"Got it..." Li Chengyi fully understood now that being an Intellective Engineer was an incredibly costly profession, one that would require a mountain of wealth to sustain.

Given the intimate connection between an Intellective Engineer and their weapon, it made sense that they should know every component personally, ensuring complete control.

"Thank you!" he said, expressing his gratitude sincerely.

“No need to thank me. Back when I was struggling, it was the boss who helped me through. You’ve got him backing you now, so develop yourself well. Hopefully, we’ll see each other at the Association someday.” Ding Ning patted Li Chengyi’s shoulder warmly. Whatever Xindra had told him, it had left Ding Ning with a positive impression of Li.

After witnessing the terrifying speed of the Feiyi, Li Chengyi’s mind began leaning towards a choice for his second flower deity.

“By the way, you mentioned that Intellective Engineers have a basic protective field, right?” Li Chengyi suddenly asked.

“Of course, but it’s very basic—more like wearing full-body Kevlar armor. It can stop regular bullets but won’t hold up against a Feiyi; it’s like a thin shell in comparison,” Ding Ning replied with a nod.

“Can I see it in action?”

“Sure.”

Ding Ning raised his hand.

“Fire Sickle, Mode Two,” he said quietly.

Seeing Li Chengyi’s confused look, Ding Ning smiled and explained.

“Since Feiyi can operate at such high speeds and cause massive damage, we set up safety protocols and activation commands to prevent reflexive misfires. What I just said was my activation command.”

“Makes sense,” Li Chengyi nodded, his eyes filled with curiosity.

“So, is the basic protective field active now?”

“Yes, you can reach out and try touching my hand,” Ding Ning replied with a nod.

Taking him at his word, Li Chengyi extended his hand toward Ding Ning’s hand.

Strangely, as his fingers came within a few centimeters, he felt an invisible force preventing him from getting any closer.

“This is the protective field. I only have the basic one, but the more advanced ones offer far better protection. Some can even match a fully modified human’s strength, blocking armor-piercing rounds and sniper shots. Of course, with that kind of strength, the cost and maintenance fees are…” Ding Ning raised an eyebrow, smiling.

“Intellective Engineers aren’t common, are they?” Li Chengyi asked.

“Generally, each financial group only supports one Intellective Engineer because the resources required are enormous. The largest companies may sponsor several, but even then, resources are limited. This makes the competition to become an Intellective Engineer quite fierce,” Ding Ning confirmed. “That’s why I strongly suggest you go the amateur route, try it out, and see if you’re truly committed.”

“Thanks for the advice!” Li Chengyi replied earnestly.

After witnessing the Feiyi and the basic protective field firsthand, he realized something important.

His evolved Wisteria Flower Scale Armor could barely withstand handgun bullets. Against Feiyi, its effectiveness was questionable at best.

And from what Ding Ning said, fully modified humans could surpass even that level of protection.

This meant that, in terms of sheer physical defense, his Flower Scale Armor was still far behind these technological marvels.

‘So… the true power of the Flower of Malice lies in its flower language abilities. Both in normal and armor-wearing states, flower language should be its core strength.’

‘There are plenty of stronger physical defense methods out there, but none that can rival the unique capabilities of flower language.’

His thoughts on utilizing the Flower of Malice began to crystallize.

‘The strength of Flower Scale Armor shouldn’t be in its physical defense but in its ability to combat supernatural threats and rapidly enhance the user’s physical qualities.’ He recalled the time he’d torn apart the Big Face Monster.

If he could evolve it a second time, merging the Flower Scale Armor’s traits with an external armor, that would be the optimal use.

Next, he asked Ding Ning various practical questions about operating Feiyi, all of which Ding Ning answered patiently.

When he learned that even the most basic Feiyi set would cost over ten million, Li Chengyi came to a sobering realization:

In this world, money truly opened doors to capabilities that most people couldn’t even imagine.

For those at the top, ordinary people really were just numbers.

They chatted until the sky darkened. Then Xindra arranged a dinner gathering at a butter hot pot restaurant in a nearby mall.

Xindra himself didn’t come, so Song Ran accompanied them instead, and the atmosphere was lively.

After a few rounds of red and white wine, Ding Ning started throwing his arm around Li Chengyi’s shoulders, calling him “brother.”

They exchanged contact information, and Ding Ning even suggested taking Li Chengyi out to experience the nightlife.

But Li Chengyi politely declined.

He preferred spending time with people he genuinely connected with, rather than seeking temporary satisfaction for purely physical needs.

When they left the hot pot restaurant, it was already past nine in the evening.

Strolling down the sidewalk, he passed by a musical fountain, its lights changing colors, surrounded by nearby residents out for a walk.

He paused, dressed in only a simple tracksuit, and felt a chill as the moist, cool evening breeze brushed against him.

July had brought with it a greater temperature difference between day and night, making the evening air refreshing compared to before.

*Doo-doo-doo-doo.*

A small children’s train, playing odd electronic music, trundled past, with a handful of kids squealing in excitement, closely followed by some worried-looking parents.

The red train rumbled by, blending with the noisy sounds of the fountain.

Li Chengyi was about to turn and head to the bus stop.

“Li Chengyi?” A woman’s voice rose behind him.

“What are you doing here? Small world!” The voice sounded cheerful, coming closer from behind.

The voice was vaguely familiar, and Li Chengyi turned around to see who it was.

A young woman, likely in her early twenties, stood about a meter away.

She had shoulder-length red hair, wore a fitted black dress, and a gray cardigan draped over her shoulders.

Her face had light makeup, with crystal earrings, and she carried a small white leather purse on one shoulder.

A classic office worker look.

“Chen Pi?” He recognized her instantly. She was the daughter of his mentor, Chen Shan. Her full name was Chen Yijun, though everyone called her Chen Pi. Over time, even her real name had become less known.

“Why’re you so slow to respond?” she chided, a little annoyed. “I still remember you telling me you wanted me to be your secretary back then.”

She took two steps forward to stand beside him, looking toward the musical fountain.

“It’s been a while. Want to grab a drink?”

“Sure.” Li Chengyi had no objections. It was already late, and he’d have to wait until tomorrow to decide on his second flower deity. This gave him time to think it through.

---

They found a nearby café and sat down, ordering drinks.

“It’s been a while. You look like you’re doing pretty well?” Chen Pi commented, taking a sip of barley tea.

“Not bad, just focusing on staying in shape,” Li Chengyi replied. Constant training, combat drills, shooting practice—pushing himself so hard had made a noticeable difference in his energy and demeanor.

“Running into you here reminds me, why didn’t you take that job my dad set up for you? The manager even called him asking about it.” She looked puzzled.

With so many graduates struggling to find jobs, Li Chengyi’s decision seemed odd. The position her father found offered good pay and prospects.

But he hadn’t even tried it.

“That was my oversight; I forgot to let your dad know I’d found a job. I know he meant well, and I understand. But I’m no standout talent. I figured if I joined the company, it’d mostly be out of respect for your dad.”

“So I thought, rather than cause trouble, I’d try making my way on my own,” he said softly.

Working a typical office job was no longer an option for him. But he needed to maintain appearances, especially since Chen Shan had helped him out of goodwill.

“So what’re you doing now?” she asked.

“Working in biotech. It’s decent… nothing special.” Li Chengyi replied casually.

His current life was centered around training for the dead-end realms. His only “normal” job was technically a sham front, though it did have real products, so it wasn’t quite a “sham.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing special’? I bet you’re just being modest.” Chen Pi gave him a knowing look.

“No need to be modest. We all start somewhere,” he replied, laughing. He couldn’t very well tell her he spent every day training in combat, firearms, and endurance. His “salary” was absurd for a biotech job, making any attempts to pass as normal a challenge.

The conversation shifted to Chen Pi’s own work. She’d recently returned from abroad and was struggling to adapt to life and work. Her boss often took credit for successes while blaming failures on her, and the job had her juggling long hours with low pay.

It was clear she saw Li Chengyi as a sounding board, venting her work frustrations.

Li Chengyi nodded along, listening as she downed beer after beer, barely touching her food.

After experiencing life in the dead-end realms, everyday work issues seemed trivial to him.

Listening to her talk, he didn’t feel annoyed but rather found a surprising sense of normalcy in the conversation.

When they finally left the café, he hailed a cab for her.

“See you later,” she waved from inside, unaware that her dress had hiked up, revealing her legs

.

He discreetly reached in to adjust it for her, then stepped back with a wave.

“See you.”

“Don’t be too proud,” she called from the car. “It’s all about helping each other out. My dad helped you, but once you’re in the company, you might pick up inside info that could help him out too. This world’s all about give and take!”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded along, smiling.

Though he understood, he knew his path might lead him far from the lives of ordinary people… into realms that even those close to him might never truly understand.