Beneath the frost, even steel burns hot.

Shen Hanshuang was the coldest tank-girl on the base, white-haired with green eyes. Fierce and decisive in battle, she was like an ice sculpture the rest of the time—only vodka could bring a hint of color back to her face. No one dared step within three paces of her. No one except the maintenance tech. Lu Yuan spun through his days like a top, treating every tank-girl with the same gentle, even-handed warmth. And it was precisely that impartiality that scraped against Shen Hanshuang’s nerves like sandpaper. She was unsettled, but she couldn’t tell where this simmering irritation came from. Lu Yuan, even more clueless, had no idea that simply handing a bowl of salad to T-80 Yelena was enough to ignite a loss of control that had been quietly brewing for a long, long time.