mentioned that mecha damage could be fatal. If the soul mecha was destroyed while synchronized, the psychological trauma could kill the pilot or leave them catatonic. Even severe damage could cause permanent injury or disability.
Is that what had happened to his father? Had the "training accident" actually been his mecha getting destroyed?
Lin Feng needed more information. Specific information about his father's unit, about the training exercises they ran, about what might go wrong.
But he was eight years old. He couldn't exactly demand classified military information.
He'd have to be patient. Observe. Learn. And when the time came, find a way to intervene.
A librarian approached his table. "Son, we're closing in ten minutes. Do you want to check those out?"
Lin Feng looked at the stack of books in front of him. Seven volumes on mecha theory, soul space mechanics, and Land of Origin geography.
"Yes, please."
The walk home took longer than it should have, weighted down by books and thoughts in equal measure. The sun was setting, painting the sky in oranges and purples, and hover cars were beginning to turn on their running lights, creating streams of blue and white through the streets.
This world was beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Advanced beyond his old Earth but also infinitely more dangerous.
When he got home, his father's boots were already by the door. Lin Feng found him in the living room, still in his training uniform, watching the news with a beer in hand.
On the screen, footage showed a massive battle—hundreds of mechas fighting against a horde of creatures that looked like a nightmarish fusion of wolves and scorpions. The mechas moved with impossible grace, energy weapons blazing, coordinated in formations that suggested serious military training.
"That's the Western Front," his father said without looking away from the screen. "Tianwu Dynasty launched another offensive. Looks like they're really pushing this time."
Lin Feng sat down beside him, setting his stack of books on the coffee table. His father glanced at them, one eyebrow rising.
"'Introduction to Soul Space Mechanics,'" he read aloud. "'Mecha Theory for Beginners.' Pretty advanced reading for a third-grader, buddy."
"I want to understand," Lin Feng said simply. "I want to be ready when I awaken."
His father's expression shifted, becoming more serious. He muted the TV and turned to face Lin Feng fully.
"You've got ten years before that happens. Why the rush?"
Because in four years, you're going to die, and I need to be strong enough to prevent it.
"Because I want to be the best pilot I can be," Lin Feng said instead. "Like you."
Something flickered across his father's face—pride, certainly, but also something else. Worry, maybe. Or sadness.
"Being a pilot isn't easy, Lin Feng. It's dangerous. Every time I go through that portal, there's a chance I don't come back. Your mother worries herself sick every deployment."
"But you keep going."
"Because someone has to. Because if pilots like me don't fight, humanity loses ground. Other races push us back. Resources become scarce. Earth becomes vulnerable." He took a long drink from his beer. "It's not a choice, really. It's just what has to be done."
Lin Feng looked at his father—really looked at him. In his original timeline, he'd only had twelve years with this man. Twelve years of memories that had faded over time, leaving only impressions. A sense of safety. A deep voice reading bedtime stories. Broad shoulders that could carry a tired child home from the park.
Now, sitting here, seeing him alive and whole and present, Lin Feng felt the weight of what he'd lost in his first life.
And the determination to not lose it again.
"Dad," Lin Feng said quietly, "can you teach me? About mechas. About fighting. I know I can't awaken yet, but I can learn. I can prepare."
His father studied him for a long moment, those sharp eyes—pilot's eyes, trained to assess threats and opportunities—taking in his son's serious expression.
"You really are acting different today," he finally said. "Your mother thinks you hit your head. I'm starting to wonder if you had some kind of epiphany."
You could say that. Dying and being reincarnated tends to change your perspective.
"I just realized how important this is," Lin Feng said. "I don't want to waste the next ten years. I want to be ready."
His father's expression softened, and he reached over to ruffle Lin Feng's hair—a gesture that Lin Feng was starting to realize was this family's primary form of physical affection.
"Alright," he said. "I'll teach you what I can. Theory, tactics, physical conditioning. But you're still going to be a kid, Lin Feng. You'll still do homework and play with friends and have a childhood. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Good." His father stood up, stretching with a series of pops that suggested a hard day of training. "Now come help me make dinner. Your mother's working late, and if we burn the kitchen down, she'll kill us both."
As they moved into the kitchen, Lin Feng felt something settle in his chest. A sense of purpose. Of direction.
He had ten years.
Ten years to learn everything he could about mechas, combat, and the Land of Origin.
Ten years to prepare for his awakening and whatever challenges came after.
Ten years to become strong enough to change fate and protect his family.
And he wouldn't waste a single day.