Chapter Four: This Crimson Is So Beautiful, Just Like You

Deyu Starrail Station.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the starrail to Guli is about to depart. Please, any passengers who have not yet boarded, hurry and get on the train…”

Su Yu embraced each friend who had come to see her off, and finally hugged her boyfriend, Ji Yue, sharing a passionate kiss.

Just yesterday, Su Yu and Ji Yue had become engaged, exchanging tokens of commitment—a pair of rings forged from the wing bones of a Western Wyvern.

Su Yu lingered for a while longer… still, there was no sign of Lu Huan. She glanced at her watch, and with tears brimming in her eyes, she gathered herself, dragged her luggage, and turned to check her ticket before stepping onto the starrail.

That night, after losing to Ji Yue, Lu Huan had gone home alone. Since then, Su Yu hadn’t seen him again. Over a week had passed, and Lu Huan, uncharacteristically, hadn’t called even once. Worried, Su Yu tried to reach him by phone, but he never answered; messages went unreplied. When she called Uncle Lu, he reassured her, but when Su Yu invited both Uncle Lu and Lu Huan to her engagement ceremony, only Uncle Lu attended.

A tangled, bitter feeling welled up in Su Yu’s heart—a block she couldn’t name. The person she had always considered family, Lu Huan, seemed truly lost to her now.

…

Su Yu found the carriage where the volunteer teaching team was assembled, checked in with the supervising teacher, and followed her ticket to her seat.

“15F… Excuse me, sir, but are you in the wrong seat? This is my spot.” Su Yu noticed a man in a black tracksuit and a cap, napping in her seat. She gently tapped him and showed her ticket.

“Xiao Yu, come on, what’s the harm? We’re so close—can’t I nap in your seat for a bit?” The man sat up, his left hand presenting a bouquet of roses. That cheeky grin—who else could it be but Lu Huan?

Hearing that familiar voice, Su Yu was stunned, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Lu Huan?!” She could hardly believe it was him. “What are you doing here?”

Those big, shining eyes—my little Yu really is beautiful, Lu Huan thought, feeling a surge of delight.

“Your knight in shining armor, reporting for duty!” Lu Huan stood and gave a perfect military salute—though that roguish grin certainly undermined the effect.

Su Yu, dazed, pushed Lu Huan aside and sat down, her heart in turmoil, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t voice.

Lu Huan swapped tickets with the young woman in seat 15D, stowed Su Yu’s luggage, and sat down beside her, propping his chin in his hand to gaze at her intently. Seeing her dazed look, he clicked his tongue in mock surprise.

Am I really that charming? My little Yu is completely spellbound!

Su Yu composed herself and glared at Lu Huan, a hint of anger in her voice. “Don’t tell me you signed up for the volunteer teaching?”

Lu Huan exaggeratedly widened his eyes, feigning shock. “How did you know? Amazing! Xiao Yu, you’re so clever!”

Su Yu fumed, her chest heaving with frustration. The words caught in her throat, so she turned away to the window, watching the landscape race by, trying to calm herself and sort out her thoughts.

Lu Huan glanced at her chest, quickly dropped his eyes, and kept silent—but inwardly, he was speculating: “Definitely a C!”

After a long moment, Su Yu turned back to him. “Did the teacher approve your application? Is it on your record?”

“Of course! If the teacher hadn’t approved it, how would I be sitting next to you now?” Lu Huan replied with a smile.

“…Can you still switch tracks? No, it’s impossible,” Su Yu murmured, half to herself, knowing the policies too well.

“Why would the teacher approve you for volunteer teaching? What are you thinking? With your talent, why aren’t you off to university? Why waste your potential—what about your future? Doesn’t Uncle Lu worry? He’s counting on you for his old age! You’re about to graduate high school and turn sixteen—why are you still so reckless, throwing childish tantrums?!” Su Yu’s words poured out in a rush, but as she went on, her voice grew softer. “…How am I supposed to face you now? Or Uncle Lu? This feels like I’ve harmed you.”

Su Yu truly saw Lu Huan as family. His actions left her angry and hurt—the kind of disappointment only parents feel for a child who won’t grow up.

“I told the teacher I want to go to Jinghua. It’s been my dream all along!” Lu Huan hurried to explain, seeing Su Yu’s face flush with anger and the hint of tears in her voice. “Besides, you said it yourself—it’s only three years. What’s the harm? I study literature, just like you. I can keep up by self-studying during teaching. No problem!”

Su Yu fell silent. She had, indeed, told him before that delaying university by three years to self-study first wouldn’t matter much. But how could that really be true? Three years’ delay means missing out on three years of systematic training, and that gap would never be closed…

In this era, flourishing with starforce, whether one studied literature, martial arts, or even entered a technical field, it was all to become a stronger star-wielder. The unified cultivation system now dictated that youths could only receive government-allocated resources for starforce infusion at age eighteen. But not all resources were equal—a university-bound talent and a technical worker did not receive the same. The allocation was based on demonstrated aptitude—measured not only by three basic values, but also by foundation in knowledge, starforce theory, martial arts training, and practical skill.

In middle and high school, students studied foundational knowledge, starforce theory, and basic martial arts. The gifted were sometimes invited by teachers to join research experiments. But university was different—focused on martial arts and practical application, forging body and mind.

When entering middle school, all students had their three basic values tested: spirit, constitution, and starforce affinity. These were not static—training in martial arts raised constitution, research and practice honed the mind, and advancing in cultivation lifted starforce affinity.

Years of scientific studies showed that by age ten, these values closely matched a child's innate talent. Thus, all ten-year-olds were required to enter middle school for six years of compulsory starforce education. The entrance test became known as the Talent Test.

Further research revealed that the benefits of talent followed the “barrel effect”: improvements in one area were limited by weaknesses in others—physique, spirit, and affinity all influenced each other, and the lowest value dragged down the whole. Scientists called this phenomenon “talent homogenization,” and it directly affected advancement as a star-wielder.

That was why Ji Yue, a famed prodigy of Deyu, was admitted to Jinghua University without even an internship, while Lu Huan could only attract early offers from a few third-rate research universities.

Before graduating high school at sixteen, students chose their paths—literature, martial arts, or technical school. They then interned in their chosen field for half a year. Those who passed were admitted; those who failed reapplied and interned again, up to three times. If still unqualified, specialized personnel would assess their abilities and assign them accordingly. Notably, internship results went on their permanent record, and those who failed all three times had little hope of a political career.

Even more critically, starforce infusion resources allocated by the state varied widely—universities, the military, technical schools, and volunteer teaching each had their own quotas…

Su Yu’s own aptitude wasn’t outstanding; otherwise, she wouldn’t have considered entering Jinghua University through the volunteer teaching policy. In fact, she and her parents had calculated that the starforce resources she could get through teaching weren’t much different from those awarded for interning into a second-tier university.

But Lu Huan was different. With a spiritual value of 99, his internship assessment would be excellent. Combined with his practical skills, entering a top-tier university would have been easy for him. By joining volunteer teaching, he was giving up substantial starforce resources, and that deficit would leave him trailing others on the path of star-wielders.

Su Yu stared out the window in silence for a long time, her thoughts churning. The sky was vast and blue, and as the sun began to set, multicolored clouds painted the horizon. In a daze, she watched as two moons, one large and one small, rose into the sky. Their dim, crimson light spilled across the land and reflected in her eyes.

“Is it worth it?” Su Yu finally asked, her voice steady again.

Lu Huan, his heart tied in knots, felt it settle at her words.

“What’s worth or not? Teaching’s pretty great—I like kids.” Lu Huan folded his arms under his head, twisted into a comfortable pose, and gazed out at the crimson sky.

“Besides, didn’t the teacher say it? ‘Strength begets strength—only together are we truly strong.’ I’m doing my part for the new generation!” Lu Huan smiled. Staring at the great red moon outside, his thoughts drifted. The red moon had brought a millennium of calamity, but it also gifted humanity with new, empowering energy—good or bad, it was hard to judge.

“This crimson is beautiful—just like you.”

Su Yu: “…”