“What’s going on?”
Everyone exchanged glances, confirming it wasn’t an illusion—the homeroom teacher was screaming hysterically.
Why was she yelling to stop?
Could it be that she was under attack? How could that be possible?
The college student whispered, “On my way to the office, I ran into Shen Zhiyi.”
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow faintly. Had that man become so monstrous that he could tear apart NPCs with his bare hands?
The tuition was definitely not coming back.
The college student then began to recount everything that happened on the way to the office in detail.
“As I expected,” Zhou Qi’an said calmly, “You’re a ‘good dad.’”
The college student’s legs nearly gave out, almost dropping to his knees, thinking mournfully, Do I really have to kneel?
Zhou Qi’an meant no mockery. He explained, “From our previous encounters, it’s clear our homeroom teacher enjoys seeing people tremble in fear. If someone calmer had gone, they wouldn’t have gotten out so quickly.”
Only by satisfying her twisted little hobby could things proceed.
The college student froze, realizing why Zhou Qi’an had insisted on him playing the role of a parent.
In the classroom, some players wanted to check out the situation but hesitated, wary of danger. While they were still deliberating, Shen Zhiyi returned. Just as when he left, he carried a book under his arm, looking like a refined scholar.
Someone nearby immediately called out to him, “Hey, what happened outside?”
Shen Zhiyi, always distant with others, completely ignored the question.
With a gentle expression, he sat down beside Zhou Qi’an.
The ignored player’s face turned sour. Does he have to be so blatantly biased?
“No need to worry. The homeroom teacher probably had a nightmare about my long-dead great-grandmother,” Shen Zhiyi said to Zhou Qi’an, his tone serious despite the absurdity. “Then, she declined a family meeting request from the old lady.”
Of course, Shen Zhiyi had no family. But since the homeroom teacher had provided an excuse, it’d be a shame not to play along.
What a pity that key NPCs were protected by rules and couldn’t be directly eliminated.
“…”
—
During the evening self-study session, the homeroom teacher, unsurprisingly, arrived late.
Time was limited, so she couldn’t afford to be too tardy. She had hastily wrapped a few bandages around herself, but half of a white bone was still exposed on her thin leg.
Her expression was grim, reluctantly attributing her earlier outburst to a student with a special constitution accidentally channeling a spirit. Thinking of her loss of composure, she shot several hateful glances at Shen Zhiyi, who sat calmly in his seat, her eyes practically burning to tear him apart.
Soon, she found an outlet for her frustration.
One accompanying student was missing from the class. She pointed a withered, branch-like finger and barked, “You!”
As if anticipating her interrogation, Zhou Qi’an stood up proactively, saying anxiously, “Teacher, my dad saw I wasn’t feeling well and said he’d go to the infirmary to get medicine, but he still hasn’t returned.”
The infirmary?
At the mention of those three words, the homeroom teacher paused her questioning. A moment later, she seemed to picture something cruel yet satisfying, her tongue flicking across her lips.
“He’s probably staying there to help. Just focus on studying.”
Zhou Qi’an hesitated, “But…”
The homeroom teacher shot him a cold glare, and Zhou Qi’an lowered his head, shrinking back and agreeing meekly.
The moment he bowed his head, the corners of his mouth curled slightly.
As an essential part of any school, the infirmary wasn’t simple—especially since he’d seen an operating table in his dream.
—
The moon hung high, and the evening self-study ended amid the homeroom teacher’s occasional scolding.
A recent storm had left the air damp, with rain mist seeping into clothes. Zhou Qi’an rubbed his reddened nose, chilled to the bone.
He was walking back to the dorm with Bai Chanyi and the college student.
At night, Shen Zhiyi’s presence seemed even fainter. Bai Chanyi couldn’t help but glance a few times to confirm he was still there. That finely sculpted face, under the moonlight, carried a sharpness almost harsher than the homeroom teacher’s.
As if sensing the stare, Shen Zhiyi’s narrow eyes flicked over, the corners tinged with a faint, blood-red hue unrelated to the weather—just a pure, eerie crimson.
Bai Chanyi instinctively stopped and stepped back. When he looked again, everything seemed normal.
Zhou Qi’an asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Bai Chanyi said, steadying himself. “About tomorrow’s exam—any ideas?”
The college student replied, “My memory’s decent, but there’s no way I can finish studying these two thick books overnight.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Zhou Qi’an said, his tone friendly toward his teammates. He slowly uttered three words: “Pray to the Exam God.”
If you don’t work hard when young, pray for luck before the exam.
The college student: “…”
Bai Chanyi, however, nodded in agreement.
The previous night, Zhou Qi’an had found incense in the dorm. It wouldn’t be there for no reason—it must have been left by previous students.
He pulled out the textbook Tips on Prayers and Offerings and handed it to the college student. “Here, open-book exam. Check if there’s anything about the Exam God.”
The college student took the book, slightly surprised, then sat on the curb and began flipping through it quickly.
Zhou Qi’an, leaning against a streetlamp, shared his dream from the previous night with the group. “The pig-headed person—could they be the game’s operator?”
Bai Chanyi raised an eyebrow. Having such a dream suggested potential for developing a spiritual constitution.
“Each staff member has their own role. Whether they interact closely with players depends on their personality.”
For example, the minotaur from the last instance barely entered the building.
Zhou Qi’an nodded thoughtfully. “So far, students taken by security are deemed ‘pig-brained’ and have their heads chopped off. I just don’t know what ‘recycling and processing’ on the medical records means.”
“Found it!” the college student suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a section in the book.
Chapter three stated: The Exam God often appears as a statue on campus. Offerings should primarily consist of fresh seasonal fruits, and worshippers must burn three sticks of plain incense.
“Fruits should be available in the cafeteria. As for plain incense…”
Shen Zhiyi chimed in, “Resin and herbs are everywhere on campus.”
He sounded experienced.
Zhou Qi’an clasped his hands together in a prayer gesture. “Teacher Shen, we’ll leave the incense to you. We’ll handle the offerings.”
With that, he handed his backpack and freshly picked poisonous mushrooms to Shen Zhiyi and headed to the cafeteria.
Shen Zhiyi sighed lightly. Still hasn’t given up on the mushroom soup idea.
On the way, Zhou Qi’an’s stomach growled again. The cold, damp air was torture.
Since the school had installed new cameras that day, the trio took detours. What should’ve been a few-minute walk to the cafeteria took nearly fifteen minutes.
Not far away, a small red building stood in the night, its brick walls pitted and scarred by time, with some crevices holding fragments of bone. The cafeteria had suddenly started making air-dried meat today, though it wasn’t ready yet, and strips of jerky were hung outside.
A player had just gone missing, and now they were processing meat.
The college student’s throat bobbed. “Recycling and processing… it couldn’t mean…”
Zhou Qi’an shook his head. “If that were the case, they’d just bring people to the cafeteria to slaughter them. No need to take them to the administration building and move them around.”
The college student forced a smile. Very comforting.
The cafeteria’s first floor had four service windows. As midnight approached, the chefs, wearing their hats, seemed even busier, bustling about in their respective stations.
Vikas was there too, accompanied by another player, staking out near window three.
Bai Chanyi made a judgment: “The chefs are likely passive NPCs. They won’t attack players unprovoked.”
Unfortunately, to get ingredients, they’d have to interact with the chefs.
During a phone call at noon, Zhou Qi’an had briefly explored the cafeteria. Only windows one and three offered fruit platters, exclusively for faculty and staff.
Vikas was camped at window three, leaving them only one option.
“I’ll steal the fruit later,” Zhou Qi’an said.
Bai Chanyi’s gaze followed the chef’s movements. “My initial species evolution is toward a mimic octopus, with a camouflage skill that lets me blend into the surroundings.”
Zhou Qi’an: “Noble sacrifice, Bai.”
Bai Chanyi replied calmly, “You too, Zhou. Speed is your strength, so I’ll need you to distract the chef.”
Fifty-fifty risk. If they messed up, they’d be done for.
The college student opened his mouth to speak, but Zhou Qi’an sighed dramatically. “You stay back. Someone’s gotta collect our bodies.”
Joking aside, the college student was assigned to keep watch from a distance, ready to assist. If things went south and Zhou Qi’an used his holy artifact, the student would immediately deploy a healing skill.
At window three, the moment the chef turned, Vikas vanished, already making his move.
At the same time, the player with him deliberately grabbed a bottle of vinegar, smashed it viciously against the window, and bolted.
Clearly, everyone’s strategy was the same: create a diversion.
Bai Chanyi seized the chaos to slip into the cafeteria’s prep area through a side entrance.
Vikas caught this, his eyes glinting with amusement. Trying to take advantage of the chaos comes at a cost.
When the chef from window three chased after the fleeing player, he completely ignored Zhou Qi’an, locking onto his sole target.
The chefs at the other three windows remained unfazed, mechanically continuing their tasks. The chef at window one, in particular, was chopping meat, splattering bits of flesh across the cutting board.
Then, he seemed to notice something. A sinister grin curled his lips, and he suddenly slammed the passage door shut with heavy steps.
His burly frame blocked the escape route as he raised a foul-smelling cleaver and strode toward the corner.
Bai Chanyi’s expression shifted slightly.
She’d had doubts.
For instance, why had Vikas bypassed the closer window one for window three, which was farther from the door? But doubts didn’t change the outcome. With limited windows available and sounds of fighting coming from the second floor—indicating other players had already gotten there—Bai Chanyi now guessed the downside of the closer window.
Unless someone directly intruded, this NPC likely wouldn’t react.
Diversions didn’t work on him.
Zhou Qi’an proved this.
When he hurled a handful of chopsticks inside, not only did the chef not budge, but he quickened his pace toward Bai Chanyi.
The door wouldn’t open.
Now it was a hundred percent risk.
A scalpel appeared in Bai Chanyi’s hand. She split her focus between searching for fruit and dodging the chef’s cleaver with a tricky maneuver.
On a small fridge, a bright red apple sat alone, glaringly conspicuous.
It was a bit far. She frowned slightly.
“Hey!” At that moment, a cheeky shout came from outside.
The chef didn’t stop but glanced over.
On the other side, Vikas had secured an offering—but only one.
His attention turned to Bai Chanyi. The moment he considered making a move, a scalpel sliced through the air, bypassing the chef and hurtling toward him.
“Try it,” Bai Chanyi warned while dodging the chef’s attacks.
Vikas ignored her, patiently waiting.
First come, first served. He wouldn’t reach the apple before Bai Chanyi, but if she got injured by the chef, his chance would come.
Bai Chanyi leaped, her palm brushing the apple’s edge. Just as she was about to succeed, the chef, furious, glared at her slender back with blazing eyes, ready to hurl his deadly cleaver.
Something bizarre happened.
Despite preparing to attack, at the last second, he tightened his grip on the cleaver and held back.
The next moment, this chef—who’d refused to leave his station—changed direction.
Outside the window, a young man stood on a cafeteria table. With a flourish, he tossed a handful of money into the air! As the blood-stained ghost money fluttered down, the chefs at all four windows froze, stunned.
[Blood-Stained Ghost Money], a gift from the barber.
Zhou Qi’an had unleashed it.
As its description promised, the ghost money brought bad luck. It didn’t just attract the chef from window one—all four chefs, including the one chasing Vikas’s companion, charged toward Zhou Qi’an.
“Damn it!”
His cool moment vanished. Zhou Qi’an chugged a [Sailfish Potion] and sprinted for his life.
At the entrance, the college student hurled a book thick enough to be a brick. “Hurry!”
The chef from window three, returning from the chase, dodged instinctively, giving Zhou Qi’an a chance to widen the gap.
The last shred of the night’s silence shattered.
Amid frantic footsteps, Zhou Qi’an muttered, “Head for the dorms.”
So far, that was the only place without cameras.
With a clear direction, they moved faster. The college student glanced back, seeing only shadowy trees.
“They don’t seem to be following.”
Zhou Qi’an: “Don’t stop.”
Who knew if the chefs would chase again after picking up the money?
Near the dorms, Zhou Qi’an finally slowed, feeling a bit hypoglycemic. As he caught his breath, he spotted Vikas approaching from nearby.
Behind Vikas, faint arguing echoed.
“You’re not planning to keep it all, are you?” his companion said, face dark. “We used a contract item.”
Who could’ve predicted the task was this brutal? Each window had only one fruit.
Vikas stayed silent.
Splitting it in half for the offering might backfire, and getting another would mean checking the cafeteria’s upper floors. But the higher they went, the riskier it got, and returning now might mean getting targeted by the window three chef.
Vikas’s eyes flicked up. He had two people, but there was a trio nearby.
Soon, Bai Chanyi returned, holding the book the college student had thrown and a single apple, looking like a quiet student fresh from study hall.
Zhou Qi’an, in true bully fashion, snatched the apple with lightning speed.
Vikas crossed his arms, anticipating a fallout.
Crunch.
Under Vikas’s expectant gaze, the apple—supposedly worth fighting over—gained a bite mark. Zhou Qi’an devoured a chunk of the juicy fruit, chomping several more times, his teeth leaving jagged marks.
Wiping his hands, he said, “I was starving.”
“…”
Vikas and his companion both thought he’d lost his mind.
The apple replenished sugar and hydration. Eating too fast and breathing cold air, Zhou Qi’an let out a small burp.
“Now we won’t fight over one apple,” he said, spreading his hands.
The college student was speechless.
Right. No apple, no problem.
Zhou Qi’an suddenly grinned and said softly, “Offerings don’t have to come from the cafeteria.”
The college student’s mouth opened, his fingers trembling as something dawned on him. “The fruit platters are for faculty. Maybe their digestive systems are different from ours. Are you thinking of cutting open their stomachs?”
“No, chewed food can’t be an offering. If they’ve eaten the offerings, they’re part of the offering in a way. Zhou, are you planning to sacrifice the homeroom teacher alive? That’s… that’s insane… too dangerous…”
The college student couldn’t help but protest.
Zhou Qi’an: “…”
What are you ranting about?
His analysis made Vikas and the others glance over.
Zhou Qi’an cleared his throat. “Follow me.”
If the cafeteria route was a dead end, they’d switch tracks.
Vikas and his companion’s figures faded into the distance.
Once they were far enough, Bai Chanyi sighed. She glanced at the seemingly harmless college student, feeling an odd disconnect—his low-tier skills clashed with his wild ideas.
Her gaze shifted to Zhou Qi’an, and she frowned.
Few knew Ying Yu’s true appearance, but as a distant relative, she did.
In the archives room, while unsealing other files, Bai Chanyi noticed Ying Yu’s photo was slightly misaligned, clearly tampered with. The only person who could’ve done it was Zhou Qi’an, who’d arrived first.
Rumor had it he’d later sought out Ying Yu specifically.
“Strange…” Bai Chanyi didn’t believe Zhou Qi’an’s actions were just for a simple assignment.
Oblivious to her suspicions, the college student asked, “Brother Zhou, where are we going now?”
Zhou Qi’an: “To warm up for blowing up the instance.”
With sugar in his system, his brain was back in gear.
“?”
“!!!”
__
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: Tomorrow, I’ll perform a 1.0 version of a magic explosion.
The first “explosion” isn’t literal, of course. Trust our Qi’an’s character—he doesn’t do simple, brute-force stuff.
