Life at the Heavenly Craft Pavilion should have been a black-and-white affair of iron, fire, and smoke.
But recently, an unsightly white has appeared in that black and white.
That white is named Li Changfeng.
He is the chief disciple of the Heavenly Craft Pavilion's inner sect, the last disciple of a Nascent Soul cultivator. He possesses a handsome appearance, dressed in white robes as pure as snow, with a gentle and refined air. Even walking through the coal-dust-filled workshop, he remains untouched by dust. He loves studying intricate mechanisms. Ever since witnessing Shen Qingqiu casually rewrite the logic of talismans, he has been astonished, using the guise of "academic discussions" to frequent this smoky and chaotic workshop.
Today, he has come again.
"Miss Qingqiu." Li Changfeng stands at the door of the woodshed, holding an exquisite wooden box, his smile as warm as a spring breeze. "This is my newly developed 'Spirit Rhinoceros Butterfly,' a gift to cheer you up."
He opens the box.
A mechanical butterfly, crafted from mithril, with wings as thin as cicada wings, flies out. It danced gracefully in the air, its wings scattering phosphorescent light with each flap, a breathtaking sight.
"This butterfly's core is engraved with a 'Fragrance-Seeking Array.' As long as you carry its mother insect with you, it will guide and illuminate your path wherever you go," Li Changfeng said, his eyes filled with undisguised admiration and affection as he looked at Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Qingqiu looked up and wiped the water from her hands.
In her [Overclocking Vision], this so-called "Spirit Rhinoceros Butterfly" appeared as crudely constructed as a primary school student's craft project.
"Poor flight balance; the left wing is 0.03 grams heavier than the right."
"The Fragrance-Seeking Array's logic is simplistic; it will fail in strong winds."
But to outsiders, it was indeed a marvelously crafted and romantic object.
"Thank you, Senior Brother Li." Shen Qingqiu didn't refuse, politely accepting the wooden box. She still needed to use Li Changfeng's identity as a cover and couldn't afford to openly break ties.
Li Changfeng was overjoyed to see her accept the gift and then proceeded to ramble on about his insights into mechanical arts until sunset before reluctantly departing.
...In the shadows of a corner.
Seventeen stood there.
He wore a straw hat and coarse linen clothes, carrying a wood-chopping axe.
Deep fingerprints were etched into the wooden handle from his excessive force.
He looked at the white-clad figure's retreating back, then at the still-glowing mechanical butterfly Shen Qingqiu had placed on the table.
[Warning: Logical conflict detected.]
[Object Analysis: Li Changfeng. Attributes: Rich, handsome, tech-savvy, refined.]
[Self-Analysis: Seventeen. Attributes: Crippled, killing machine, only good at chopping wood.]
[Conclusion: User experience comparison... utter defeat.]
For the first time, a data stream called "astringent" was generated in Seventeen's core processor. This data spread like a virus, clogging his cooling vents and making him feel a suffocating tightness in his chest.
Qingqiu smiled at him, it was politeness.
Qingqiu smiled at him, was it…pity?
He looked down at his right hand, wrapped in bandages, then at the exquisite butterfly Li Changfeng had given him.
A feeling he had never experienced before, called "inferiority," made him want to smash the world to pieces.
…Night fell.
Shen Qingqiu was fast asleep.
The woodshed was quiet, only the "Lingxi Butterfly" still tirelessly fluttered around the rafters, scattering dappled silver light.
Seventeen sat up silently.
He stared at the butterfly for a long time.
His gaze was like that of someone looking at their father's killer.
He reached out.
Snap.
The butterfly was caught in his palm.
With a slight exertion, the intricate mechanism instantly turned into a lump of scrap metal. The phosphorescence died down, and the world finally fell silent.
"Trash." He uttered two cold words, casually tossing the remains into the ashes of the fire pit.
But he didn't lie down again.
He sat in the darkness, using the moonlight to pull out a half-used piece of "mysterious iron" and a carving knife from his pocket.
He wanted to make one too.
What that pretty boy could do, he could do too. And he could do it better, stronger, more…beautiful.
But…
His hands were for killing.
His newly reforged "Golden Fire God" right arm possessed the monstrous strength to tear apart tanks, yet it couldn't do delicate work like threading a needle.
Crack.
The first piece of iron was crushed by his hand.
Crack.
The second piece was accidentally melted.
Cold sweat beaded on Seventeen's forehead. The blue light in his eyes flickered rapidly, revealing his anxiety and clumsiness.
He wanted to pluck a flower. An indestructible, unfading iron flower.
But everything he made always carried a menacing, murderous aura.
The petals were like blades, the stamens like poison needles.
"No…it's not like that…"
He looked at the object in his hand, more like a hidden weapon than a flower, and lowered his head in frustration.
He remembered Li Changfeng's gentle, spring-like smile.
Would Qingqiu like him a little more if he could just learn to smile like that?
So, he began to practice, looking at his reflection in the water vat.
His lips curved upwards at a 15-degree angle.
His orbicularis oculi muscle contracted.
Sizzle— The facial muscles beneath the mask twitched stiffly.
What was reflected in the water vat was not a gentle, refined gentleman, but a monstrous demon about to devour someone. That twisted, terrifying smile, combined with the reddened electronic prosthetic eye, was enough to stop a child from crying at night.
"…Ugly." Seventeen smashed the water vat with a punch.
Water splashed everywhere.
Awakening Shen Qingqiu in bed.
"Seventeen?" Shen Qingqiu sat bolt upright, her golden eyes activating instantly, thinking an attack was imminent.
But all she saw was water stains, scrap metal littering the ground, and a dark figure crouching in a corner, radiating a menacing aura.
Shen Qingqiu walked over.
She saw the crushed remains of the "Lingxi Butterfly" in the fire pit.
Then she saw Seventeen's tightly clenched hand, still dripping blood (from a cut by a sharp piece of metal).
She froze for a moment, then understood.
A wild smile crept across her face, finally settling into a soft laugh.
"Seventeen." She hugged him from behind, her cheek pressed against his broad but stiff back.
"Why aren't you sleeping at night? What are you doing wrestling with a pile of scrap metal?"
Seventeen stiffened.
He frantically tried to hide what he was holding, but Shen Qingqiu grabbed his wrist.
His palm opened.
In his palm lay… an extremely ugly, dark, metallic flower.
The petals were sharpened to an razor-sharp edge, gleaming with a cold light. The stem was a sharp, piercing nail. This wasn't a flower at all; it was a deadly weapon disguised as one.
"This is...for me?" Shen Qingqiu picked up the heavy "iron flower."
Seventeen lowered his head, his voice muffled, as if coming from a cellar:
"Ugly. Don't look."
"Not as good as...a butterfly."
He tried to snatch it back and throw it away, but Shen Qingqiu dodged him.
"Who says it's not as good?"
Shen Qingqiu toyed with the iron flower, his fingertips lightly tracing the sharp petals. "That butterfly would crumble with a gentle squeeze; it's useless except for its beauty."
"But this flower of yours..."
Shen Qingqiu flicked his wrist, and the iron flower spun and flew out, embedding itself deeply into the hard stone wall with a thud, its tail still trembling slightly.
"It can kill, it can defend itself, and it can even be used as a dart in a pinch." Shen Qingqiu walked over, laboriously plucked the flower, placed it back in Seventeen's palm, then held his hand and pressed it against her cheek.
"This is the kind of romance I like."
"Seventeen, the road we're walking is one of mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Those romantic notions are too fragile; they can't protect me."
"Only you can." Seventeen looked at her.
Looking at her bright eyes in the moonlight.
The codes in his heart called "jealousy" and "inferiority" were completely formatted at this moment by these few words.
"Don't you dare imitate his smile again." Shen Qingqiu suddenly reached out and pinched his stiff cheek. "I saw it just now; he smiled like a man-eating monster." Seventeen turned his face away somewhat embarrassedly: "I just... wanted to imitate..."
"You don't need to imitate." Shen Qingqiu leaned closer to him, her nose almost touching his mask.
"You are the knife of the night, he is the spring breeze. Why should the knife learn from the wind?"
"I just love your cold, aloof demeanor, your indifference to everyone but me."
She tiptoed and, through the mask, planted a kiss on his lips.
"Only I know how much warm blood is hidden in the scabbard of this knife." Seventeen's Adam's apple bobbed.
His black-gold right arm, which had been slightly feverish from the emotional turmoil, now became unusually gentle.
He pulled Shen Qingqiu into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"Qingqiu."
"Hmm?"
"That butterfly… I burned it."
"So what if you burned it? It was a defective product anyway." Seventeen's lips finally curved into a tiny, genuine smile.
It wasn't imitation; it was a heartfelt, triumphant smugness.
"From now on... whatever you want, I'll make it for you."
"No butterflies. I'll make you... an iron eagle. It can fly, it can explode, it can peck that Li guy's head off." Shen Qingqiu chuckled, burying her face in his chest, laughing uncontrollably.
"Okay, whatever you want, whatever you want."
"My jealousy has turned into a spirit."
Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the two of them.
Scrap iron on the ground glittered, like shattered stars.
That night, the dashing chief disciple of the Heavenly Craft Pavilion had a nightmare, dreaming that he was being chased by a giant iron bird.
Meanwhile, in the woodshed, Seventeen, holding his whole world, slept soundly.
He finally understood.
He didn't need to become someone else.
Because in her logic, he was the only one with the highest priority.