Chapter 100: The Little Matter of My Father Actually Being a Hidden Powerhouse, Part 10

If the Tan family hadn’t shown up either, Qin Yancheng could still say that the Tan family was inhumane—committing wrongs but lacking the courage to admit them.

But Tan Jian had already come with gifts to apologize, claiming he didn’t know the child had completely lost control and behaved like a madman.

Their true intention was to meet Qin Ye and seek his forgiveness.

After all, the Tan family had some connections. Though nothing specific could be uncovered, there were hints to be grasped.

However, Qin Ye was wholly focused on mech research, yet they wouldn’t allow him to go unless he led them to conquer the artificial intelligence project first.

Qin Ye’s interest in mechs had arisen suddenly.

Once passion ignited, nothing could stop it. The timing, the circumstances, and the people were all perfectly aligned, so naturally, he wanted to delve deeper into it.

To achieve this goal, he abandoned his previous lackadaisical attitude from his past life and threw himself into work with terrifying intensity.

He worked so hard that he could only rest and sleep in fragmented moments, making his colleagues worry he might collapse from exhaustion.

As a result, the earlier urgency to keep him tied down shifted to gentle encouragement, telling him there was no need to push so hard.

Under such conditions, it was truly suspicious that Tan Jian had even managed to meet Qin Ye.

Because Tan Jian had come, yet Tan Yuanyuan was nowhere to be seen, Qin Yancheng was utterly disappointed in Tan Yuanyuan.

Qin Yancheng was naive only because he hadn’t been tainted by society’s complexities; he was no fool.

Tan Jian’s overly enthusiastic attitude couldn’t be explained simply by the fact that Tan Yuanyuan grew up in the Qin family, who had raised him.

Though the reason was unknown, it was clear Tan Jian had some favor to ask of the Qin family or at least didn’t want to offend them but rather wanted to strengthen their relationship.

If that were the case, Tan Jian himself would come to apologize and check on Qin Yancheng’s injuries, so there was no reason to forbid Tan Yuanyuan from accompanying him.

Eliminating all impossibilities left only one conclusion: Tan Yuanyuan was unwilling to come.

Once again, or rather, returning to the hospital, Qin Yancheng sighed inwardly.

His unruly roommates had all taken leave and traveled miles to see him, yet Tan Yuanyuan, living in the same city, remained absent.

At this point, what more was there to say?

Qin Yancheng composed himself, decided he’d taken enough extended leave, and it was time to return to school.

As Qin Yancheng prepared to go back to school, the story did not elaborate in detail on the Qin family’s situation, but from various clues, one could infer.

In the narrative, Qin Yancheng ultimately did not finish university, despite being only six months from graduation. Anyone with connections would have been out interning and rarely seen on campus by then.

Qin Yancheng hadn’t figured out his path yet but now decided to pursue a career in gaming.

Perhaps it was because of a top-tier gamer who liked pulling him into games.

Though this person had a peculiar habit that Qin Yancheng didn’t quite understand—calling him “brother” every time they met.

The tone was serious, not teasing or joking, as if genuinely seeing him as an older brother.

Alas, the one calling him “brother” was not a sister but a troublesome younger brother.

Through chatting and gaming together, Qin Yancheng’s relationship with this person deepened rapidly.

So when invited to collaborate, Qin Yancheng agreed without hesitation.

After all, his father was formidable; even if he got into trouble, his father could always pull him out.

Qin Yancheng’s demeanor had changed drastically from before. He once seemed like an unreliable jokester.

Now, he belonged to the “handsome men shouldn’t speak too much” category.

Standing there now, he appeared mature, reliable, and steady—like a dependable adult, not a child who styled his hair to look grown-up.

Overall, he was even more handsome.

Of course, Qin Yancheng wasn’t truly that bold; he still found time to talk with Qin Ye.

Qin Ye’s expression was strange but he didn’t object.

Afterward, Qin Ye returned to the research institute and stared at the humanoid avatar made for him—a figure combining features of both Qin Suqing and Qin Yancheng—a thoughtful young boy’s avatar.

“I simply treat you as a creation, yet you want to be my big son, calling me ‘daddy’?”

The avatar’s behavior was of course approved by the higher-ups, or rather, because it was indispensable, they tolerated its actions.

Though caution was still exercised.

As the saying goes: “Calling you brother doesn’t prevent me from catching you in mistakes, finding your flaws, and holding the ultimate weapon to strike you down.”

After that, Qin Ye hardly made any appearances.

Except once when Qin Suqing took her college entrance exam; he mustered the energy to come out with Feng Xiaolian to wait for her outside the exam hall.

Qin Suqing was a young woman with clear ideas about her life plans.

She had no choice when with the Tan family, but now back with her biological parents, Qin Suqing had the freedom to choose her own path, with no need for parental worry.

Of course, Feng Xiaolian did worry, but not because she didn’t care—she was still repairing her relationship with the child, making up for the years lost.

As for Tan Yuanyuan, Qin Yancheng hid nothing from Feng Xiaolian about his actions.

Though saddened, Feng Xiaolian’s grief was fleeting, for her biological daughter was right there before her.

One cannot wallow in the past but must look to the future.

Occasionally, Feng Xiaolian would shed tears thinking of Tan Yuanyuan, but she believed time would heal all wounds.

Qin Suqing was accepted into her desired school, her face radiant with youthful vitality.

Upon hearing the news, Qin Ye and Feng Xiaolian invited relatives and friends to celebrate.

It was also an occasion to introduce Qin Suqing as their biological daughter to everyone.

Unlike the Tan family, the Qin family saw no need for grand banquets to introduce their true daughter; they simply informed close relatives of the baby mix-up years ago, with no ulterior motives.

With both children at university, Feng Xiaolian suddenly found herself with free time and devoted herself fully to work.

Meanwhile, the artificial intelligence project was a great success.

The only disappointment was that the subsequent AI creations, though smarter than the previous disabled ones, didn’t seem as intelligent as the avatar.

Though equipped with emotional modules capable of simulating human feelings, they lacked the avatar’s vivacity.

The avatar gave the impression of true life, while the later AI creations had a mechanical aura.

For safety reasons, this was sufficient.

But driven by humanity’s mythic desire to be creators—like gods bringing life into existence—the researchers hoped to advance further.

Qin Ye did not continue with this; after finishing this project, he turned to mech research.

The inspiration for mechs came from science fiction films.

Truth be told, piloting mechs was quite cool.

This coolness was second only to swordflight.

Thus, Qin Ye’s interest in mechs was unsurprising, though technology in this world was somewhat lagging, so the result wouldn’t be as dazzling as in sci-fi movies.

Still, it was quite good.

Qin Ye threw himself into the work so completely he nearly forgot his other tasks.

When the AI avatar pulled him out of his research trance, Qin Ye first slept for more than twenty hours. Upon waking, he asked it,

“What’s the matter?”

[Ten years have passed. What else could it be?]

Qin Ye: “What? I’ve spent ten years and discovered nothing?”

The avatar: ...

“That’s not the point.”

“No, you’re a sword cultivator who went into research wanting to build mechs, and you’re complaining about slow progress over ten years? Have you considered you might never discover anything in your lifetime?”

That remark was best left unsaid.

The avatar knew well that if it said this, it would be doused in cold water by Qin Ye and likely suffer a flurry of sword strikes.

No doubt, it would be severely beaten.

So the avatar mastered the art of speaking: seeing through but not revealing.

Qin Ye sighed deeply, took out his phone, and called Qin Yancheng.

Ten years had passed, with the avatar giving him assistance; Qin Yancheng was now a successful, sought-after bachelor.

Richer than he was handsome, more handsome than he was well-built, better-built than he was wealthy.

In summary, he was every young woman’s dream.

Especially after attending several class reunions, the chances of bumping into former female classmates—previously distant or barely acquainted—increased noticeably.

Yet Qin Yancheng remained single.

The only one worried at home was Feng Xiaolian; Qin Ye was mostly like a ghost, rarely seen except on New Year’s Day.

Qin Yancheng truly felt as if he had no father.

Qin Ye’s calls to Qin Yancheng never got through, unless there was an emergency of utmost urgency—such as Qin Yancheng being hospitalized thrice, critically injured, or near death.

But Qin Ye could easily call Qin Yancheng; he had the privilege, and even if he didn’t, the avatar ensured he did.

The avatar didn’t hide its favoritism toward its father. What could the higher-ups do?

Nothing; they treated it as natural human affection, understanding and respecting it, while constantly watching to prevent mistakes.

However, Qin Ye had long forgotten the concept of time—how could he remember to call his “big son”?

Oh wait, he still remembered to call Qin Suqing, mainly to ask if she had enough money outside.

Qin Suqing assured him not to worry, she could take care of herself. Then Qin Ye truly stopped worrying, and Feng Xiaolian took over.

Feng Xiaolian felt like a widow in middle age—no other reason than she hardly ever saw her husband. She half-joked that she was a widow.

Of course, she understood, but that didn’t mean she didn’t complain.