Chapter 1: Qin Feng

Chapter 1 Qin Feng

“Qin Feng, please come in.”

Inside the academic affairs office of No. 7 Middle School, homeroom teacher Li Weiguo pointed to the metal chair across from him.

Qin Feng pulled out the chair and sat down, his back straight as a rod.

The office was spacious; outside the window stretched the most common sight on the educational planet “Qiming”—a sky of artificial azure.

Small civilian anti-gravity vehicles glided silently along preset air lanes. Further away, skyscraper spires pierced the clouds, their facades adorned with holographic advertisements shifting in light and shadow, promoting the latest “Dragon Blood III” gene optimization fluid.

Li Weiguo projected an electronic file into the air before Qin Feng. On the pale blue light screen, a line of scarlet numbers stood out starkly.

[Name: Qin Feng]

[Student ID: 7351098]

[Vitality Index: 0.41]

[Grade Overall Ranking: 9873]

[Recent Index Growth Rate: 0.001/month]

Li Weiguo’s finger lightly traced across the data. “Qin Feng, you’re a good kid. You pay attention in class, and you complete your assignments diligently. All the teachers agree on that.”

He paused, then continued, “But you know the high school streaming policy.”

Qin Feng nodded, saying nothing.

The empire’s territory was vast; the Great Expedition raged on, and war was everywhere.

Humanity needed warriors, needed the strong.

Thus, education had been split into two paths from the very foundation.

One path led to elite martial arts universities and military academies, where the strong waged war among the myriad races of the stars, earning legendary feats.

The other path led to vocational technical schools, where one became a qualified cog in the empire’s colossal war machine—for instance, a power armor maintenance technician…

The sole criterion dividing these two paths was the “Vitality Index.”

An index of 0.8 was the admission threshold for ordinary middle schools.

An index of 1.0 was required to qualify for key martial arts high schools.

And Qin Feng’s 0.41 was a full double away from even the lowest standard.

“There’s only one month left until the high school entrance exam. According to system evaluation, the probability of your Vitality Index breaking 0.5 within this month is less than one in ten thousand. The school’s suggestion is that you leave early to prepare for the early admission batch of vocational technical schools.”

Li Weiguo’s words were direct, but his tone carried no trace of mockery or contempt—he was merely stating a settled fact.

“The early batch offers many options: power armor repair, logistics supply management, primary processing of psychic minerals… These are all positions the empire urgently needs, and the post-graduation salary and benefits are stable.”

“I understand, teacher.”

Qin Feng stood up and gave Li Weiguo a slight bow. “Thank you, teacher.”

Li Weiguo looked at him, silent for two seconds, then took a small energy bar from his drawer and handed it over.

“This month’s nutrition subsidy—the school is issuing it early. Go home and discuss things properly with your father.”

“Yes.”

“Go on. Oh, and call Zhang Xiaoli to come here too.”

“Okay.”

If Qin Feng remembered correctly, Zhang Xiaoli was, like him, another “poor student”—decent in cultural subjects and very hardworking, but his Vitality Index grew extremely slowly.

Qin Feng took the energy bar, turned, and left the office.

He returned to the classroom, called Zhang Xiaoli to the office.

Not long after, Zhang Xiaoli came back looking dejected, and called another “poor student.”

“In No. 7 Middle School, there are a total of two hundred and thirty-seven classes in the third year.”

Qin Feng leaned by the window, murmuring to himself. “Each class has sixty students, and about twenty or more are poor students. And on Qiming Star, there are hundreds of thousands of such middle schools.”

“And in this era of the raging Great Expedition, for educational planets like Qiming, countless are lost and countless are reclaimed every second by the human empire.”

“…”

Qin Feng held a copy of *Comprehensive History of the Empire*.

To be honest, he didn’t want to become an ordinary cog in the empire’s vast war machine, living a mediocre life—especially in such a magnificent world.

But reality was cruel.

Humble origins, the streaming policy, mediocre talent—all these denied him even the chance to receive high school martial arts education.

The smart terminal on his wrist vibrated, and a message popped up.

[No. 7 Middle School Academic Affairs Office: Dear student Qin Feng, based on the streaming policy and individual assessment, your on-campus courses have ended today. Please choose an appropriate vocational technical direction. We wish you a bright future.]

Qin Feng dismissed the notification, walked out of the school gate, and boarded the maglev bus home.

The bus sped along tracks thirty meters above the ground. Outside the window, the urban district remained as bustling as ever. On a giant holographic projection, a burning planet and dense imperial fleets were displayed.

“…The Green Skin Fleet launched a surprise attack on the Egret Star System. The Empire’s Third Legion rushed to reinforce, and fierce fighting erupted in the planetary rift zone. The imperial mission has been posted on the Subspace official website…”

“…‘Fist King’ Rocks successfully broke through to ‘Stellar Level’ yesterday, becoming the youngest Stellar-level powerhouse in imperial history…”

“…‘Dragon Snake’ Wang Chao won first place in the Imperial Star Cup yesterday, qualifying for the Cosmic Genius Tournament…”

“…The latest batch of gene optimization fluid has arrived at Blacktan Star. Imperial citizens may purchase it at designated locations…”

Qin Feng withdrew his gaze and looked down at the terminal on his wrist.

He opened his personal information interface. The number 0.41 was like a thorn, lodged in his field of vision.

There was a reason for his slow progress.

When Qin Feng was seven years old, a small-scale subspace rift incident occurred in the neighborhood where he lived.

A low-level “Corruption Worm” was flung out by the torn space. Although the city garrison quickly killed it, the toxic gas it released before death contaminated half the street.

It was then that Qin Feng inhaled the poison.

Though emergency treatment saved his life, the foundation of his body was permanently damaged.

When he practiced the empire’s standard-issue *Imperial Basic Body-Training Method*, others gained effect from one round; he needed ten rounds to achieve less than what others got from one.

His Vitality Index grew as slowly as a crawling snail.

—

The maglev bus arrived at the stop.

Qin Feng got off and returned to his home in the “Silver Gull” community.

This was the fringe of the city, where buildings were densely packed, far less glamorous than the city center.

His home was on the seventeenth floor.

He opened the door. A faint smell of disinfectant mixed with the scent of blood wafted toward him.

It was the smell his father, Qin Dahai, brought back from work—over a decade old, it had seeped into every corner of this house.

The apartment was small, two bedrooms and a living room, kept very tidy.

Qin Feng changed his shoes and walked into the living room.

A family portrait hung on the wall; in the photo, a young father in a crisp military uniform held him as a child, while his mother beside them smiled gently.

But his mother had passed away from illness when he was five.

He put down his schoolbag, went into the kitchen, and began rinsing rice to prepare dinner.

Half an hour later, a soft click came from the door lock.

Qin Dahai had returned.

He was tall, but his back was slightly hunched, his left sleeve empty—his entire arm lost on the battlefield.

Time and hardship had etched weariness into his face, yet his eyes remained calm.

He took off his work clothes, stained with grime and blood, and walked into the bathroom.

The sound of water rushed.

A few minutes later, Qin Dahai came out drying his hair, changed into clean loungewear, and the peculiar smell of the alien corpse processing plant on him had faded considerably.

“You’re back?”

He saw the two sets of bowls and chopsticks already set on the table and asked.

“Mm.”

Qin Feng brought the last dish, stir-fried vegetables, to the table.

Father and son ate in silence.

“Dad,” Qin Feng spoke first.

“Go on,” Qin Dahai said, picking up a bite of vegetables with his chopsticks.

“The school let me leave early to prepare for the vocational school exam.”

Qin Feng’s tone was very flat.

Qin Dahai paused mid-chew.

He set down his chopsticks and looked at his son.

On that face, still carrying a trace of youth, there was no dejection, no resentment—only a calm stillness.

“I see.”

Qin Dahai picked up his chopsticks again. “Eat.”

New book sets sail—please follow and collect~

(End of chapter)