The Legendary Supernatural Student

The hotel was a luxurious five-star establishment, and the rooms were none other than presidential suites. 

By some strange coincidence—or perhaps deliberate planning—Xiang Ri's room was directly opposite that of Secretary Fang. Wasn't this setup practically begging for a rivalry between the two? 

Fortunately, Xiang Ri didn't mind, and Fang Yingying certainly had no objections either. In fact, she found the arrangement to her liking. Had their rooms been adjacent, she would have forcibly relocated rather than endure staying next to a scion of such dubious repute. 

As for the dashing young man, Lu Ziniu, the head of the Paris branch, he had climbed to his position at a remarkably young age, demonstrating both competence and an unerring sense of judgment. 

Although he knew little about the background of this so-called full representative, it was clear this was someone he could not afford to offend. Observing the apparent "closeness" between Xiang Ri and Secretary Fang, Lu prudently decided to relinquish any romantic aspirations toward the alluring and exceptional secretary. After informing the pair about a company welcome banquet planned for the evening, he quickly excused himself under the pretense of allowing them to rest after their journey. 

The moment Lu departed, Xiang Ri promptly retreated to his room, locking the door behind him. With a sense of barely-contained excitement, he retrieved the small blue notebook he had discreetly pocketed from the plane. 

Opening the first page, his attention was immediately captured by the handwritten English title: *The Theory and Practice of Stealth Aircraft.* 

A thrill of exhilaration coursed through him—this was a treasure trove of information. Stealth aircraft, as the name suggested, were designed to be invisible—not to the naked eye, but to radar detection. Even so, this degree of invisibility was sufficient to earn the title. Such aircraft, traveling at incredible speeds and armed with potent weaponry, could render any defensive measures futile, leaving their targets utterly obliterated. 

While modern warfare had largely receded, stealth aircraft were now primarily employed for espionage—monitoring military deployments and detecting large-scale armed movements. 

Many nations had already developed or were in the process of developing such aircraft, though their capabilities were far from flawless. Certain radars, especially those calibrated to detect stealth technology, could still expose these planes under specific conditions. 

Yet, Xiang Ri sensed this notebook held something groundbreaking. Judging by the desperation etched on the hijackers' faces, he was confident the information it contained was unparalleled—perhaps even capable of evading all radar systems. 

As he delved deeper, his astonishment grew. The contents described a truly revolutionary stealth aircraft—not only undetectable by radar but also entirely invisible to the naked eye, achieving complete stealth. Even if it flew past someone at close range, it would be perceived only as a gust of wind. 

The notebook detailed everything—from the theoretical principles behind the invisibility to the materials, processes, costs, and step-by-step methods of constructing the aircraft. It even listed the names of the researchers involved, recording their every word and action during key breakthroughs. 

One scientist, in particular, stood out—a certain Dr. M. His words were documented with exceptional thoroughness, even including notes on his inner thoughts. Xiang Ri speculated that this mysterious Dr. M was likely the author of the notebook, and perhaps even the unfortunate white-bearded man who perished on the plane. 

Regrettably, this could no longer be confirmed. Nor was it clear why such critical documents had been brought out in the first place. 

But Xiang Ri cared little for these details. He was utterly engrossed in the euphoria of his discovery. This was a goldmine! With this information, not only could he recoup the billions he had already spent, but he stood to make a fortune. 

The potential earnings? Considering the exorbitant costs nations had invested—well over hundreds of billions of dollars—selling this technology for a few hundred billion seemed entirely plausible. The real question was: to whom should he sell it? Such an asset was far beyond the reach of any private buyer, making the choice of a buyer a matter of paramount importance. 

Suddenly, Xiang Ri smacked his forehead. Despite his rogue persona, he was, after all, a proud descendant of the dragon. Selling this treasure to his own country was the only morally acceptable choice. How could he betray his nation for mere "pocket change"? While the financial loss might sting, his patriotism left him no alternative. 

Having made up his mind, he dismissed all further deliberations. He would sell the information to his homeland upon returning, trusting that his country would not leave him unrewarded. 

Buoyed by his decision, Xiang Ri felt a surge of elation. With no desire to rest, he indulged in a relaxing bath, dressed impeccably, and prepared to step out for a stroll. Perhaps it was also time to reconnect with a certain golden-haired empress.

When Xiang Ri opened the door, he was unexpectedly met by none other than his newly sworn "brother," the female secretary. She stood there, hand poised mid-air, as though just about to press the doorbell, visibly startled by the sudden opening of the door. 

"Do you need something?" Xiang Ri asked, cutting through her hesitant expression before she could utter a word. 

"I'd like to go out and buy something… would you mind…" Fang Yingying began awkwardly, her voice tinged with embarrassment. There were some matters too delicate to articulate outright. Her predicament stemmed from the fact that bras larger than a D cup were nearly impossible to find back home. Knowing this, she had planned ahead, bringing only one spare. But after her recent bath, she was left without a fresh replacement. With an evening banquet ahead—sure to leave her attire sullied with oil and other stains—she was in desperate need of new lingerie. Yet shopping alone in a foreign land filled her with apprehension. 

"What's this talk of 'would you mind'? Aren't we brothers? You can count on me. Even if I have to haul a mountain of your shopping, it's no big deal," Xiang Ri declared with a grand wave of his hand. His spirits were high, and faced with such polite behavior from the secretary, he had no reason to refuse. Besides, he had plans to go out anyway—having a beautiful companion would only sweeten the deal. 

"Then thank you, boss!" Fang Yingying said, smiling. 

"Hey, no calling me boss. We're brothers!" Xiang Ri insisted, firmly committed to this term of endearment. He believed that if he continued addressing her as such with shameless persistence, she would eventually stop resisting. 

--- 

A hundred kilometers southeast of San Francisco lay a dense forest, concealing a massive underground facility buried dozens of meters below. This enormous laboratory, spanning several hundred meters in diameter, housed the world's most advanced equipment, top-tier scientists, and the strictest security measures. 

In a sealed room within the facility, a white-haired man in his fifties, his steely gaze sharp as a blade, was roaring at a younger man standing before him. The latter, a soldier in his thirties, stood ramrod straight, seemingly unfazed by the older man's ferocious expression. 

"Damn it! Are you telling me that Joe and his team failed their mission?" the elder man bellowed. 

"Yes, General!" the younger man replied crisply, his military posture unyielding. 

"And where are they now? Damn it, I'll have them court-martialed!" 

"They've been arrested in France." 

"Damn it!" the general cursed, his fury erupting like a volcano. "Then extradite them! Don't tell me you can't manage that, Colonel Worster!" 

The younger man hesitated briefly before replying, "I'm afraid that's impossible, General. They've been charged with hijacking and are being detained as terrorists." 

"What?!" The general's slicked-back hair quivered as he spat out his words, his voice dripping with venom. "Damn those French bastards! I'll see every last one of them hanged!" 

After venting his rage, the general gradually calmed, fixing his icy gaze on Colonel Worster. "Now, explain this to me, Colonel. How could our brave soldiers fail at such a simple task? Was there a squadron of police aboard the plane, or is our training program so flawed that it produces nothing but useless drunkards and womanizers?" 

"No, General," Worster replied with unwavering composure. "Our training program is the most rigorous in the world, and there was no squadron of police on board. The mission failed because they were all taken down—by one man." 

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Before Worster could finish, the general erupted into derisive laughter. "Damn it! And you still insist there's no problem? How could they fail to handle one man? Wait, are you telling me that armed soldiers were beaten senseless by an unarmed civilian? Colonel Worster, are you joking with me?" 

"Forgive me, General," Worster said solemnly, "but this man was no ordinary civilian. Based on our analysis, he possesses extraordinary strength." 

"Enough!" the general snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Colonel Worster, are you suggesting he's some kind of superhuman?" 

"General, as much as I hate to admit it, he's not far from being one. Our investigation indicates that he incapacitated four of our specially trained soldiers in an instant."

"I trust you're not joking with me, Colonel Worster," the white-haired general warned icily, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he continued, "Perhaps you could describe this 'superman' for me. Is he over ten feet tall? Or are his fists larger than your head?" 

The young colonel, unperturbed by the general's mocking tone, replied in an even voice, "According to our investigation, he stands no more than 5 feet 10 inches tall, weighs under 130 pounds, and his right hand has been injured…" 

"You're telling me that soldiers we've spent millions training were defeated by a child?" The general's voice grew sharp as he sneered, "Colonel Worster, I suggest you see a doctor—or perhaps…" His tone darkened, and he hissed menacingly, "I'll have you court-martialed for incompetence and deceiving your superior!" 

The colonel remained composed, unmoved by the threat, as if the entire scene had nothing to do with him. "General, there's one thing I forgot to mention. The man is from the Dragon Kingdom." 

"And so what if he is? Are you trying to tell me that those yellow-skinned people suddenly transform into giants, or—damn it, what excuse are you making now?" At a loss for further metaphors, the general simply erupted in fury. 

"They have a five-thousand-year history, shrouded in mystery. Surely, General, you've heard of their 'kung fu.'" 

"Damn it! You must have been watching too many Bruce Lee movies. Worster, this is my final warning—if you continue spouting nonsense, I'll have you sent to a mental hospital. No, straight to the military tribunal!" 

"What would it take for you to believe me, General?" 

"Fine, you damn fool! If you can crush this cup with your bare hands, I'll believe you!" The general grabbed a cup from his desk, clearly made of solid alloy steel. His words were more of a frustrated outburst than a genuine challenge; he was convinced that not even a hammer could dent such a material, let alone a man's hands. 

To his astonishment, Colonel Worster stepped forward, took the cup, and said calmly, "As you wish." With a sharp, deliberate motion, he pressed his hands together. In moments, the seemingly indestructible alloy cup was compressed into a crumpled metal ball. 

"This…" The general's expression resembled that of someone witnessing a ghost. "Worster, is this some kind of magic trick?" 

This time, the colonel didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "General, have you ever heard of Project N?" 

"Could it be… that the rumors are true?" the general murmured to himself. 

"Now, General, do you believe me?" 

Perhaps feeling his authority was being challenged, the general's face twisted with anger once again. "You damn fool! I don't care what kind of monster you're dealing with. Retrieve the object at all costs! If we can't have it, destroy it! Do you understand me? And as for that meddling child—if possible, eliminate him!" 

"As you command, General." The colonel bowed, turned on his heel, and left the room.