Chapter 36: Sweet Song · 20

“However, I probably won’t be attending the same university as you.”

Over the phone, Fu Congxiao’s voice carried an extra note of seriousness.

“This is a great opportunity.”

“If you choose to become a military doctor, you’ll have to put in several times more mental and physical effort than ordinary people. But in return, you’ll graduate straight into a solid military position, with a bright future ahead.”

Shang Xi, who had been bubbling with excitement, asked curiously, “Is your school better than mine, then?”

Otherwise, why couldn’t they study at the same university?

“No, it’s not like that,” Fu Congxiao replied. “Sometimes, you can’t just compare schools by their rankings to decide which is better.”

“You’re a Nightingale—you can adapt to group living or go it alone. But my nature, and the personality I’ve developed over these years, just don’t suit communal life.”

“After becoming a special police officer, I’ll need to adapt to team operations too, but the career options are more flexible—EOD specialist, assault team member, sniper. You can choose what fits.”

As Shang Xi listened to him explain the details, he suddenly called out his name.

“Fu Congxiao.”

“What?”

“I wanted to say this before—you were just like my big brother when you were teaching me lessons and seriously explaining all this.”

Fu Congxiao responded with a flat acknowledgment.

Shang Xi pressed, “What’s that reaction? I’m complimenting you.”

“Thanks, then.”

The next day, Shang Xi reported his gains from the previous day to Professor Zhou.

The professor slapped his forehead and immediately sent him to the school infirmary.

“Give it a try here first.”

Two students sat side by side, both looking rather unwell.

Shang Xi didn’t know them, but he greeted them politely anyway.

Professor Zhou said, “Try it out—sense where they’re uncomfortable.”

Little Nightingale hesitated. “Where do I start?”

“I’m not a Nightingale.” The old man shrugged. “You figure it out.”

Shang Xi circled the two classmates a couple of times, thinking he might as well be bold—failure wouldn’t be the end of the world.

He gestured for them to spread out a bit, then unconsciously began to hum softly.

It was like tuning a piano string, tightening or loosening it. He hummed a steady central C, letting the sound flow outward like water from a lake—smooth and even, rippling back when it met resistance.

Bowing his head, he hummed for a while. He could feel one student’s abdomen swallowing up his sound, as if inflamed there.

The other’s head bounced it back, like it had hit some obstruction.

These subtle sensations were hard to put into words, but they were real.

He stopped his human tuning fork impression and said, “One has a headache, the other stomach pain, right?”

Professor Zhou signaled the students not to say anything yet and prompted, “What else?”

“The one on the left—it feels like a burning pain.” Shang Xi pondered the feedback he’d sensed. “The one on the right, uh, their migraine’s connected to sinus congestion?”

Only now did Professor Zhou’s face show genuine surprise. “What a promising talent.”

The students, who’d spent half the day as lab rats, grumbled miserably, “Professor, can we go grab our meds now?”

“Go on, go on. Thanks for your help!”

Once they’d shuffled out one after another, the old man turned to Shang Xi.

“You did tell me before that you wanted to be a doctor.”

As the professor eyed the Nightingale, he seemed to envision countless research papers sprouting tiny wings and fluttering around him.

“Incredible… How is this even possible?”

Shang Xi murmured, “But becoming a military doctor requires physical training—like running ten kilometers.”

“It’s more than that—could be twenty, building up gradually.” Professor Zhou brushed it off. “Marching into battle demands an iron will and body of steel.”

Shang Xi eyed his easy confidence and began to doubt himself. “So, how long does it take you to run ten kilometers?”

“Thirty minutes.” The professor beamed. “I ride an e-bike.”

“…”

The school’s Survival Class always included physical training, and completing the A-level basics was the standard for graduation.

Shang Xi knew Fu Congxiao had aced even the D-level courses, which was why top universities were clamoring for him.

Not long after, Senior Brother returned from his exams in Beijing. Little Nightingale hesitantly asked if they could train privately first.

Once he signed up for classes, backing out would be awkward.

If he couldn’t even handle private light sessions, he shouldn’t dream too big.

Fu Congxiao picked an early morning and invited him out for a slow jog.

“Three kilometers is enough for today—focus on form and breathing rhythm.”

Instead of the track field, they headed into the wilds, crunching through fallen leaves as they went.

About five hundred meters in, Shang Xi’s expression twisted in pain.

He turned his head again, only to find not a drop of sweat on Fu Congxiao. He was purely just keeping him company on a leisurely walk.

Little Nightingale ground his teeth. “Snakes sure can run fast. No challenge at all for you.”

Fu Congxiao kept his steady pace, saying offhandedly, “Think about it—do snakes have legs?”

“…Huh?”

Shang Xi had a sudden bombshell realization.

Snakes never had legs!

Sure, snakes moved fast, but it was all slithering and gliding. Nothing to do with running!

“Then—how are you so insanely fit?!” He stared in disbelief. “I figured it was some kind of natural talent boost.”

“My explosive muscle power is pretty good,” Fu Congxiao admitted, “but everything else? Hard training, every bit of it.”

Shang Xi felt a surge of respect.

It was tough for him to keep up, but with Senior Brother by his side, he gradually started pushing himself harder.

In the crisp early mornings and quiet nights, amid the faint crunch of ginkgo leaves underfoot and the drowsy stares of certain snakes and birds, they tackled B-grade physical training.

“Your bones aren’t fully developed yet, so don’t push yourself to exhaustion,” Fu Congxiao said, drawing from the admission standards of the three top military academies to lay out a strategy for him. “Aim for C-grade physical fitness, D-grade flight skills, and a solid placing in the long-distance endurance flight. Snag a few recommendation letters in arts and medicine, and you’ll sail into admission.”

Shang Xi blurted out, “That’s the whole plan?!”

Fu Congxiao paused, then circled a few more subjects on the list. “Pay extra attention to these exam scores.”

“Hold up,” Shang Xi said. He only knew the standard path for regular high schoolers. “Is that how you did it?”

“Yep. Training plans, award strategies, self-recommendation letters, recommendation letters, personal portfolio assembly. That’s the drill,” Fu Congxiao replied. “I lined up four recommendations, so it was smooth sailing.”

Shang Xi: OAO…

Little Nightingale wasted no time firing off the latest updates to his parents.

Luo Suhe weighed in: “For you to befriend someone like Little Fu, it’s like our ancestors’ graves are belching green smoke.”

Shang Xi: “Mom, hold on—that doesn’t sound right!”

His parents fully backed his choice of major, though they were stunned that their kid wanted to become a military doctor.

Little Xi had always been the soft, cuddly type growing up—adorable, clingy, total mascot material.

Around the same time, they learned about Fu Congxiao losing both his parents, along with the great news of his guaranteed admission spot.

After a quick discussion, the couple drove down to Hangzhou that weekend and invited the boys out for dinner.

Fu Congxiao stepped into the restaurant and eyed the overly formal private room setup, feeling a touch out of his element.

“Congxiao,” Shang Heping said, rubbing his hands together. “Your auntie and I wanted to throw you a simple celebration dinner. Congrats on getting into your top-choice university.”

“You’re truly exceptional. Your family would be so proud.”

Fu Congxiao stood frozen in the doorway, his expression distant. He’d never been valued or cared for like this before—he had no idea what to say.

“Your Uncle Shang and I had a fountain pen custom-made for you,” Luo Suhe added, handing over a small gift box. “Your initials are engraved in the subtle pattern. It’s your admission gift.” She smiled warmly. “And if you’re up for it, you’re welcome at our place anytime—the last half of high school, college, after you start working. You’re Shang Xi’s brother now.”

Shang Xi drawled lazily, “Bro, you in? If not, better bolt now.”

Fu Congxiao hadn’t given a thought to where he’d go after this semester.

The old lady, still grieving her son’s death, had retreated to a sanatorium and told him not to visit unless absolutely necessary—she wanted solitude to heal.

Zhang Hong and Fu Mingyao had moved out of the Old Mansion into a swanky new apartment.

He actually had a new home now.

“No pressure at all,” Shang Heping said, sensing the stiff vibe and trying to lighten it. “Our door’s always open. We clicked with you from the start, and after how patiently you’ve looked after Little Xi all this time, we really like you.”

Dad Shang wisely kept his real thought to himself.

Enduring this kid belting karaoke songs right in your face every midnight? That’s a miracle in itself.

Fu Congxiao couldn’t muster more than a deep bow and a quiet “Thank you.”

Luo Suhe pulled him into a tight hug.

“To celebrate your admission, let’s hit up a photo studio later.”

“One solo shot of you, one with you and Little Xi, and one of the whole family.”

Fu Congxiao went a little rigid in her embrace but softly murmured his agreement.

Host and guests parted in high spirits after a thoroughly enjoyable meal.

After dropping Fu Congxiao off, Shang Xi lingered in his parents’ car. “So, he’s officially my brother now?”

Shang Heping scrolled through the sample photos sent over WeChat, grinning in approval.

With Congxiao in the group shot, the whole family’s looks got an instant upgrade.

“Legally speaking, of course not. But emotionally, we’re all more than happy to treat him like family.”

“Oh.” Shang Xi asked again, “So what if I want to date him someday?”

Shang Heping: “…?”

Luo Suhe short-circuited for a moment: “Huh?”

“I haven’t decided yet. High school’s not over, and I’m in no rush to start dating anyway.” Little Nightingale drawled lazily. “But be honest with me—in terms of skills, personality, looks, and everything else, is there anyone more perfect for me than him?”

“You wouldn’t want me going out on blind dates, getting married, and then belting out songs at midnight until the neighbors call the cops… right?”

A whirlwind of expressions danced across Luo Suhe’s face.

Shang Heping kept his cool. “Whatever happens, you two need to use protection and take care of your health.”

Luo Suhe smacked her husband’s head with a sharp slap, then turned back with a serious look.

“You—do you really like your Brother Xiao?”

Little Nightingale shrugged. “Not yet. I’m pretty reserved about these things.”