The custom badge from San Yao had arrived.
After signing for the package, Cheng Feng opened it and discovered that there were two badges inside.
One of them felt satisfyingly heavy in her hand, with a premium, solid quality. It was about the size of her palm, perfect for attaching to a backpack or a jacket. The other was made from some new material that gleamed with a cold metallic sheen, and weighed only about as much as an egg.
Cheng Feng was almost afraid to believe it. On her way back to the dormitory, she sent a question to one of San Yao’s staff members.
The reply came back with a mysterious air:
“That’s right. The main badge is made of pure gold. As for the other one, it’s a custom-made version specially designed for the little owl, with a built-in tracking function.”
Nobody else had one.
Only she did.
A shiver ran through Cheng Feng’s entire body.
At the current price of gold, this was the sort of thing she could pass down as a family heirloom.
Cheng Feng jogged up the stairs and pushed open the door. Inside, Shen Dan was sitting on the living-room sofa, watching a horror movie with the owl.
Shen Dan had stacked several cushions together to make a seat for the owl, allowing the intelligent robot’s line of sight to stay level with her own.
Cheng Feng walked up behind them just as the television reached a scene where a supporting actress was shot in the back.
The sudden gunshot shattered the silence.
Shen Dan sucked in a sharp breath and instinctively hunched her shoulders. Beside her, the owl spoke leisurely. Despite its mechanical voice, it carried the same talent for sarcasm as Cheng Feng. “According to publicly available online information, firearms of this caliber possess considerable lethality. The wound caused by a close-range shot should be…”
Without a word, Shen Dan raised a hand and covered its sweet-talking little mouth.
Good research.
But no more research.
Cheng Feng fastened the small badge around the owl’s leg.
On the back of the badge was Cheng Feng’s ID number. If someone ever picked the owl up by mistake, it would prove that this eagle – well, owl – already belonged to someone.
The problem was that the owl’s feathers were far too thick.
After she finished arranging the fluffy, drooping plumage, the badge disappeared completely beneath the feathers. Only when the owl occasionally moved could one catch a glimpse of a faint flash of golden light from its leg.
Cheng Feng took a comparison photo of it and posted it in their private group chat.
The only person with nothing better to do at the moment was Jiang Linxia.
What’s Good About Summer: It’s very pretty.
Jiang Linxia’s way of thinking was clearly not very socialist. He was always quietly coming up with terrible ideas.
What’s Good About Summer: Why not pluck all its feathers? They’re blocking its beauty. [Thinking]
Cheng Feng decided to block him temporarily.
Then she posted an update on her own account:
Ye Guicheng: Cheng Feng has arrived! [Image]
…
After putting her qualifier matches on hold, Cheng Feng didn’t exactly find herself with much more free time.
The course schedule around June was packed, and some professors had already begun highlighting the “key points” for their classes in advance. That way, when finals came around, they could say with a straight face: The exam topics are all from the material we specifically reviewed in class. That’s right – the entire textbook.
There were a lot of professors like that.
Not just one or two.
And lately Cheng Feng had become something of a campus celebrity, so practically all of her instructors recognized her. Whenever she showed up to class, they’d tease her a little, saying that to let her focus on her competitions without any worries, as long as she completed the rest of her attendance requirements, they’d at least guarantee her a passing grade of 60.
Cheng Feng immediately perked up. She even set more than a dozen reminders for herself to make sure she didn’t miss class.
Then those same professors turned around and told Mr. Kong:
“A student as outstanding as Cheng Feng would surely be too proud to accept such unfair favoritism. We must evaluate her according to the highest standards and strictest requirements, so she can experience the excellent academic traditions of our university!”
Cheng Feng had no idea what had happened between those two statements, or whether Mr. Kong had been stirring up trouble behind the scenes. All she knew was that after hearing the report, she became deeply depressed and instantly lost all enthusiasm for every course she was taking.
Society had taught her yet another cruel lesson:
Empty promises are bad for both body and mind.
Reject all pie-in-the-sky promises.
…
Summer break also didn’t really amount to two full months of vacation.
Before the final exams had even finished, training notices had already been sent out in advance.
Students who had qualified for the league preliminaries stayed at the school with Mr. Kong and the others for targeted competition training, while the rest of the students went off-campus for joint military training.
Cheng Feng had barely recovered from the intense exam period when she was once again dragged by Mr. Kong into an intensive crash course.
In the mornings, they did physical conditioning and subject-specific training with the instructors. In the afternoons, they went to the computer labs for simulation tests. At night, Mr. Kong led them in analyzing, one by one, the seeded players of this year’s league.
It was said that this analysis class was the real highlight of the remedial training.
It was said that students who attended this course could ultimately improve their total scores by as much as 30% compared to previous cohorts.
It was said that the most brilliant tactic in the world was prediction – and learning prediction started with correctly analyzing your opponents.
…All of that, according to Mr. Kong.
Mr. Kong ranked all the players who were likely to make it into the finals in order, compiled them into a booklet, and uploaded it to their internal platform for everyone to download freely.
Xiang Yunjian was a key analysis target for coaching teams across all universities, so Mr. Kong placed him at the very end.
Although, according to San Yao’s matching system, students in the manual operation major had a fairly high chance of running into him, meeting him didn’t change much – the outcome of struggling was limited.
Putting him into the syllabus was a way of showing basic respect for the league finals; placing him at the end was also meant to let him help suppress the group of “monsters and demons” in front.
They were all alumni anyway – no need to be too particular with each other.
Mr. Kong also said that he knew some teachers at other universities who didn’t focus on proper work would assign Xiang Yunjian the “44th” position, attempting to use numerology or superstition to weaken his strength.
He despised those people deeply and, to draw a clear line between them, pointed at the roster on the optical device and declared with great seriousness. “Shameless! University teachers actually engaging in feudal superstition! This is exactly why they can’t win MVP in the infantry category!”
Cheng Feng, her respect now somewhat shaken, opened Mr. Kong’s ranking list and started scanning from the middle.
The “44th” person at UFU was Tao Rui.
…Even though he only ever appeared in large-scale battlefield matches as a support commander.
As expected, Mr. Kong’s heart was dark too.
…
By mid-August, the heat of the dog days of summer was intense enough to make people dizzy.
Shen Dan stayed at home and made it her daily mission to promote carbonated drinks to Cheng Feng. She assured her that adding an ice ball produced the best possible effect, and that lying flat on the sofa while pairing it with gaming was even better.
This summer’s life was basically sustained by sparkling water.
If Cheng Feng hadn’t quietly checked her online activity logs and noticed the hours she spent training in the simulation system every day, she might have actually been fooled.
As the summer break was coming to an end, UFU finally granted the league participants a small period of rest, while also starting preparations for various orientation activities.
Cheng Feng stayed on campus without any special plans. She helped hang up a few banners and even came up with a couple of slogans.
A week later, the league team registration channel officially opened.
Teams were generally limited to five members. Players who failed to register in time would be randomly assigned into teams by the system based on their recorded information.
If there were empty slots on the registration list, the team captain could also write down requirements and let the system perform matchmaking.
Last year, Xiang Yunjian’s temporary teammate was a senior infantry student who specialized in an aggressive, brute-force style. He had already graduated and was now undergoing training in the military.
Since the announcement of this year’s league, many students had been trying to ask them about the identity of the fifth member, attempting to “get a ride on the friendship boat” and join the team.
Xiang Yunjian had been observing the performance of students this year and had not given a clear response. He had originally considered a few classmates from the same cohort, but their styles didn’t really fit the team.
It wasn’t until Cheng Feng confirmed her place in the preliminaries that the team finally reached five members.
Mr. Kong was extremely pleased when he learned that Cheng Feng was teaming up with Xiang Yunjian.
As long as they could secure two MVPs this year, the face-slap mocking from three months ago wouldn’t look so embarrassing.
Cheng Feng could also continue making a few “small moves.”
Early in the morning, Xiang Yunjian sent a file in the group chat.
Xiang Yunjian: Fill this in and send it back to me. Just complete the sections marked in red; I’ll fill in the rest.
Cheng Feng downloaded it and found that Xiang Yunjian had done the work in meticulous detail. All the tedious sections were already completed, leaving only a few personal details blank. He had clearly tried to take all the hassle for himself and leave the benefits for the teammates.
Cheng Feng quite liked that.
What’s Good About Summer: Thanks, Captain. Please fill it in for me – I’m not very convenient to use my hands right now. May good people live long and in peace. [blessing]
Xiang Yunjian: Heh.
Xiang Yunjian: @Ye Guicheng. There’s still some time before the league officially starts -anything you want to do? We can treat it as a celebration for forming the team.
Cheng Feng thought hard. Since arriving in the Alliance, she actually hadn’t really gone out properly to explore.
Ye Guicheng: I want to go have fun.
Xiang Yunjian: Where to?
What’s Good About Summer: I’m available now. I’m going too. A daughter going out cannot be without her guardian present.
Ye Guicheng:
Jiang Linxia’s message and Cheng Feng’s came almost back-to-back. He immediately clicked into the link.
It was an advertisement: the lotus pond on the mountain had bloomed, and the annual sightseeing season had arrived again.
Green lotus leaves crowded together, supporting pink blossoms. The promotional photos were elegant and picturesque.
During the promotion period, anyone buying a ticket to go up the mountain would get a free carp fish, plus a small bundle of lotus seed pods.
The ticket only cost 60 – cheap and good value. Cheng Feng had been following it for a long time.
What’s Good About Summer: Who goes hiking in summer?? [confused]
What’s Good About Summer: Do you know why they’re doing promotions? People who spread this kind of scam ads should be paraded through the streets. Smart people can already tell and refuse.
What’s Good About Summer: Look at mine! My treasure collection! Take whatever you want!
Xiang Yunjian: @ What’s Good About Summer It’s still early today, there’s time. Come over now – I’ll be waiting at the mall in the city center.
Xiang Yunjian: Guardian. Don’t be late.
Ye Guicheng: [Owl doing a V-sign]
What’s Good About Summer: …Damn.
What is wrong with this world?
Xiang Yunjian, do you seriously have no principles at all anymore?
…
When Cheng Feng arrived at the designated meeting point by car, Jiang Linxia was already there.
He was wearing a pair of loose shorts and flip-flops, drenched in sweat from the heat, looking weak and unsteady as he squatted under the shade of a tree like a stray dog waiting for someone. His face was full of unwillingness.
Xiang Yunjian seemed to still be shopping in the mall. Jiang Linxia had a candy in his mouth and gestured for Cheng Feng to squat down beside him. Then he stretched his arm out and draped it over her shoulder, taking the opportunity to “explain” a completely fictional situation:
“I treat you well, right? Things other people have, I have arranged for you too. I even take you out travelling. I’m still willing to accompany you to climb mountains in this scorching heat. This is what fatherly love looks like – like a mountain…”
Cheng Feng didn’t respond.
Just then, a father and daughter walked past them.
A little girl of about three or four was holding a balloon, stretching her arms up and acting spoiled toward the man. “Daddy, carry me!”
“Alright!” The man scooped her up at once and put her on his shoulders.
Cheng Feng slowly turned her head and looked at Jiang Linxia.
