Shen Dan stood in front of her optical computer, waiting to see what kind of remarks her record-breaking roommate would make.
She figured she could learn a thing or two from it – maybe it would even come in handy in her dreams.
The video opened without any transition or introduction at all, jumping straight into the reporter’s question to Cheng Feng.
Very San Yao style.
The interview had taken place on April 30th.
The reporter asked, “Could we take a look at your usual training schedule?”
Cheng Feng pulled up a timetable she’d prepared long ago on her optical computer.
“I notice there’s actually quite a bit of flexible time in here,” the reporter said. “So what do you usually do for entertainment in your daily life?”
“Usually nothing. Sometimes I play games or read the news,” Cheng Feng replied, lifting her chin and speaking with righteous solemnity. “I’ve already transcended lowbrow pleasures.”
As she said this, she gave a firm nod.
The reporter also answered with an “Mm.”
The camera cut away.
It was during a break in the interview, at the open space in front of the dormitory.
Grinning from ear to ear, Cheng Feng directed the little owl that had just been fitted with a flight system to perform for everyone.
“Left, right.”
The little owl spun in the air with its eyes half-closed.
“Rise one meter!” Cheng Feng commanded.
The owl worked hard to fly upward.
“Beautiful!” Cheng Feng raised a hand. “High five!”
The owl darted forward and slapped its wing against Cheng Feng’s hand.
Cheng Feng failed to control her strength and accidentally smacked her little friend flying away in one hit, startling herself into gasping.
The little owl stubbornly got back to its feet and flew back to where it had been. Cheng Feng gave it a thumbs-up and an approving look, then turned to the reporter with a smug lift of her brow.
“So? What do you think?”
Reporter: “…”
Can commanding an intelligent robot really bring this much happiness? Anyone who didn’t know better would think it was a real owl.
The footage switched back to the formal interview.
The recording date in the top-right corner had changed to May 2nd.
The reporter asked, “What do you think is the most important factor behind maintaining such a high win rate?”
Cheng Feng lifted her head and replied, “Because I love working. Working makes me happy. Working helps me grow. Working is the ladder of human progress. Working is the only path to tempering my spirit and overcoming savagery.”
With her flat, matter-of-fact tone and completely unfocused gaze, the whole speech carried a strangely baffling sort of soulfulness.
The reporter fell silent. The screen seemed frozen for seven or eight seconds.
The livestream comments instantly filled with rows upon rows of “…”
“What’s wrong with Cheng Feng? Is she actually a robot?”
“I suddenly believe those rumors now. There’s no way a human could be this strong – only a robot could save the world of manual mecha piloting.”
“This isn’t right. I suspect her soul got replaced.”
The camera suddenly shifted, focusing on a gently flowing stream.
Wild grass grew thick along the banks, while tangled clusters of water plants swayed in the reflections on the surface. Sunlight stretched into a ribbon across the shaded creek, and in the brightest patch floated a leaf from some unknown tree, drifting lazily along, carrying with it the rich feeling of late spring.
The shot pulled back, capturing a line of military university students marching neatly along a narrow path.
Amid the sounds of the late-spring wind, the frame zoomed in again, finding the target of the recording within the endless crowd – Cheng Feng, carrying a hoe over her shoulder as she nimbly ran up the rugged mountain trail.
Just from her footsteps alone, you could tell how delighted she was.
The afternoon temperature gradually climbed.
Standing with her legs apart, Cheng Feng gripped the hoe and vigorously reclaimed a patch of wasteland tangled with weeds. Her posture was more standard than the other students’, and her enthusiasm far more overflowing. The instructor sat on the ridge between the fields, whistling as he announced:
“If your class doesn’t finish clearing its assigned land today, nobody’s going back! If you can’t even handle outdoor labor this easy, what can you do?”
The sun slowly began to set.
Drenched in sweat, Cheng Feng finally stopped, leaning on her hoe as she frowned at the land ahead of her.
The editing team thoughtfully added labels marking the wasteland Cheng Feng had cleared by herself, alongside the areas other students were responsible for restoring.
…As well as the enormous remaining workload that still amounted to one-third of the total.
As evening approached, the world was washed in orange-red light. Students from the neighboring sensor operation department gradually returned to campus carrying their equipment. As they passed Cheng Feng and the others, they let out a few mocking laughs.
The upperclassmen from the manual operation department also finished their work a bit earlier and headed back together with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders.
Only the freshman classes remained, students sitting scattered all over the ground in small groups, completely unwilling to keep struggling.
Cheng Feng squatted on the ground, digging at little stones. The instructor stood in the middle of the field holding a boxed meal, eating with great relish while trying to inspire this group of unproductive, unrepentant young comrades through the sheer force of his personality.
His deep, resonant voice echoed continuously through the mountain evening breeze, filled with passionate emotion and just a tiny bit of poorly concealed schadenfreude:
“Working makes people happy! Working helps people grow! We must love work…”
…Case solved!
The instructors at UFU were truly terrifying when it came to ideological education!!
The documentary San Yao had released earlier was comparatively uplifting, showing only clips of students sweating profusely and working diligently.
Now that viewers had seen the painful truth behind the scenes, they couldn’t help feeling a trace of sympathy for Cheng Feng.
They only wanted to shout one thing:
“Well done!”
The footage shifted back again, continuing the earlier interview.
In the background, the class-dismissal bell from UFU rang out. The streets in the residential district had become crowded with pedestrians, and the video was correspondingly filled with more ambient noise.
The reporter asked, “Have you been especially busy recently? You have to prepare for competitions every day while also keeping up with your regular coursework.”
“Yes,” Cheng Feng nodded. “And it’s almost finals season. I need to prepare for exams in all my subjects.”
As she spoke, her gaze drifted downward and her tone grew increasingly subdued along with her mood. In the end, she couldn’t help but sigh.
“I picked quite a mixed set of courses this semester. The workload is especially heavy.”
The reporter asked, “How are your grades? Your major courses should be particularly strong, right?”
“Not bad,” Cheng Feng said.
“I heard you’re double-majoring, and the subjects are quite different. So how is the academic pressure? How do you usually balance your time between the two majors? Do you focus on one more than the other?”
“No, no, I treat them equally,” Cheng Feng said quickly and seriously. “I won’t give up on any of my courses! Mr. Kong, Mr. Luo – I don’t really lean toward either side.”
Then Cheng Feng’s optical computer chimed.
She casually lit up the screen to take a look.
No one knew what she saw, but her face visibly went pale.
That afternoon, from two o’clock until eight in the evening, Cheng Feng sat alone in the study room, her back looking desolate, making up her history paper.
After six hours of “slacking off,” she finally came out carrying her backpack, looking completely dejected.
The netizens felt like they might have just glimpsed some hidden truth. It was really hard not to speculate.
The lighting shifted again. Cheng Feng on the screen had changed clothes, and the recording timestamp jumped to May 3rd.
The reporter asked, “We heard that you decided to stop this qualification round at 151 matches. Is that true? Why did you suddenly decide not to continue? There are still more than twenty days left in the competition period.”
Cheng Feng’s gaze looked slightly unfocused, as if she wasn’t fully concentrated. It was unclear when this interview had been recorded.
She touched the skin on the side of her face, and when she lifted her hand, a fresh abrasion on her palm was visible.
With a flat, emotionless tone, she said, “Because I’ve already secured a spot in the preliminaries.”
The reporter said, “If you kept going, you could set an even higher winning streak record. Every additional win is a new miracle. Don’t you want to see how far you can go?”
Cheng Feng shook her head and said something quite philosophical:
“There is no endpoint. We are all constantly improving. There’s no need to prove how far you can go within a specific period of time. Others can surpass me, and I only need to surpass myself.”
The reporter nodded. “That’s well said.”
Then the reporter asked again, “Many netizens want to know – when you first said on San Yao that you wanted to enter the preliminaries, had you already decided back then that you would aim for 150 wins? That’s an unprecedented result. Was your ambition always that high from the start? Were you that confident in your ability?”
“No, I was just saying it casually at the time. I didn’t think too much about it,” Cheng Feng said, pausing slightly before continuing. “I think everyone is actually very strong. Only opponents of similar strength can help each other improve, and I’ve indeed improved a lot. Including the senior members in the analysis group – the materials they provided were very helpful.”
The reporter said, “I think they’ll be very happy to hear that. Because a record of 151 wins – if you do indeed win tomorrow as well – is something extremely frightening.”
Cheng Feng gave a simple “Mm,” sounding completely unperturbed.
The reporter asked, “Any special message you’d like to say?”
Cheng Feng immediately took a step back, bowed toward the camera, and said, “Goodbye.” Then she really turned around and left.
It was the familiar silence the reporter was already used to.
The cameraman behind them asked in shock, “That’s it?”
The reporter also hesitated and said, “…Well then… I guess we’re done?”
The interview ended.
