Heart… heart racing, face flushed crimson.
Qingli must’ve meant that literally. Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it—*cough*. I took a deep breath to calm myself, then looked up with a goofy grin:
“No worries. We’ll stick together forever. If Yejia Yin bullies me, you’ve gotta back me up.”
I then yelped about skipping breakfast and bolted out the door to buy food, clumsily brushing the whole thing aside.
Only then did I realize those sprawling buildings weren’t all Lanying High’s classrooms. Most were loosely tied to the school. Nestled in the outskirts, the area had few pedestrians or residents—just students and staff. Every supermarket, diner, convenience store, and clinic here existed solely for Lanying’s community.
A mere elite high school, yet it had a self-contained college-town ecosystem. Utterly surreal.
I swung by my old neighborhood later. The noodle shop beside City No.1 High had shuttered. Elder Mink was nowhere to be found—perhaps he’d truly stepped back from our generation’s affairs, just as he’d told that harsh-voiced man.
The courtyard battlefield had already been cleaned. No gaunt, ugly man remained—only a slender, brown-scaled snake corpse. Deep claw marks and patchy bloodstains covered its body, a chilling sight.
“Why’s it just an ordinary snake now? Where’s the monster?” I propped my chin on my palm, asking Qingli in the hospital room.
“That *was* it.”
Seriously? I recalled how the Yeh Family had carried it back. As the world’s deadliest land snake, its appearance was terrifying enough—the bloodied exterior alone was horrifying—but that fear stemmed from it being a *normal* Australian taipan.
Not some shapeshifting snake monster spewing poison gas and damn *magic spells*.
Qingli blinked slowly, explaining: “That’s how we Yao Race are. When we die, our Yao Energy vanishes instantly… leaving only an ordinary animal’s corpse.”
“Yao Energy?”
I rolled the term on my tongue, then looked up with what must’ve been a dumbfounded expression. “What *is* Yao Energy?”
For a split second, Qingli’s face darkened uncharacteristically. She lifted her pale little hand, wiping nonexistent sweat from her temple, then picked a red apple from the bedside fruit bag. “Hungry, Xiao Yao? Let me peel you an apple.”
She was blatantly ignoring me.
*No—she was outright pretending not to hear!* That only fueled my curiosity. I draped myself over her lap, relentless: “What *is* Yao Energy? Don’t tell me even *you* don’t know!”
Qingli’s cheeks flushed rare pink. She stammered for ages before insisting stubbornly: “It’s… something every Yao feels instinctively! Unexplainable—only understandable through experience!”
“Then why can’t *I* feel it?”
My pushback seemed to give her an out. She sighed, almost relieved: “Because you’re not fully awakened yet. I *did* mention that before, didn’t I?”
*Tch. Again with that excuse. When’s this damn awakening happening?*
The thought startled me. Just two days ago, I’d prayed for it to slow down—wishing it’d drag on another ten days or half a month. Now? I was already buzzing with anticipation for next week, when I’d fully become a girl.
*This… this is definitely because I’ll learn magic after awakening!*
I shook my head to banish the thought, refocusing: “Hey Qingli—if humans lack Yao Energy, why did Elder Mink say they’re stronger than our race?”
His exact words were: *“At the peak, humans outclass the Yao Race by far.”* Peak strength meant one-on-one combat, right? No tech involved—I’d never seen a human pilot a Gundam. So their power must be measured in raw, face-to-face fights.
But remembering yesterday’s courtyard battle—Qingli’s heart-stopping duel with that snake monster, a clash from another world… Could humans truly be *that* powerful? Even more badass?
