Chapter 25: Sweet Song · 9

Professor Rong bounced in place four or five times, completely shedding her earlier aloof elegance to become a jubilant little old lady.

She slapped the piano lid with the back of her hand, her eyes sparkling at Shang Xi like bursting fireworks.

“Can you play?”

Shang Xi shook his head honestly.

He’d never learned a note.

“Come on, give it a try,” she urged. “What if you can?”

Shang Xi mimicked her posture, sat down properly, and poked at the keys with his finger—do, re, mi—showing that was the full extent of his skill.

“My fault; I didn’t think it through,” the old lady said without a hint of concern. “A nightingale wouldn’t know piano anyway. Kid, you’ve got more than enough talent as it is.”

She fired off a text to Professor Zhou first, but typing proved too slow, so she switched to a barrage of voice messages, each one stretching well over sixty seconds.

“Teacher,” Shang Xi said, “I don’t really want to be a singer.”

He had zero interest in performing.

Professor Rong let out a hearty laugh instead. “Care to share why?”

“I prefer jobs with stronger practical uses,” Shang Xi said after a moment’s thought. “If it weren’t for the genetic mutation, I might’ve gone for lawyer or doctor.”

Professor Rong nodded approvingly. “That’s excellent too.”

“But have you considered your voice might have special properties?”

She settled across from him, posture relaxed and unguarded. “We had a student once whose gene was Little Yellow Oriole. Her voice could swiftly calm and soothe patients.”

“I teamed up with researchers from the mental health center for clinical trials. Recordings of her singing cut the rates of manic outbursts and self-harm among patients by 68% in just two weeks—way better than sedatives.”

Shang Xi stared, stunned and incredulous.

“You can use it like that?”

“Art has always been humanity’s balm for emotions, and the applications can stretch even further.”

Professor Rong shifted to a comfier spot; any professorial airs had vanished entirely.

“In medicine, your singing might speed wound healing or ease inflammation.”

“Agriculture for seedling selection and breeding, trauma counseling in psychology, boosting explosive power in athletic training…”

“You’ve got to open your mind sometimes, kid. You’ll turn into someone extraordinary.”

When Shang Xi finally left the Music Classroom, his steps felt airy and light.

He’d never imagined any of this; the anxiety gnawing at his heart vanished in an instant, replaced by a joy that bordered on surreal.

Professor Rong’s ideas—he might not pull off every one, but even a single success would be incredible.

The young man skipped his culture class and spent the afternoon at Back Lake, watching the waterbirds.

Meanwhile, Fu Congxiao grabbed a box of dorayaki from Old Zhou and headed back to the dorm to hand it off to that dummy.

Dorm door swung open—empty.

Ecology Room, classroom, Laboratory Building—all empty.

Phone must be on silent; calls went unanswered.

Unease creased Fu Congxiao’s face as he picked up the pace in his search.

Luckily, Senior Sister Snow Owl passed by just then and called out, “Congxiao, what’s with the scowl?”

“Shang Xi’s gone missing.”

“Oh, him? He’s at Back Lake feeding the swans,” An Ming said. “Some seniors have no shame, shapeshifting into birds to steal snacks from their own kind.”

Fu Congxiao halted at last, his breathing steadying.

“That’s a relief,” he said. “I was worried something happened to him.”

“Shang Xi, in trouble?” Senior sister chuckled confidently. “He comes off all sweet and obedient, but he’s sharper than anyone. You’d be the one in hot water before he ever was.”

Fu Congxiao: …?

An Ming studied his face, looking baffled.

“You’re not seriously thinking he’s some fragile little thing who needs pitying, are you?”

Fu Congxiao hesitated. “Kind of.”

An Ming: “Ah…”

A whirlwind of expressions crossed her face.

Shang Xi lounged under the willow tree, tossing bits of dry bread to the waterbirds on the lake now and then.

Sensing someone draw near, he scooted over to make room.

“Skipping class today too?”

“Looking for you.” Fu Congxiao dropped down beside him and offered the dorayaki box. “Old Zhou’s treat.”

Shang Xi eyed his hands, wanting to wipe them but finding it tricky.

“I petted a couple swans earlier,” he said. “Do birds need their hands washed after other birds touch them?”

“I ate the matcha and red bean ones,” Fu Congxiao replied. “Strawberry and sea salt are left; they’re starting to melt.”

Shang Xi gave him a pitiful look. “What do I do, Senior Brother?”

With a sigh, the young man tore off the box lid and used the clean inside to pick up a dorayaki, feeding it to him by hand.

Shang Xi polished off most of it, stretched out lazily, and murmured, “I love this place so much; not even in the mood for evening class.”

Fu Congxiao glanced around at the swaying willows and the lake’s shimmering surface. “You really like the scenery here?”

“Yeah, one more thing!” Shang Xi laughed. “Cormorants often come here to snatch fish.”

He pulled out his phone, apologized for the missed call, and showed off the video he’d taken.

A sleek, powerful waterbird shot through the surface like an arrow, flung a massive carp high into the air with its head, and gulped it down in one go.

Shang Xi sighed in admiration. “That fish had to be at least five or six pounds, and it swallowed the whole thing. Incredible!”

A childish spark of defiance flickered in Fu Congxiao’s heart.

Big deal.

Shang Xi was in high spirits, chattering away about recent odds and ends.

He started with a lively old lady, moved on to someone dozing off in math class and turning into a snake—earning a hefty deduction in daily points—then to the Senior Wild Goose he’d recently gotten to know.

Fu Congxiao’s fingertips were sticky with strawberry cream, the sensation growing uncomfortably tacky.

He wiped them clean on a blade of grass and thought in silence that Shang Xi’s circle of new friends was steadily expanding.

Cobras were solitary creatures.

When assigning dorms, Professor Zhou had specifically warned that if things got uncomfortable living with Shang Xi, he could apply for a room change at any time.

Shang Xi remained blissfully unaware, always trailing after Fu Congxiao like a shadow.

Fu Congxiao finished cleaning his fingers and quietly listened as Shang Xi went on about other people.

It felt like their bond was starting to fade.

“By the way,” Shang Xi said, “the school’s holding a sports meet next week. It’s all individual sign-ups, and I hear there are daily points on the line. You thinking of joining?”

Fu Congxiao replied, “Haven’t decided.”

“I’m planning to go sing a few songs.” Little Nightingale puffed up with pride. “Professor Zhou wants to observe the results live. If the scores beat last year’s, it’ll get reported up the chain.”

“Senior Brother, if you compete, I’ll fetch water for you and cheer you on.”

Fu Congxiao kept his expression neutral, but that evening he signed up for two events.

Old Zhou was profoundly touched. “All thanks to my tireless rallying! Students need well-rounded development—morals, intellect, fitness, arts, and labor!”

Fu Congxiao straightened the teetering stack of documents, which had slumped like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and asked, “Does Shang Xi plan to go the arts route in the future?”

“Not a chance. He even asked where you’re headed,” Professor Zhou said, rubbing his bald pate. “I told him you’re probably bound for SWAT—your night vision scores are top-notch, and your physical fitness is always S-rank.”

Fu Congxiao shot him a sidelong glance. “He asked about me?”

“You bet. He’s always had an eye on you.” Old Zhou spoke with earnest gravity. “Don’t walk around with that poker face all day. Smile at your junior brother now and then.”

The young man dipped his head almost imperceptibly, his steps light as he left.

Shang Xi had added two more elective courses to his load. He spent his free time trailing Professor Rong to record songs and occasionally headed to the greenhouse for comparison experiments.

The music classroom sat in a secluded corner of campus, where you’d sometimes round a bend and catch sneaking couples stealing kisses or underachievers puffing cigarettes on the sly.

So when Shang Xi spotted the four Yellow Hairs, he smoothly stepped aside with practiced ease, as if to say, carry on, I’ll be on my way.

“Hold up,” Yellow Hair blocked his path, flashing a grin. “Bro here’s got business with you.”

“You’re tight with Fu Congxiao, yeah? He sheds a tooth every month—hook us up with one.”

Shang Xi looked up. “What do you need it for?”

“Nothing shady. He’s got extras. Do a solid for your bros, alright?”

The smirking punk slung an arm over his shoulder and dropped his voice. “You know how much these fetch on the black market? Bro’s strapped for cash right now. Sell it, and I’ll cut you thirty percent—more sales, bigger cut.”

Shang Xi didn’t budge. “So this is an ambush?”

“Ambush?” The Slim Tall Guy next to him snapped impatiently. “Just say yes and quit wasting our time.”

Shang Xi shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke slowly.

“Don’t you have family? If you’re short on cash, hit them up.”

Yellow Hair’s temper flared. “Who the hell you calling that?!”

“I remember you,” Shang Xi said. “You’re Rooster.”

The hangers-on burst into snickers. Yellow Hair’s rage boiled over.

Last time, his big bro had been kicked into submission like a total wuss, but he wasn’t backing down.

Word from off-campus guys had come around multiple times: these venom teeth went for tens of thousands of bucks on the black market, with foreigners lining up to buy.

Today, he was dead set on cashing in!

“You’re Shang Xi, right?” Yellow Hair snarled, grabbing his collar and cocking his hand back for a slap. “I’m telling you, even if you run to the Discipline Office right now, it won’t save you. I put my words right—”

Before he could finish, the youth raised a hand and sprayed him square in the face, asking softly,

“What words are those?”

Yellow Hair couldn’t dodge in time. He clutched his eyes and collapsed, writhing on the ground in agony.

“You—what the hell did you spray me with?!”

The others shrank back, terrified of getting involved.

“What’s in that bottle? It’s all green and oily!”

“Shit, that’s gotta be Fu Congxiao’s venom!”

“Get him to the hospital quick—too late and he’ll lose his eyes!”

“He carries snake venom! Run! It’ll burn the skin right off!”

Halfway through Calculus Class, the Discipline Teacher arrived with a stern expression and knocked on the door.

“Pardon the interruption, Fu Congxiao. Come with us for a moment.”

Fu Congxiao had been deep in concentration, working through the problems, and he felt a flicker of irritation at being singled out.

What now?

Zhou Baofu was waiting outside the door as well. He grabbed Fu Congxiao’s arm and hurried him toward the Infirmary.

“Do you have any more Antivenom Serum on hand?”

“Serum?” Fu Congxiao blinked in confusion. “I handed the last batch over to the research lab. I don’t need it myself.”

“You know what I mean,” Zhou Baofu said with a heavy sigh. “When Xiao Xi got bullied, he should’ve come to me. What’s this about you sneaking him some venom? If anyone really holds you accountable—”

“I didn’t give him any,” Fu Congxiao replied. “I supply venom to the lab on a regular schedule, and every batch is recorded on video.”

By the time they reached the Infirmary, a student’s wail echoed from inside before they even crossed the threshold.

Shang Xi sat off to the side, idly scrolling on his phone. Spotting them, he waved casually.

“Teacher, I admit my mistake.”

The Discipline Teacher looked frantic. “Admit it now? What if that other kid’s eyes are permanently damaged—”

“I shouldn’t have sprayed him with Wind Oil Essence,” Shang Xi said, hanging his head. “I actually diluted it with quite a bit of water, though…”

Everyone froze for a moment, and Fu Congxiao burst out laughing.

The Discipline Teacher’s face turned as green as the Wind Oil Essence itself. “Run that by me again? It wasn’t Snake Venom?”

“Of course not,” Shang Xi said, sounding genuinely aggrieved. “Teacher, he kept harassing me over and over. You can’t walk me to and from class every single day, so I had no choice but to handle it this way…”

“I’m sorry, Teacher. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, so this was the only trick I had up my sleeve.”