The moment Cheng Feng stepped into the classroom, it fell silent. Amid Mr. Kong’s rough, booming last words, wave after wave of fervent gazes locked onto her face.
The pressure was so intense that Cheng Feng instinctively took a step back.
“Cheng Feng! What are you doing?” Mr. Kong slapped his broad palm down, snapping his light-brain shut on the desk. Keeping a stern expression, he scolded, “I have to talk to you about something. Teachers from other unis have already reported the situation to me. Tell me yourself – how did things end up getting so ugly? You’re affecting the harmonious relations between schools.”
Cheng Feng: “…”
Let’s just pretend the her from one minute ago was deaf.
“Mm…” Mr. Kong pondered hard for a while before saying, “Do you know how to write the word ‘modesty’? Go copy it ten times when you get back.”
“I was only telling the truth!” Cheng Feng protested, stressing each word. “I just replied to the netizens who asked me questions! Why am I being punished?!”
Mr. Kong nearly roared it out loud – because honestly, he thought so too!
But the more deeply he thought about it, the scarier it became. Cheng Feng was soaring so high he couldn’t even keep up with her anymore – and he was already a famous master of grandiose hype in the manual-operated mecha world.
“You won’t even copy ten words?!” Mr. Kong sucked in a sharp breath. “Your problem is very serious!”
A student below raised a hand and openly sucked up to her. “Cheng Feng, I’ll copy them for you!”
Mr. Kong shot the student a glare just as the bell rang at the perfect moment. Finding himself an escape route, he pointed at an empty seat up front, signaling for Cheng Feng to go sit down.
Because everyone had been competing constantly lately, they were already fairly familiar with the code. Mr. Kong sped through the lesson at lightning pace, briefly going over the operational differences and suitable applications of various code sets with diagrams and text, then leaving the students to put them into practice during matches themselves. In a single class, he covered an entire page of material.
As soon as the bell rang, the students swarmed out toward the mech lab. Cheng Feng kept her head down taking notes, finishing the last two lines before preparing to leave with the others when Mr. Kong stopped her.
“You…” Mr. Kong started to say something, but the communicator on his optical computer kept ringing. The irritating noise and vibrations disrupted his train of thought.
Squinting at the screen, Mr. Kong reluctantly accepted the call.
“Hello?”
Even without speaker mode on, Cheng Feng could still hear Mr. Luo’s vigorous shout from the other side.
“Mr. Kong! Fine, spoil the disaster your Infantry Department produced if you want, but don’t forget Cheng Feng is also one of our Command Department students!”
With a gigantic metaphorical black pot hanging over his head, Mr. Kong glanced at Cheng Feng upon hearing that, unable to understand how his lifetime reputation had been ruined by the student who looked the most obedient of all.
These people understood nothing. All they knew was how to point fingers and give orders. It wasn’t his first day as a teacher – what gave them the right to teach him how to do his job?
“What’s wrong with that? Should talented people hide their abilities?” Mr. Kong completely forgot why he had called Cheng Feng over in the first place. Brimming with towering anger, he started yelling back at the other side. “I think being forceful is an advantage for a commander! What do you mean ‘disaster’? She won those matches with her own ability, so she has every right to be proud!”
Mr. Luo retorted, “Do you know how many people online love to flatter the successful and trample the fallen? If she loses even one match later on, do you know how much pressure she’ll face? Qualification matches and preliminaries are only icing on the cake. But if it damages her future reputation, that’s what would truly not be worth it!”
Mr. Kong declared with absolute conviction, “This is the result of her careful consideration! If she thinks she can win, then she must have her own reasons. Stop always making decisions for her!”
Hearing that, Cheng Feng casually inserted, “I actually didn’t think that much about it. I just said it offhand.”
Mr. Kong’s expression shifted from stiff to twisted, just like the slow-motion replay in Cheng Feng’s videos, the whole process lasting a full four or five seconds.
The person on the other end of the optical computer exploded. “See?! SEE?!”
Humiliated and furious, Mr. Kong snapped back irrationally, “See what? What’s there for me to see?!”
While the two of them argued, Cheng Feng quietly turned around, slipped her backpack on, and trotted away along the side.
The testing lab was already packed to capacity.
After swiping her card to enter, Cheng Feng found her reserved station and started arranging the equipment on the desk to log in. Just then, someone passing behind her suddenly leaned over, looping an arm around her neck from behind and pressing half their body weight onto her.
Cheng Feng instinctively almost threw the person over her shoulder, but managed to restrain herself after grabbing the other party’s wrist.
The girl behind her – about half a head taller – laughed softly by her ear and said, “Junior, your ambitions are pretty huge. Not bad.”
The proctor nearby coldly lifted a hand toward them and urged, “People who are about to be late shouldn’t interfere with other students. Move, move.”
The girl stepped back and gave Cheng Feng’s shoulder a pat, grinning brightly. “Don’t say we bully the juniors. Search the group info for ‘Yangtze Front Waves.’ Browse whatever you want, look around however you like – you’re welcome to exchange ideas with us. We believe in fair competition.”
Cheng Feng immediately understood.
She had gained a second analysis group.
This was the proper growth rate for a rising purple star.
The senior kept turning back as she walked away, gazing affectionately at Cheng Feng. The two shared a mutual appreciation for each other, exchanging a wordless meeting of souls – until this newfound confidante was yanked by the clothes by the proctor and ruthlessly shoved toward the examination room in the next partition. Only then did the spiritual communion finally come to an end.
Reluctantly, Cheng Feng turned back around and entered her candidate number to log into the platform. Noticing there were still about five minutes left on the countdown timer in the upper-right corner before opponents would be assigned, she quickly opened the social account on her alt, pulled up the group list, and skimmed through it.
Sure enough, the first analysis group had already hit its member limit. The group owner was worried it would become impossible to manage, so they hadn’t expanded it.
As a result, other netizens had formed new groups afterward. But those groups had looser admission standards; most of the members were just random San Yao forum users there for the excitement, so they probably wouldn’t be producing any especially valuable analysis material anytime soon.
Following the clue the senior had given her, Cheng Feng searched up the second official analysis group.
The group name was: Yangtze Front Waves.
Its description read: As long as the front waves of the Yangtze haven’t died, the back waves can forget about rising up!
As expected of an analysis group established by upperclassmen at the senior level – it looked far more professional overall. All members were divided into departments according to their areas of expertise, and everyone even had standardized numbering prefixes in front of their IDs. The resource archives were also categorized by department.
The whole thing radiated a powerful sense of organizational discipline.
Cheng Feng’s horizons were broadened. So this was what a real analysis group looked like!
Still, there were several IDs inside that she recognized from the original analysis group. Shen Dan and a few active tech specialists had also been recruited over here.
It seemed that no matter what kind of organization it was, the existence of double agents could never truly be avoided.
Cheng Feng scrolled upward through the chat messages.
“In this unnoticed little corner, Cheng Feng’s about to hit 30 consecutive wins today… You can call her arrogant, but she really hasn’t lost once. Maybe it’s time you all reflected on yourselves!”
“From a probability perspective, high-level players’ win streaks most commonly end somewhere between 30 and 50 matches. Therefore, Cheng Feng should lose soon.”
“Strategy Post #7 has been uploaded, hurry over. Senior Nineteen has sacrificed himself as a passionate sparring partner. The reliability is extremely high. Please remember his contribution.”
Cheng Feng froze for a moment. Since when had they already reached Strategy Post #7? Did these people seriously spend their nights producing this kind of utterly improper stuff instead of sleeping?
She was just about to click in to take a look when the screen suddenly went black, forcibly switching to the examination interface. A data panel for her manual-operated mech appeared in the corner of her vision.
One-minute preparation countdown.
Cheng Feng casually locked in the default weapons loadout, cracking her finger joints with sharp ka-ka sounds. The moment the system restrictions were lifted, she charged out immediately.
The powerful propulsion of the mech kicked up a roaring wind. Cheng Feng glanced sideways at the radar minimap and saw that after a brief pause, her opponent chose to circle around the surrounding area, increasing the distance between them. Without thinking too much, she adjusted her route and pressed toward the opponent’s position.
The two mechs began a tense chase through the city’s crisscrossing streets.
At first, Cheng Feng suspected the opponent was looking for a suitable ambush point, so she cautiously adjusted her speed and observed for a while – only to realize that wasn’t the case.
The pilot on the other side was like a fugitive running for his life, single-mindedly focused on escape, with absolutely no intention of engaging in combat. Compared to those aggressive close-combat soldiers, he felt unusually fresh and unpretentious.
What’s more, his speed was almost perfectly matched with Cheng Feng’s. The distance between them stayed within a very delicate range – too far to intercept, yet too close to shake off.
Cheng Feng ran after him for five minutes as a test, varying her speed to probe his behavior. As expected, the relative positioning between the two mechs hardly changed at all. This confirmed it: the opponent was an extreme “reactive-style” player, currently kiting her on purpose and testing her mental state.
This was undoubtedly bad news.
Aside from the pilot using this reactive style himself, almost no one liked this kind of gameplay.
Its essence revolved entirely around: “Come hit me,” and “You can’t hit me, can you?”
It turned what should have been a passionate battlefield into a sticky, sluggish war of attrition – an irresponsible tactic that prioritized only one’s own enjoyment.
It was boring for the audience and nauseating for the opponent. No matter how good-tempered someone was, prolonged tug-of-war like this would generate heat from friction until they became irritable, volatile, and ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
For an ordinary impatient player, they might have already opened the surrender menu, clicked “forfeit,” spat on the ground, and cleanly exited the match by now.
There is a questionnaire thread on the San Yao forum asking the public: “What is the most painful experience in a match?” The answer “encountering a reactive-style player” has ranked first by a landslide for years. Out of respect for it, the second and third places are left intentionally blank. This alone shows how dominant it is.
At the same time, this is also the reason why the reactive style has become so widespread in today’s league.
Avoidance is disgusting – but very effective. And the disgusting part isn’t on your own side, which makes the strategy feel even more “perfect.”
Cheng Feng had never been afraid of this kind of playstyle. She had encountered it several times in previous matches.
However, truly mastering a reactive style is not as easy as it looks. It requires extremely strong endurance and route-planning ability. Cheng Feng was always quite confident in her driving skills – if the opponent dared to expose their back to her, she would dare to take their head.
After all, she had always been someone polite enough to return favors in kind.
But this time, she realized she had run into a tough opponent.
No matter how many times she accelerated, she could never meaningfully close the distance between them. Once, she almost reached the opponent’s tail, only to be forced to slow down and evade preemptive artillery fire, sending her back to square one.
The situation was deadlocked and taut.
Sustained high-intensity maneuvering was yielding no visible progress. The only possible breakthrough seemed to lie in waiting for the opponent to make a mistake. The reality laid out before her felt almost absurd.
Cheng Feng took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. But this was indeed the first time she had encountered such a difficult situation. The inability to seize initiative made her increasingly restless, and she could feel irritation beginning to creep in uncontrollably.
After seeing the same city block scenery appear repeatedly, Cheng Feng’s right index finger twitched uncontrollably. It was very slight, but enough for her to realize that her fingers and eyes, due to prolonged intense focus, were beginning to show signs of strain. Her knuckles felt stiff – distorted, as if they didn’t even belong to her.
Cheng Feng glanced at the timer and realized there were only 12 minutes left in the match.
Under normal efficiency, the battle should have already ended by now. In this match, however, it still hadn’t even properly begun.
She let out a long sigh, feeling a strong urge to smash her keyboard.
As she heard her own drawn-out breath in her ears, she abruptly stopped.
No matter how unwilling she was to admit it, she had to recognize one thing clearly: calmness was useless here – because she no longer had it.
She had been genuinely provoked by the guy who had been chasing her for over ten minutes without even letting her catch sight of his back.
What kind of fish had crawled out of which sea, exactly?
Cheng Feng let out a cold snort from her chest, licked her dry lips, and rolled her shoulders to loosen her muscles.
Her opponent also stopped, patiently waiting for her next move.
One minute passed.
Two minutes passed…
The two of them stood frozen in place as if they had both disconnected.
Only after the system displayed a red warning frame: “10 minutes remaining,” did Cheng Feng curl her fingers and press them down one by one with her thumb. Listening to the crisp cracking of her joints, the restless anger in her chest began to surge upward in layers.
Just die.
