Chapter 17.1
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Upon returning home, Lu Fenghan saw Qi Yan about to go straight upstairs to take a shower. He stopped him and asked, “Shouldn’t you trim your nails first?”
Just now in the car, when Qi Yan rolled up his sleeves, Lu Fenghan noticed a few red marks on his arm. After inquiring, he learned that Qi Yan would scratch himself in his sleep.
Lu Fenghan felt somewhat complicated. Qi Yan’s way of “getting injured” was always unique. Despite being a vigilant bodyguard, he couldn’t possibly prevent his employer from scratching himself while asleep.
He could only remember to trim Qi Yan’s nails when they got back.
Qi Yan insisted, “I want to shower first.”
Alright, perhaps people with cleanliness habits have their own particular preferences. For example, Qi Yan would spend ten to twenty minutes showering, and it was almost always the first thing he did upon returning home.
Lu Fenghan patiently waited for half an hour, during which he did a set of strength training and glanced through two pages of the Leto Daily. Of course, he skipped the front-page headlines and the fourth headline on the front page.
When Qi Yan came down, he had changed into new clothes. Lu Fenghan glanced up and saw they were light gray—oh, E7-43 fabric.
The next moment, he inwardly berated himself—Lu Fenghan, you’ve been corrupted by Leto.
Qi Yan sat down next to Lu Fenghan and unbuttoned his top, revealing a small patch of pale skin. He reached out his hand, his clear eyes gazing at Lu Fenghan, seeming a bit nervous.
“I won’t cut your fingertips.” Lu Fenghan chuckled, lifting Qi Yan’s hand, his gaze lingering for two seconds on the rounded bone protruding from his wrist. Knowing Qi Yan’s fear of pain, he proceeded meticulously, trimming each of his ten fingers with unprecedented caution. He didn’t even feel this careful when he first piloted a fighter jet!
After finishing, Qi Yan withdrew his hand, inspecting the smoothly curved nails. “You’re better at this than I am.”
Lu Fenghan basked in the satisfaction of his accomplishment. Feeling pleased with the recognition, he believed his skills were now sufficient for a long-term career in this field.
In the laboratory of the second-year research group, team leader Ye Pei noticed Qi Yan occasionally glancing at his own fingers. “What’s wrong? Did you get something on them?”
“Nothing.” Qi Yan shook his head, then pointed to a string of complex data. “The reason why your processing model can’t undergo the third upgrade is because of this—specifically, the section responsible for PAPO, or parallel proportion. The built-in formula only has a fixed quantity, lacking a randomly generated variable, which is why the parallel computing capacity can’t be increased.”
“It’s here!” Ye Pei exclaimed, her dark circles pronounced. “I stayed up all night trying to figure out what went wrong. The first two upgrades went smoothly.” Clasping her hands together, she expressed her gratitude, “Thank you for saving me!”
After spending a few days together, she noticed Qi Yan seemed aloof and spoke sparingly. However, whenever she presented him with a problem, he would meticulously provide explanations.
Remembering the gossip she had overheard in the first-year research group’s laboratory, Ye Pei decided to confide in Qi Yan, “I heard someone saying there might be some issues with your PVC93 model.”
Thinking it was a problem with the model, Qi Yan assured her, “There shouldn’t be any issues. I checked it thoroughly before open-sourcing it.”
“No, it’s not about the model.” Ye Pei hesitated, reluctant to broach the topic. Seeing Qi Yan patiently waiting for her to continue, she finally spoke out, “There are rumors circulating that you’ve hired a top-notch tutor at home, and coincidentally, this model was developed at home. So, people are unsure whether you created it entirely on your own or had assistance from the tutor.”
The original words were even harsher: “If you’ve got money, everything’s a breeze. Just hire a ‘tutor,’ get them to lay out the model architecture for you, memorize it inside out, then perform a live demonstration at school the next day. Boom, you’ll get invited to join the research group by the professors.”
Concerned that Qi Yan might feel disheartened, Ye Pei hastily reassured him, “I only mentioned it because I thought you deserved to know. Don’t let it get to you! Besides, those who buy into this nonsense are just fresh-faced first-year students. Give them another semester, and they’ll realize what level PVC93 truly represents!”
“I understand. Thank you for telling me,” Qi Yan responded.
Ye Pei waved her hand quickly. “No need to thank me, really!”
The next day, during a public lecture, Qi Yan found his seat and awaited the upcoming class with anticipation.
He noticed that while most of the content covered in class was basic to him, many professors’ perspectives and approaches to problem-solving sparked ideas in him, to varying degrees.
Just like during yesterday’s group discussion, when Professor Fu guided Ye Pei and mentioned the possibility of using the Erwin function analytical method to solve the parallel proportion problem, it gave him a new perspective. Burning the midnight oil until 4 a.m., he successfully resolved an algorithm that had stumped him for over a week.
Now, he began to understand why Elisa had suggested he return to Leto and study at Turan. Having lived in the same place for so long, his life had become too regimented and monotonous. Whether it was the people he met or the things he experienced, every day was pretty much the same as the day before.
At that time, his grip on reality had become severely compromised, to the point where he often couldn’t distinguish which day he was living in. It was then that Elisa had to suggest treatment—going to a new place, and meeting different people and things.
Though the outcome wasn’t as expected, it was still a worthwhile endeavor.
Staying up late and rising early had taken its toll on Qi Yan. As soon as he sat down, he buried his head and drifted off to sleep, revealing only a glimpse of his fair nape and slender wrists.
It was Lu Fenghan who noticed that ever since Qi Yan entered the room, many eyes had been drawn to him, occasionally accompanied by murmurs about “tutors” and “money.”
He indeed had money, but a tutor?
It was just the two of them living at home, without even a robot to assist them. Where would they find a tutor?
The professor for this class resided in the Kepler Region but had made the trip to Leto for business, opting for a personal appearance in the classroom instead of a holographic projection.
At the beginning of the class, the professor singled out Qi Yan. “I happen to be working on a project where I originally planned to use RN3. However, after incorporating your PVC93 model, I doubt I’ll ever need to activate RN3 again. Your ideas and architecture are excellent. At least here, they’ve improved efficiency and saved a lot of time. I believe many people would want to thank you.”
Still groggy from just waking up, Qi Yan’s eyes met the professor’s kindly gaze from the lectern.
However, a few stifled laughs echoed in the classroom at this moment. It was unclear who muttered, “If only I could afford a top-notch tutor—yes, a ‘tutor’—maybe I could also come up with a model.”
Laughter erupted again from some first-year students nearby.
Jiang Qi glanced at Qi Yan with a hint of concern. He seemed to want to argue with those people, but the boy sitting next to him tugged on his sleeve and stopped him.
Despite the crowded classroom, Lu Fenghan pinpointed the source of the voice with remarkable precision.
Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze that froze the smirk on the brown-haired student’s face. Shrinking back, he dared not meet Lu Fenghan’s eyes and quickly averted his gaze.
After class, as they made their way to the laboratory, Ye Pei quietly observed Qi Yan. “Are you… okay?”
Seeing Qi Yan’s confusion, Ye Pei blurted out, “You don’t know yet? Someone reported you for academic fraud, but the school quickly dismissed it, stating it was unfounded.”
Anyone who painstakingly achieved a breakthrough would undoubtedly feel uncomfortable being anonymously accused of academic fraud. Ye Pei suspected the rumors originated from the first-year students, but those adept at using the reporting method were likely from the second year.
Turan offered plenty of opportunities, but with more people vying for them, those who stood out were bound to draw envy.
Hence, within Turan Academy’s regulations, intentional deception, slander against classmates, and deliberate defamation were grounds for immediate expulsion.
Such incidents occurred too frequently, with some individuals resorting to breaking the rules out of malicious competition when their abilities fell short.
Lu Fenghan remained seated in a distant corner, rarely speaking. After hearing Ye Pei’s words and noticing Qi Yan’s apparent indifference, he inquired further, “What happened after the report was dismissed?”
“Someone in the school’s forum claimed that Qi Yan’s family donated a building and that he has powerful connections. They said that the school knows the truth but doesn’t dare to act against him. They also said the tutor was hired by his family, at great expense, with a hefty sum for hush money.”
“Family?” Qi Yan paused his typing, his expression turning cold, perhaps at the mention of that word. He asked Ye Pei, “Would proving that PVC93 was my creation be enough to clear this up?”
“That’s right, but it’s also the most difficult part. Because you can’t prove that you didn’t hire a tutor, and therefore, you can’t prove that PVC93 model is entirely your own creation,” Ye Pei explained, with a hint of resignation. “Self-validation in academia is quite troublesome. Those targeting you will go to great lengths, resorting to the most malicious speculations.”
“Hmm,” Qi Yan responded, but he only asked, “Is the Academic Management Department handling this matter?”
“Yes.” Ye Pei was taken aback when Qi Yan stood up. “Qi Yan, where are you going?”
By this time, Qi Yan had already reached the door.
Following behind, Lu Fenghan replied to Ye Pei’s query, “While self-validation is troublesome, it’s not impossible if one has absolute strength.”
Lu Fenghan thought to himself, this principle applies to the front line as well. No matter how much firepower the enemy amassed, how many small ships they dispatched for harassment, or how many formations they employed, as long as his high-energy particle cannon was powerful enough—
Then, after pressing the launch button, everything would become remarkably simple.
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Thanks for the update