In the early stages, there were too many participating students, and each candidate’s schedule was not tightly packed.
After the first round of matching, the system sent the match results to the players’ personal light computers.
Unsurprisingly, Cheng Feng’s comprehensive score ranked at the top. Thanks to a significant coefficient bonus for breaking records by a large margin, she managed to secure ninth place overall, even though her physical and shooting scores were relatively weak. This narrowly pushed Xin Kuang out of the top ten.
According to San Yao’s staggered competition rules, her first opponent was also a newcomer to the league.
He was a third-year university senior who had never made it to the preliminary round before, so video footage of him online was scarce. Moreover, as a student of UMU, his training data was also unavailable.
However, he was a sensor mecha pilot.
The senior members in the analysis group were clearly more nervous than Cheng Feng herself. Even though the opponent was just a bottom-tier student in the sensor major, they dared not be careless.
They went to great lengths, digging out various match videos of that candidate from obscure corners, and worked overnight to produce an analysis report over ten pages long. After organizing it, they uploaded it to the group files, so that relatives and friends lurking in the group could promptly send it to Cheng Feng.
Among them, Shen Dan contributed the most.
Shen Dan even set aside her social practice duties. Using a pseudonym, she shouted slogans and assigned tasks in the group, urging the senior members to uphold the analysis group’s reputation and deliver the most sincere assists to help Cheng Feng win MVP! She called on everyone to demonstrate the noble, selfless, and mutually supportive spirit of their generation!
…It must be said, as the top scholar of the Alliance, no matter what kind of work she does, she shows great promise.
Even if she’s just acting as a subordinate, she can still become the leader among subordinates.
Cheng Feng would occasionally check in on the group, mainly because she was afraid that if the group had nothing to do, it might be forced to disband. So she felt she had to release some material to keep the group members engaged.
But to her surprise, these people had already strayed from the group’s original purpose of analysis. They had “Cheng Feng” written on their foreheads, but in reality, they had long since pledged allegiance to someone else.
Cheng Feng angrily clicked to download the files and, using a secondary account, gently reminded the group. “Aren’t we going to continue analyzing Cheng Feng?”
The group members gave her a unanimous and straightforward response. “Why would we analyze her?”
Then a few more comments popped up.
“Have you been bought off by the opponent? How much money did they give you?”
“Is sensor mecha that sore about losing that they have to spy on the analysis group’s files?”
“No one in this world can figure out Cheng Feng. She’s a person who doesn’t think with her brain. Don’t waste your efforts!”
“Correction: a person who doesn’t think with a normal brain. The way you said it sounds like you’re insulting her.”
“Haven’t you guys taken the course ‘The Art of Language’?”
Cheng Feng: ‘??’
This group was a bit messed up – like a support group for amnesia patients.
Cheng Feng chose to close the group chat.
The official match was scheduled for 9 a.m., two days later. In the meantime, Cheng Feng attended classes as usual, and during her free time, she checked in with Mr. Luo for tutoring sessions. Her tone remained unhurried and detached, as if none of it had anything to do with her.
Starting from the preliminaries, San Yao adopted a live broadcast format. But that had nothing to do with Cheng Feng. She still stuck to her routine of arriving at the exam venue at the very last second. Under Mr. Kong’s glaring stare – he was so anxious he wanted to hit her – she swiped her card, put on the equipment, and prepared to enter the simulation.
Mr. Kong had his hands clasped together, his fingertips pressing so hard into his skin that they left pale and bluish marks. As he watched Cheng Feng get into the simulator, he kept muttering under his breath, “Don’t get cocky, kid. It’s fine to talk big, but we absolutely cannot get overconfident!”
The error rate for manual mechas was many times higher than for sensor mechas. Even a single incorrect code entry could lead to an irreparable mistake. And during an intense match, it seemed quite common for nervousness to cause code errors.
Mr. Kong had witnessed at least 108 different absurd ways students had failed, and the reasons for their losses always defied his imagination.
For example, performing a somersault in the middle of a critical firefight, or suddenly deciding to crash into a wall and die halfway through the match, or impatiently shooting themselves before even opening their weapon arsenal…
He couldn’t keep thinking about it. Mr. Kong covered his forehead. He was about to faint from anger.
Cheng Feng coolly made an “OK” sign and closed the simulation pod with an aloof demeanor.
Mr. Kong immediately rushed to the podium, dragged a small stool over, and sat down close to the projection screen. Only after being scolded by an instructor behind him for blocking everyone’s view with his large frame did he reluctantly move back about twenty centimeters.
The senior student matched against Cheng Feng was named Hu Silun. The mecha he piloted was called “Thunderstorm,” a machine with close-quarters combat as its main advantage. Its outer shell had high defensive capabilities, able to withstand close-range shelling, while its high-voltage weaponry could disrupt an opponent’s circuits.
The map for the preliminaries was much more spacious, with environmental settings leaning toward realism. The two players spawned in the center of the city, only a few kilometers apart.
Everyone assumed that, given Cheng Feng’s personality, she would definitely go for a direct devastating strike right from the start, keeping her distance to deny the opponent any chance to utilize his strengths. However, when the two mechas met as expected, Cheng Feng fired a tentative shot, but afterward, it was actually Hu Silun who took the more aggressive initiative.
Hu Silun launched repeated assaults, while the manual mecha only made tactical retreats.
After realizing he couldn’t close the distance for the time being, Thunderstorm switched to shelling to restrict Cheng Feng’s movements, while simultaneously relocating its position and attempting to break through from the flank.
Although it was his first time participating in the preliminaries, Hu Silun’s performance was quite commendable. His style was bold and unrestrained with well-timed pacing, and he clearly knew how to exploit his strengths: using flexible positioning to confuse the opponent’s vision, while trying every means to get close and find an opportunity for a one-strike kill.
In comparison, Cheng Feng’s counterattacks seemed inadequate. She could only follow along with Hu Silun’s rhythm, forced to constantly keep moving. At one point, while retreating rather clumsily, she was hit by a shell due to sluggish reactions and nearly got pinned down and severely beaten by Thunderstorm.
Netizens who had been trickling into the live stream watched for a few minutes and sensed that something was off.
This strong sense of dissonance was evident even to outsiders – frequent, useless angle shifts, more hesitation than usual in attack judgments, as if she was constantly playing catch-up and always in a fluster. It was the kind of behavior often seen in newcomers during their first competition, frustrating spectators to the point that they wanted to reach out and give her a push.
But it shouldn’t have appeared on “Outlaw” Cheng Feng.
“Did Cheng Feng lag? San Yao, please check the network.”
“Cheng Feng’s rhythmic, stuttering movements look like her cockpit is calling out to her from five kilometers away.”
“Has no one told her that match-fixing is illegal?”
“I’m hiding in the bathroom during work hours to watch this. Don’t let me down, Cheng Feng!”
“Hard to believe, even the little tyrant Cheng Feng is trembling? But it’s not like she’s up against someone like Xiang Yunjian!”
“I’m typing this with a frown. Cheng Feng, are you sleepwalking?”
“There is indeed a natural barrier in reaction speed between manual mechas and sensor mechas.”
Mr. Kong had entered a phase of agonized torment. He moved his chair to sit ten meters away, then turned around and covered his ears to protect his fragile heart.
Even Hu Silun couldn’t help but feel suspicious. He took a moment to send Cheng Feng a message via the communication channel:
“Hello. Is there some dark secret between us that I still don’t know about?”
Cheng Feng replied to him: “Just fight. Faster. What did you have for breakfast? Don’t waste its value.”
Hu Silun was bewildered.
Had the league matches now started with mind games? Or was this a special skill exclusive to their Command Department?
But since Cheng Feng had taken the initiative to make such a willful request, Hu Silun couldn’t very well refuse.
The next moment, Hu Silun charged in from the southeastern street corner, hoisted the two cannons on his shoulders, opened the weapon bay on the mecha’s belly, decisively pressed the launch button, and charged straight toward the opposing mecha.
Sensor mechas have front and back sides – students might need time to adapt to that, but manual mechas don’t.
Cheng Feng typed in her code. The muzzles in her weapon bay all turned in unison. As she nimbly retreated, she opened fire for interception.
Wherever the two passed, dust and rocks flew wildly. Thick and intense smoke spread rapidly along the path of the black mecha, then was blown away by the shockwaves, leaving behind a rugged and pitted road surface.
Netizens were still busy complaining. In the heat of their discussion, the topic had already evolved from “Cheng Feng is still young” to “The top training priorities Cheng Feng must strengthen in the next three years” – when they noticed something else was off.
…Why was this Thunderstorm so underwhelming? He had deployed his entire weapon bay, gone head-to-head with someone, and yet hadn’t landed a single hit?
Did he think he was throwing sewing needles? These were high-damage thermal weapons!
Mr. Kong also slowly turned his head toward the sound, and looked back at the center of the screen.
The one even more shocked than everyone else was Hu Silun. Countless profanities flashed through his mind. Finally, he couldn’t help but send a message to Cheng Feng: “WTF?”
Cheng Feng: ?
Cheng Feng: Don’t be scared. Keep charging.
And then Hu Silun understood.
Cheng Feng hadn’t been suppressed by his rhythm at all. She had been observing his weapon bay, analyzing his movements, deliberately waiting for him to attack before countering.
Was she using him to show off?
Hu Silun stopped and bent his head to type.
Cheng Feng: You’re not attacking anymore? Then I’m coming for you.
Hu Silun: Are you messing with me? You look down on…
Hu Silun: ‘?’
Hu Silun quickly retreated and tried to find cover nearby, but it was already too late.
He had been chasing Cheng Feng moments earlier, and now the two were face to face, both with their firepower fully unleashed – as exposed and defenseless as lambs waiting to be slaughtered.
He tried to counter with his own weapons, but the attack frequency of a sensor mecha couldn’t match the weapon bay of a manual mecha.
In less than half a minute, Hu Silun – along with his unfinished sentence – was brutally eliminated from the exam venue.
The reversal of the situation happened in the blink of an eye.
When the glorious “Victory” icon appeared on the screen, right beneath those two characters happened to scroll past a long sentence that a netizen had painstakingly typed:
“I think society has put too much pressure on Cheng Feng. San Yao’s hype has been too intense, elevating Cheng Feng too high. She’s named “Riding the Wind,” but she can’t actually ride the wind. Her current skill level can’t handle it.”
Soon after, that same netizen posted another message: Damn. [Goodbye]
