Chapter 38: Account

The bus pulled into the station, Zheng Fa stepped off, following the map on his phone toward the zoo.

He checked online and discovered his prefecture-level city actually had a zoo—though the map app’s reviews were poor.

Tang Lingwumin spoke without intent; he listened with purpose.

Earlier, the Seventh Young Master told him that if he wanted to master the Spirit Crane Body, the secret lay in the first volume.

But after flipping through the first volume repeatedly, the two found no hidden code.

The Seventh Young Master suspected this copy of the Spirit Crane Body was transcribed, possibly missing some crucial passage.

But… what if the secret lay within this autobiography?

Of the four volumes of the Spirit Crane Body, only the first contained the most content—if we rule out the author being an extreme narcissist… well, that was hard to rule out.

If the author, beyond narcissism and boasting, had other intentions…

Then the most likely candidate was his personal account of traversing countless mountains and observing countless feathers—this was the content most closely tied to the Spirit Crane Body.

In the Xuanwei Realm, Old Bai was right: this author was undoubtedly a man of great perseverance—or great madness.

The Xuanwei Realm was not like the modern world; mountains were often territories of powerful demonic beasts, and climbing was frequently a nine-in-ten-death endeavor—calling it extreme sport wasn’t an exaggeration.

As for observing a thousand feathers…

Do birds even want you to watch them?

How do you know if they have cultivation? Even if they’re ordinary birds, how do you know they don’t have demonic beast parents?

And consider the Spirit Crane Body’s claim of entering the Dao through martial arts—it’s just a mundane martial art. Why risk your life?

So even if someone shared Zheng Fa’s idea, attempting to test it was nearly impossible.

But the Xuanwei Realm couldn’t do it—modern times made it far too simple!

Zheng Fa reached the zoo’s entrance; though called a zoo, it was merely a fenced-in public park.

At the main gate sat a table with flaking red paint, behind it a woman in her forties wearing a red armband.

On the wall behind her hung a sign: Ticket: Fifteen.

“Twenty.”

Zheng Fa obediently paid.

He’d come during lunch break between classes—tight on time, otherwise he’d have saved five yuan for sure.

The zoo’s interior matched its entrance table: both looked old.

At noon, there weren’t many people inside… nor many animals.

As soon as he entered, he saw a sign the size of a person, labeled “Treasure of the Zoo,” with a bright arrow pointing inward.

Zheng Fa couldn’t resist curiosity and took two steps inside.

Sure enough, outside a building, he spotted a sign: PANDA.

This thing exists?

Zheng Fa strained his neck to peer inside—and there, two black-and-white balls ran and rolled on the ground… barking.

He turned back—the sign’s large characters “PANDA” had a tiny “dog” character beside them.

Zoo staff, you’re this much of a dog—why not just paint yourself black and white and squat inside?

Deeply wounded, Zheng Fa headed straight for the park’s so-called bird paradise.

Even though he’d lowered his expectations, seeing a flock of pigeons pecking at the ground and the black net overhead…

He fell into long silence.

The moment he stepped out of the zoo, he pulled out his phone and wrote a scathing review.

…

Back at school, Zheng Fa slumped over his desk, feeling dejected.

The zoo experience was one thing; more importantly, that net made him realize a problem—birds fly.

So whether in zoos or bird markets, flying birds were treated like terrestrial animals.

Even the most upscale zoo’s birds had lost their natural instincts.

Trying to understand the Spirit Crane Body through these birds was unlikely to work.

Under his desk, his phone vibrated twice.

Zheng Fa quietly pulled out his phone—a little cat avatar was blinking.

“Who’s this?” A large face leaned over beside him—Wang Chen, curious and nosy, gripped Zheng Fa’s shoulder, staring at the cat icon: “Looks like a girl!”

“Tang Lingwumin.”

Zheng Fa answered, tapped the icon.

Tang Lingwumin sent two messages.

The first was a link.

The second was a longer message: “I heard you’re going to the zoo? Looking for birds? Our city’s zoo sucks—I found you some documentaries.”

He opened the link—a cloud drive folder with several subfolders.

Only after saving did he sense something odd: Wang Chen beside him was staring fixedly at his face.

His eyes were full of confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re friends with Tang Lingwumin?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Big problem—you’ve been scammed!” Wang Chen spoke with certainty: “She doesn’t even have an account!”

Zheng Fa blinked: “She added me in person.”

Wang Chen couldn’t hold back: “Didn’t you check the class group chat?”

“I muted it.”

Their class had a group with no teachers, only students.

But a few people were hyperactive, spamming daily—Zheng Fa found it too noisy and muted it outright.

Wang Chen pulled out his phone, nearly pressing it against Zheng Fa’s face.

He opened the class group chat interface.

The group was unusually quiet.

The last message was from two months ago.

“Tang Lingwumin, I sent you a friend request—why didn’t you accept?”

The speaker was a boy in class, usually very active in the group.

“She doesn’t have an account,” replied the account named Tang Lingwumin.

“? Then who are you?”

“I’m her mom.”

Then everyone in the group went silent—no one had spoken since.

“We’ve got a new group—I’ll add you,” Wang Chen said quietly, seeing Zheng Fa’s expression: “Some idiot must’ve pulled Tang Lingwumin’s mom in—this group is dead.”

Zheng Fa finally understood why Wang Chen said Tang Lingwumin had no account—he scrolled back through their chat history; there were few messages, the first one from Tang Lingwumin:

“Medium, five percent sugar, add tapioca pearls, no ice.”

Below it was another:

“Change to large!”

Then a red envelope.

“You guys drink bubble tea together?” Wang Chen marveled at the chat, unaware of the prior two messages: “What did Tang Lingwumin just want from you?”

“She gave me…”

“Teacher’s coming!” A voice from behind the classroom, from an unnamed hero, spoke in a low tone.

Teacher Chen appeared at the back door, his face stern, eyes scanning the room before locking onto Wang Chen.

“Wang Chen! What are you doing with your phone!”

Wang Chen stared blankly at his phone, then turned to Zheng Fa.

Zheng Fa held a textbook, frowning deeply, lost in the ocean of knowledge.

“Look at Zheng Fa—he studies even during breaks. Why don’t you learn from him?”

Wang Chen: “...”

Zheng Fa: As a martial cultivator, one must keep eyes on all six directions and ears on all eight—quick reflexes, instant evasion.

…

The videos Tang Lingwumin found were thorough—even overly so.

Domestic and foreign, Chinese and English.

Dozens of bird documentaries sat in the cloud folder, leaving Zheng Fa with a confusing sense of happiness over too many choices.

But…

“The Vanished Sky Dominators—Pterosaurs. Is this even a bird?”

Zheng Fa frowned, thinking Tang Lingwumin had probably picked the wrong ones.