Thank you so much, Yartizt & Mystic, for the ko-fis!!! :blobaww:

The massive blizzard in District Seven some time ago had caused major universities to suspend classes. As a result, it had been nearly a month since the two last met.

At that time, Xi Xianqing had vaguely sensed an odd and indescribable tension between Qin Weisheng and Ruan Min. However, the main source of strangeness lay in Ruan Min’s overly timid nature, so he hadn’t suspected Qin Weisheng too much.

But at this very moment, the conversation between those two at the pantry entrance echoed in his ears. Xi Xianqing’s eyes remained fixed, cold and piercing, as he stared at the back of the man in front of him.

Xi Xianqing and Zhu Ming’s relationship was no secret within Xi Star. Their recent divorce had been widely discussed, yet whether it was in their last conversation or this current meeting, Qin Weisheng’s speech and demeanor showed no flaws whatsoever.

If he truly was the mastermind behind Zhu Ming’s car accident all those years ago… then the depth of his scheming and the strength of his mentality had already far surpassed what ordinary people could reach.

Qin Weisheng stopped in his tracks and, with a gentle smile, pulled open the office door. “Please, come in.”

Suppressing the storm surging within him, Xi Xianqing stepped inside. Almost involuntarily, his gaze once again landed on the bookshelves with a strong sense of presence.

The last time, he had only caught a glimpse and found the sight somewhat peculiar. This time, as he looked carefully, he realized that in the middle of this bookshelf—packed so tightly with honors that not a single gap seemed possible—there was actually… an empty spot.

—As if it had been deliberately left open, waiting for something of utmost importance.

“You should be able to tell that this dull old man has spent his entire life immersed in academia. The most significant events of my life have all happened in this laboratory.”

Noticing Xi Xianqing’s gaze, Qin Weisheng smiled and picked up the teapot beside him. “I don’t have many hobbies, just a bit of an obsessive habit. I like to record and collect these various milestones in this way. Over the years, it’s become a habit.”

“So this time,” a faint mist rose from the cup, momentarily making Qin Weisheng’s voice sound somewhat hazy, “I’d like you, Mr. Xiao Xi, to help me record it the same way.”

It took Xi Xianqing a long moment to grasp his meaning. “You mean… you want me to make a trophy for you?”

Qin Weisheng blew on the water in his cup and shook his head. His gaze followed Xi Xianqing’s to the bookshelf. “Not exactly. A trophy, a medal—it doesn’t really matter. To be precise… I want you to make a memento for me.”

“A memento… to commemorate the honor of the Chief Researcher position.” His gaze lingered on the empty spot in the bookshelf, his expression tinged with a sense of reminiscence.

From the very first time they met, Qin Weisheng had always presented himself to Xi Xianqing as gentle, refined, and impeccably composed.

Only in this moment did his thoughts seem to drift unconsciously with his memories, so much so that he failed to notice the subtle shift in expression between Xi Xianqing and Ye Lu behind him.

A few seconds later, Qin Weisheng belatedly realized the oddity in his own words—because the true Chief Researcher of District Seven now was Ruan Min, not him.

For something that technically didn’t belong to him… his vision for it was almost too precise and detailed.

He quickly gathered himself, his smile unfaltering, and calmly added, “Most importantly, it’s also a tribute to the years of hardship I endured in nurturing such an outstanding student as Ruan Min.”

For a moment, the air in the room seemed to freeze.

Xi Xianqing looked into Qin Weisheng’s eyes and, after a long pause, said, “Then, do you have any specific ideas for this memento? I can try to replicate it as closely as possible.”

Whether or not he sensed the underlying probe in that question, Qin Weisheng smiled faintly. “Not really—after all, who would’ve thought that Ruan Min, this child, would hand me the opportunity to have this piece made?”

“But Qu He told me that your family’s assessment tradition, Mr. Xi, includes a very important group photo session after the completion of the piece.”

Qin Weisheng paused briefly. “The Academy wants to arrange this session in the institute’s auditorium for colleagues and students to witness. So I was thinking, if we could add some interactive elements to surprise the audience during the presentation, it might make the event more memorable and meaningful.”

“But I’m an outsider in this field, and some of my ideas may not be very practical.”

He placed his teacup on the table and spoke warmly. “Ultimately, this is your assessment, Mr. Xiao Xi. Everything should be guided by your inspiration and vision—whatever feels right for you.”

Qin Weisheng’s words were flawlessly crafted. On the surface, he seemed to be making a self-deprecating remark, but at the end of his sentence, he subtly reminded Xi Xianqing that this was his “assessment.”

The final evaluation before Elder Xi would come from Qin Weisheng. In essence, Xi Xianqing and he were in the positions of examinee and evaluator.

Their gazes met in the air without a sound. Qin Weisheng’s smile remained unchanged. A moment later, Xi Xianqing replied lightly, “I’ll do my best.”

“It’s been hard on you for listening to me ramble. Getting older makes me talk too much sometimes.”

With a sigh, Qin Weisheng stood up and glanced at the time on the wall. “I have a lecture coming up soon, so I won’t keep you any longer.”

Their polite exchange ended at just the right moment. Qin Weisheng rose to see them off, and Xi Xianqing followed suit, getting up from his seat.

The moment he stood, his peripheral vision swept past Qin Weisheng’s shoulder and landed on the potted plant behind his chair.

Previously, when he had looked from outside the door, his vision had been too blurred to make it out clearly. But now, at this very moment, Xi Xianqing finally saw it in its entirety—radiating, block-like fruits tinged with green and yellow, with a rough, pitted surface so irregular and unsightly that it looked nothing like a product of natural evolution.

Xi Xianqing suddenly froze in place.

His eyelid twitched involuntarily, an unsettling sense of unease surging through him. His gaze slowly moved upward from the potted tangerine plant, finally landing on Qin Weisheng’s face. From their very first meeting, there had been an inexplicable, eerie sense of familiarity in Qin Weisheng’s features—now, that feeling wrapped tightly around Xi Xianqing once more.

That same gentle smile, those slightly narrowed eyes, the subtle upward curve at the corners.

In a flash, a deafening “boom” erupted in the depths of his mind. Xi Xianqing’s pupils dilated sharply, his limbs frozen, but his thoughts raced.

…Impossible.

An identical potted plant meant nothing. The resemblance in features was just a trick of his own perception.

The association was so absurd that Xi Xianqing immediately dismissed it. But when his gaze fell once again on those strangely shaped fruits, a suffocating sensation gripped his body, as if something had locked him in place.

Noticing his stillness, Qin Weisheng asked in mild confusion, “What’s wrong?”

Following Xi Xianqing’s gaze, Qin Weisheng seemed to understand and remarked, “This, ah. It’s a rare variety cultivated by the Department of Botany a long time ago. They say the fruit’s scent has a calming effect, so I just left it here in my office to purify the air. What was it called again…”

Thousand-Star Tangerine. The words trembled in Xi Xianqing’s mind.

“Thousand-Star Tangerine. Quite a novel fruit, isn’t it?”

Qin Weisheng gave the answer almost at the same time. Looking at Xi Xianqing, who was still frozen in place, his expression turned puzzled. “What’s wrong, Mr. Xiao Xi?”

“…Nothing.”

Xi Xianqing slowly spoke, his voice hoarse. “I just remembered that our last meeting was rather rushed, and I never had the chance to properly greet you, Professor Qin. That was rather impolite of me.”

At his feet, mental quark particles gathered and coalesced. A few seconds later, a proud and stunning green peac0ck materialized on the ground, its gaze lowered, its tail feathers drooping slightly as it stood coldly and arrogantly by its master’s side.

This was the first time in Xi Xianqing’s life that he had ever taken the initiative to release his spiritual manifestation as a greeting.

Xi Xianqing was notoriously aloof and indifferent. At this moment, not only with the rare proactive reveal of his spiritual manifestation, but he had also paired it with such a clear gesture of goodwill. Qin Weisheng couldn’t help but be momentarily stunned.

“No, not at all.” A few seconds later, Qin Weisheng’s lips curved slightly as he responded warmly, “If anything, it’s this old man who was impolite.”

As he spoke, crystal-clear proton particles began to gather at his feet, slowly forming a hazy outline.

—An adult red fox with a reddish-brown coat appeared on the ground. Its tail was relaxed and soft, while its round, amber eyes narrowed with a cunning sharpness.

It tilted its face upward, scrutinizing the green peac0ck’s crest feathers. After a moment, it lowered its head and lightly touched the peac0ck’s beak with the tip of its nose.

Xi Xianqing’s breathing couldn’t help but become ragged.

The room was utterly silent, yet inside his mind, it felt as if fireworks had exploded. His hands clenched unconsciously, fingers tightening into a fist with such force that his knuckles turned slightly pale.

He heard Qin Weisheng chuckle and say, “Then, Mr. Xiao Xi, I’ll be counting on you to put your heart into this piece.”

Zhu Ming nestled at home for a several days in a row.

Life was relatively peaceful, except for the occasional anonymous delivery of high-end fruits and pastries. But even without much thought, he could easily guess that they were most likely from Liu Kuan and Qian Duo.

Although he hadn’t given them a definite answer yet, Zhu Ming couldn’t resist looking into their research output over the past few years. He realized that while Liu Kuan’s words that day had been somewhat boastful, the reason their team had managed to establish itself in a top research institute like K University was due to its abundant resources, strong foundational knowledge, and innovative ideas. Moreover, their current research projects were indeed showing promising developmental trends.

Although Zhu Ming hadn’t been active in the academic field in recent years, he had never truly been idle. He had accumulated a significant number of case studies on rare spiritual manifestation disorders, along with a substantial amount of clinical data. If he could integrate these with Liu Kuan’s existing research, there was indeed considerable potential for development.

However, the decision to return to academia still carried too much weight for Zhu Ming—especially at K University… He remained unable to make a final choice.

But he also knew that when one hesitates between different paths, the answer is often already clear in their heart.

While sorting through past case files, he accidentally came across a folder labeled ‘How to Use His Feathers.’

The last edit date on the document was from a month and a half ago. Zhu Ming’s fingers hovered over the file for a long time before finally clicking the small “X” in the upper right corner.

Zhu Ming took the initiative to arrange a meeting with Liu Kuan, deciding to have a formal and proper discussion about their collaboration.

This time, instead of meeting at the K University lab, he chose a café. At first, Liu Kuan seemed a bit uneasy and cautiously probed, “Is there something wrong with the lab environment? Please don’t hesitate to point it out—we’ll do our best to adjust things according to your preferences.”

Zhu Ming paused for a moment, then smiled and brushed it off vaguely. “No, I just didn’t want to risk the elevator being under maintenance again and end up having to take the stairs.”

They discussed Liu Kuan’s current research projects and future directions, and to their surprise, their academic perspectives aligned remarkably well.

Of course, Zhu Ming also laid out some conditions for joining the team, the most important of which was—all team members must have weekends off and observe all national holidays. Working hours would be strictly 9 AM to 6 PM, no overtime, and they must leave on time to prioritize physical and mental well-being.

As for salary and title, he didn’t care much—whatever they offered was fine. The only real requirement was that his office needed to have sunlight coming in.

Liu Kuan had mentally prepared himself for some outrageous salary demands, so when faced with these unexpected conditions instead, he was visibly stunned and sweating as he hesitantly asked, “If team members voluntarily want to work late, can they stay just a little longer? The Chief’s team next door keeps even their undergraduates working until midnight…”

Zhu Ming was all smiles. “At most, one hour of overtime. Once the experiment is done, everyone must leave. No sneaky overworking.”

In the end, Liu Kuan left the coffee shop with mixed feelings.

Zhu Ming sat alone by the window, holding a cup of hot chocolate, absentmindedly gazing at the street outside.

Just as he was about to leave, the wind chime at the door jingled. The café door opened, and an unexpected person walked in.

Yang Jiahe, dressed in a neatly tailored trench coat, stepped inside. The moment she spotted Zhu Ming, the purple iris of her spiritual manifestation swayed slightly in the breeze. “Zhu Ming?”

Zhu Ming felt a twinge of helplessness at his tendency to run into acquaintances everywhere. He paused briefly before greeting her, “Teacher Yang, long time no see.”

Yang Jiahe ordered coffee and settled down beside him.

Zhu Ming noticed that despite the lipstick she wore, Yang Jiahe’s complexion still looked somewhat pale.

Their connection had always been through Xi Xianqing, but right now, that was a subject neither of them could touch. So after exchanging updates on their lives and making small talk about the weather, they quickly ran out of things to say. They sat side by side in silence, watching the scenery outside the window, falling into a subtle and unspeakable cold silence.

Zhu Ming asked, “What brings you to District Seven?”

Yang Jiahe took a sip of her black coffee, hesitating to answer.

“No need to go out of your way to avoid the topic.”

Realizing what was on her mind, Zhu Ming chuckled and placed his cooling hot chocolate on the table. He mentally calculated the time. “He should have already met with District Seven’s Chief for the second time by now, right? Did everything go smoothly?”

It was a polite question, the kind that only required a simple “Yes” or “It went okay” in response. But the moment the words left his mouth, Zhu Ming noticed the sudden bitterness in Yang Jiahe’s expression.

After a long pause, she shook her head and gave an answer that Zhu Ming had never expected. “He… might be giving up on this round of the assessment.”

The cup in Zhu Ming’s hand trembled abruptly.

The warm, brown liquid trickled down the back of Zhu Ming’s hand, but Zhu Ming had no time to care. His gaze snapped to Yang Jiahe’s face, and for a moment, it felt as if the blood in his veins had turned ice-cold. “Give up?”

“Did you burn yourself? Wipe it off quickly.” Yang Jiahe was startled, hastily handing him a napkin. Seeing the sudden change in his expression, she hesitated before speaking again. “Actually, ever since you two…”

She paused, realizing how her words might come across as emotional blackmail. Instead, she brushed past it vaguely and let out a sigh. “He hasn’t… been able to draw anything for a long time.”

Zhu Ming’s hand that clutched the napkin wordlessly tightened.

“At first, I thought it was just a temporary lack of inspiration. Artists go through creative blocks all the time. I figured that after a few more meetings with District Seven’s Chief, maybe he’d find some inspiration.”

Yang Jiahe shook her head wistfully. “But now, it’s been almost a week since their second meeting. When I went to check on him, he still hadn’t even started on the most basic conceptual drafts… And he told me that, for the time being, I don’t need to review his sketches for him anymore.”

“I used to think that the previous him was merely unable to draw.

Pressing her lips together, Yang Jiahe exhaled softly. “But now… it feels like he no longer wants to make this piece at all.”

Author’s Notes:

A Little Spoiler

The little bird is just temporarily lost but won’t give up—both of them will succeed in their careers in the end ^_^

Jie Jie: Up to you if you want to check it. Although, that’s already a given ending (not because I just wanted to try this dropdown, no) :blobrofl: