Xiang Fan finished a day of sect classes and returned exhausted to his courtyard. The setting sun cast its afterglow over the old, basic mech, tinting its scratched and cracked exterior a mottled golden hue. The mech's power core was charred black, its internal wiring a tangled mess, a terrifying sight.

He squatted beside the mech, chin in hand, thinking, "Can this thing really be repaired? I'm afraid I'll have to pray to God for help first." He reached out and patted the mech's shell, and a small panel fell off with a "clack", almost hitting his foot. He subconsciously jumped away, a look of disgust on his face: "You really don't want to live anymore!"

After gnashing his teeth and inspecting the structure, he realized he had no way of understanding the mess. He sighed helplessly, "Guess I'll have to try my luck at the Sutra Library. Maybe I can find some clues. I'll just consider it a side job for my spiritual practice."

The next morning, he sneaked into the Sutra Library, carrying his "tattered aura-hiding jammer" like a thief. He searched around and finally picked out a few seemingly "difficult" books, such as "Basic Mecha Structure Diagram," "Principles of Psionic Circuit Operation," and "Energy Core Maintenance Guide." The titles gave him a headache, but he endured the tingling sensation and opened the pages.

He read, quickly jotting down key points in his notebook: "Core spiritual pattern... Energy reserve... Sensor interface layout..." He stared at the complex terms, his eyes gradually becoming empty. "Isn't this even harder than cultivating immortality? Everything in the book sounds like it's calling me stupid."

But even as he complained, he still gritted his teeth and persevered. He encouraged himself: "Isn't it just that I don't understand it? I'll figure it out if I read it a few more times. After all, I'm the strongest king among losers!"

Back in the courtyard, he piled his desk with books and papers and began drawing blueprints. He sketched the mecha's structure with charcoal, his head leaning against the edge as he drew, muttering, "Can a human really design these psychic circuits? Did the ancestors of the immortals have engineering backgrounds?" Occasionally, when he made a mistake, he'd scratch his head in frustration, crumple the blueprint into a ball and throw it on the floor. Soon, the desk was filled with "failed ideas."

Late at night, he sat alone by a lamp, staring at a pile of papers and books on his desk. His eyes gradually lit up. "Even though it took a lot of effort, this blueprint still looks quite promising!" He admired the result for a moment, even whistling proudly with his head raised. "Well, you're worthy of being Xiang Fan, the future of the drawing world."

The next day, he took the blueprints and began a thorough inspection of the mech. Seeing the alarming cracks on the energy core, he gasped. "How dare this shabby core be called a 'core'? I'm afraid it'll break if I squeeze it!" Then, looking at the psychic circuits, which had aged to the point of turning into hay, he shook his head in disdain. "The circuits are broken like my path to immortality... There's no hope at all."

Xiang Fan sat beside the dilapidated mech in the courtyard, staring blankly at the blueprints. The notebook on his desk was already filled with a densely packed list of repairs: power core, psychic transmission lines, defensive armor, and sensor devices. He looked over the list and couldn't help but smile wryly, "You talk as if all you have to do is write it down and it will just come to you."

He took a deep breath, stood up, and patted the broken shell of the mecha: "Just wait, let's go to the garbage dump to find some treasures. You must move this time, or I will be ruined with you!"

The garbage dump in the sect's back mountains is where cultivators abandon their dreams. Decaying spiritual wood, cracked magic weapons, and rusted metal pile up into small hills, and the air is thick with the stench of failure. Xiang Fan rolls up his sleeves and dives into the rubble, like a hungry wolf seeking prey, his eyes filled with longing. "Don't underestimate this garbage! It's the fruit of our predecessors' wisdom. Picking it up and processing it is a new life!"

He searched carefully, avoiding those magical weapons with residual and unstable spiritual power from time to time. Once, he almost stepped on a small array plate that would explode. He gasped in fear: "My life is valuable, and the life of a rubbish is more valuable. Don't jump around!"

The harvest wasn't bad: a broken spiritual weapon core, faintly glowing, a pile of barely usable spiritual pattern materials, a few armor pieces inlaid with low-level spiritual stones, and a pile of spiritual mirror fragments. Xiang Fan held these "treasures" with the same care as a newborn baby. "They may seem insignificant, but they'll be my fighting capital in the future."

Back in the courtyard, he began to sort through the materials. The outer shell of the spiritual core was riddled with cracks, and he patched it up bit by bit with spiritual pattern materials, meticulously, like embroidery. He tried to inject a weak spiritual energy into it, and the core lit up slightly. He breathed a sigh of relief: "Oh, it's really bright! It's as bright as a firefly, but at least it's alive!"

Creating a psychic energy transmission line was a massive undertaking. He found a book titled "Principles of Psychic Energy Circuit Operation" and meticulously redrawn the spiritual patterns according to the diagrams in the book, replacing any broken lines with new materials. During testing, the psychic energy flowed even more smoothly than when he practiced on his own. He burst out laughing, "Smells great! This is even better than my own meridians!"

As for the defensive armor, he cut and pieced together the remaining pieces with great efficiency. While the result looked like patched-up clothing, it was still passable. He patted the new armor with satisfaction, "Don't be fooled by its ugliness; as long as it can hold its own in a fight, it's fine. We're going for the powerhouse route!"

Finally, he assembled the fragments of the spiritual mirror into a complete sensor module, carefully inserted it into the system, and when he tested it, it surprisingly restored its sensing function. He looked at the lens and couldn't help but sigh, "It really is a real treasure. Even the defective one is better than my talent."

Late at night, he sat beside the mech, charcoal pencil in hand, repeatedly marking new problems on the blueprint: the energy core output was too low, the frontal protection was weak, and the psychic energy channeling needed further optimization. His desk was covered with revised papers and repair tools, but the gleam in his eyes was more determined than ever before: "This is my first mech. It not only has to move, but it has to run faster than anyone else!"

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