Chapter 35: Sweet Song · 19

Time flew by, and before they knew it, December had arrived—the season for pre-exams across the schools.

In truth, after the KTV gathering, Shang Xi and Fu Congxiao had rarely crossed paths.

One was set on art academies, gunning for a recommendation slot at the Central Music Academy, while the other had already locked in invites from top military schools and Public Security University, both demanding intensive closed-door training.

Shang Xi holed up in his dorm for two full months, feeling glum. He’d occasionally ping Fu Congxiao on WeChat with little bird flying-kick stickers.

But that training regimen—grueling orienteering runs and other endurance marathons—left zero room for replies.

It felt like tossing messages into the sea in bottles; every three to five days, a curt response would finally drift back from Fu Congxiao.

Shang Xi knew there’d always been this faint, ambiguous spark flickering between them, and he was the hold-back type.

No point holding back now, Little Nightingale thought wistfully. Long-distance was like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head.

Old Zhou had mapped out the itinerary ahead of time, set on escorting Fu Congxiao to the pre-exams himself.

Even though the kid had his heart set on special forces, backups never hurt.

On December fourth, Shang Xi tagged along with Old Zhou to the airport. There was Fu Congxiao at last.

Shang Xi didn’t recognize him right away.

Physically, not much had changed, but his vibe? Overnight, the high school boy had morphed into a college man.

Fu Congxiao’s stamina was ironclad, and he excelled at night ops. The closed training had cranked the intensity to eleven.

He gleamed like a masterfully forged blade, his lean muscles stretching his shoulders and neck into sleek, striking lines.

Shang Xi hung back at a careful distance, watching in silence.

Two months apart, and everything felt a touch foreign.

“Your junior brother really looks out for you, huh? Coming all this way just to see you off,” Old Zhou remarked with a sigh. “Can’t blame him—you’ll be bouncing around Beijing for at least half a month, and you barely showed your face at school this semester anyway.”

Fu Congxiao strode toward Shang Xi, who took an instinctive step back.

Fu Congxiao halted.

“You got taller again,” Shang Xi grumbled. “Your whole aura screams ‘I’ve seen some action’—sharp as a knife.”

Fu Congxiao eyed his face. “Jealous?”

“Insanely,” Shang Xi sighed. “When has yours truly, Shang Somebody, not dreamed of turning into a ruthless night hawk?”

The young man fished something small from his pocket and held it out.

“Heard you’re doing the preliminary recording for the exams. Here—a gift.”

His tone carried a hint of awkwardness.

“Or… call it a good-luck charm.”

Fu Congxiao accepted it: a tiny pendant crafted from a feather.

Nightingale feathers were impossibly soft. The muted tawny shade was subtle, yet it conjured images of fluffy pastries and rich, inviting coffee.

Right there in front of him, Fu Congxiao looped the pendant onto his phone case and flung his arms wide.

“Senior Brother hug.”

Shang Xi blinked, glancing at Old Zhou. “Who the hell is this?”

Old Zhou laughed. “How long’s it been since your senior brother laid eyes on you? Totally normal!”

Fu Congxiao stood there, arms open, utterly unabashed.

Shang Xi stepped forward into the embrace—and the next instant, iron bands clamped around him.

Fu Congxiao buried his face in Shang Xi’s neck, inhaling deeply. His arms tightened further, as if he could fold the other right into himself.

Two months.

Two months without seeing you, Shang Xi.

And here you are, seeing me off at the airport.

Shang Xi could barely breathe, but he stayed put, letting his senior brother get his fill.

He was used to it by now. After all, he was this adorable—sniffing was par for the course.

Fu Congxiao adored that subtle grassy scent clinging to him, always savoring it with long, deep breaths.

Finally releasing him, the tall youth tousled his hair.

“See you.”

“Later,” Shang Xi replied. “Grab a box of donkey rolls on your way back.”

As the pair parted, Old Zhou watched with a pleased grin.

“Like real brothers. Bonds like that don’t come around often.”

“Mm. That’s one way to put it.”

In reality, Fu Congxiao was heading to Beijing as a star graduate for the exchange exams—his future brighter than a spotlight.

Right on cue with his trip, special admissions reps from major universities rolled into Enlightenment Star Main Campus for back-to-back promo sessions.

This school housed every special awakened talent in Zhejiang Province. Snake Descendants and Feather Descendants alike—be it research whizzes, arts prodigies, or athletic phenoms—were destined for the top of their fields.

The college fairs ran two full days. The school vacated four entire floors of the academic building, letting recruiters from every discipline hold court with talks and Q&As.

Flush with funding, the corridors brimmed with free drinks and sweets around the clock. Freshmen through seniors wandered in freely to browse.

Whenever this time rolled around, students with standout talents were always run off their feet, adding a dozen WeChats a day from teachers at elite 985 and 211 universities eager to recruit them.

Blood Descendants with more ordinary abilities felt a bit awkward. After all, even with their genes awakened, their powers still seemed pretty mundane. The upside was they didn’t have to deal with classes and could enjoy a few extra days of vacation to catch up on sleep.

Shang Xi added several teachers from the vocal and composition departments. Meanwhile, he was chattering away with his friends about which floor’s refreshment spread was the best.

A junior brother already had the frontline report: “Head to the fourth floor! Their fig pudding and tiramisu are insanely good!”

A junior sister, stuffed to the gills: “Report! Third floor has fresh-squeezed orange juice, and second floor has wasabi salmon sandwiches!”

Shang Xi: “Damn, they’re pulling out all the stops today!”

An Ming: “Well, the school has to save face, and the board of directors really does have deep pockets.”

Shang Xi wandered around, eventually making his way to the third floor for some orange juice.

One cup down, and it was indeed sweet and refreshing, utterly delightful.

He casually reached for the pitcher to pour another when an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind him.

“You’re Shang Xi, right?”

Little Nightingale’s smile froze. One hand held the orange juice pitcher, the other a paper cup.

“Should I… pour it back?”

The female teacher couldn’t hold back her laughter. “No need. This is all provided by the school—you can have as many cups as you like if you enjoy it.”

She pointed to her name badge and explained, “I’m Teacher Yuan from Room 403 on the fourth floor. I came downstairs specifically to find you.”

“Huh?”

Shang Xi had just raided the third-floor spread. His pockets were stuffed with sandwiches, a small cake clutched in one hand, and a cheese-stuffed pastry gripped under his arm.

He felt a little embarrassed.

The teacher called over her assistant to help deliver the snack mountain that was Little Nightingale’s haul.

Shang Xi grabbed two extra hot dogs on impulse and asked the assistant to drop everything off at his dorm.

“Just leave it at the door! Thanks!!”

The assistant looked a bit aggrieved. “You’re really grabbing everything in sight, huh.”

Shang Xi: “You bet. After all, I’m one of the school’s pillars of strength.”

As they headed upstairs together again, Shang Xi couldn’t quite figure out Teacher Yuan’s intentions.

All the arts and humanities recruitment was on the first floor—he’d spent the whole afternoon there yesterday, even singing for several people.

Floors two and three handled science and engineering admissions, while the fourth was for military academies.

Had Teacher Yuan gotten the wrong person…?

When he caught sight of the school name, Shang Xi’s eyebrows shot up.

It was a military academy, and one of the top three to boot.

“Have you… maybe got the wrong guy?”

Teacher Yuan smiled gently. “Nope.”

They took seats in the classroom. From the PPT on the electronic screen to the promotional banners, everything screamed crisp, powerful military style.

A strange mix of longing and disappointment welled up in Shang Xi’s heart.

“Teacher, my true form is a nightingale. I’m afraid I don’t quite fit your school’s recruitment criteria.”

After all, nightingales seemed only good for singing, with nothing else particularly impressive to offer.

Teacher Yuan said, “I’ve heard your singing.”

“The music you recorded before has been tested multiple times in hospitals, schools, and even the military.”

“That’s why my superiors sent me specifically this time—to ask you something.”

“Shang Xi, have you ever considered becoming a military doctor?”

Shang Xi blurted out on instinct, “Could I really do that?”

“I’ve seen your grades. You’re not far from the standard admission line, and as an arts specialty student, that’s even better.”

Teacher Yuan continued softly, “More importantly, excellent soldiers are a dime a dozen, but a skilled military doctor is one in a million.”

“Your voice carries an energy that inspires and heals. For groups who need both physical and mental recovery, that’s incredibly valuable.”

“If war really breaks out, your small stature, exceptional night vision, and swift mobility would let you march faster than most, realizing your talents far beyond the ordinary.”

“Shang Xi, I can already see that passion in your eyes.”

“Yes,” the young man said without hesitation. “I’ve always—I’ve always wanted to do more.”

“I don’t want to stay confined to a stage or be pigeonholed as some artist’s pet project.”

“For a long time now, I’ve dreamed of being a doctor or a lawyer. I want to protect more people!”

Teacher Yuan was surprised but even more gratified.

The boy before her was clearly nothing like the burly stereotype of a military cadet.

He was slender and gentle, with the refined scholarly air unique to the youths of Jiangnan.

Yet he radiated resilience, a sense of duty, and a deep love for the world.

That was what mattered most.

“Here’s the brochure, and the details on targeted recruitment.” Teacher Yuan handed him the materials. “If you’re interested, you’ll need to focus on physical training. You’re only in your sophomore year of high school, so you have plenty of time to think it over and prepare.”

“Good luck. Your teacher believes in you.” She winked and added softly, “Oh, and I have one personal suggestion.”

“You can try whether you have the ability to pinpoint lesions using sound alone.”

Shang Xi: “……！！”

What if he really possessed such a talent? Wouldn’t that make him a walking, all-terrain CT scanner?

In that instant, Little Nightingale pictured himself as a priceless national asset, coveted and fought over by powerhouses like China, Britain, America, and beyond.

He smacked his forehead.

What was he thinking? No country was hurting for CT machines.

“Got it, thanks!”

When he returned to the dorm, Senior Brother Viper greeted him, toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Yo, since when do they deliver takeout straight to campus?”

Little Nightingale clutched his bulging bag of snacks and drinks, declaring with utmost solemnity, “You wouldn’t understand. This is fate’s gift.”

Fate just might transform him into a brilliant battlefield medic, singing amid a hail of bullets while pulling the wounded from the brink of death.

That evening, Fu Congxiao heard the good news over the phone and offered his congratulations.

“But do you know the basic fitness standard for military doctors starts with a ten-kilometer run?”

Shang Xi suddenly choked on a mouthful of wasabi.