Cheng Feng hadn’t expected the registration process to be so complicated.
After the system recognized her ID information, it auto-filled some parts. However, since Cheng Feng was a resident of a post-war planet, most of her records were blank. She had to fill in the rest herself and wait for a special review.
Scrolling from top to bottom, she realized with dismay that the entire form was four pages long, asking all sorts of trivial details – including her academic history, official stamps from her school, and even a letter of recommendation from the school.
But none of that mattered for now – she could ask Mr. Kong for help tomorrow.
Thinking of this, Cheng Feng suddenly felt a bit dazed, realizing it had been a long time since she’d last seen him. Mr. Kong had always looked out for her, and as a gesture of gratitude, she should probably get him a small gift.
Things like this – navigating social etiquette – were the hallmark of a mature adult. She was finally getting the hang of human social interactions.
Afraid of forgetting, she quickly switched to her memo app and jotted down a reminder. Only after carefully typing it out did she feel at ease, turning back to the San Yao system to continue registering.
She guessed her way through the parts she could fill out, just like taking a multiple-choice exam, and once again got stuck on the section that frustrated her the most: the personal statement.
Ye Guicheng: How should I write this personal statement? [Image] What style do people usually go for?
What’s Good About Summer: Doesn’t matter. Just fill in anything. If you’re strong enough, anything you write will be praised as “having personality.” If you’re weak, even if you personally compose a masterpiece like “Spring River, Flower, Moon, Night,” people will mock it as “gilding a shit-basin.”
Ye Guicheng: Gilding a shit-basin? Gold doesn’t lose its value just because of what it’s stuck on. So that’s still gold!
The person on the other end seemed stunned by her declaration – or maybe it was just because what she said made too much sense. The “typing…” indicator on the chat box flickered for over a minute without a reply.
In the end, Jiang Linxia changed the subject, not very smoothly.
What’s Good About Summer: Are you trying to register for the qualifiers now? That’s a bit late – being a month behind isn’t easy. But I believe in you, friend. After all, this is our last season, and our last chance to team up. If you can make it, maybe we can win the championship trophy together. [Hehehe]
The new season was starting. Cheng Feng was a sophomore, while Xiang Yunjian and the others were about to become seniors.
Many seniors were already preparing for internships or answering the call for military district training – unless they wanted to improve their league rankings to add another layer of gold plating to their graduation resumes.
The chance to win the league championship wouldn’t come again. And since basically every general who later made a name for themselves had one, it had become an obsession for countless young students.
A saying circulated among the graduating class: whoever can secure three MVPs for the championship gold cup will be the next “Purple Star of the Expeditionary Force.”
No matter the field, looking ahead to the Purple Star was the favorite pastime of both veterans and newcomers – a way to test whether their curse of jinxing things still packed its final-season punch.
At the same time, everyone hoped they themselves would be that Purple Star, bursting onto the scene.
Pointing a sword at the sky, soaring in one breath – what young person doesn’t yearn for that kind of passion?
Xiang Yunjian and his team had outstanding league results, which was already evident from the fact that Xiang Yunjian made the cover’s main slot.
Last year, Xiang Yunjian earned the championship points for the individual competition, and his team earned the championship points for the mixed competition – but they failed in the most important event: the major battlefield. UFU lost to the First Military University, led by Tao Rui.
Although Xiang Yunjian still took home the gold cup thanks to his early point advantage, the cup was missing an MVP emblem. It left the entire team feeling deeply depressed. They decided this wasn’t over – they had to go for it again this year.
What’s Good About Summer: Next time I see Tao Rui, I’ll have Yan Shen be the first to snipe him. [helpless hands on hips]
Ye Guicheng: I can do it. Let me.
What’s Good About Summer: No wonder you’re the little sweetheart. My treat meals weren’t wasted. [head pat] By the way, how’s it going with Tao Rui?
Cheng Feng didn’t pay attention to the later replies. She spotted a roster on the side of the webpage, clicked on it out of curiosity, and happened to scroll to the registration declarations of Xiang Yunjian and his team.
Xiang Yunjian: Win
Xin Kuang: Victory
Jiang Linxia: Unyielding
Yan Shen: Same
Good grief.
So perfunctory that they’d completely cut off any future contenders.
Cheng Feng scrolled further down.
All the students from the First Military University had written their school motto as their declaration: “Face things without fear, be firm and indomitable!”
Neat and uniform, looking both united and formidable.
In comparison, the UFU side was practically a sketch comedy showcase. Aside from Xiang Yunjian and the others as typical negative examples, there were all sorts of unserious declarations like: “Whoever gets a partner first quits the team,” “Seeking a relationship – can date first,” “Advertising space for XX’s partner search,” “Instructor, I want to learn mech piloting,” “Maintain our army’s style – victory is in sight,” and a bunch of other equally ridiculous ones.
Cheng Feng gave in. She figured that as a UFU student, she shouldn’t stand out too much. To fit in with the crowd, she typed out a line without much thought: “Holder of this season’s three MVPs.”
Perfect.
Only one problem remained – Cheng Feng took a deep breath – she didn’t have a suitable profile photo.
Both Xiang Yunjian and Jiang Linxia had used a sharp, clean high-definition photo on their personal homepages.
Cheng Feng had never had her picture taken in her entire life. She went on San Yao to search through video replays and roughly scanned the open tournaments she had played in the past. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t capture a single frame that satisfied her.
After wasting over an hour picking and choosing, Cheng Feng finally figured out what was missing.
She picked up her freshly washed little snowy owl, let it perch on her shoulder, and faced the camera with two pairs of eyes. They took a photo together, which she uploaded to the webpage for review.
In less than half an hour, the photo was approved by San Yao.
…
The next morning, Cheng Feng’s alarm was set for 7:15. She woke up exactly five minutes before it went off, first checked her memo app, then reviewed her class schedule. After breakfast, she took her time going to a nearby flower shop to buy a bouquet of sunflowers, carefully stuffed them into her backpack, and headed to the classroom.
Everything went perfectly according to plan.
When Mr. Kong saw her at the classroom door after such a long time, the wrinkles on his face spread outward in all directions. Joy and excitement nearly burst from his wide-open eyes. But with the self-restraint of an elder, he kept his expression in check, merely nodding with reserved approval.
Cheng Feng walked up to him and stopped, bowing as she politely greeted him.
Mr. Kong reached out with his large hands, first pressing them down on her shoulders like iron weights. Then he patted her arm, nodding as he said, “Not bad, not bad. Your muscles are firmer. But your skin isn’t dark enough. Looks like there wasn’t much sun at the base this winter.”
Cheng Feng: “…”
Standing in the hallway of the teaching building, Cheng Feng took out the bouquet of sunflowers – now wilted and limp from being stuffed in her bag – and handed it to the person in front of her.
Mr. Kong’s expression clearly spelled out the words “pleasantly surprised.”
In his entire life, he had received countless flowers – from students upon graduation, arranged by hosts when giving speeches, or bought by his wife on their wedding anniversaries.
But he had never expected a robot to give him flowers.
This was definitely an achievement worth inscribing on his tombstone: “Dedicated a lifetime to teaching, guiding students with delusional symptoms into normal society.”
The students nearby also let out some understated gasps, their clearly unpracticed reactions greatly feeding Mr. Kong’s vanity.
Cheng Feng seized the moment and pulled out her optical computer. “Sir, could you help me fill out a form?”
“Of course!” Mr. Kong beamed like a smiling Buddha. “As long as it’s not homework.”
He took Cheng Feng’s optical computer, glanced at the registration page, and the smile on his face became even more genuine.
“You’re preparing for the league?” Mr. Kong scanned the blank fields, tapped his fingers on the screen a couple of times, and spoke rapidly. “I was just about to remind you to sign up after hearing you were back from training, but you’ve already beaten me to it. Looks like you never stop thinking about studying – very good, Cheng Feng!”
He had originally drawn up several targeted courses for Cheng Feng, but the command department had swooped in and taken her for training first, costing him the qualification competition and causing his plan to regrettably fall through.
Mr. Kong had to console himself with the thought that Cheng Feng was still young – the league wasn’t urgent. What mattered was maintaining her form and preparing for next year. So he’d let it go.
Now, seeing that even after the hellish base training, Cheng Feng still had her heart set on manual mech piloting, Mr. Kong felt deeply moved.
Who said a forcibly twisted melon isn’t sweet? If he hadn’t pushed so hard back then, where would such a big melon even come from?
“When can it be done?” Cheng Feng paused, then added, “I don’t have much time.”
“No later than tomorrow evening.” Hearing the urgency in her voice, as if she still intended to fight for it, Mr. Kong looked up seriously and said, “Not many people are signing up right now. I’ll have San Yao speed up the review. Go home and wait for the notice.”
The wait for the notification made every day feel like a year to Cheng Feng.
During the base training, her feel for manual mech piloting had dulled slightly. Now, whenever she had time, she trained using the latest tutorials, trying to make up for the month she’d missed.
But the change in environment turned out to be even harsher than she’d anticipated.
A group of highly talented students had grown increasingly accustomed to the post-update manual operation parameters. While browsing the San Yao forums for information, Cheng Feng came across several rather insightful analysis guides. She studied them all night, then went on to watch real-person battle videos.
She had to admit – after the manual operations update, skill levels had improved significantly compared to previous years. The students’ rate of adaptation had also surpassed the standards set by the teaching research group. To stage a comeback under these circumstances, Cheng Feng honestly felt a certain amount of pressure.
The next day at noon, the notification of her successful registration arrived on her optical computer, along with a massive information packet that Mr. Kong had put together.
