Inside the classroom, Vikas’s expression was as grim as that of the homeroom teacher. He suddenly understood the real reason why Zhou Qi’an had stopped Ying Yu the night before—it had nothing to do with copying homework.
His urgency in heading to the archive room and deliberately mentioning it within earshot was merely a diversion.
What Zhou Qi’an truly intended to examine at that time…
was Ying Yu’s file.
First, confirm the other party’s identity, then negotiate terms to obtain the Confusion Card.
“Such meticulous planning… truly impressive…” Vikas clenched his palms so tightly that his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood.
He had not only manipulated the game but also outmaneuvered him. Without any real effort, Zhou Qi’an had managed to extract offerings from others while still earning their gratitude.
The moment the Exam God Statue cracked, the emaciated homeroom teacher seemed to sense something. Clutching a thick stack of test papers, she rushed out the door. “Where is security? Security! Pull up the surveillance footage for me!”
Comprehensive Building.
After security took the students away, they dragged the two candidates who had violated exam regulations all the way to the infirmary.
In the dimly lit corridor, two thick, dark red streaks trailed across the floor. The players, after being taken away, had attempted to use items to escape. However, such actions only hastened their demise.
[Assault on Campus Security]
[You have been classified as a violent offender]
The clubs came down mercilessly, shattering their bones and cutting off their final hope of survival.
One player, still barely clinging to life, stared wide-eyed, regret lingering in his gaze. They were tossed onto the operating table as the school doctor excitedly swung an axe downward!
“Ahhhhhhh!”
The sharp thuds of hacking and the last desperate screams pierced through the eerie silence of the Comprehensive Building.
The infirmary was stiflingly warm. The school doctor removed his cap, revealing his pale pink scalp, sparsely dotted with a few strands of hair.
The security officer could have left immediately, but he was intoxicated by the scent of blood. He lingered a moment longer as the school doctor began the process of brain transplantation on the corpse.
Outside, the storm raged. Lightning illuminated the sealed room, magnifying the perverse pleasure of the slaughter.
Suddenly, the security officer seemed to notice something.
His murky eyes widened, and he instinctively leaned forward as if trying to push his head through the glass. From where he stood, he had a clear view of the Exam God Statue.
For a full minute, he remained frozen before finally regaining his voice.
“The statue… it’s cracked…”
Behind him, the school doctor, who had been wielding the surgical knife, flinched at his words. His hand slipped, and the pig’s brain he had been preparing for transplantation tumbled to the ground.
As soon as the homeroom teacher left, the classroom fell into absolute silence.
“Wasn’t someone just spreading rumors about Zhou Qi’an robbing others of their offerings?” Bai Chanyi chuckled softly, breaking the tension. “Doesn’t seem to be the case. I don’t see the so-called ‘robber’ performing particularly well on the exams.”
When it came to delivering sharp remarks, veteran players were unmatched.
The players who had spread the rumors flushed red with embarrassment as they realized they had just made fools of themselves.
Previously, all the uneasy gazes had been fixed on Zhou Qi’an. Now, they had shifted elsewhere.
One of the embarrassed players muttered, “Once they review the surveillance footage, who knows who’s really in trouble?”
The original students of the class silently observed the verbal sparring, their faces remaining ghostly pale under the dim lighting.
However, the corners of their lips curled upward slightly. It was as if the more intense the conflict among the players, the greater their amusement.
Zhou Qi’an, however, was not overly concerned about the surveillance footage.
He hadn’t studied much, but he had carefully read the student handbook.
The school regulations outlined in the handbook were peculiar—besides the requirement for a uniform dress code, nine out of ten rules revolved around academic performance. Common school regulations, such as prohibitions against carrying weapons or running in the hallways, were conspicuously absent.
Time passed silently. About five or six minutes later—
Click. Click. Click.
The distinct sound of high heels echoed down the corridor, growing louder as they approached. When the footsteps finally stopped, the homeroom teacher was standing outside the door. Her expression was much calmer than before, but her tone was even more chilling.
“I have conducted a preliminary investigation and contacted the principal.”
Contacted?
Some of the players exchanged glances. This implied that the principal was not on campus.
“For the special circumstances arising in this round of examinations, the principal has issued the following directives…”
The homeroom teacher slowly stepped onto the podium.
It wasn’t an illusion—
Zhou Qi’an’s thin frame tensed slightly. He could feel the teacher’s gaze brimming with malice, lingering around him.
Not just him—the same gaze swept over the other players who had exploited the Confusion Card to create loopholes.
“The academic records of accompanying students will be voided, and the school will immediately assign personnel to escort them safely home.”
The Exam God, the widely acknowledged and bloodstained guardian deity of this ancient and mysterious school, was believed to grant students good fortune. Nearly every student desperate for high scores had once worshiped it.
And now, a conspicuous crack had appeared on its surface.
Under the homeroom teacher’s gaze, the culprit slightly lowered his eyes. The outcome was not as Zhou Qi’an had imagined—he had not been granted an opportunity to negotiate with the game.
However, at least there were benefits.
For examinees who had used the Confusion Card, their relatives would receive a free player identity, sparing them from being thrown into a high-difficulty instance immediately—a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Suddenly, the game’s usual cold, mechanical prompt sounded:
[Regarding this bug, compensation-exclusive experience books have been issued. Please check your inventory.]
*“Instance-related compensation clue 1 has been issued. Please check your inventory.”
Zhou Qi’an opened his inventory and noticed a newly added silver experience book icon.
*[Exclusive Experience Book 2: Can be used to enhance weapon attributes.]
The game operated with absolute impartiality, devoid of any emotional bias.
Since there were no relatives of Zhou Qi’an within this instance, his compensation had been adjusted accordingly—and he had received a double portion.
“The calculated rationality of intelligent systems… truly beyond human reach.”
The sheer magnitude of the game itself weighed heavily on Zhou Qi’an’s mind, filling him with unprecedented pressure. Taking a deep breath, he shifted his focus and distributed the experience books to white silk and his Sacred Artifact.
“You better not disappoint me.”
His expectations were higher for white silk.
While the Sacred Artifact was undoubtedly powerful, white silk, which had survived being buried three times, was the weapon he relied on most frequently in daily combat.
The moment the experience book was consumed, the weapon stats updated:
Toughness +5, Flexibility +5, now capable of ensnaring two targets simultaneously.
Previously, white silk could only restrain a single target.
Not bad.
A hint of satisfaction flickered in Zhou Qi’an’s gaze.
The golden trident had also undergone an update, unlocking a new trait: Hidden Edge.
[Hidden Edge: When activated, the Sacred Artifact will suppress its golden glow. Ordinary humans can touch it for up to thirty seconds without suffering frostbite.]
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow. He pondered this seemingly underwhelming ability for a moment—then suddenly smiled.
In certain scenarios, this could be extremely useful. For instance, if there was something non-human hiding within the team, this would be a perfect way to test them.
One last reward remained.
Zhou Qi’an retrieved an envelope-shaped icon from his inventory and opened it.
[Compensation Clue: Proverb—For every poison in the world, within five steps lies the antidote.]
[Applicable Scenario: The most dangerous places.]
The moment he finished reading, his Story Background Exploration progress automatically increased to 21%.
Before he could even process his excitement, his name was called.
The homeroom teacher, having finished relaying the principal’s orders, glared with thin lips twitching in anger.
“The students whose names I am about to read will have their exam scores excluded from scholarship evaluations. Zhou Qi’an, Hao Nan…”
Her eyes never left the students, glinting with an eerie light.
Zhou Qi’an maintained a composed posture, careful to avoid any misstep.
Even the slightest mistake at this moment could cause the homeroom teacher’s favorability toward him to plummet instantly.
“One more thing,” she continued. “There is a reporting box on the first floor of the Comprehensive Building. If any student has information on those suspected of damaging school property, they are encouraged to report it…” Her tone carried an unmistakable hint of persuasion. “Teachers appreciate brave and righteous students.”
Some players wavered.
That phrase—’Teachers appreciate brave and righteous students’—implied a reward.
And what exactly was the reward?
The homeroom teacher quickly provided an answer:
“I have mentioned before that today’s exam was the easiest. In the upcoming tests, the question types will expand to include fill-in-the-blank, short answer, and essay questions. Based on past examinees’ experiences, the real score differentiation comes from short answer and essay sections.”
The player who had previously spread rumors about Zhou Qi’an sneered, taking pleasure in others’ misfortune.
This was beginning to resemble a humanities exam—where grading was largely subjective. Scoring high depended entirely on the teacher’s discretion, meaning that earning the homeroom teacher’s favor was paramount.
“The report only requires clues, not evidence…” One player smirked.
He was tempted to submit a report himself.
Noting the varied expressions among the students, the homeroom teacher’s tone turned even more sinister.
“In fact, I already have a strong suspicion about who the participants are.”
Who benefited? That was the guilty party.
“I only need to know who initiated it. As for the informants, they will be granted immunity.”
Her gaze lingered on the four newly added desks and chairs.
“Tomorrow morning is the physical fitness test. In the afternoon, the subjects will be ‘Beast Taming Techniques’ and ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Joy of Deception.’ Accompanying students, follow me—your school bus is waiting outside. The rest of you may leave after evening self-study.”
One by one, the four family members stood up. Some seemed hesitant to speak, but under the homeroom teacher’s impatient urging, they hurriedly left.
Near the doorway, one girl glanced back and shook her head at Hao Nan.
He understood his older sister’s message—don’t take the easy way out.
He gave a slight nod. He wasn’t a saint, but he at least knew the value of repaying kindness.
As for the others? That wasn’t his concern.
Hao Nan sighed internally. Zhou Qi’an is probably in trouble.
Indeed, Zhou Qi’an’s situation was precarious.
It was likely that some would report him in an attempt to regain the homeroom teacher’s favor. If two or more of the six beneficiaries turned against him, he would inevitably become the primary target of the teacher’s wrath.
Unless, of course, he preemptively rallied others to spread misinformation.
But that was even harder to pull off.
Despite the looming threat of betrayal, Zhou Qi’an’s expression remained as calm as ever.
Even when evening self-study ended, the homeroom teacher did not return.
Zhou Qi’an grabbed his bag and walked out of the classroom, sensing the presence of unfriendly gazes in the shadows. But when he looked up, everyone seemed preoccupied with their own business.
Most players had yet to leave. Were they staying behind to discuss something…?
Zhou Qi’an narrowed his eyes.
At that moment, Bai Chanyi approached from behind. “Leaving together?”
Zhou Qi’an nodded. Outside the door, the college student and Shen Zhiyi were already waiting.
The classroom doors along the corridor were all locked, their padlocks covered in dust. The college student hesitated before pressing his face against the glass for a peek.
Inside, dozens of necks snapped in unison to face him.
Above them, however, there were no heads.
“AH!” He stumbled back. “T-The room… inside…”
By the time Zhou Qi’an looked, the eerie figures had vanished.
The college student recounted what he had seen, steadied himself, and muttered, “The homeroom teacher keeps emphasizing the class rankings and the elimination system, but… why does it feel like we’re the only class actually attending lessons?”
A chill crept up from beneath their feet, sinking into their lungs. The overhead lights cast a stark, surgical glare.
Suppressing his discomfort, the college student continued, “The exam formats are all over the place. One teacher handling every subject?”
This entire school felt like an amateur production.
Zhou Qi’an, however, understood all too well. “Diploma mills are everywhere these days—hard to guard against.”
Shen Zhiyi: “…”
*
Dormitory Building.
As always, the dorm supervisor was slumped over in a corner, fast asleep. His body, laden with fat, resembled a small hill in the darkness.
On the way upstairs, the college student finally couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “You…”
Zhou Qi’an noticed his hesitation. “Just say it.”
The college student hesitated for another second before blurting out, “Are you planning to blow up the Comprehensive Building?”
Just as they passed by, Ying Yu’s gaze shifted slightly toward them, his usually calm expression carrying a rare trace of intrigue.
Zhou Qi’an’s eyelid twitched. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The college student reasoned that since Zhou Qi’an hadn’t attempted to tackle the issue from a player’s angle, he would probably choose to eliminate the problem at its root. If the Comprehensive Building were to explode or catch fire, the reporting box would be destroyed.
Shen Zhiyi did not join the discussion.
Bai Chanyi seemed about to say something but fell silent at the thought of the burning Jinxiang Tower. She pressed her lips together.
Zhou Qi’an: “…”
Prejudice—nothing but the world’s baseless prejudice!
He couldn’t be bothered to explain. When he looked up again, Ying Yu had already walked ahead.
Watching the retreating figure, Zhou Qi’an’s expression turned serious. Even now, he struggled to decipher Ying Yu’s intentions.
Even when Zhou Qi’an had proactively approached him, offering to cooperate in researching the Sacred Artifact, Ying Yu had shown no discernible reaction.
It was no coincidence that they had entered the same instance. If it wasn’t for the Sacred Artifact, then what was Ying Yu’s true objective?
Zhou Qi’an racked his brain for clues.
From what he could recall, Ying Yu was either quietly reading in the classroom or wandering off on his own. Yesterday, Zhou Qi’an had deliberately lingered near the Exam God Statue, yet he hadn’t spotted that elusive figure.
“What do you think of him?” Zhou Qi’an lightly nudged Shen Zhiyi.
Shen Zhiyi was particularly sensitive to physical contact, even the slightest touch. He savored it before responding, “A walking treasure trove.”
“?”
Zhou Qi’an attempted to interpret the remark.
It likely meant that Ying Yu was carrying a lot of valuable items. That wouldn’t be surprising—after all, the mastermind behind the Cangwu Project was dedicated to the research and development of artifacts.
So far, the game’s system hadn’t seemed to flag this walking loophole as a bug.
Zhou Qi’an frowned slightly. Or perhaps, as long as the rules weren’t violated, the game wouldn’t intervene?
Existence justifies itself.
Outside, the storm raged on. By the time they finally returned to their dorm, both of them were half-soaked.
Fortunately, there was a spare set of uniforms in the closet. To avoid catching a cold, Zhou Qi’an promptly changed out of his wet clothes. His muscles were lean, and his bone structure well-proportioned. The motion of removing his shirt made his back appear even straighter.
Behind him, Shen Zhiyi spoke in a low voice. “Qi’an, don’t test my professional ethics.”
Zhou Qi’an slammed the closet door shut.
Shen Zhiyi: “…”
Zhou Qi’an: “I’m going to the restroom.”
Naturally, Shen Zhiyi followed.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t stop him.
There was no private bathroom in the dorms. The restroom and washroom were connected, located at the end of the corridor on each floor. The place seemed rarely cleaned, carrying a stale and unpleasant odor.
Zhou Qi’an warned, “Honesty is part of professional ethics. If you stand next to me and make it impossible for me to pee, you’re dead.”
Shen Zhiyi paused for a moment. “…Going alone could be dangerous.”
The next second, the sudden gleam of the Sacred Artifact in Zhou Qi’an’s hand was enough to blind any lurking specters.
Shen Zhiyi changed his stance effortlessly. “…I’ll wait at the door.”
Nothing happened.
Zhou Qi’an quickly finished his business and emerged, shaking his head. “No ghosts, huh.”
This deviation from standard horror tropes felt strangely unsettling.
Despite a nagging sense that something about the restroom was off, he couldn’t pinpoint anything suspicious.
Back in the dorm, Zhou Qi’an abandoned the thought altogether and immediately fell asleep.
Shen Zhiyi remained standing in place.
Above his head was an old ceiling fan, covered in cobwebs. Instinctively, the spider scurried away across the ceiling.
On the bed, the young man slept soundly, his side profile pressed against the bed railing. Even in sleep, his brows were slightly furrowed.
Shen Zhiyi gazed at him for a moment before turning and leaving the dormitory. Concealed by the night, he took a detour toward the statue.
The statue of the Exam God remained cracked. An endless stream of black mist emanated from it, carrying the wishes—or rather, the desires—of those who had prayed to it.
“What a pathetic trick.”
Even after his Nightmare Entity, Xun Er, had transformed into an evil god, its power far exceeded this.
Shen Zhiyi extended his hand. Fine raindrops and the black mist flowed into his palm. He carefully controlled the intake, stopping before the game could detect him. His gray-white pupils were veiled by the rain’s mist, and the wish power dissipated into his palm.
Back in the dormitory, the sleeping Zhou Qi’an’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat.
[The five-star Fish Eye has been nourished. It is striving to facilitate heart evolution.]
Still deep in sleep, Zhou Qi’an did not notice the newly appeared line of text on his interface. He turned over and continued sleeping.
Having absorbed some of the wish power, the statue of the Exam God cracked once more with a sharp snap.
Shen Zhiyi frowned. “So fragile?”
He had not expected it to be so easily drained.
The new fissure was too conspicuous. After a moment of thought, Shen Zhiyi found a wooden plank and placed it over the crack.
Under the moonlight, the statue of the Exam God now had a crooked sign hanging from its neck, which read:
Under Maintenance—Temporarily Out of Service.
At dawn.
Two hours after Shen Zhiyi left, two figures appeared beneath the comprehensive building. One of them was particularly tall—it was Vikas.
The makeshift sign hanging on the Exam God statue swayed in the wind and rain.
Vikas’ companion, another player, was preoccupied with other matters and failed to notice it.
The player was inclined to report Zhou Qi’an, but the lingering embarrassment from his previous failed attempt at spreading rumors made him hesitant.
“This time, I won’t let you be the scapegoat.”
Vikas led him to a concealed spot, waiting in silence like a predator watching its prey.
Time passed.
From the distance, a hurried figure approached. The man glanced around warily, his movements sneaky and suspicious.
The player let out a soft chuckle. The newcomer was a player whose family had just left.
Human nature was predictable. After struggling internally for half the night, someone had finally chosen to disregard the fact that Zhou Qi’an had helped them—and instead came to report him.
The lock on the comprehensive building had yet to be repaired. The player entered and exited quickly, as if guilt-ridden, practically running away.
“We should go too.”
After confirming that the first floor was safe, Vikas straightened up, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strolled inside.
The scent of disinfectant in the comprehensive building had grown stronger. The report mailbox was in plain sight, positioned high on the wall and firmly secured, leaving only a small slit at the top.
Unless one had the key, there was no way to retrieve anything from inside—only submissions were possible.
The player suggested, “If we submit multiple reports…”
Vikas shot him a glance. “Do you think you’re smart?”
“…”
“If the NPCs can recognize handwriting, you won’t even know how you died.”
In a instance, doing unnecessary things was the biggest taboo.
Vikas folded a piece of paper in half and slipped it into the mailbox. He lingered for a moment beneath it.
By the time the exam began tomorrow, there would surely be many more reports submitted.
Without concrete evidence, even the person with the most votes would likely be fine.
But when the homeroom teacher graded the exams…
Vikas smirked. Zhou Qi’an’s test results tomorrow afternoon would undoubtedly be disastrous.
And as for the teacher’s already precarious favorability toward him—if it dropped to zero, Vikas could already envision the scene.
The gloom that had plagued him for the past two days lightened somewhat. A hook resembling a cat’s tail materialized in his hand.
[Tracking Hook.]
Once activated, if the marked target died, it would drop the highest-grade item in their possession.
If everything went smoothly, he wouldn’t have to lift a finger to obtain a holy artifact.
“Zhou Qi’an, I’m looking forward to seeing…”
…how you die.
Author’s Note:
Exam God: I’m going to kill you all!
Zhou Qi’an: Sleeping. Do not disturb.
