High Martial: I Use Everything as Swords

On the other side of the field.

Chen Gang had just perfectly repaired the eleventh malfunction point.

Sweat trickled down his focused cheeks, but he paid it no mind, the corners of his mouth curling into a confident arc.

One hour to solve half the problems.

This speed had already surpassed all of his previous records.

He subconsciously looked up, ready to bask in the gazes of admiration and amazement from the stands.

That was the glory reserved for a genius.

However, what he saw was an empty guardrail.

The dozens of people who had been crowded behind him to observe were now gone without a trace.

Only two or three official personnel in charge of recording remained, and even they were craning their necks, staring intently in the opposite direction.

Chen Gang was completely stunned.

’Where did everyone go?’

He followed their line of sight.

Over by Han Feng’s fighter jet, a dense crowd of heads bobbed, surrounding the area so tightly it was impenetrable.

Some people even threw their decorum to the wind, standing on the railings and desperately trying to peer inside.

From within the crowd, sharp, forcibly suppressed gasps could still be heard erupting from time to time.

’Did something go wrong over there?’

This was the first, and only, logical thought that popped into Chen Gang’s head.

’That has to be it.’

’That guy who just relies on luck must have messed up and caused some major accident. That’s why everyone’s gathered around.’

Gawking is just human nature.

’Just grandstanding for attention.’

Chen Gang scoffed inwardly and forced himself to look away, but an inexplicable anger burned within him.

Fixing planes relies on absolute rationality and precise calculations—on hard skill, not on putting on a circus act to grab attention.

He shook off the distracting thoughts and refocused.

The movements of his hands unconsciously quickened.

’As long as I finish first, as long as my score is the highest, all eyes will eventually return, humbly, to me—the true number one.’

...

Another half hour passed.

In Han Feng’s area, the clear, pure roar of an engine suddenly thundered to life.

It was the sound of a test run after the repairs were complete.

The sound was powerful, full, and smooth, without the slightest hint of static or interference.

Han Feng stood before the nose of the jet, his palm resting lightly on the gently vibrating fuselage as he closed his eyes.

To an outsider, it looked like he was feeling the engine’s vibration frequency.

But in Han Feng’s consciousness, this was a resonance with the fighter’s soul.

It was the Spiritual Energy Fluid, surging joyfully through the newly revitalized network of pathways.

The knowledge system of [Spiritual Energy Engine Principles·Proficient] and the absolute Perception of [Human-Machine Unity] formed a perfect feedback loop in his mind.

"The injection timing for fuel nozzle number four needs to be delayed by another 0.03 milliseconds."

"The opening of the Spiritual Power booster valve needs to be increased by one percent."

He murmured under his breath as if talking to an old friend.

Then, he picked up his tools, ducked back into the engine compartment, and, without the aid of any instruments, made the final micro-adjustments purely by feel.

VROOOM—!

The engine’s whine suddenly jumped an octave, tearing through the air, yet it was impossibly smooth!

"Done."

Han Feng wiped the grease from his hands, slid out from under the fuselage, and slammed his hand down on the timer.

In that instant, the entire field fell deathly silent.

The bright red numbers stopped, frozen at one hour and thirty minutes.

The staff member in charge of recording walked over with the assessment checklist, his hands trembling slightly.

He checked off the items one by one, his voice strained.

"Left landing gear hydraulic failure... Repaired."

"Fire control radar phase shift... Repaired."

"Spiritual Power booster circuit overload... Repaired."

...

"Wait... W-what is this?"

The staff member pointed to a brand-new, mirror-smooth polished mark on the inner wall of the engine’s air intake, his voice filled with confusion.

Han Feng shrugged, his tone casual.

"There were micro-level metal fatigue cracks on the inner wall of the air intake. It wasn’t part of the test, but it was an eyesore, so I welded it shut while I was at it."

The staff member: "..."

He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

’An eyesore?’

’While he was at it?’

’That’s a line of fine print you’d only find in a report after scanning for half a day with a 3D Spiritual Power flaw detector!’

’And you call that ’while you were at it’?!’

"Good!"

"Good!"

"Good!"

Zhao Yu couldn’t hold back any longer, roaring the word "Good!" three times.

He rushed forward in a few strides, his fan-sized hands clapping down hard on Han Feng’s shoulder.

"Kid! Your skill, that’s goddamn art!"

"It’s art born for war!"

Han Feng just smiled modestly.

"You praise me too much, Engineer Zhao. It’s just a matter of practice makes perfect."

After confirming all items were perfectly completed, the ground crew carefully towed the fighter jet away with a tractor, sending it to the performance testing center in the rear.

The jet was towed away, but the crowd of onlookers remained, as if nailed to the spot, unwilling to disperse for a long time.

"Is... Is this for real?"

"I feel like I’m watching a sci-fi blockbuster."

"Freakish. He must be a genetic mutant!"

"A normal human couldn’t possibly do something like that!"

"He was fast, sure, but who knows what score he’ll get on the final performance test. What if it’s all just a flashy exterior with nothing on the inside?"

Even after seeing it with their own eyes, Han Feng’s repair methods, which defied both theory and common sense, still left most people feeling skeptical.

With Han Feng’s assessment over, the crowd swarmed back over to Chen Gang’s side.

After all, his was the "textbook" method—something they could understand and learn from.

Han Feng’s way was a miracle. Mortals could only gaze up in awe.

Feeling the fervent gazes of the crowd gathering around him once more, the anxiety that had been weighing on Chen Gang’s heart finally lifted.

’See? After all the commotion, people still return to rationality in the end, to appreciate true skill.’

Another half hour passed.

When the clock steadily pointed to the two-hour mark exactly, Chen Gang set down his probe.

He performed an extremely rigorous self-check three times, confirming every detail was flawless before elegantly removing his Spiritual Power gloves and pressing the stop button.

Chen Gang let out a long breath, a victorious smile returning to his face.

He turned and walked toward his mentor, Zhang Yi.

"Mentor, I have not failed my mission."

Chen Gang’s voice was filled with the pride of a genius.

"Two hours on the dot. Zero mistakes."

"I must be the first one to finish the assessment, right?"

Zhang Yi looked at his prized student, but the expression on his face was incredibly complicated.

It was as if he’d been constipated for three days and three nights—a mixture of relief and unspeakable awkwardness.

Chen Gang immediately sensed something was wrong.

His gaze hardened as he looked at the junior apprentice beside him.

The junior apprentice flinched, shrinking his neck, and said in a trembling, mosquito-like voice,

"Um... Brother Gang... Han Feng... he finished half an hour ago."

"What?!"

The smile on Chen Gang’s face instantly froze, then shattered.

’Half an hour ago?’

’Doesn’t that mean... one and a half hours?!’

"Impossible!"

Chen Gang roared, his voice cracking into a shrill shriek.

"A fighter jet with over twenty complex malfunctions... Even for me, just completing the standard diagnostic procedures would take over an hour!"

"How could he possibly be that fast?"

"Unless... unless he didn’t even do a full diagnostic scan!"

"He... he didn’t really use much diagnostic equipment."

The junior apprentice’s voice grew even quieter, as if afraid of being caught in the blast of Chen Gang’s fury.

"He just went up, took it apart, fixed it, and... submitted."

Chen Gang was stunned for a moment, then he began to laugh out of sheer anger.

"I knew it."

He shook his head, the shock in his eyes replaced by thick disdain and contempt.

"Skipping the most basic safety procedures just to be fast?"

"That’s not maintenance, that’s murdering a future Pilot!"

He had instantly reclaimed the moral high ground, his posture straightening once again.

He turned to Zhang Yi and said,

"Mentor, you taught me that the soul of a Maintenance Master is ’responsibility,’ not speed."

"Since he’s so shortsighted and desperate for quick success, the final performance test will be the judgment day that brings his utter ruin!"

Hearing this, the anxiety that had been weighing on Zhang Yi’s heart was completely lifted.

’That’s right!’

’What’s the damn point of being fast!’

’If it’s not fixed right, if the repairs are flawed, it’s all for nothing!’

"You’re right, Gangzi!"

Zhang Yi clapped Chen Gang heavily on the shoulder, his expression finally relaxing.

"Your steady, meticulous, and perfectionist craftsmanship—that is the true path for us technicians!"

"Don’t let those heretical shortcuts mess with your head. We’ll wait for the results!"

"The performance test is the only truth!"

Watching the tractor slowly tow away the fighter jet he had so meticulously repaired, mentor and student exchanged a knowing smile.

Victory was already in their grasp.