Chapter 68: Retract Your Divine Powers

Chen Fan crouched beneath the desk, his hands resting naturally on his thighs. The teacher’s lecture was utterly dull, delivered in a monotone that blurred all distinctions; nothing stuck, not a single meaningful point. Truth be told, the real issue was appearance—the teacher simply lacked the charm to captivate.

“If I used fire to style my hair, how would I control its force and angle?” Chen Fan opened his hands, first glancing warily at those around him. Everyone seemed to be asleep, heads down, so he cautiously curled his fingers into a delicate pose. He didn’t dare let the flame grow too large; head bowed, his hands hidden in the drawer, he entertained himself quietly, always keeping an eye on his surroundings.

“Ah, forget it, this is boring.” Chen Fan flicked his wrists, cramped muscles aching in the tight space; even play felt unsatisfying.

He noticed a female classmate appearing ready to get up, and immediately his mind turned mischievous. Early rising ruins the day—even though noon was fast approaching, college students stuck to their holiday habit of sleeping late. Sunlight streamed through the window, and the girl, her face sprinkled with youthful acne, squinted, preparing to shift and continue her nap.

“Hm? Is that fire?” She yawned, vaguely glimpsing a flicker ahead. Chen Fan quickly shrank his hands beneath the desk, deliberately waving them in front of her.

“Eh, overthinking it, who cares?” The girl remained unmoved, rolled over, and resumed her slumber.

“I thought I’d get a scream out of her. City folk really do have nerves of steel,” Chen Fan muttered, clenching his fist and suppressing his trick.

Counting the days on his fingers, Chen Fan realized Friday had arrived in a blink. With the weekend free from classes, it was time to go out and have some fun.

“If only I had a card that let me eat without paying, I’d make sure to try every high-end restaurant in All-Yuan Fish.” He licked his lips; the cafeteria’s food was genuinely unpalatable, takeout too greasy—every leaf of vegetable soaked in oil, utterly unhealthy.

“Hey, do you think I should use my fireball trick and perform on the street? Maybe I could earn enough for meals.” Chen Fan wore a sincere expression as he discussed the feasibility with the Elder.

The Elder feigned surprise. “Oh? Where do you plan to perform magic—on the bustling pedestrian street, in upscale office buildings, or should I connect you with a circus for a fire hoop act?”

“Aren’t fire hoops for monkeys? Let me think… Of course, the busiest spot is best. Let’s go with the pedestrian street.” Chen Fan pondered carefully. After a street performance, he could eat and drink to his heart’s content without having to go elsewhere.

“You’re going to perform fireball magic directly? How big will you make it?” the Elder asked lazily.

“Just as big as the one you saw this morning,” Chen Fan replied, tracing a large circle. His finger accidentally poked into a neighbor’s nostril, but thankfully only triggered a sneeze, not fully waking them.

The Elder agreed, “If you conjure such a massive fireball in a crowded street, it’ll be a spectacular sight.”

Chen Fan, buoyed by excitement, replied, “Absolutely! Maybe I could even level up and put on a fireworks show—wait, not fireworks, hellfire.”

“You’ll probably get arrested for extremism. Who knows what the state-run meals are like?” The Elder switched into beachwear, his chest hair quivering with laughter.

“I’ll disguise myself as a street vendor, use a boiler as cover.” Chen Fan persisted.

“Oh, and where will you find a cart? The city inspectors will seize everything, even your underpants,” the Elder mocked, the backdrop now a sunny beach. Dancing samba on the soft white sand, he was thoroughly sarcastic.

“Then I’ll just find somewhere less regulated to perform.”

“Help the farmers burn straw, maybe. But you can’t make real fire yet. Or go to Hollywood and become a flame effects artist—guaranteed, you’d be the only one in the industry able to do it for real, no post-production needed, utterly convincing.” The Elder twisted and danced, his belly wrapped in an olive branch nearly falling off.

Disheartened, Chen Fan shot the Elder a look. “How many props do you have? Every day it’s a new persona—sometimes a godfather, sometimes a sage, sometimes just annoying. If not for your tone, I wouldn’t even recognize you.”

“Because I’m a magician! These little tricks are nothing,” the Elder retorted, spinning elegantly into a well-dressed gentleman, holding a tall black top hat with a conductor’s baton.

“Your powers really do outstrip mine. I’m done playing,” Chen Fan said, flipping the Elder’s card over before any pigeons could fly out, then pressed it down with a book.

[Chen Fan, the Werewolf Game Club is hosting a casual match this weekend at the Activity Center. Interested in joining?]

The street performance plan had just failed, and now a new nightlife option presented itself. Chen Fan agreed without hesitation, a silly grin spreading across his face.

[Li Peijun, are you joining the club’s weekend match?]

[No, I’ll be gaming in the dorm.]

“That’s a bit too blunt. At least give a little buildup—say something sentimental, then politely decline. Being so direct throws off my rhythm.”

[Oh.]

Chen Fan responded just as curtly.

…

There were quite a few participants that evening, most of them freshmen, with few veterans in sight. Gu Kai, the pillar of the club, was present; Zhou Ji was nowhere to be seen.

Chen Fan had a special technique for judging a student’s year—call it the ‘eye observation method.’ Generally, those with lively eyes and a zest for life were underclassmen. He’d met several seniors about to graduate, each with unfathomably dark pupils—not so much deep as detached, having seen and accepted much.

He called it the ‘salted fish stare.’

“So many people. What’s your plan for dividing the groups, Master Gu?” Chen Fan joked, leaning against the counter.

Gu Kai took out a pair of VR glasses and replied unhurriedly, “Just put on the VR glasses and let the system auto-group us. As senior officers, we can play or not—if we’re short-handed, we’ll fill in.”

Chen Fan glanced around; such expensive VR glasses left out on the table, wasn’t he worried someone might pocket them? He kindly reminded, “It’s fine for the club to have money, but property safety matters. With so many people, losing a few pairs wouldn’t even be noticed.”

Gu Kai chuckled. “Every pair has GPS tracking. Impossible to lose them. Our club’s reputation is connected to All-Yuan Fish’s network. Any blemish here affects future job prospects. On the other hand, good performance gets you a recommendation for an internship.”

“Playing games can get you an internship recommendation? That’s pretty impressive.” Chen Fan laughed along, realizing he had been overthinking.

The activity room’s booths had been rearranged, focusing more on private spaces while still offering gaming enjoyment. Chen Fan sat in a sofa chair, surveying the surroundings—it felt like stepping into a cozy, free café.

“Let’s try the new map. The official version just updated,” Gu Kai said, helping him adjust the glasses and whispering close to his ear.

Chen Fan replied, “Hope it’s not another random village. Meeting after meeting in a village gets old fast.”

“Guaranteed surprise,” Gu Kai said, patting Chen Fan’s shoulder and grinning. Through the glasses Chen Fan couldn’t see the smile, but the tone alone filled him with anticipation.

“Whoa, this…”