You are so kind.

Zhiwei and Andre returned to the home planet.

They went to the hotel to check out, planning to leave the place and take their starship for a leisurely tour.

The difference between a starship and a hovercraft was vast; if Zhiwei were to make a comparison, the hovercraft would be like a car, while the starship was more akin to an aircraft carrier.

Hovercrafts could only operate within a planet’s atmosphere; to travel along the planet’s edge, one had to use the tower gradient channel.

Starships, however, offered much more freedom—they could traverse the stars, lands, and oceans alike.

Even Andre’s hovercraft could dock inside the starship to recharge.

Looking at it this way, acquiring this starship was truly a bargain for a gullible buyer.

They were quite pleased when heading to check out but erupted into an argument the moment the word “checkout” was spoken.

Zhiwei took out cash to pay the bill, covering both her own and Andre’s expenses.

“No salary, no meals included? That’s a bit much,” she insisted on paying for Andre’s room.

But Andre was displeased.

Holding Zhiwei’s canvas bag respectfully with both hands, he loudly declared, “I insist on treating! Treating isn’t misusing public funds; it doesn’t violate any principle!”

Zhiwei shot back, “Nonsense! Subordinates are not allowed to contradict their superiors!”

Of course, she wanted to pay—she was eager to pay!

She had come with empty hands, carrying only a hundred yuan in cash and invalid funds in her Alipay and WeChat bank accounts, yet somehow, she had accumulated a substantial amount of interstellar credit points.

They had spent a fortune buying the starship, yet her account kept receiving income.

Donations on her personal website kept increasing, and since she had no good reason to ask Andre to stop accepting payments, the money continued to flow in.

If she didn’t start spending, she’d never be able to use it all!

As they bickered, the hotel owner stepped in.

The owner didn’t want to collect payment and tried to dodge the issue: “I won’t take your money. You are a great candidate; I won’t accept your payment!”

Zhiwei was startled: “I have money. Really, let me pay!”

Andre, confident in his status, said, “I can’t stay for free! I’m a noble. Nobles who don’t pay are no different from hooligans or bullies!”

The owner tried another angle: “This is a gift to your commander.”

Andre immediately changed his tune, feeling honored: “Then we won’t pay.”

Zhiwei insisted, “Pay immediately!”

Owner: “You can’t pay!”

The three nearly erupted into a quarrel.

In the end, Zhiwei decisively pressed all the cash she had under the front desk’s vase. Whether it was enough or not, the excess would be taken as a tip.

She grabbed Andre’s wrist and dashed away.

Andre was puzzled: “It’s already rare that you want to pay her, and now you want to pay extra?”

Looking at Zhiwei’s sullen face, he sincerely remarked, “You really are kind-hearted.”

Zhiwei had only been in the interstellar age for four days but was already hypersensitive to the word kindness!

—

Sitting on the starship, Andre studied the control panel while Zhiwei, having nothing else to do, followed along to learn.

She felt that piloting hovercrafts or starships was much like driving—basic skills everyone should master. Better to have the skill herself than leave it to others.

As she familiarized herself with the controls, Andre’s neural interface kept buzzing with messages—not for him, but messages directed to Zhiwei through him.

In the public eye, Zhiwei had been obscure before but suddenly rose to fame.

She was a seasoned ascetic from a barren star, a dazzling candidate who had become a key figure that the organization had fought hard to recruit, yielding immense profit.

After Zhiwei officially registered Andre as her deputy, the volume of people trying to contact Andre exploded.

—

People couldn’t reach Zhiwei directly, but they could reach Andre.

Being of noble birth, Andre was more familiar to many organizational staff than Zhiwei, who came from a barren star.

His neural interface messages were practically flooding.

Andre pulled up his interface and glanced briefly—most were invitations from organizations.

He hesitated and said, “Many leaders of organizations have contacted me, hoping you’ll join their groups.”

The “leaders” were the heads of these organizations.

An invitation from a leader was the highest honor and sincerity such an organization could offer.

“Forget it,” Zhiwei said after some thought, declining without bothering to learn about the size or principles of each organization.

These groups were akin to factions or guilds. If she were an idol, the organizations would be her main promoters, eventually becoming the entertainment companies that backed her.

Zhiwei popped a bean snack into her mouth and chewed it with a crisp sound.

Normally, following standard procedure and mimicking other candidates, she should have an organization.

But while she knew little about the market’s organizations, she knew entertainment companies well.

Idols needed to sign contracts cautiously, lest the company ruin them later.

“Let’s wait a bit longer—at least find someone who truly supports us,” Zhiwei explained.

Andre wholeheartedly agreed with her thoughts, nodding in approval.

Suddenly he remembered something and hurriedly said, “By the way, Commander, the temple wants to ask where the next gathering will be held.”

Zhiwei immediately grimaced.

“A gathering… a gathering…”

Her mind raced, trying to find a place with few people but without making her disengagement too obvious.

She wanted to ask for Andre’s opinion, but he had none—he never got this far with previous campaign teams.

For Andre, considering a gathering was a huge step forward in his career.

Zhiwei had no clear ideas.

They cruised outside in the starship, getting familiar with the controls and syncing with the autopilot system.

Just as Zhiwei was pleased, she felt a slight shiver at the back of her neck.

A new message had arrived in her neural interface. She accessed it with her consciousness.

Zhiwei was surprised someone would reach out proactively.

“It’s Professor Xu,” she said softly. “She sent me a message.”

Andre’s eyes were full of questions.

“She invited us to give a presentation at her school. The school’s called Lanmon Academy.”

Andre showed little enthusiasm, clearly disinterested.

“The school isn’t a separate electoral district, no votes there. At best, it’ll make a small splash among students, but students don’t carry much weight in the district. Going to the school is a thankless, tedious task.”

What? Tedious? Thankless?

That caught Zhiwei’s full attention!

She loved tedious, thankless tasks! No votes? Even better!

Thinking this way, the school was actually a great place: not too crowded, not too empty, making her appear not entirely disengaged, yet without gaining any positive endorsements.

Plus, she might even attend classes to better understand interstellar affairs.

Andre didn’t oppose her going to school and offered some simple ideas with his slow-witted brain.

“You could hold a movie gathering—rent a projector and invite people to watch a film,” he said.

Zhiwei looked at him in surprise. She had assumed a gathering meant a speech; she hadn’t expected such variety.

“What movie?” she asked.

“If it’s just a speech, people uninterested in your platform won’t come. Of course, everyone likes your platform! If you don’t plan any activities and only talk about your ideas and platform, everyone will enjoy listening,” the bear-like deputy praised Zhiwei as he spoke.

Andre continued, “What I mean is, in most cases, you’d organize activities, like movie screenings or parties.”

Zhiwei raised an eyebrow.

Andre said, “For movies, you could show something about your family’s glory or heritage. Families with illustrious histories often have biopics, which can be used during gatherings.”

He had been excited, thinking this was a clever idea, but then realized something.

Zhiwei came from a barren star; her family likely had no such glory.

Wasn’t this just rubbing salt in her wounds? Not very professional of a deputy! Would Zhiwei resent him forever?

Andre nervously glanced at Zhiwei, worried.

But Zhiwei looked thoughtful.

She pondered briefly—keeping riches from outsiders wasn’t her style, but she was eager to share honor.

“I don’t have any, but can I use yours?” she asked.

This startled Andre.

He turned his head, staring at her in astonishment. His face flushed deeply, almost swollen with color.

He stammered for a moment, his attitude complex.

He felt proud—this was the highest trust from his commander. Yet rationally, the idea of Zhiwei using his family’s films to boost their honor was absurd.

Still, he held his head high, looking pleased, and stuttered, “Our Itur family has many such films, but—but no, I’m the deputy.”

He whispered, “I can watch them secretly with you, but not show them to everyone.”

Zhiwei looked at Andre, seeing his serious expression.

His gaze was intense, lips red, skin pale—handsome like a pine tree standing tall in a snowy field.

Andre said, “The deputy’s honor belongs to the commander, but a candidate’s glory cannot be usurped.”

Zhiwei scratched her head. “Then what movie should I show? I don’t have any source.”

No immediate ideas, but that was fine—they decided to visit Lanmon first.

Lanmon Academy was located in the Stiad Timothy electoral district.

This district was the most prosperous in the interstellar region, encompassing two stars, thirteen planets, forty-two moons, and countless space stations and space cities.

Of the 301 total votes in the interstellar elections, Stiad Timothy held 32—a significant share.

This made it a coveted prize for any candidate.

Moreover, its prosperity led to high population turnover and open-mindedness, making it impossible for any organization to convert it into a stronghold.

High vote power, booming technology, vast territory, dense population—it was always fiercely contested in every election.

There was a saying: “Whoever secures Stiad Timothy can achieve ultimate victory in the election.”

Because of its importance, by early January, candidates and organizations had already begun their deployments there.

Zhiwei and Andre spent the night on the starship; it engaged its jump engine and traveled swiftly through space, arriving at Stiad Timothy early the next morning.

While queuing for registration and approval, the starships ahead and behind theirs all belonged to candidates.

Zhiwei sat inside her ship, looking out.

The ship ahead was clad in black and gold, hovering with a brilliant crystal-blue flame trailing behind.

The ship behind was a sleek reconnaissance vessel with sharp lines.

Andre clearly hadn’t encountered such a scene before.

The feeling of standing alongside others while using a shabby ship, overshadowed by theirs, was brand new to him.

He was visibly restless.

“I’m so embarrassed,” he murmured. “My starship is the shabbiest here.”

After a moment’s silence, Andre slowly looked at Zhiwei.

He studied her for a while, then gradually brightened and proudly declared:

“But my commander is better than theirs.”

Andre boasted flamboyantly, “My commander is Zhiwei.”