Chapter 49: You Ask, I Answer

“Croak~croak, ptooey, croak~croak, ptooey.”
Chen Fan tried to mimic the sound, but his call was nothing like a crow’s—it sounded more like a frog, and not just any frog, but one in mating season. Clearing his throat, he tried again, and this time the result was tinged with the eerie wail of a ghost from a supernatural romance. In the end, even Chen Fan couldn’t stand it himself and had to give up.

“Luckily, both of them have gone to class. This noise is worse than a construction site,” he said, surveying the empty dorm room and grabbing a cup of water to clear his throat.

Unlike most who enjoy stringing together long weekends, Chen Fan preferred to leave the first and second periods in the morning and the fifth and sixth in the afternoon free. That way, he could wake up naturally every day, avoiding the nerve-wracking torment of alarm clocks. Today, his classes wouldn’t start until the third and fourth periods, so he ought to be able to sleep until ten. But since he’d napped yesterday afternoon, he wasn’t particularly sleepy and got up before nine.

The novelty of the Werewolf card game still lingered. Chen Fan’s first reaction upon waking wasn’t to wash up, but to reach for the deck beside his pillow, check today’s fortune, and discover he was assigned the role of a Crow.

According to the elder’s introduction, Chen Fan learned that the Crow card’s ability was malicious slander—it could undermine someone’s reputation through rumors and defamation. This matched its function in the game, though Chen Fan had never played a version with a Crow card before.

Triggering the card’s power was particularly demanding: the user had to imitate a crow’s call to achieve the slander effect. Yet no matter how Chen Fan tried, he couldn’t master the proper tone.

Clutching his throat, he croaked in a hoarse voice, “Ahem, Elder, look at the state I’m in. Can’t you let me use this skill? The introduction sounded amazing, but now it turns out I can’t use it at all.”

The elder was dressed differently than usual; gone was the sacred white robe. Instead, his entire figure was shrouded in darkness, and a mysterious skull had appeared atop his staff. The card emitted a dim purple glow, with crows occasionally swooping past.

Chen Fan wasn’t frightened by the spectacle. He stared into the elder’s eyes and said, “Enough with the magic tricks. You’re eight hundred million people away from being Death incarnate. Just tell me, can you lower the requirement?”

The elder was unfazed. He pulled the hood over his head, his face vanishing into shadow, leaving only a pair of gemstone eyes glowing with a ghostly light.

“Young man, always eager for shortcuts. There’s no room for negotiation here. Do your best,” the elder replied, hands resting on the skull, as a star-bright array suddenly appeared beneath his feet. A massive column of light descended from above, thousands of crows erupted from his back and vanished into thin air.

Chen Fan clapped awkwardly, even parted his bangs in the middle, “A true magician, your tricks are impressive. Farewell, I’m off to class.”

Before the elder could bow for his curtain call, Chen Fan stuffed the elder’s card into his pocket and headed to the classroom.

The first university class was Literature. The lecturer was an old professor; since it was a tiered classroom, the view from the podium was panoramic. From afar, Chen Fan could see clearly—the professor’s scalp was as smooth as a mirror, evidence that he hadn’t weathered the midlife crisis well.

Chen Fan missed the self-introduction, so he dubbed the man “Master Bright Peak.”

Sunlight streamed through the windows, landing on the podium and following the professor’s footsteps, like a dazzling magic mirror that roused sleepy students. Chen Fan wasn’t a monster, but he was caught in the crossfire.

“I really should protest to the school about light pollution,” Chen Fan stretched his neck, finally evading the exorcising rays.

“Student, please answer: ‘Paris is a city on earth; the earth is a star in the sky.’ What emotion or thought does the author express?” Master Bright Peak extended his hand toward the students, right in Chen Fan’s direction.

“Is it me?” Chen Fan looked around; apparently, everyone else was asleep—only he was awake.

“No need to look around, student. Yes, you. What’s your name?” the professor confirmed his suspicion.

“Is he going to record my name in his little book and deduct participation points?” Chen Fan rose slowly, answering hesitantly, “My name is Chen Fan, I’m from the Accounting College.”

“Very good, Chen Fan. Please answer my question—don’t be nervous, speak freely,” the old professor smiled kindly, so kindly it sent a chill through Chen Fan.

He steadied himself, but there was no time to search for answers online. What exactly was the poet Prévert expressing in his ‘In the Park’?

“Probably having an affair, losing themselves in kisses and passion, their souls soaring to the heavens,” Chen Fan slapped his forehead, instantly regretting how he’d brought such vulgar language into the refined halls of academia.

“Go on. Don’t worry about being wrong; what matters is your own perspective and your reasoning,” the professor said calmly, his expression unchanged.

With that reassurance, Chen Fan opened up. “The first two lines talk about longing—yearning for someone for a thousand or ten thousand years, the kind of unfulfilled longing you can never get over. Then comes the ‘eternity in an instant,’ and the two start kissing in the park. The scene is a small park in Paris on a winter morning. At last, the male protagonist’s soul ascends, and he starts rambling nonsense.”

“It’s like a loser finally conquering the goddess he’s chased for years—after a fleeting burst of passion, he falls back into endless daydreams,” Chen Fan concluded.

Having said all that, he blushed, embarrassed. Clearly, this was the formula for a novel’s plot, hardly comparable to the elegant, ornate language of poetry. The poet’s feelings weren’t theft; they were romance, meant to be felt with the heart.

Chen Fan hadn’t looked into the poem’s background, nor had he analyzed it thoughtfully.

“There’s logic in what you said. But you should organize your language, clarify your reasoning, and find the basic point to ground your answer. Overall, not bad—you have your own perspective. Please sit down,” the professor smiled again, just as kindly. This time, Chen Fan was delighted, no longer afraid.

No sooner had he settled into his seat than he buried his head in his phone, confident the teacher wouldn’t notice.

[Remember to come for the interview tonight]

There wasn’t just one message, but two identical ones.

“All right, I’ll be there,” Chen Fan replied to one and automatically ignored the other.