The shadowless lamp in the operating room had gone out at some point, and the school doctor’s frantic screams echoed around.
In the bloody, dim environment, a figure appeared out of nowhere. Zhou Qi’an, who had just started to relax, was genuinely startled.
He forced himself to stay calm, squinting to get a better look.
High ponytail, school uniform, one leg slightly bent while standing.
“Class monitor?”
The tall girl suddenly extended her slender arm, moving quickly. Zhou Qi’an hesitated for a moment and didn’t dodge.
It was an icy cold hand.
Zhou Qi’an was pulled to his feet and, after a pause, asked, “Why are you here?”
The class monitor didn’t say a word, turning to walk out.
Zhou Qi’an’s wounds hadn’t been bandaged yet, and as he hurried to keep up, blood dripped steadily to the floor.
In the hallway, the only sounds were their intermittent footsteps and the patter of falling blood.
Zhou Qi’an tried to make conversation: “Thanks for telling me last time about the phone to call parents.”
The class monitor still didn’t respond, but Zhou Qi’an wasn’t alone—the system’s prompts kept chattering:
[Successfully checked in at the school infirmary.]
[Important check-in location 3/4.]
[Current story background exploration: 60%.]
[Special side quest—Roleplay Task completed.]
[Reward: Important Clue 1 issued.]
[Reward: Tumbler Potion issued.]
Zhou Qi’an first checked the clue: [Important Clue—Game Compilation.]
His eyes flickered as he read it, then he moved on to unwrap the reward:
[Tumbler Potion:
Specifications: 0.5ml
Usage Guide: 2-3 drops per use. For the next 30 minutes, the user remains highly alert, immune to illusions, anesthesia, drugs, and all mysterious influences. Everyone else is drunk, but you stay sober.
Note: This potion is only effective if used before exposure.]
In other words, once you’re affected, there’s no fixing it after the fact.
The user needs sharp judgment of the environment to preemptively use it.
That’s a bit tricky.
The class monitor’s legs weren’t in great shape. Halfway through, she suddenly stopped, standing with her back to Zhou Qi’an.
Zhou Qi’an nearly bumped into her.
Ahead, the girl’s head was bowed low, her hands hanging at her sides, as if triggered by something.
They’d gone from the fourth floor to the fifth. This floor was unusually cold, teeth-chatteringly so. The class monitor unnaturally twisted her neck, the motion stiff like a rusty wind-up toy.
“You okay?”
“There…” The class monitor raised her arm, pointing to the end of the hallway.
Following her finger, Zhou Qi’an saw a metal door at the end. Unlike typical office doors built into corridor walls, its cold sheen made it look more like a surgical suite.
But the real surgical suite was the infirmary, which Zhou Qi’an had just left.
This was clearly something else—no sign hung on the door.
Zhou Qi’an quickly asked, “What’s this room used for?”
“Cabin,” the class monitor rasped, squeezing out the word.
“Cabin?”
Her voice dripped with venomous resentment: “Inside the cabin… It’s all heads.”
Zhou Qi’an steadied himself against the wall, blood trickling down his arm and between his fingers. He caught on: “The pig brains for transplants come from there?”
“Destroy it, destroy it…” The class monitor suddenly spiraled into hysterics.
A chilling aura seeped into Zhou Qi’an’s body, making his limbs stiffen.
The class monitor snapped her head up!
A pair of blood-red, neither-human-nor-ghostly eyes locked onto Zhou Qi’an. “Destroy this disgusting raw meat factory…”
Her words likened students to raw meat and the school to a processing plant.
Zhou Qi’an looked at her, a trace of uncertainty in his voice: “You want me to go?”
If you’re so capable, you do it!
The class monitor said grimly, “The door has a facial recognition system. Only infirmary staff can get in.”
Zhou Qi’an instinctively glanced at his panel.
The assistant identity from the side quest was still active. To earn the scholarship, he needed to complete infirmary tasks for three consecutive days, so normally, the identity would last two more days.
“Destroy the cabin, and I’ll reward you…” A desperate, suppressed longing for freedom gleamed in the class monitor’s eyes, her sanity slipping further. “Destroy it, and it all ends…”
Perhaps because Zhou Qi’an hadn’t responded, her expression turned icy: “You’re unwilling?”
“I heard you became an assistant at the infirmary. I came straight here without even checking my test paper…”
Ghosts’ way of asking for help was always: Do me a favor, or die.
Bound by the ghost, Zhou Qi’an had no better options. After a pause, he said, “Help me over there, and tell me about the cabin on the way.”
The girl’s arm was cold, the chill seeping through her uniform. Zhou Qi’an’s warm blood touched the fabric, bringing a slight warmth.
Maybe his willingness to help pleased the class monitor, as she seemed a bit clearer now.
“Since this school was founded, the cabin has existed. It’s become the final destination for most students… I once tried to get an assistant role at the infirmary, but they saw through me,” the class monitor said, seething with hatred. “In the end, I lost a leg…”
At this moment, they truly looked like two disabled people supporting each other.
Zhou Qi’an listened quietly, head lowered, occasionally touching his ear. His wig must have shifted during the surgery, making it uncomfortable.
The class monitor didn’t notice, her words growing faintly excited as she continued.
The cabin door was now within reach. As she’d said, it had a facial recognition system blinking with red light.
“Finally, finally…” A terrifying streak of bloody tears rolled down the class monitor’s face. In a barely audible whisper, she said, “Freedom…”
Before she could finish the last word, she seemed to sense something and started to turn. But the hand supporting Zhou Qi’an was gripped tightly.
“You…”
She tried to look back, but Zhou Qi’an yanked her wrist hard. In those brief seconds, he was ready for his next move.
A trident materialized in the darkness. Its subdued edge gave no flashy glow, instead cloaking all presence, the perfect tool for a hunter.
Without hesitation, Zhou Qi’an thrust it sideways—
The sound of flesh being pierced was like tearing silk, shrill and agonizing.
The holy weapon’s tip pierced straight through the girl’s chest.
Or rather, not quite her chest—her dodge shifted the strike to near her collarbone. Her eyes, once full of hope, widened in pain, frozen in a mix of rage and confusion.
She couldn’t believe she’d been impaled like this.
[Your HP has decreased by 40.]
Blood splattered everywhere—one’s dripping, the other’s spraying. Zhou Qi’an’s lips were deathly pale as his HP plummeted.
In the end, he let out a low chuckle: “You could’ve dodged with your speed, but…”
“You were too deep in character.”
The last four words dripped with heavy mockery. Hard to imagine he could still laugh in such a near-death state: “Playing frail—was that fun?”
Without a response, Zhou Qi’an raised one eyebrow: “Still pretending?”
In the empty corridor, the pain on the class monitor’s face gradually faded. Despite the bloody hole in her shoulder blade, her earlier hysterics were gone.
Zhou Qi’an leaned on the holy weapon’s shaft to keep from collapsing.
Normally, triggering an NPC’s quest wasn’t unusual—many players had already activated other side quests.
But the class monitor’s request was definitely not a quest.
“Destroy the cabin… How laughable. The homeroom teacher repeatedly stressed not to damage public property, and you said only infirmary staff can enter…”
If the cabin was compromised, he’d be the first to die.
At the end, Zhou Qi’an looked at her delicate face and called out with absolute certainty: “Mr. Si.”
The girl was silent for a moment. Gradually, her facial features began to blur, like a mosaic, making it hard to see clearly.
In an icy tone, she asked, “When did you figure it out?”
“Too many slip-ups,” Zhou Qi’an said weakly, though his tone was light. “I’d love to elaborate, but you’re deliberately stalling… Isn’t that a bit rude?”
From the stairwell came the school doctor’s frenzied roars: “I’ll kill you, kill you!”
The opponent likely wielded a weapon—sounding like an axe, with wild swinging noises.
The footsteps were chaotic, clearly not a solo act. In the dim light, every monster wore a school uniform and a massive iron mask, just like the ones Zhou Qi’an encountered in the main building on the first day—headless corpses transformed into new monsters.
Following the scent of blood in the air, the school doctor, like an enraged security guard, led his monster minions to pinpoint the rule-breaking student.
The smile on Zhou Qi’an’s lips didn’t fade, only grew colder.
The holy weapon seemed to have sealed part of Mr. Si’s power. He wasn’t dead, nor had he fully reverted to his true form.
But as if prepared, Mr. Si suddenly produced a contract item.
“Since we’re all under the game’s rules, this should apply to you too, right?”
Zhou Qi’an could barely stand, yet he was still trying to negotiate.
The response was just two words: Dream on.
Zhou Qi’an twisted his wrist, the holy weapon grinding into Mr. Si’s flesh, eliciting a muffled grunt.
Mr. Si’s expression remained unreadable, cruelly prophesying, “Just wait to die.”
Being wounded by the holy weapon was one thing, but coming to this instance with sealed powers meant Mr. Si couldn’t possibly handle so many NPCs in his current state.
Not to mention, he didn’t have the authority to act directly.
Zhou Qi’an tilted his head: “I’ll handle it.”
“…I’ll carve a bloody path. Only need to deal with one.”
As soon as he spoke, a blaring alarm suddenly erupted! Buzz, buzz-buzz, like a siren, each blast louder than the last, until it screeched an octave higher, echoing through the main building.
The pursuing monster shadows halted, slowly turning. In an instant, except for the school doctor, the masked monsters all charged toward the top floor.
Their footsteps betrayed their movements.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t look back but knew what was happening. It wasn’t surprising—it was expected.
The first night in the main building confirmed there were no security guards. The masked monsters were the ones maintaining order here.
Zhou Qi’an even knew the source of the sound—the archive room.
“I had Shen Zhiyi keep an eye on you. If you left the exam hall early, he’d use the same excuse to leave and sneak into the archive room.”
“Look, another one of your slip-ups… your file clearly states…”
He removed the communication device from his ear. Earlier, Shen Zhiyi had sent a message through it:
“Severe vehicle violation.”
Mr. Si’s blurred face twisted for a moment.
The commotion behind didn’t fully stop.
The iron-masked monsters headed to the archive room, but the deranged school doctor remained. Zhou Qi’an’s eyelid twitched—he’d saved his work badge for nothing.
A man in a surgical gown, bleeding from nearly every orifice, staggered forward.
“Kill you…”
The school doctor had gouged out his own eyes, blood streaming from his ears. Calling his name as before was useless now.
“I can still use the holy weapon one more time,” Zhou Qi’an said coldly. “Sign the contract and agree to two things, or I stab you again, and we all die.”
He quickly stated the first condition, something trivial for Mr. Si.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t specify the second condition, only saying, “I promise it’s easy. No self-harm, no killing monsters, no arson, nothing game-related. Something you can do.”
Even blind and deaf, Zhou Qi’an’s scent—riddled with wounds—made him a beacon in the dark.
In the long corridor, the school doctor dragged his axe, his hollow eye sockets chilling to the bone.
“Found you,” he cackled, quickening his pace.
Meanwhile, in a silent, bloody standoff, Zhou Qi’an’s gaze didn’t waver. Though relatively still, he gave off a vibe even crazier than the school doctor.
He knew he was on the brink of life and death.
The corridor was narrow—dodging an axe swing would be nearly impossible.
The footsteps grew closer!
Eyes locked, Zhou Qi’an’s arm twitched, as if ready to yank the holy weapon and stab again, dragging them all to hell.
He didn’t believe Mr. Si could survive a second holy weapon strike.
Dragging this out meant pointless death.
Mr. Si’s expression shifted, finally growling through gritted teeth, “…Fine.”
His ears perked like antennas, the two words practically forced out.
Satisfied, Zhou Qi’an had prepared for this. He spent 180 points in the shop to buy [Spring-Loaded Sneakers], countering the agility loss from blood depletion.
He turned, hopping like a real rabbit, charging straight at the NPC.
The next second, a harpoon pierced the terrifying school doctor.
A venomous scream echoed through the infirmary, carried by the wind. Then, with a thud, the school doctor’s massive body collapsed.
His corpse was now soft and rancid, blood and foam splattering everywhere.
The school doctor, Zhou Qi’an, Mr. Si… The three had thoroughly ruined the corridor’s hygiene, creating a small stream of blood.
[Your HP has decreased by 40.]
Zhou Qi’an, mid-air in a flashy strike pose, heard the system prompt and felt like he’d heard divine music.
In reality, blood loss was messing with his hearing.
Foul blood oozed from the school doctor’s pierced body, pooling on the floor. Zhou Qi’an couldn’t hold on any longer. The moment he retracted the holy weapon, he half-knelt on the ground.
Sweat dripped from his bangs. Zhou Qi’an slowly raised an arm, using his last strength to say into the communication device, “I’m on the fifth floor.”
In his near-death state, the school doctor’s incoherent curses were inaudible.
He wasn’t worried about Mr. Si backstabbing him. First, Mr. Si couldn’t act directly. Second, even if he tried to scheme, luring other NPCs would take time.
And he knew someone would get there first.
Even with chaos upstairs and masked monsters closing in, Zhou Qi’an inexplicably trusted Shen Zhiyi would come. Bai Chanyi had said the alarm triggers only after accessing a third person’s file. Shen Zhiyi deliberately triggered it, so he must have a plan to escape.
How much time passed—maybe a minute, maybe less.
Sensing something, Zhou Qi’an looked up, squinting, his vision blurry. “You’re here…”
Shen Zhiyi’s expression was grim.
Even in the dim light, Zhou Qi’an could feel a shadow over the man’s face.
Shen Zhiyi walked over, crouched, and hoisted him onto his back. His gaze lingered on Mr. Si for a second, like staring at a dead thing.
“Don’t act yet… He’s still useful,” Zhou Qi’an whispered. His slender arms dangled over Shen Zhiyi’s shoulders, pressed against smooth back muscles.
After a moment, he said with a hint of self-mockery, “Didn’t think I’d end up looking like this.”
Nor did he expect consciousness separation in the infirmary. The so-called assistant role meant possessing a corpse.
Unable to summon items the whole time—that was the deadliest part.
Shen Zhiyi stayed silent, carrying him downstairs.
Zhou Qi’an weakly moved a finger, poking Shen Zhiyi’s spine.
Outside the main building, wind and rain howled.
When Shen Zhiyi went quiet, it was unnerving. The rain pelted down, a surround-sound patter. Shen Zhiyi had draped his school uniform over Zhou Qi’an, quickening his pace toward the teaching building.
“Qi’an, you went too far…”
It wasn’t until they were nearly at the teaching building that he finally spoke.
Shen Zhiyi thought coldly, As expected… Maybe it’s safer to lure the other person into killing me, steal their energy, and evolve that way?
Endless killing, endless evolution.
Zhou Qi’an had no idea why he felt guilty, but he had a strange hunch—if he didn’t say something now to change Shen Zhiyi’s attitude, something bad might happen.
But he was just too tired.
Cold, exhausted, and his body slightly convulsing, only four words slipped from his lips: “Next time for sure…”
Before he could finish the last two characters, he passed out completely.
…
Inside the classroom, one round of exams had already ended.
There was only one subject in the afternoon; the next exam wouldn’t start until evening study. During the break, the atmosphere was inevitably a bit noisy. A cold wind carrying the scent of blood drifted in, and the buzzing conversations paused for a moment.
Zhou Qi’an, covered in blood, was carried inside. Vikas, who had been talking to a few players, raised a thick eyebrow.
“Is he… dead?” someone asked uncertainly, then quickly noticed the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
The original students of the class looked unfazed, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. Their dull gray eyes watched the scene with schadenfreude.
Vikas even curled his lips into a grin. What kind of pie-from-the-sky good fortune is this? In this condition, killing the other guy would be effortless.
Bai Chanyi walked over quickly, frowning. “What happened to him?”
Shen Zhiyi glanced at the college student.
In truth, he didn’t even need to say anything—the latter had already rushed over, quickly activating his healing skill. Faint green light sparkled like musical notes, bouncing over the bone-deep wounds, as the torn flesh began to heal rapidly.
The classroom fell silent again.
“Healing skill?” Bai Chanyi was surprised.
The college student didn’t hide it. There wasn’t time, nor was there any need.
Because his healing ability transferred part of the damage to himself, everyone would figure it out soon enough anyway. And at that moment, he suddenly realized—Shen Zhiyi had never shown any surprise at his ability.
Soon, due to blood loss, the college student swayed slightly on his feet.
A snort came from behind—a player standing near Vikas spoke up: “Trying to die, huh?”
After the initial shock, the experienced players had figured out how the healing worked: damage transfer.
No one knew what it was like when he healed himself, but chances were he recovered faster than the average person. Still, from the looks of him now, he clearly didn’t have the strength left to use it. The more unique and powerful the ability, the more limited its use.
If he took the evening self-study exam in this state, there was no way he’d get a good score.
The college student was a strong competitor for the scholarship. With one rival less, the others visibly relaxed.
Zhou Qi’an’s fingers twitched—he was gradually regaining consciousness. He made a sound, trying to say something: “Mmm…”
The college student suddenly gritted his teeth, thinking Zhou Qi’an was trying to stop him, and firmly declared, “Then we’ll die together if we have to.”
Zhou Qi’an: “No…”
No, I won’t.
He was alive and well—and he had already figured out the story’s background. Why would he want to die?
The college student, resolute: “Brother Zhou, no need to stand on ceremony with me.”
“…”
Zhou Qi’an gave him a look that was hard to describe. Half of his lost blood had already returned, and his complexion looked slightly better. At least he didn’t look as pale and corpse-like as before.
“That’s enough.” Zhou Qi’an cut off the spell and forced himself to sit up.
The college student’s legs trembled—he also wanted to find a place to sit down and maybe read for a bit, but he could barely even hold a pen right now.
Then Zhou Qi’an whispered, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, “For the next exam, the class monitor will help you.”
The class monitor—who had turned in their paper early and left the classroom—had returned at some point, but everyone’s attention had been on Zhou Qi’an just now.
From her shoulders to her chest, the girl’s flesh was mangled and bloody. At this moment, the crimson flesh was still writhing, as if performing some kind of self-repair.
The college student gulped and asked quietly, “How will she help?”
The exam proctor had eyes like surveillance cameras, and there were guards watching outside. Even gods couldn’t cheat under these conditions.
Forget passing notes—just making eye contact could cost you your life.
Zhou Qi’an replied, “In the ‘Name of Examinee’ field, she’ll write your name.”
The college student: “…”
For staff like them, mimicking someone else’s handwriting was no big deal. As for whether the college student himself had that skill—probably not. To play it safe, Zhou Qi’an told him to leave the essay questions blank and spend this time learning how the class monitor wrote his name.
Still dazed, the college student nodded. He still didn’t quite understand how Zhou Qi’an had convinced the class monitor.
“Wait, take this to her for me.”
Zhou Qi’an pulled out a few sheets of paper from his backpack and tucked them into a textbook.
The college student made his way toward Mr. Si.
Mr. Si had walked silently behind them like a ghost the entire time. Rain had drenched him, but the moment he entered the classroom, it all seemed to evaporate instantly.
The college student always felt that this girl, who kept to herself in class, radiated murderous energy from every pore.
He walked over, his voice lacking confidence: “Brother Zhou asked me to give this to you.”
Mr. Si gave him a cold glance, took the book, and returned to her seat.
Vikas had thrown her a curious look—but it was instantly repelled by the terrifying void in her eyes.
Lowering her head, her gaze landed on the first page. In big bold letters, it read: Hello, please send some oil.
No one knew when Zhou Qi’an had written those pages—maybe while eating, maybe while doing his daily assignments—but definitely not just now.
His grades weren’t great, but he had beautiful handwriting. The title read:
“On Where Mr. Si Is — The Flaws in Her Performance.”
Pale fingernails dug into the pages with a crinkle, and her wounds split open from sheer rage.
Her eyes shifted slightly downward, scanning a few paragraphs—logical, well-supported, with clear arguments.
Forcing herself not to let steam come out of her ears, her pupils practically flipped in fury.
