Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 15: A Birthday Cake is the Grave of Youth (4)

Dragon Raja 2

His phone dinged, and a message came in:

“Happy birthday.” The sender: Chu Zihang.

As simple as his senior brother’s expressionless face.

Someone had actually remembered his birthday, and that person turned out to be Chu Zihang.

Chu Zihang, the president of Cassell College’s Lionheart Society, the rival of the Student Union, of which Lu Mingfei was a new member. It was like if Lu Su had a birthday and woke up to receive a birthday card from Cao Cao—he’d be filled with mixed emotions and utterly confused.

Lu Mingfei had no idea how Chu Zihang had gotten his phone number. He hadn’t saved Chu Zihang’s number, and the total number of words Chu Zihang had ever said to him probably didn’t even exceed a hundred. Was this an attempt to win him over? But with the ruthless determination of Senior Brother—killing anyone in his way—would he really resort to such tactics?

While Lu Mingfei was lost in his thoughts, another message came in.

“Lu Mingfei, is this your number? This is Chen Wenwen. Today at 11:30 am, the Literature Club is having lunch at Pizzeria de la Sofia. If you get this message, come join us.”

Lu Mingfei’s heart stirred, creating ripples—no, it felt more like a giant meteor crashing into the middle of the Pacific Ocean, creating a towering tidal wave!

This sudden message was like the time Chen Wenwen invited him to join the Literature Club—casual, unexpected, and joyous. That was also during a summer day, with cicadas chirping madly, blinding sunlight outside, and the shadow of the eaves casting sharp, knife-like lines on the ground.

He was cleaning the blackboard, and Chen Wenwen, dressed in a white cotton dress, white sneakers, and white socks, was sitting on the teacher’s desk, humming softly. They were the only two in the classroom.

“Are you Lu Mingfei? Do you like reading books?” Chen Wenwen suddenly asked. “Do you want to join our Literature Club?”

Lu Mingfei looked up in surprise, seeing Chen Wenwen’s eyes, clear as water, rippling with the reflection of sunlight.

“Pathetic,” Lu Mingfei muttered to himself. By now, Chen Wenwen had a boyfriend, and back then, he had been filled with frustration. But thinking back to that moment, he still felt his heart stir.

“Sure,” he replied.

“Mingfei, haven’t you left yet?” Auntie suddenly barged in.

“Just about to go!” Lu Mingfei jumped to attention in fright.

“Good thing you haven’t.” Auntie waved something in her hand—it was a cracked toilet seat. “Your uncle cracked the toilet seat. Go to the hardware store and buy a new one, make sure it’s beechwood, something high-end. Your uncle and I are taking Mingze to buy a suit for his overseas trip. He needs it for the graduation ceremony! Don’t waste time—get the toilet seat, call the property management to install it, and steam the sausages, pick the scallions, and chop some radish for soup by 4:30 this afternoon!”

Auntie dropped her orders and left, slamming the door behind her. A few minutes later, the sound of Uncle’s BMW engine faded into the distance.

Lu Mingfei felt his head pounding. This birthday was really busy—between the Literature Club gathering, Auntie’s many tasks, and tonight’s family dinner to celebrate Lu Mingze’s upcoming study in the U.S.

Eleven time zones away, in Illinois, USA, at the Cassell College main campus.

Late at night, the central control room of Valhalla was brightly lit. Manstein stood in front of the giant 3D projection—a five-meter-tall virtual Earth hovered before him, and with a slight wave of his hand, the globe rotated quickly to the position he wanted to view. It was like playing with his own creation as a god, giving him a thrilling sense of power and control.

If politicians knew there was such an advanced projection system in the world, they would definitely fight over it to fulfill their desire to command the world. Whether they wanted to roleplay as Hitler or Genghis Khan, they could do so—much like the character in “From the Garden of Hundreds of Weeds to the Study of Three Flavors” wielding “iron ruyi, commanding boldly, shocking the whole place; golden jug, reversing freely, drinking endlessly.”

But Manstein wasn’t enjoying himself at all—he wanted to die.

Seven or eight places on the dark blue surface of the globe were flashing red simultaneously, with alarms ringing one after another. The entire central control room was filled with the rapid clatter of keyboards, the hissing of printers, and the clicking of mechanical encryption devices translating encrypted messages—it all made his head feel like it was going to explode.

Day or night, this was the atmosphere in this control room. Tonight it was Manstein’s turn to be the unlucky duty professor.

As many as seventy specialists and interns worked here, each of them handling multiple terminals at once. The college’s secretary, or rather the supercomputer named “Norma,” gathered all the information related to the college from around the world, but it still required human analysis and decision-making.

If Norma was the think tank of Cassell College, the central control room was its emergency response center.

“An Execution Bureau agent intercepted a smuggling plane over Peru, and we’ve discovered alchemical equipment from 700 BC Egypt inside the cabin,” reported an intelligence officer, wearing a headset and shouting, “but someone shot down the plane—they’re making an emergency landing and requesting support from headquarters!”

“This is a financial reimbursement form that needs your signature. Our agent stationed in Greece is waiting for the funds,” said a female secretary, clacking her high heels as she rushed up to Manstein, handing over a document.

“Seventy thousand dollars?” Manstein frowned. “That’s a high amount! Have them submit a formal report to me!”

“There’s no time—they’re negotiating with the mob!” The secretary replied, out of breath.

“We are a college! Educators! What are we doing negotiating with the mob?” Manstein roared in fury.

“A recent string of serial murders is suspected to be connected to Death Servitors, and the mob knows some inside information. The Greek agent thinks they must capture the Death Servitors before the police get involved, so they decided to buy information,” the secretary explained. “Both sides are holding guns, waiting for confirmation. If the money doesn’t arrive… they might think they’re being deceived and start shooting!”

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