At the end of the road, visible at a single glance, a familiar black iron gate was embedded in a quaint red brick wall. Lu Mingfei walked beneath the shade of the plane trees, whose tall trunks bore witness to decades of vicissitudes. Amidst the lush greenery, once trodden by countless students, only a single figure remained now.
This was an exquisite school. At first glance, it appeared completely ordinary, yet both the polished flagpole and the neatly trimmed lawn radiated an understated grandeur. The dilapidated building used for gym mats and vaulting horses blended seamlessly with the white-walled teaching building.
Lu Mingfei stopped before the gate. Six Chinese characters were neatly inscribed on the lintel above.
"Shilan Noble High School."
It was not the Roman Pantheon version of Shilan High School from reality, but the simple, exquisite Shilan High School of his memory.
He had spent his seventeenth year here, harboring a secret crush on a girl in a white skirt and black leather shoes—though that crush had been known to the entire school.
He still remembered the days spent running errands for Chen Wenwen with tireless enthusiasm, the days waiting for someone to drag him to the internet cafe to play StarCraft, the days of walking to and from school alone while kicking small pebbles, the days spent constantly imagining himself turning into a superhero who would shock everyone...
Those days came to an abrupt halt on the day of the graduation farewell party. A red Ferrari descended like an angel, and the girl who would later become his senior sister took him for a high-speed ride along the elevated expressway of the CBD for the very first time.
For a long time after that, he did not return to this campus. When he finally came back last time, the black iron gate had been transformed into the mountain gate of the Pantheon; the entire teaching building and playground had undergone massive, piecemeal renovations; and a statue modeled after him had been erected at the entrance. The cranes swarming the construction site had smashed his adolescent memories to smithereens.
It was better this way, remaining as it used to be. He could walk to the familiar classroom without asking for directions, even though the teachers there would say to him, "Lu Mingfei, you are the pillar that anchors our class. With you holding the fort, our class average won't fly off into the sky."
Now, he had attended college, collected scholarships, loved girls, and been loved by girls in return. Then he had turned into the world's biggest monster, been hunted across the globe by the planet's most elite troops, and finally met his father and mother whom he hadn't seen for years and whose appearance he had almost forgotten. At such a young age, he had experienced things that other people might not go through in several lifetimes. If some minstrel were to adapt this life into an opera, it could yield an epic masterpiece.
Yet he began to yearn for the simple life of back then, longing to sit alone on the rooftop watching the sunset, to infatuate over the girl he had a secret crush on all by himself, to secretly surf the internet in the middle of the night while commanding virtual armies to conquer far and wide.
His footsteps halted before a classroom door. He had been walking aimlessly all along, yet somehow he had wandered here unconsciously. Perhaps it was because this was his most familiar route, leading to the room he knew best, complete with the desk and chair he was most accustomed to—even though he couldn't recall how many times they had been replaced over three years of schooling.
Driven by an almost instinctual urge, he reached out and pushed open the wooden door.
Golden sunlight streamed through the windows onto the floor. A boy in a black suit sat quietly by the window, as if he had been waiting for him for a very long time.
Lu Mingfei stood quietly at the doorway. He should have said something, but he didn't know where to begin.
"You came after all, older brother." Lu Mingze turned his head, smiling as he looked at Lu Mingfei. He still wore that porcelain doll-like, exquisite face and that harmless smile.
"Come sit." Lu Mingze made a gesture toward Lu Mingfei, signaling him to take the "seat of honor" on the windowsill, just like their meeting during the 3E exam.
Lu Mingfei silently sat down beside him, watching the sunset light spill over Lu Mingze's clean little face just as it had years ago. Yet the fresh blood oozing from his wrist was so intensely crimson, completely soaking the white bandages.
Silence followed, a prolonged silence, until Lu Mingfei finally spoke first.
"Who hurt you?" He pointed at the little devil's wrist. The hand rumored to wield the authority of the world was now so withered and pale.
"Ran into a bit of minor trouble on an assignment. No need to trouble older brother's mind with such trivial matters," the little devil said casually. "Are you here to kill me, older brother?"
Lu Mingfei was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "I want to know what I am."
Lu Mingze turned his head. His lava-like Golden Pupil was as calm as still water at that moment, reflecting Lu Mingfei's haggard face.
"All indicators are normal; the situation is under control." Dr. Duden wiped the sweat from his face. "Intense conflict should not have broken out yet."
"Let's hope so." Lu Lincheng glanced at Lu Mingfei, who was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. The brainwave monitor beside him showed that his current emotional state was relatively calm.
Half an hour ago, a piercing alarm had swept through the entire Safe Haven.
Lu Lincheng pushed Lu Mingfei, who was seated in a wheelchair, into the Final Sanctuary. At the center of the towering bronze pillars, the sleeping demon was bound with iron chains. Even now, Lu Mingfei could not connect this face, upon which a faint smile forever lingered at the corners of the mouth, with the demon that ruthlessly devoured lives. They had experienced so much together—the fireworks in the dead of night, the funeral in the Beijing subway, the love story in Tokyo, or the countless times they helped each other on the run.
Though clearly not his younger brother, he insisted on calling him his younger brother. He would talk about power and authority on his lips, yet from time to time display a mischievous and bouncing demeanor. It was as if he were cold-blooded and ruthless toward everything in the world, yet sometimes he would reveal such overwhelming anger and sorrow.
"The College's people have come. They're going to wage war against you, aren't they?" Lu Mingfei asked. "The Secret Party has never been soft-hearted toward traitors."
"War is inevitable. Even though they lack the Imprint, they may still have other means to open Nibelungen," Lu Lincheng said, his expression as resolute as steel. "Are you ready? If possible, perform the excision now."
"There's nothing left to prepare," Lu Mingfei said. "Remember the condition you promised me."
"Of course." Lu Lincheng turned the wheelchair around and headed back the way they came. The rumbling sound of the elevator rose, and mercury once again submerged the sleeping demon.
Lu Mingfei desperately wanted to look back one last time, but he held himself back. If he turned around, Lu Lincheng would see his damp, red-rimmed eyes. His heart ached so bitterly he could not cry out; he wanted to howl with grief, yet tears refused to fall.
Dr. Duden was waiting in the ward with what was likely the world's most professional team. Seeing Lu Mingfei enter, Dr. Duden walked over quickly, first exchanging greetings with Lu Lincheng, and then turning to Lu Mingfei with hesitation on his lips.
Lu Mingfei nodded at him, and Dr. Duden sighed, patting him on the shoulder.
"Relax. Think about how you two will meet shortly."
Lu Mingfei did not speak.
"Leave outside matters to us," Lu Lincheng placed both hands on his shoulders. "You just need to do your part. You won't need to lift a finger for anything else; we'll handle the College."
"Alright." Lu Mingfei nodded again, without an extra word. There were no words left to say.
"Let's begin." Dr. Duden helped Lu Mingfei lie down on the bed, and the surrounding instruments were immediately wheeled over. Under the influence of drugs and hypnosis, Lu Mingfei felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, until in a daze, he found himself standing before the gates of Shilan High School.
That Shilan High School from his memory.
"Excision takes time; no one can say for certain how long," Dr. Duden said. "If the excision fails, destroy this place immediately."
"If the excision fails, perhaps the doomsday really will arrive," Lu Lincheng gazed at Lu Mingfei's sleeping face. "He won't fail."
Dr. Duden nodded. "He is an S-class, after all."
"No," Lu Lincheng lit a cigarette and turned toward the door. "Because he is the son of Winnie and me."
...
"You're saying Ange knew long ago that something would go wrong in northern Siberia?" Beowulf suddenly noticed the suspicious point in Han Gao's words and said in a deep voice, "What else do you people know?"
He was in a truly wretched mood. As one of the most respected dragon slayers in the Secret Party, he had first yielded his position to Ange; but at least Ange had made indelible contributions to the cause of dragon slaying, and for the greater goal, he had willingly retreated behind the scenes. Until now, when he was forced to step forward to lead the elite of the Secret Party, only to discover first that Ange—the elite among elites—had been harboring an unknown dragon-slaying monster all along, followed by the appearance of the Leviathan in the Arctic Circle, and now the Doomsday Faction had reemerged, with the sudden visitor Han Gao revealing that Ange had known about all this beforehand.
Han Gao did not deny Beowulf's skepticism, simply saying, "We all know what kind of person Ange is. As long as it lets him slay dragons, he's capable of doing anything."
"But the Principal is practically no different from a dead man now," Mr. Turing scratched his temple. "What else could possibly threaten the Principal's life?"
"Perhaps only Ange himself can tell us that," Han Gao said, "or someone he can trust."
Beowulf and Mr. Turing exchanged glances. Ange truly had very few companions, and the partners to whom he could entrust his life could be counted on one hand.
In the ice cellar, the Vice Principal—or rather, Tutor Flamel—was bound to a sturdy metal reclining chair by bronze chains.
"Someone finally came to see me. Did you bring any good wine?" The Vice Principal slowly opened his eyes, as if he had just woken from a nap.
Then he saw Han Gao following closely behind Beowulf, and couldn't help freezing in surprise.
"Han Gao? Why are you here? Could it be—" The Vice Principal's eyes widened instantly.
"Something happened in northern Siberia." Han Gao nodded. "Ange is still lying in the emergency pod; we had no choice but to come find you."
"What happened?" the Vice Principal asked.
"The Doomsday Faction must have built a gigantic Nibelungen in northern Siberia. Now that they've been exposed, the war is about to begin," Beowulf said coldly. "What on earth have you and Ange been hiding? It's time you told us."
"Man-made Nibelungen." The Vice Principal exaggeratedly gasped, drawing a sharp breath. "How do you know?"
"It's the only possibility," Beowulf said coldly. "Now we need to know more. This concerns the survival of humanity!"
"We all know what a Nibelungen is." The Vice Principal suddenly stopped joking, his expression growing solemn and calm, as if chanting a sorrowful epic. "That is the kingdom of the dead, a world that only Dragon Kings and a tiny handful of dragons can construct. It is a miracle of alchemy, where the flow of time is extremely slow and everything within is immortal."
"We all know this is just a legend; we've entered Nibelungen several times already. Tell us something more important," Beowulf interrupted the Vice Principal.
"That's the problem," the Vice Principal said in a low voice. "For thousands of years, Nibelungen hasn't been opened as many times as it has in recent years."
Han Gao suddenly understood with a jolt. "You mean the day the gates of Nibelungen open is close at hand?"
In the deciphered history of Dragon Kind, a black dragon named Despair crouched at the roots of Yggdrasil. Those roots led to the kingdom of the dead. When doomsday arrived, the gates of the kingdom of the dead would open, and armies dispatched from the netherworld, riding massive ships made of the fingernails of the dead, would launch a challenge against the world of the living.
"Besides that, don't forget what is most crucial for maintaining a Nibelungen," the Vice Principal said. "A Dragon King. The Doomsday Faction must have a living Dragon King in their hands."
Han Gao and Beowulf were chilled to the bone. Attempting to control a Dragon King with human power, and even using a Dragon King's power to build a Nibelungen—this was practically playing with fire and courting self-destruction!
"Why a Dragon King? You said before that it wasn't only Dragon Kings who could construct a Nibelungen," Mr. Turing asked cautiously.
"Because about twenty years ago, the Secret Party once conducted a large-scale secret operation to hunt down a Dragon King-level target. Nearly all elites were mobilized for that operation, but the final result was no result."
"No result?" Mr. Turing asked in bewilderment. "And why didn't I know about this operation? Am I not even considered an elite in the Secret Party?"
"Do you think your Spiritual Word would be of any use? Going to feed yourself to the target?" Beowulf was left speechless by Mr. Turing's tearful expression. He couldn't understand why these geniuses were always so detached from reality. "I knew about that operation. In the end, the Secret Party used 'Rhine' to flatten a radius of over a hundred kilometers into a barren wasteland. But why did you say there was no result?"
"The Principal participated in that operation at the time, and Lu Mingfei's father, Lu Lincheng, also arrived at the final operation, but they both survived," the Vice Principal said slowly. "The mission ended, yet we didn't obtain any Dragon Bone."
"You mean that Dragon King got away?" Mr. Turing was shocked. "How did they survive?"
"Now we know where the Dragon King went." Beowulf and Han Gao exchanged glances. "What kind of Dragon King was that?"
"I don't know; perhaps the Principal knows." The Vice Principal shook his head. "At the very least, it's undoubtedly of First Generation level, right? Since we know now, why are we still standing here?"
"Shall we go protect the Principal right now?" Mr. Turing asked.
"The Principal still needs protection, but there's something even more important right now," Beowulf strode out of the ice cellar.
"What thing?" Mr. Turing was completely baffled.
"Find the Doomsday Faction, and—slay the dragon!"