Chapter Ninety-Three: Afraid of Being Loved, Yet Afraid of Being Unloved!
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Tang Fei brandished the Snow Blossom Blade and charged deep into the reed thicket, only to find the place deserted—the mechanic who controlled the giant serpent had vanished without a trace.
“What does this mean?” Tang Fei pondered inwardly.
“Another assessment from the mechanical department?”
But he had already registered and become an official student of the mechanical department. What purpose would another assessment serve?
If it wasn’t the mechanical department’s test, then who else would use mechanical means to commit murder?
Tang Fei squatted down to examine the ground. Freshly crushed reeds lay scattered, their broken ends still oozing sap.
The soil by the lake was damp and loose, marked with human footprints. Measuring with his fingers, he noted the footprints were quite large.
He tried to find traces of the mechanic’s escape route but found no clues whatsoever.
No fleeing footprints were visible.
This troubled Tang Fei greatly. Either the opponent possessed extraordinary power to ride the wind and fly, or they had advanced flying equipment, gliding away without disturbing a speck of earth.
The enemy was hidden while he was exposed—this unknown adversary gnawed at Tang Fei’s nerves.
All his life, he preferred shadows.
Someone had taken his place.
Tang Fei sheathed the Snow Blossom Blade again. Normally, he was reluctant to use this blade, fearing he might damage it by accident.
After his dog-leg knife broke, he had no weapon left, so he had no choice but to draw this one.
He moved cautiously back to the crippled giant serpent.
He had counted before: the mechanical serpent had 108 bone segments, evenly embedded and intricately connected. Neither a blade nor a sword could cut through it.
No gaps, no flaws to be found. The entire serpent used an inward locking mechanism. He searched around but couldn’t even find a single screw.
As a mechanical enthusiast, Tang Fei could only describe this craftsmanship as a masterpiece beyond human skill.
This mechanical serpent was no ordinary creation—it must have been crafted by a senior mechanic.
But why would such a master come to trouble a nobody like him?
With his limited insight, Tang Fei knew if this serpent were sold, it could fetch a small fortune.
But how could he possibly carry such a large creature back?
He thought of Little Fatty.
No, better to carry it himself.
At this moment, Little Fatty was probably drinking tea and chatting happily with the Shang family. If he called him now, Little Fatty might not mind, but Old Man Shang would surely have complaints.
Tang Fei sensed that Shang Xiulin disliked him, even harboring subtle hostility.
But he was quite likable, wasn’t he?
The old man had no taste.
Today, you ignore me; tomorrow, I’ll kneel before you and never rise.
He would make sure they knew he was not to be trifled with.
Dean Shang was Little Fatty’s master, which made him, in a sense, Tang Fei’s master too.
The bond between master and disciple wasn’t something he could sever at will.
No chance.
After Phoenix left, he was determined to cling to Shang Xiulin as his pillar.
Tang Fei lifted the mechanical serpent, tested its weight—it must have been two or three hundred pounds.
Fortunately, as a cultivator, this weight posed no real challenge.
But it was long and cumbersome—carrying it in his arms felt a bit awkward.
So, Tang Fei hoisted it onto his shoulder and looped it once around his neck.
Hey, now that he thought about it...
This only made him look even more awkward.
Of course, Tang Fei had no illusions about his image. Considering the economic and research value the serpent could bring, this loss of dignity was trivial.
Carrying a black serpent through the campus, everyone pointed and whispered.
“Look, that’s the Light of the Old Soil—I’ve seen his videos.”
“Why is he carrying such a huge serpent? Wow, it’s a mechanical serpent. Is he joining the mechanical department?”
“No way. He’s already passed the assessment for the ancient martial arts department and even beat Shen Qingping. Dual cultivation?”
“Where did this mechanical serpent come from? Looks scary.”
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“I don’t know. Go ask him if you dare. That thing’s too scary.”
—
Some even raised their phones to take photos and videos. Tang Fei cooperated promptly, flashing a peace sign.
No one taught him that gesture—it seemed innate.
He knew he looked like a clown at that moment.
He hoped he could be funny and yet inspire a little fear.
—
Tang Fei carried the mechanical serpent all the way to the school gate, only to face another problem.
He had no car.
Before, Phoenix had chauffeured him back and forth, so he never thought about transportation.
Now Phoenix was busy with her own affairs. Without a car or driver...
He couldn’t just carry the serpent all the way home, could he? Would he be arrested for damaging the city’s image?
Just then, he saw taxis speeding past.
One after another.
He tried to hail one, but taxis kept gliding past him.
Two cars slowed down. After seeing the mechanical serpent draped around his neck, they hit the accelerator hard and nearly flipped over.
No one wanted to give him a ride.
So Tang Fei carried the mechanical serpent to a patrol car parked at the school entrance and said, “Officer, I want to report a case.”
“What are you reporting?” Two police officers on duty swiftly placed their hands on their Mauser pistols, watching Tang Fei warily.
If not for the student badge on his chest, their reaction might have been more severe.
“I’m lost,” Tang Fei said. “I don’t know where my home is.”
...
Tang Fei was taken home by the police car.
He truly needed a police car, as the mechanical serpent was too large. Only the spacious, sturdy police vehicle could contain it.
Getting out, Tang Fei thanked the officers warmly and invited them in.
“Thanks for giving me a ride home. Come in for a cup of tea?”
“No thanks.”
The officers responded curtly, and the car sped off quickly.
They seemed to be in a hurry.
Tang Fei didn’t mind. He opened the gate and carried the mechanical serpent inside.
Now, it belonged to him entirely.
Tang Fei grabbed a bottle of cola from the fridge, took a big gulp, and then remembered a grave problem:
“Someone wants to kill me.”
“Someone wants to kill me.”
“Someone wants to kill me.”
—
All he could do now was to work hard to improve his strength.
Tang Fei thought about the “Netherworld Scroll” he had been practicing at night. Practicing indoors was unsuitable—he had already shattered a table.
Practicing in the yard was too noisy; he worried about disturbing the neighbors.
He paced around the house and decided to convert the basement wine cellar and home theater into a training room.
But remodeling needed money.
He had no money.
Not even a bank card.
The plan was doomed.
“Ding!”
Was the system responding?
No, it was Tang Fei’s phone receiving a message.
He glanced at the screen: his personal account had received twenty million star coins.
“Twenty million?” Tang Fei’s eyes widened.
Who was so generous to send him twenty million star coins at once?
And the timing was perfect.
Just as he was about to sleep, someone sent him a sleeping aid.
The transfer came from a string of unfamiliar numbers. Tang Fei had never seen them before.
Of course, no one had ever sent him money before either.
He felt both surprised and amazed.
“Ding!”
His phone rang again.
This time it was a message from Phoenix: “I’ve opened a bank account for you. The password is eight zeros.
The one who cares most about you is always silently supporting you behind your back.”
Tang Fei wanted to reply “Thank you,” but after typing it, he deleted the message.
It was too polite—too unlike him, too unlike her.
He wanted to say something else but couldn’t think of what.
So he closed the phone.
When you don’t know what to choose, the best choice is to avoid it.
With food at home, there was no panic.
With twenty million star coins in hand, Tang Fei suddenly felt life was suddenly fulfilling.
He drained the bottle of cola and headed out—the training room had to be built.
Today. Right now. He was going to spend money.
—
“Transferred?” Sheng Xinhui sat in her office chair, holding a book on Classical Poetry Theory but staring at Phoenix, who was seated on the sofa.
“Transferred,” Phoenix said as if a great burden had been lifted, her mind suddenly feeling lighter.
“Twenty million star coins,” Sheng Xinhui looked up at the ceiling, feigning heartache. “Let me calculate how many years I’d have to work. My annual salary is six hundred thousand star coins, plus bonuses and allowances, at most eight hundred thousand. Twenty million divided by eight hundred thousand is... help me calculate.”
“Twenty-five years,” Phoenix said.
“Twenty-five years? By then, I’ll be old and sagging,” Sheng Xinhui said with a flattering look at Phoenix. In a coquettish voice, she added, “Snow Blossom Princess, do you need help warming the bed? I can do that too.”
“I don’t want you,” Phoenix rolled her eyes. “What would I want you for?”
“For what? I can do anything.”
“Can you not just open your mouth like that?”
“Open my mouth? No foreplay?”
...
Sheng Xinhui stretched and patted the book in her hand. “Look at these books: ‘Classical Music Theory Basics,’ ‘Wen Xin Diao Yu,’ ‘Study of Song Ci Poetry,’ ‘Collection of Erya Annotations.’ I deal with these every day. I feel like I’m about to mold. Do you smell a musty odor on me?”
“No, I think you smell nice,” Phoenix shook her head.
“Why bother struggling against yourself? Just do what feels good. Work is already so dull; can’t I get a little oral pleasure? I’ll die otherwise, really.”
“You’re a literature professor, spouting dirty jokes. What if students hear?”
“Will they like me more?”
...
“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand.” Sheng Xinhui waved her hand. “Have you really kept your distance from him?”
“Yeah,” Phoenix nodded softly. “Before I could even say it, he seemed to understand.”
“Your worries are also his worries,” Sheng Xinhui sighed. “Having been close to him once, I know he’s an extremely intelligent and sensitive young man.
He craves friends but fears trusting them...
Afraid of being loved, yet afraid of being unloved.
Right now, maybe he only has himself.”
Phoenix felt a heavy pressure on her heart.
She wanted to cry.
Today’s energy was low; despite her best efforts, this was all she could produce.
It’s the end of the month—if you have monthly tickets, please support Old Liu. He’s getting old and needs encouragement.
(The End of This Chapter)