Author Archives: sandy

Ch 11: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

The sudden hush rang loud in her ears, as though the other party no longer knew what to say.

Qian Yuan glanced quickly around.

The convenience store was empty, its iron shutter already pulled down. Outside, nothing could be seen. She recalled there had been a back door when she last came here. Creeping over, she found it slightly ajar.

She eased it open. A short hallway stretched ahead, another door at its end. From beyond came voices—this time lower, muffled through the wall, but she recognized it instantly.

Cen Han.

“…This time… was an accident.”

He sounded uneasy, the usually calm tone wavering as if defending himself. “The nutrient solution I bought here recently disappeared. That’s why I came back.”

“…How could it suddenly disappear? What happened?”

Qian Yuan poked her head through the gap.

The store was indeed connected to a residence. Cen Han stood in a small living room, his back to her, shaking his head silently.

Across from him was the bushy-browed shopkeeper. His brows were knit tight, his face weary.

“…Alright,” the man sighed at last. He neither believed nor denied the vague explanation. After a pause, he patted Cen Han’s shoulder. “Xiao Han, you’re a sensible child. Uncle Tang knows you’ll be careful.”

Qian Yuan saw Cen Han’s drooping hand curl abruptly into a fist.

She blinked, puzzled, not sure what they really meant.

Soon Cen Han left through another door, hugging a bottle of low-grade nutrient solution. When Qian Yuan checked her game screen, her credits hadn’t dropped.

So—her little ward actually had his own stash of private money and bought food himself. Amazing. But her attention was already elsewhere.

The shopkeeper sighed in the living room. Just as she prepared to teleport home, footsteps sounded.

A ponytailed girl emerged. “Dad, why did you really say that to Cen Han?”

Eh? Hidden storyline?

Qian Yuan snapped her menu shut and slipped fully into the room, plopping openly onto the sofa to eavesdrop.

The bushy-browed man said, “Zhenzhen, weren’t you the one who said you were afraid classmates would find out our family’s connection with him?”

The girl fell silent. Another sigh.

“His father helped us a lot in the past. Even if everyone curses him now, I can’t ignore the boy’s plight. Helping when I can—that’s the least we can do.”

Rubbing his brow, he muttered, “But no one else can know. Even if you hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t want others to see him coming here. Taking some supplies to him monthly is the most we can manage.”

Then, more sternly, “Zhenzhen, it’s one thing if I help him. But at school, you must keep your distance. I fear… he might get ideas. After all, we’re the only ones still in contact with him.”

The girl flushed scarlet, stammering in protest.

But her father seemed convinced, face creased with worry. “Didn’t you sneak to the slums the other day? Don’t lie. I saw the mud on your shoes. Now he suddenly turns up, saying his nutrient crates are missing… I’m worried.”

Listening, Qian Yuan: “…”

As the talk shifted dangerously toward romance, she hastily clicked to go home. Just before the scene faded, she heard the man’s heavy admonition.

“Do you understand, Zhenzhen? This isn’t small. Cen Han has no future. Blind, crippled—he’ll spend his life in the slums. I can’t forget old debts, but you need better friends. Like that Shan boy who gave the speech at the opening ceremony—that’s the kind you should know…”

The voices dwindled.

Back in the empty room, Qian Yuan’s mood was tangled.

A harsh truth had been laid bare.

Her little cub was shunned.

Uncle Tang, the shopkeeper, was the only one willing to help him. Yet even he spoke of Cen Han with condescension, warning his daughter away lest others see.

And all of it… traced back to Cen Han’s father.

What had his father done, to leave the boy in such a state?

She couldn’t guess. Sulking, she waited.

When the snow-dusted youth finally came home, his eyes lit briefly at the sight of his small room. Qian Yuan’s heart clenched harder.

Her poor little one!

VR games really did pull you in. Stung by what she’d overheard, she threw herself into grinding—no cash, but endless farming.

The cotton coat cost more than a quilt: 120 credits. So she worked like clockwork, hitting the dump every two hours. By eleven that night, she had scraped together 112.

Her little cub went to bed happy, mood back to 80. She logged off only to grab a midnight snack, then pushed herself until 1 AM, desperate to log in again.

One last dump run would do it. In the morning, she could give him a warm coat.

…If only the backpack didn’t max out at ten items, she could have farmed even faster.

The familiar robots and glowing containers appeared. It was another blizzard night, the dump a white wasteland.

She trudged deeper.

[Ding~! Congratulations, player, you’ve unlocked a side quest! Check your task list!]

Another one?

Her eyes lit up—she needed XP badly. She opened her list.

[Side Quest: Zhang San was ambushed by his own lackeys, beaten and left half-dead in the snow. Rumor has it this dump boss has black market connections. Earning his favor may help the protagonist…

Goal: Save the dying Zhang San.
Reward: 50 XP, 10 credits.
Note: Buy a one-time pass to hire robots and complete instantly!]

Zhang San? Who? Just some random extra?

Bewildered, she jogged around. At last, by a dumpster, she found a massive figure sprawled in the snow.

A burlap sack covered his head. He was far bulkier than other game sprites, like he’d been juiced up.

The shape gave her a bad feeling. Slowly, she pulled the sack away.

A familiar battered face appeared, hair like a bird’s nest now frosted white, cheeks bruised, dried blood crusted.

Qian Yuan: “…”

She considered. In the storm, she carefully pulled the sack back over, stood up, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Ch 10: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

After completing her goal for the day, Qian Yuan stood up with satisfaction.

She had lingered in this “casual” game far too long that morning. On a whim, she walked to the stove, waved at her little ward, pointed to the newly appeared kitchen set, then held up the three remaining buckets of instant noodles.

The slums had no electricity or gas, but at least there was running water. She had spent the entire morning fumbling with the setup, even searching online, before finally coaxing the fire to life. Pouring water into the pot, she patted the stove, giving Cen Han a questioning look.

He seemed to understand, his expression suddenly falling still.

“…Mn.” At last, he spoke. “I know how to use it.”

Qian Yuan sighed in relief.

No need to buy a quilt now to raise comfort—her new target was a cotton coat. At night, he could use it as a blanket, and outside it would keep him warm. For a household this poor, it was far more useful than a quilt.

If she wanted to save up quickly, he’d have to eat instant noodles with her for a while.

As Cen Han turned back to study, she waved. “I’ll come see you later.”

“…”

Her glowing ghostly form faded into motes of light, dissolving into the air.

Cen Han’s fingers twitched on the wheelchair armrest, then went still again.

He had thought…

A flood of tangled thoughts passed. At length, he wheeled himself to the desk.

The book the ghost had scribbled in still lay open. Carefully, he tore out the corner with her handwriting, staring at the little note.

Lowering his eyes, he smoothed the crease, tucked the scrap between the pages, and stored it safely in the cabinet.

…

Qian Yuan removed her headset.

A heavy rain had fallen before dawn. In Rong City the air was damp and cold, and even the heater couldn’t lift her reluctance to leave the bed. She curled up under her quilt and reached for her phone.

The guild chat was lively; someone had tagged her earlier while she was in-game. She skimmed the feed, finding the latest chatter about a photography exhibition.

Her father had been a gifted wildlife photographer, and she had inherited his passion. Since middle school she’d been shooting photos everywhere, first on her phone, later with the camera he passed down to her.

Back then he hadn’t been so absent from home, and she hadn’t withdrawn so much. He took her to exhibitions, introduced her to colleagues.

Adults had been patient with the quiet, pretty girl. One young woman, upon hearing she also played this game, invited her into their guild—a guild founded by local Rong City photographers.

Years passed. That woman and many others quit the game; new players unrelated to photography joined. A few veterans remained.

Qian Yuan already knew about the exhibition, but said nothing, simply watching.

Then came another tag.

[Universe’s Number One Pharmacist]: @Thousand-Paper-Crane, classmate, Teacher Wen Pian’s works will be shown this time. [hehe]

Qian Yuan froze.

She hadn’t followed that teacher’s news for a long time—she truly hadn’t known her works would be displayed. Her lips pressed tight. Before she could type, another message appeared.

[He Shang]: Wen Pian? The portrait photographer? Thousand, you liked her?

[Universe’s Number One Pharmacist]: She’s Wen Pian’s little fangirl! [rose]

Qian Yuan’s lashes trembled. She turned restlessly in bed.

That was all years ago…

Another ping.

[He Shang]: What luck! @Thousand-Paper-Crane, want to join us? I have a friend who can’t make it—I can sell you their ticket cheap.

[Universe’s Number One Pharmacist]: @Thousand-Paper-Crane @Thousand-Paper-Crane @Thousand-Paper-Crane [knife] [bomb]

With tags spamming her, she couldn’t ignore it.

Normally, she would have refused—these people barely knew her now. She had only ever met Cherry (the guild leader) and once, as a child, the Pharmacist. Neither knew her current situation.

But Wen Pian’s work would be there.

That was an artist she once adored—and in truth, still did.

She couldn’t quite bear to miss the chance, even though she no longer shot portraits.

Her fingers crumpled the pillowcase. After long hesitation, she typed slowly:

[Thousand-Paper-Crane]: I’d like to go, thanks for offering the ticket ^-^

After sending, her heart pounded wildly.

A vague ache spread through her limbs; making the decision alone left her shaken.

She rolled about under the blanket, pressing a pillow over her face, calming herself with effort.

Despite all her resistance, she couldn’t deny it: after so many years, the thought of returning to a photography exhibit filled her with quiet anticipation.

She splashed her face with cold water, meeting her reflection: bright almond eyes framed by dark lashes, features pretty but pallid, with faint circles under her eyes.

She hadn’t gone out in over two months. Everything—food, supplies—was ordered online.

This had been her life for years: leave the house once every few months to earn just enough, then hole up again like a snail until funds ran out.

Unhealthy, yes. But she had no will to change it yet.

After lunch, she curled up with her tablet for dramas. When the two-hour alarm chimed, she dove back into the game.

Going to the convenience store cost too much stamina; she had planned to grind at the dump for credits first. But opening the diary, she saw Cen Han had already gone to the store.

Snow was falling now, thin on the ground, making travel by wheelchair hard. She understood him skipping class, but why venture out now?

He still had three packs of noodles at home. Characters shouldn’t buy food until they ran out, right?

She frowned. Then two more diary lines appeared:

[November 5th, 1:30 PM]
[Cen Han spoke to the shopkeeper.]
[Cen Han is in a bad mood.]

Qian Yuan glanced at the top corner—and nearly screamed. In the short time she’d been offline, his mood had plummeted from a healthy green 80 straight to a glaring red 30, still dropping.

All her hard work—gone!

She rushed to spend her ten stamina to travel to the convenience store.

The scenery loaded. As soon as she arrived, she heard low, halting words. The voice was hushed, as though afraid to be overheard.

“…Don’t bring that up again… Xiao Han. We agreed you wouldn’t come here. What if someone sees you?”

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Ch 9: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

The Imperial Capital weather forecast had warned of a blizzard by evening. By midday, the drop in temperature was already obvious. When Cen Han left the academy gates, the weather had changed completely. Clouds churned above, heavy and oppressive, while the cutting wind raged unchecked. Snowflakes, swept sideways, lashed about wildly. Trees along the roadside bent under the weight.

Afternoon classes had been canceled, and students hurried home. For once, Cen Han left the campus in peace, free from sneers or taunts.

His fingers were chapped and swollen with frostbite. His threadbare coat let the wind in. The pants he’d worn for three years were too short now, exposing bony ankles that the cold gnawed at until his teeth chattered.

He only wanted to get home quickly, crawl beneath his blanket, and hide in the dark. But the wind seemed set against him.

His frozen hands gripped the wheels stiffly. The gale roared head-on, whipping dust and grit from the slum’s dirt road. Forced to a halt, he turned his face aside, eyes squeezed shut, unable to move.

At last, a hoarse, broken growl tore from his throat.

The road was empty. The houses along the way all had doors shut tight. By the time he reached his home, he was exhausted, his limbs red and itchy from the cold.

This time, the bitterness and rage inside refused to be beaten down. He bit his lip nearly to bleeding as he fumbled with the key.

Click.

Soft, pale light spilled into his pitch-black eyes. Behind him, the storm howled louder, but Cen Han sat frozen in the doorway, stunned.

The fury and despair that had almost driven him to smash everything stilled, his very heartbeat caught.

There on the desk was a steaming bowl of noodles. Its spicy fragrance curled into the room, greeting him with warmth.

And there—finally visible—was the silent presence that had haunted him.

Glowing, half-transparent, round-faced with a silly smile.

It should have been eerie, terrifying. Yet Cen Han felt no fear.

It was… a little ghost.

The little ghost ran to him, pushed his wheelchair inside, and shut the heavy door. The storm was shut out; the room was quiet again.

It moved its mouth at him—words he couldn’t hear. Then it nudged the bowl closer, placed chopsticks in his hand.

Its touch wasn’t cold, but gentle, even warm.

He parted his lips to speak, but his throat was dry, his voice lost. His gaze dropped instead to the fragrant noodles.

Golden strands floated in red broth, dotted with vegetables and beef.

Before he could think, his throat bobbed.

The last time he had noodles was three years ago, before radiation struck the Capital. Back then, real food wasn’t so expensive. Since then, all he had was vile, low-grade nutrient fluid.

The steam stung his eyes, surreal and absurd. Yet for a moment, it pulled him out of the mire.

Color returned faintly to his lips. Hoarsely, he asked, “…Who are you?”

The ghost tilted its head, mouth moving, but still he heard nothing.

It was the second time he asked.

The first time, he’d believed it was hallucination, and despaired.

This time, he doubted himself. Perhaps this ghost really wasn’t just his mind’s invention.

…

Qian Yuan, chin in hand, smiled as she watched his mood meter creep upward.

Communication wasn’t unlocked yet, but after failing to get answers, Cen Han quietly lowered his head and began to eat. From her perch on the bed, she watched his brows pinch from the spice, his bun-round cheeks puffing as he chewed.

…Cute!

She clasped her face, overwhelmed.

The diary spat updates: 【Cen Han is conflicted】, 【Cen Han is confused】. After eating, he turned, a question mark hovering over his head.

“Why are you helping me?”
“Are you a ghost?”
“—Can’t you talk to me?”

His dark eyes fixed on her, fingers twisting nervously. He looked desperate for an answer.

…Ghost? Her avatar was clearly a cute dumpling!

Biting her lip, Qian Yuan gave in. She pulled a book and pen from his cabinet and scrawled: 【I am NOT a ghost!】

He frowned. “Can’t read it.”

She tried sign language gestures. 【Hey, hello~】

He blinked blankly.

She snapped a photo of one of his books to run through translation—failed.

At last, she simply nodded.

“…You can’t speak,” he said.

She nodded.

“You’re real.”

She nodded.

“You’re… helping me?”

She bobbed her head like a pecking chick.

The wind battered the window. The room was cold, but after that bowl of noodles, warmth lingered.

Though his reason still doubted, his softer feelings yielded. “…Oh.”

He turned away coolly, sat at the desk, opened a book, muttered stiffly: “Do what you want.”

【Cen Han doesn’t turn a page.】
【Cen Han pretends to read but sneaks glances at you.】

Qian Yuan: “—!”

Oh my god. Too cute!

After nearly spitting blood at the devs for making her scavenge trash, she finally tasted joy. She poked his cheek.

He jerked around, stunned, ears reddening. “…Don’t touch me.” His voice rasped, trying to sound calm, but his eyes dodged, flustered.

But the little ghost ignored him. She poked his cheeks, pinched his ears, patted his head, treating him like a doll.

The blush spread, up his cheeks and down his neck. He tried to escape, but the heavy chair betrayed him.

Finally, cornered, he covered his face and whispered, “Stop touching me…”

Satisfied, Qian Yuan pulled back and checked the diary. She gasped.

【Mood +】
【Mood +】
【Mood +】

【Current Mood: 80/100】

She stared at the bright green record.

…So her cub was the classic tsundere—his mouth said no, but his heart was happy.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Ch 83: My Multiverse Supermarket

Song Ganlan and the other players eventually realized that even after receiving “excellent” evaluations from every teacher and instructor, they were still only labeled as “Outstanding Students.”

After waiting a long time with no system notification for dungeon clearance, Song Ganlan finally asked the homeroom teacher of the Spring and Autumn Class, “Have we graduated?”

That was when the teacher revealed her true face. “Graduate? Who said becoming outstanding students meant you could graduate? You reported the school—you’ll never graduate!”

She then accused them of skipping class during school hours and began to hunt them down.

The players felt as though the sky had collapsed.

They had risked everything—offending every teacher and instructor in the academy—only to find that graduation was impossible.

Some began to resent An Yixiao, claiming she had never joined their plan because she wanted them to take the fall and bear the wrath of the school staff.

Song Ganlan snapped, “Enough! President An never said this plan was guaranteed to work. If you’ve got a foolproof one, show it.”

That shut them up—but trust had already shattered. Using “splitting up” as an excuse, they scattered to search for their own way to clear the dungeon.

Only a handful of Duan Jing’s loyal players stayed with Song Ganlan.

“Stick to the plan—head for the supermarket,” Song Ganlan said, pulling out the stun baton she’d bought there. Lightning cracked, sparks flew, and she fought her way forward.

But Mingde Academy was now surrounded by swarms of midges. It was like the end of the world—the visibility dropping by the second.

If it kept up, they’d lose their bearings and stumble straight into a trap.

Song Ganlan took the lead, but what blocked them wasn’t only the pollution—it was the monstrous teachers, the twisted instructors, and even former players who had become anomalies, trying to lure them back to class.

The people behind her fell one by one, and her body was covered with wounds.

At last, they spotted the supermarket.

As if unwilling to let them escape, the swarm of midges attacked with renewed ferocity just as they reached the protective barrier.

Blood streamed from Song Ganlan’s eyes. She gritted her teeth, clinging to consciousness as someone half-dragged, half-carried her into safety.

“Your eyes—are they injured?” Zhou Li asked, seeing blood tears running down Song Ganlan’s cheeks.

When Song Ganlan opened them, the bloated midges burst into the air, only to be crushed to dust by an invisible force.

“Come with me,” Zhou Li said, grabbing her arm.

She led her upstairs, laying her in the medical capsule and beginning the treatment sequence.

As the machine whirred and the medicine levels rapidly dropped, Zhou Li remarked, “Make sure you settle your medical bill before leaving the dungeon.”

Song Ganlan, who had been trembling from pain and on the verge of passing out, suddenly stilled. Even her hands stopped shaking.

With a faint laugh, she said, “If I can’t pay, does that mean I’ll have to stay and work off my debt like President An?”

Zhou Li replied, “This is a small supermarket. I don’t have that many job openings.”

“Then you can always create new ones.”

Zhou Li: …

A moment later, Song Ganlan stopped talking. The capsule had injected the anesthetic and begun the procedure.

Zhou Li left her in the capsule and went downstairs to check on the others—those with less severe wounds.

From their accounts, she pieced together more about the dungeon’s nature.

Apparently, neither the teachers nor instructors feared exposure.

The principal and director had both vanished, giving the illusion that the players were on the right track—but it was a trap.

One player, spotting Zhang Xiaozhi crouched in the stairwell, stormed over in rage. “It must be you! There’s no way an anomaly would actually help humans! You’re working with the school!”

“I’m not!” Zhang Xiaozhi protested. “Reporting the school only made them hate me. What good does that do me?”

“Helping humans doesn’t benefit you either! Why would you be so kind?”

Zhang Xiaozhi bristled. “Hey! You begged me for help first—and now you’re blaming me? Typical humans, always turning on others when things go wrong.”

They were seconds away from fighting, but everyone knew that starting a fight inside the supermarket would get them expelled from its protection, so they held back.

Zhou Li ignored the tension. She was thinking aloud: “Why aren’t the teachers and instructors afraid of media exposure?”

The players froze.

They realized they’d been so angry, they hadn’t thought about that.

“Maybe the principal’s got powerful connections,” someone suggested.

Zhou Li shook her head. “If that were true, he wouldn’t hide—he’d just make up a respectable excuse. Like when there’s undeniable evidence but someone still insists on camera that a rat head is actually a duck neck.”

“Rat head? Duck neck? What does that mean?” a player asked blankly.

“Just an example. Don’t worry about it,” Zhou Li said.

Then Zhang Xiaozhi spoke up. “What if the ones backing him are the parents?”

Everyone turned to stare.

Zhang Xiaozhi sneered. “None of us came here willingly. Our parents sent us. They know exactly what happens here, but they think this place can turn us into obedient puppets—filial children who’ll wash their feet and serve them. If public outrage ever threatens to shut the school down, they’ll defend it.”

Silence.

Because that explanation… fit too well.

What trapped these students wasn’t Mingde Academy—it was their parents.

Zhou Li muttered, “That’s just like those parents who defended that ‘Professor Yang.’”

She remembered the scandal of “Electroshock King Professor Yang,” whose anti-internet-addiction school was exposed for abuse. When reporters arrived, furious parents mobbed them, screaming that closing the school was the journalists’ fault.

And even after such institutions were banned, others—like Yuzhang Academy—rose in their place, torturing and imprisoning so-called “rebellious teens.”

Later, more schools like those surfaced in the news, each with dead students and grieving parents.

As long as there are parents who say, ‘I can’t control my kid, so I’ll hand them over to someone else,’ such schools will never disappear.

And as long as patriarchal “female virtue” ideology persists, institutions hiding behind “traditional culture” and “national studies” will keep reappearing.

“…But something still feels missing,” someone murmured.

“Missing what?”

“If this school isn’t officially accredited, and it denies running full-time primary and secondary programs, isn’t that technically illegal?”

Everyone fell silent.

“No wonder they’re not afraid of anything.”

“Then… there’s really nothing we can do?”

“Now you see why it’s called an S-class dungeon.”

Despair filled the room.

Zhou Li asked, “Where are An Yixiao and Duan Jing?”

The players shook their heads. “Who knows what President An’s thinking.”

Zhou Li gestured outside. “Given what’s happening out there, they must’ve triggered something big.”

That was her experience from the Dawn Village dungeon—massive environmental changes always meant someone had hit a key plot point.

They followed her gaze and instantly recoiled at the sight—distorted monsters filled the courtyard.

“Those are…”

Zhang Xiaozhi’s eyes widened. “My classmates! That’s Xiao Jun and the others!”

“You didn’t turn into one of them—why?” a player asked.

“I’m an anomaly,” Zhang Xiaozhi said.

“There are other anomalies out there too—mindless ones.”

Zhang Xiaozhi straightened her back. “I’m different. I’m an educated anomaly.”

Players: ?

They didn’t understand, so they simply assumed the supermarket’s isolation and purification field kept her stable.

Indeed—nothing felt safer than the supermarket.

Suddenly, there was a noise upstairs.

Just as panic spread, Zhou Li said calmly, “Song Ganlan’s treatment is finished. Someone go help her down.”

They blinked, realizing they’d forgotten about her.

Since Zhou Li hadn’t said where she was taking Song Ganlan earlier, they’d assumed she’d been sent out of the dungeon.

But no—she was upstairs the whole time.

So who had treated her?

Then came a weak voice: “No need. I can walk.”

Song Ganlan felt her way down the stairs, hand on the railing.

Her teammates rushed to her, eyes filling with concern. “Your eyes…”

Song Ganlan herself didn’t know what had happened.

She only knew that when she woke, her body was sore, her vision gone, and her wounds carefully bandaged.

Zhou Li glanced at the medical capsule’s report. “Your eyesight might recover, but you’ll need to follow the doctor’s instructions.”

“But I didn’t hear any instructions,” Song Ganlan said blankly.

Zhou Li replied, “I’m giving them to you now.”

That shut her up. She quietly listened to the rest.

When Zhou Li finished, one of the players couldn’t hold back. “Boss, who’s capable of fixing an eye that’s already destroyed?”

Even Blue Owl Guild’s famed healer Lü Chui couldn’t pull that off.

Zhou Li thought, That’s a next-generation medical capsule—if you’re still breathing, it can save you. Repairing an eyeball is nothing.

But out loud, she only said, “Trade secret.”

They didn’t press further.

As for Song Ganlan, she had felt something strange while inside the capsule, but since she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she kept her thoughts to herself.

☢️☢️☢️

Ch 82: My Multiverse Supermarket

Although An Yixiao and Duan Jing had planned their route to clear the dungeon, the experience in Dawn Village had taught her a harsh lesson.

She kept wondering—what exactly was the key to clearing Mingde Academy?

Every player who entered Dawn Village believed that the key to victory lay with the S-class anomaly, Wang Hui; that killing him would end the dungeon.

But in truth, the Dawn Village dungeon had been born from Wang Hui’s grandmother, Zhang Gucui—a world layered within another.

Only by uncovering the true past of that place and resolving Zhang Gucui’s lingering obsession could the dungeon truly be cleared.

Mingde Academy, however, was different. Despite its pervasive corruption and strange horrors, it didn’t seem to have a single pivotal figure.

Was it the principal? The director? Or one of the students?

So many people were trapped here—who was the one that had caused this dungeon to take shape?

The clue to clearance stated that one must become an “Outstanding Graduate.”

That could mean the principal’s demand of students, the teachers’ expectations, or even the students’ own desire.

Without finding the real breakthrough, the dungeon would never end.

An Yixiao walked heavily toward Mingde Academy’s tower—the library, and the tallest building on campus.

She used a tool to unlock the door and entered.

Normally, a librarian would be present, but with everyone’s attention on the chaos outside, the attendant had vanished.

Scanning the catalog, she found books like The Four Virtues for Women, and countless manuals teaching cooking, etiquette, embroidery, and household management—plus outdated “psychology” texts preaching the old doctrines of female submission.

But among them, she found something different: a set of privately printed textbooks, not officially published.

“Lan Xuan?” An Yixiao murmured when she saw the author’s name, frowning.

Was there someone named Lan Xuan at Mingde Academy?

Her instincts flared. Perhaps this Lan Xuan was the true key to the dungeon.

Using her “Right Eye of the Strange,” she swept through the school, reading every engraved stone monument listing teachers and outstanding graduates.

Finally, she came upon a bronze statue.

The black-painted lettering on its base had long faded from years of sun and rain; without close inspection, one would never notice that words had been carved there at all.

At first, the players had all assumed this statue must depict the academy’s founder, the principal Cao Xifeng.

But leaning closer, An Yixiao could now make out the name: Lan Xuan — Expert in Traditional Cultural Education.

Turning to the back, she noticed faint scratches carved by a blade—“Mother of Female Virtue.” The marks were so shallow that without careful attention, they’d go unseen.

Why was there no statue for Principal Cao Xifeng, yet one for this Lan Xuan?

Was it because she was the so-called “Mother of Female Virtue”?

An Yixiao stared at the statue, then made her decision—to risk using the “Left Eye of the Strange,” the one that could pierce all illusion.

The moment she activated it, whispers flooded her ears—clearer, sharper than ever before.

Normally, she would shut them out instantly, but now she needed to uncover the truth.

She let the voices pour in.

“A girl’s greatest dowry is her chastity.”

“Children must be filial—wash your parents’ feet.”

“I repent… I once had an abortion. I am a sinner.”

“A woman should keep her head lowered and serve her husband.”

…

Every phrase was another absurd relic of the Three Obediences and Four Virtues drilled into women for generations.

Perhaps, she realized, this was the true source of Mingde Academy’s corruption.

It was right there, in plain sight.

Everyone thought those ideas were harmless—like tiny midges buzzing around—so no one bothered to swat them away.

Until one day they bit, and people realized they were surrounded.

You could kill one, chase off another, but there were still thousands left.

Invisible, breeding in the dark, multiplying endlessly.

They clouded eyes, filled noses and mouths, crept through ears—slowly polluting the soul.

At first, the infected never realized what was happening.

Their faces twisted, their bodies festered and deformed.

Yet when they looked around and saw everyone else the same, they believed it normal.

They didn’t know that, to anyone still clear-minded, they had already become monstrous.

…

An Yixiao knew she couldn’t keep listening.

Hallucinations had begun—the statue before her was moving.

“This isn’t feudal dross,” said the bronze figure of Lan Xuan, its eyes fixed on hers. “This is traditional culture.”

An Yixiao closed her eyes, refusing to engage.

“Why won’t you answer me?” the statue demanded.

She thought, Because answering you means falling into your trap.

Right now, all she could do was focus on breaking free of the illusion.

The statue’s voice grew colder. “You disagree with me—then why not refute me?”

An Yixiao: …

An Yixiao’s silence ignited the bronze statue’s fury. Lan Xuan seemed determined to extract a reaction from her.

She began by unleashing a torrent of moral dogma—preaching the “Three Obediences and Four Virtues,” quoting The Rites of Zhou and Confucius, then segueing into Neo-Confucianism, the “Four Books for Women,” and finally lamenting how modern men lacked masculine vigor and women lacked gentle femininity. Only by returning to “traditional culture,” she claimed, could families remain harmonious.

Then came the attacks—rhetorical jabs, manipulative questions, and moral traps meant to provoke.

Anyone less composed would have snapped back by now.

But An Yixiao was someone who could remain clear-headed even on the verge of death, calmly setting contingency plans in motion. She endured it.

Finally, the bronze Lan Xuan began boasting of her own “success.”

She claimed her family was harmonious and her marriage happy, with hardly any arguments.

An Yixiao thought, Of course there aren’t—if your doctrine is that ‘a woman must not hit back or talk back,’ who could argue with you?

Gradually, though, her mind began to stall—as if the gears of her thoughts had rusted.

That moment of drag startled her. It wasn’t only speaking that would trigger the trap; even thinking along Lan Xuan’s logic led straight into it.

There was no defense against that.

Sweat trickled down her forehead.

Then, without knowing why, Zhou Li’s voice echoed in her memory—reciting the twenty-four-character mantra.

Her mind was sluggish, heavy, but she forced herself to repeat it silently.

Time lost all meaning. The bronze Lan Xuan’s voice went from clear to muffled, until it became an indistinct whisper again.

An Yixiao snapped her eyes open.

The living figure was gone; only an ordinary bronze statue remained.

She deactivated the Left Eye of the Strange, and the murmurs vanished.

But she didn’t relax.

Those who were deeply corrupted couldn’t tell illusion from reality.

The easiest way to check whether she’d been tainted was to visit the small supermarket.

Still, she didn’t want to leave just yet.

She gathered every textbook written by Lan Xuan, trying to piece together clues.

That was when Duan Jing found her. “What are you doing hiding here?”

An Yixiao asked, “You’ve been here a while. Ever heard of someone named Lan Xuan?”

Duan Jing raised an eyebrow. “Of course. There’s a statue of her in the west courtyard, the name carved right on it.”

“How much do you know about her?” An Yixiao pressed.

“Why would I bother learning about her? She’s not even a teacher here…” Duan Jing stopped mid-sentence.

An Yixiao looked up. “Realized something?”

After a pause, Duan Jing nodded. “Yeah. If she’s not a teacher, then why does she have a statue on campus?”

Sensing they might be closing in on the dungeon’s core, she joined the search. “I’ll look for the school’s founding records.”

Mingde Academy wasn’t that old, so a school chronicle might hold the answers about Lan Xuan’s connection to it.

To save time, Duan Jing even used an item tool.

Moments later, she exclaimed, “Found it!”

An Yixiao turned to her. Duan Jing was holding the school’s founding almanac, open to a photo of the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

According to the printed names below, the man seated in the center was Principal Cao Xifeng.

Behind him stood Lan Xuan, dressed elegantly like a socialite from the Republic of China era.

After a pause, An Yixiao said, “So the school’s entire educational philosophy came from Lan Xuan.”

From a business standpoint, she quickly understood Mingde Academy’s structure.

Cao Xifeng, though the principal, didn’t actually handle education. He treated it as a business.

Under the banner of “traditional culture” and “national studies,” he had founded multiple training institutes—from homework tutoring to calligraphy, music, and painting classes.

He even ran a website devoted to feng shui and mysticism.

Digging deeper into the links, one could find a sister site on “national studies.”

And its star figure? Lan Xuan.

She’d given herself countless titles: “Expert in Traditional Culture,” “Senior Lecturer at the National Studies Academy.”

She’d promoted her own seminars, summer camps, and women’s virtue schools.

But that website had stopped updating years ago.

“Something must have happened to her,” An Yixiao said quietly. “That’s how this dungeon came to be.”

Duan Jing’s scalp prickled. “Don’t tell me we have to earn her approval to clear it.”

An Yixiao had the same dread.

If Lan Xuan’s obsession was to spread her “female virtue,” then even if they broke the dungeon itself, they’d never follow her path.

Duan Jing took a deep breath, cracking her knuckles. “Then there’s only one option—fight our way out.”

[Author’s Note]
All events and characters in this story are fictional. Please don’t associate them with real individuals or institutions. [dog emojis]

Looks like the dungeon will wrap up in the next chapter.

I hadn’t planned to detail the dungeon this much, but perhaps An Yixiao had her own ideas. [smirk emoji]

☢️☢️☢️

Ch 81: My Multiverse Supermarket

When the players left, only Zhou Li and Zhang Xiaozhi remained, staring at each other in silence.

As soon as Zhou Li opened her mouth, Zhang Xiaozhi blurted, “I can study on my own. I don’t need to go upstairs.”

Zhou Li: …

Was the trauma from the medical pod really that deep?

Zhou Li decided not to press the issue. She simply nodded and handed her a phone, telling her to keep watching Study and Strengthen the Nation videos.

Zhang Xiaozhi fetched a small stool and crouched in the corner of the stairwell.

That spot wasn’t technically inside the supermarket, making it hard to be noticed, and there were no TVs or mirrors nearby—nothing the principal could use as a medium of contamination to frighten her.

Zhou Li didn’t bother to supervise. As long as Zhang Xiaozhi stayed within the supermarket’s range, she was relatively safe.

But after the players left, the shop became like forbidden ground. Even during breaks, hardly any students came by for snacks anymore.

Outside, however, the strange disturbances grew worse, and Zhou Li’s unease deepened with them.

That was when two students rushed in—both with long hair and wearing qipaos, but with clearly male features. They pleaded desperately, “Boss, please, you have to save us!”

“They’re… players?” Zhou Li, unfamiliar with their faces, turned to ask the system.

“Confirmed,” said the system. “They are indeed players.”

Zhou Li was surprised. Since arriving in this world, she’d rarely had players come to her for help. These two were only the second to ever do so.

“How exactly do you want me to save you?” she asked.

They spoke over each other: “The principal’s back! Only you can save us! If you managed to bring this supermarket inside the school, you must be a top-tier player! You’re the only one powerful enough to stand against the principal!”

Zhou Li: ?

You want me to fight the principal? You’re giving me way too much credit.

Expressionless, she said, “You’re overthinking it. I’m not a player. I don’t get involved in disputes between you and the anomalies.”

“You’re human, aren’t you?” one of them shouted. “How can you be so cold-blooded? Humans have to stick together if we want to survive!”

Zhou Li waited until they finished their moral lecture before replying calmly, “You done? If you’re done, leave. Out of respect for the fact that you were once human, I won’t hold your little scheme against you.”

Their faces twisted in anger. “You—”

“Do I need to throw you out myself?” Zhou Li asked.

In the end, the two left unwillingly.

From the stairwell, Zhang Xiaozhi poked her head out. “They know how powerful the supermarket is. They didn’t dare attack inside, so they tried to lure you out.”

“I know,” Zhou Li said.

“How did you spot the flaw?” Zhang Xiaozhi asked.

Truthfully, Zhou Li just had an excellent sense of self-preservation.

Still, she’d noticed some inconsistencies. “I knew they were players—but total strangers. Meaning they’d entered the dungeon earlier and, like Kong Ru and the others, had already been polluted.”

If they were like Song Ganlan, who often stayed in the supermarket and ate its food, maybe they’d have a chance to reduce their pollution and recover some clarity.

But these two came running in for the first time, immediately begging for help. Clearly, they weren’t genuinely seeking rescue.

They were just using their player identities to trick her into stepping outside.

“Besides,” Zhou Li added, “if they were truly afraid of dying, they’d hide here quietly like you. They wouldn’t even ask for help.”

Zhang Xiaozhi nodded. As an anomaly herself, she actually felt remarkably calm here—proof that this little supermarket was anything but ordinary.

Zhou Li continued, “My guess? The principal hasn’t come back at all. The teachers and instructors are just afraid I might help rescue other players, so they’re trying to kill me first.”

“The principal hasn’t returned? Impossible—I felt it!” Zhang Xiaozhi trembled.

Zhou Li said, “Think about it. If news about Mingde Academy reached the outside world, reporters would be all over it—investigating, probing. The principal showing up now would make him the perfect target. Those old foxes would hide instead, pretend they’re not around, refuse to give interviews… that’s how the real world works.”

Because Mingde Academy was, after all, a projection of the real world.

Even if the principal, teachers, and instructors were all anomalies, they still followed certain laws carried over from human society.

That was precisely why An Yixiao had planned for Zhang Xiaozhi to expose the school publicly—to force the principal’s attention elsewhere.

Even though the academy dungeon was sealed off from real-world access, its laws still existed.

It was like how, in Zhou Li’s home world, people said that whatever a ghost feared in life, it would still fear in death.

A kind of spiritual imprint.

By the same logic, since Mingde Academy was a reflection of the real world, it too carried such imprints—namely, the laws that governed society.

An Yixiao’s hypothesis that different dungeons were interconnected was rooted in this idea of social continuity.

For instance, the Dawn Village dungeon and the New International Department Store dungeon might seem unrelated.

But say, in the real world, villagers from Dawn Village had once shopped at that department store. Then an incident there caused a fatality, leading to its closure. The villagers stopped going.

The link between the two broke temporarily.

Once the department store dungeon was cleared, it would “reopen” according to the laws of society, and the villagers would return—reestablishing the connection.

In The Game’s system, though, they’d still appear as two separate, closed instances.

An Yixiao’s plan would have worked with any student willing to file a report against the school.

The only requirement was cooperation.

Players taking on the role of students could do it too.

But when acting as “students,” they were bound by the dungeon’s role-based restrictions—if the role forbade actions that contradicted its setting, they couldn’t act freely at all.

Most of the students were anomalies, so they were unlikely to help any players.

Only someone like Zhang Xiaozhi—who had enrolled not long ago and already formed a connection with the small supermarket—could be persuaded to lend a hand.

At first, Zhang Xiaozhi didn’t want to help at all.

She hadn’t even wanted to attend Mingde Academy in the first place, but since her parents had sent her there, even if the academy shut down, they’d probably just send her to a “new” Mingde Academy under a different name.

To give her peace of mind, An Yixiao decided to return to the Dawn Village dungeon and complete it.

Once that dungeon was cleared, the outside world would inevitably pay attention to issues like school bullying and the mental health of minors.

At that point, if Zhang Xiaozhi reported that Mingde Academy’s instructors were abusing students and teachers were leading acts of bullying, the outside world would definitely take notice.

Her parents, shaken by the tragedy in Dawn Village, would likely become protective and, under public pressure, transfer her to a legitimate school with proper accreditation.

After Duan Jing explained the pros and cons, and once An Yixiao cleared Dawn Village, Zhang Xiaozhi seemed to sense something. This time, she readily agreed to help.

…

When Zhang Xiaozhi learned that the principal might not be on campus, she visibly relaxed.

“The principal may be gone,” she said, “but the director will return. Can they even beat her?”

In truth, the players couldn’t defeat the director.

But they didn’t have to.

Someone had to deal with the swarm of reporters outside, and with the principal missing, that responsibility naturally fell to the director.

An Yixiao’s plan was to use that opportunity—while the director was occupied—to take down the teachers and instructors, earning the title of “Outstanding Student.”

But being an “Outstanding Student” wasn’t the same as being an “Outstanding Graduate,” which was what the game required for victory.

Fortunately, An Yixiao had noticed the difference.

So within just a few days, she completed her “assignments” and “assessments,” advancing to the Spring and Autumn Class—the one with the highest level of pollution.

Originally, Mingde Academy had nine classes, each corresponding to one of the Nine Classics explained in the Commentaries on the Nine Classics:
the Zhouyi (Book of Changes), Shangshu (Book of Documents), Shijing (Book of Songs), Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals), Liji (Book of Rites), Yili (Ceremonies and Rites), Zhouli (Rites of Zhou), Lunyu (Analects), and Mengzi (Mencius).

However, the Liji, Yili, and Zhouli classes had already merged into a single “Three Rites Class.”

The Zhouyi Class had also been shut down after parents mistakenly assumed it taught superstition and feng shui.

Thus, Mingde Academy now had only six classes in total.

While the classes had rankings, none were explicitly labeled as the “graduating class.”

An Yixiao could only infer from the degree of pollution that the Spring and Autumn Class was likely the final one.

As for Kong Ru—already an “Outstanding Student” of the Spring and Autumn Class—why hadn’t he cleared the dungeon?

Probably because he didn’t want to graduate.

He’d already accepted himself as part of Mingde Academy, believed in its educational doctrine, and thus, even as an outstanding student, refused to leave.

Of course, this was only An Yixiao’s theory.

If she was wrong, she would lose her chance—and die in the dungeon.

“Instructor! There are so many reporters outside, and you still dare commit indecent acts against a student?”

Duan Jing appeared before the buzz cut instructor, holding up her phone.

The instructor froze, stunned, and the male player standing beside him immediately leapt away to distance himself.

Recovering, the instructor snapped, “That’s not true!”

“It’s all recorded,” Duan Jing said coolly. “Who do you think the reporters will believe—your word or the evidence?”

He understood the consequences all too well.

After a long silence, he ground out, “What do you want?”

“Give us top marks.”

His jaw clenched so tightly it almost cracked. “Fine.”

Once Duan Jing and the others received the stamped “Outstanding” seal from the instructor, they left.

Song Ganlan frowned. “Is this really going to work? It all feels way too easy.”

Their plan was to exploit each teacher and instructor’s weaknesses one by one—forcing them to give glowing evaluations.

If they could collect enough “excellent” ratings, they might unlock the condition to clear the dungeon.

But things were going too smoothly, and that made Song Ganlan uneasy.

She had entered the dungeon earlier than the others and seen far more of its horrors, yet because she’d been far from qualifying as an “Outstanding Student,” she hadn’t noticed anything wrong—just a vague, creeping dread.

Duan Jing said, “This is only Plan A. An Yixiao has Plan B.”

In fact, An Yixiao had prepared three plans.

Plan A was the one Duan Jing’s group was carrying out. Plan B was An Yixiao’s own operation.

And Plan C—known only to An Yixiao herself.

“If this plan fails, run straight to the supermarket,” Duan Jing instructed, handing her phone to Song Ganlan. “Only the boss can get you out of here.”

“Xiao Jing…” Song Ganlan’s voice trembled with worry.

“Go,” Duan Jing said firmly. “You’re no match for what’s coming. None of you are.”

The others exchanged uneasy glances. Duan Jing and An Yixiao were both S-class players—if even they couldn’t handle this, what chance did anyone else have?

…

Soon after, a bloodied Song Ganlan and three other players stumbled into the supermarket, beaten and gasping.

Zhou Li, who’d been playing Army Chess with Zhang Xiaozhi, frowned.

“What happened to you?”

“It was a trap,” Song Ganlan sobbed.

Zhou Li: …

This scene was starting to feel familiar.

“What kind of trap?” she asked.

“There’s no such thing as an ‘Outstanding Graduate,’” Song Ganlan said.

☢️☢️☢️

Sandy: If you enjoy this novel, check out another infrastructure/business management novel The World’s Number One Resort [BL] 😘

Ch 152: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

Adoption?

Mu Xing never expected it would be about this.

He asked in confusion, “He’s only met me once. How could he be thinking about that?”

Director Mei looked at him helplessly. “Do you have some misunderstanding about yourself? Little Xingxing, you’re such an outstanding child, there are countless families who would love to adopt you if they could. Your adoptive parents really were an anomaly.”

Realizing she had spoken out of turn, she quickly glanced at Mu Xing’s expression. Fortunately, the child didn’t seem to care much about her slip referring to those scumbags.

She softened her tone. “Director Lin meant that he wanted to first ask for your opinion. If you’re willing, he would bring that couple over to meet you. He said they’re his long-time friends, both very kind people with good family circumstances. Years ago the wife had a miscarriage and was never able to have children again.”

Mu Xing thought about it, then shook his head. “Better not.”

Director Mei said, “Don’t be so quick to decide. You could take some time to think, or at least meet them first. What if you happen to feel a connection?”

She patted Mu Xing’s head and sighed. “You haven’t been here long, but I can see clearly that staying in the welfare home is actually holding you back. With your talent, if you had better resources, your future achievements would be so much greater.”

Mu Xing thought to himself that his identity carried huge risks.

The Zhao family wasn’t a concern, but his biological parents—the cold-blooded couple—would they really be willing to see him adopted by a well-off family?

If they did something insane, he’d end up dragging innocent people into it.

He shook his head again and looked earnestly at Director Mei. “Director Mama, I’ve thought it through clearly. I don’t want to leave here. I’ve never felt the warmth of family before, but here I’m happy. I don’t need wealth or luxury. Having your love, and the care of the uncles and aunties, and being able to play with the other kids, teach them reading and writing—I’m very happy.”

“Here, I can do so much more.”

Director Mama didn’t say anything further.

The next day, a television crew arrived at Hope Welfare Home.

The reporter was a young woman, brisk in manner. She began filming as soon as she entered, and the atmosphere of the home surprised her.

She had been to several similar institutions, where the atmosphere was always heavy, the children either lifeless or temperamental, refusing to cooperate at all.

But here, a group of children were happily playing hopscotch in the courtyard.

Some of the younger ones sat on little stools, holding cloth dolls in their arms, obediently watching the older kids play. Sometimes they clapped to cheer them on. Read more at HololoNovels dot com. A couple in their forties watched them with warm smiles.

Everything was peaceful and harmonious.

The female reporter felt her own mood calm down. She didn’t speak immediately, instead quietly observing.

She also looked over the welfare home: the buildings showed their age, some paint peeling off the walls, but the grounds were swept clean. Everything was tidy. The children’s clothes were neat and fresh.

One child at play noticed the strangers, froze for a moment, and then called out, “Uncle Li!”

He pointed toward the visitors. “There are guests!”

The children turned to look. Some who were shy hid behind others, peeking curiously with wide eyes.

Uncle Li, a middle-aged man, stood up and came to greet them. The woman reporter and her crew walked inside.

“Hello, you’re from the TV station?” Uncle Li asked politely, noticing their equipment. “My wife has gone to fetch Director Mei. Please wait a moment.”

The reporter had assumed he was just a caretaker. But his refined manners and articulate speech were unexpected. He didn’t seem like someone without an education.

She asked curiously, “Are you a staff member here?”

Uncle Li smiled. “Yes, I take care of the children here.”

The reporter couldn’t help saying, “Forgive me, but you don’t seem like a typical welfare home staff member.”

Uncle Li only smiled again, without answering.

Director Mei soon arrived.

The reporter set aside her curiosity about Uncle Li and greeted Director Mei, explaining her purpose.

She was here for Mu Xing.

The interview had been suggested by Mu Xing’s homeroom teacher, Teacher Chen, whose younger brother was a small leader at Donghai TV. Since there was a summer emotional program planned, Teacher Chen thought of Mu Xing.

“Xingxing is in the classroom drawing with the children,” Director Mei said proudly as she led them forward.

“Classroom?”

She smiled with pride. “Yes, Xingxing isn’t just a good student—he’s also our little teacher! Every night he gives basic lessons to the younger kids who haven’t started school yet. On weekends, he tutors the older ones.”

The reporter had read some background on the interview subject: an orphan, abused by adoptive parents before being sent here. She knew he excelled in school, always placing first in exams.

But that was all she knew.

Soon they reached the classroom door.

From the doorway, the reporter saw a child bent over his desk, absorbed in drawing.

He wore a slightly worn but clean T-shirt. His half-visible face was delicate and beautiful, like a doll.

Sensing eyes on him, Mu Xing looked up. The cameraman, quick on the trigger, captured several close-up shots.

The young female reporter was struck head-on by the little boy’s stunning looks, and her heart instantly overflowed with affection.

She walked over with a kind smile. “Hello, little friend Mu Xing. My name is Jiayin, I’m a reporter from Donghai City TV. I’d like to do a short interview with you.”

Mu Xing stood up. “Hello.”

Jiayin’s eyes fell on the drawing on the desk. Read more at HololoNovels dot com. It was already more than half finished: in a forest, sunlight poured through gaps in the leaves, and a little girl in a red dress was running happily.

It was just an ordinary colored pencil drawing, but the technique was skillful and the foundation deep.

She asked in surprise, “Did you draw this yourself?”

Mu Xing nodded.

Still doubtful, Jiayin asked, “Can you finish it? That’ll be part of today’s interview.”

Mu Xing sat back down and resumed his drawing. The cameraman captured the moment.

His speed was incredibly fast. Jiayin then noticed that in front of the paper lay a page from a book—the very same picture he was reproducing.

But he was copying it without a single mistake! He had even enlarged it several times over.

Jiayin hid her shock and asked, “Have you studied drawing before?”

Mu Xing shook his head. “I just copied it myself.”

He lifted the picture carefully and placed it on the podium.

Host Jiayin looked at the drawing, identical to the original, and felt shaken. If she hadn’t seen it herself, she would have thought it was staged.

But she didn’t know that for Mu Xing, photographic memory was something he’d had for a very long time.

Jiayin asked, “When did you discover you had this gift?”

Mu Xing replied, “When I was little, I think. My memory is very good. As long as I look at something once, I can remember it. Drawing is the same—just one glance, and I can copy it one-to-one.”

Jiayin: “…”

So this was what a genius was.

Her excitement surged.

Originally she had expected just an ordinary interview about an orphan and a typical top student. By contrast, it might have stirred some sympathy and attention.

But this was different.

This was no ordinary top student.

He was a genius!

If this interview aired, it would definitely explode in popularity!

—

The interview, originally planned for two hours, stretched into five.

Besides the extended time with Mu Xing, Jiayin became fascinated with the welfare home he loved so much. She filmed a lot of extra footage, even capturing the children having lunch.

She left the Hope Welfare Home completely satisfied.

On Sunday evening at eight o’clock, middle-aged viewers in Donghai City tuned into the Donghai TV urban channel.

Young people no longer liked watching TV. On holidays, they went out with friends to eat, shop, or stayed home gaming and binging dramas or variety shows.

But for the older generation, TV was still a vital form of entertainment, and the urban channel was a must-watch.

“The Genius in the Welfare Home.”

That was the theme of this episode.

The title wasn’t exactly eye-catching, but it piqued plenty of curiosity.

The opening shot was a wide view of the Hope Welfare Home.

Outside, the area looked remote, with hardly any neighbors. The camera zoomed in on the big sign reading “Hope Welfare Home.”

As the camera went inside, the sound of children’s laughter was clear.

The cameraman captured the children playing hopscotch.

After the host introduced herself and chatted with the director, the camera followed her into a classroom.

The moment many viewers first saw Mu Xing, the same thought flashed through their minds: What a beautiful child!

The footage then showed various people speaking about him.

Homeroom teacher Chen: “Mu Xing is a very obedient and good child. His grades are excellent—several times he’s taken first place across multiple schools.”

Classmate: “Xingxing is great. We all like him.”

Even the corner shop owner knew him: “Mu Xing? I know him. That kid is pretty! What? Buying things? No, no, he hardly ever bought anything. I know him because I heard a few teachers talking. His parents? Not good people at all!”

Director Mei: “Xingxing is such a good child. All the kids here love him. He tutors them, draws, plays piano. He’s so sensible it breaks your heart.”

The camera switched to Jiayin, who smiled at the lens. “Today, let’s get to know this little genius from the welfare home, Mu Xing.”

From that moment, the audience’s eyes never left him.

They watched him face the camera calmly and unflinchingly. They saw him demonstrate his inhuman drawing talent. They heard him say he had photographic memory. The host tested him on the spot with a random book—he glanced at it once and recited it flawlessly.

Finally, the host asked if he had any wishes.

Mu Xing looked at the camera. “If everyone has extra books, please donate them to the welfare home. I hope we can all go to school properly, and later earn lots of money for the welfare home. It’s very hard for Director Mama to raise us. Uncle Li, Aunt Zhao, Uncle Wang—their salaries are very low. Taking care of us is almost like doing it for free.”

Then he thought for a moment, and made a little plug: “Good Friends Amusement Park is super fun! Director Lin is such a good person. He heard we’d never been to an amusement park and took us all there for a whole day. He also gave us lots of books and clothes, and this!” He picked up a dinosaur plushie from another stool, hugged it to his chest, and smiled brightly. “That day I overheard a staff sister saying Happy Friends Amusement Park doesn’t have many visitors, and Director Lin has been losing money running it. So I hope Director Lin doesn’t lose money anymore!”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

Ch 151: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

Mu Xing said softly, “That day at school, I saw a flyer with a phone number on it, so I memorized it.”

The director knew his memory was good, so she didn’t doubt it. She just asked, “And then? What did you do?”

Mu Xing repeated the whole conversation he’d had with the amusement park’s customer service.

Then he asked in a small voice, “So… does that mean everyone can go to the amusement park now?”

But the director’s face hardened. “Xingxing, what have I always taught you? Did you forget?”

Mu Xing froze.

Her tone was stern. “I know you’re very smart, that your grades are good, and you’re quick-witted. But what I fear most is you using that cleverness in the wrong way. You’re still young, and if you start using little tricks to ask people for favors, taking shortcuts, getting things you shouldn’t have without working for them… if you develop that kind of character, what will happen later? You’ll only want to take shortcuts. Xingxing, if you want to go to the amusement park, you can tell me. I’ll think of a way.”

“This time, I’ll turn it down.”

She said this while reaching for her phone.

Mu Xing quickly interrupted, “I didn’t take a shortcut, Director Mama. I picked Good Friends Park after a long time of thinking.”

The director looked at him with confusion.

Mu Xing spoke earnestly. “I did a lot of research. That amusement park has been around for years, and now it doesn’t get many visitors. During my finals I scored very high, and Teacher Liu asked if I’d like to accept an interview from a local TV station. The school will give me a scholarship, and I can also help bring in more sponsorship for our welfare home.”

“When the interview happens, I’ll help advertise Good Friends Park,” he said seriously. “Exchanging a few dozen tickets for a TV promotion—they won’t lose out.”

The director took a long time to react.

She stared at Mu Xing in shock. Read the full chapter at HololoNovels dot com. Even though she had known from the start that this child was very smart, more mature than his peers because of his family background, such a tightly reasoned plan… was this really something a child could say?

After finishing his serious words, Mu Xing began to act pitifully cute. “I’m sorry, Director Mama. I know this isn’t exactly right. But all the kids really, really want to go to the amusement park. If we bought tickets the normal way, all that money could buy lots of formula for Mumu and Yuanyuan instead.”

Mumu and Yuanyuan were the two youngest girls in the home, one just turned one, the other a year and a half, both still needing formula—a huge expense.

The director looked at this child who barely reached her waist. At this age, most children were still under their parents’ wings, happily enjoying their childhood. Yet he was already learning to use his strengths to seek benefits.

She didn’t think it was bad. She only felt heartache.

She squatted down and gently embraced him.

Mu Xing was wrapped in warmth. The director’s hug carried no expensive perfume—just the faint fragrance of laundry detergent, the safest and most comforting smell for every child.

“Xingxing, don’t say sorry. It’s Mama who should thank you.”

“If Mama were more capable, had more savings, or could secure more sponsorships, things would be easier,” she sighed softly.

Mu Xing hugged her back and emphasized seriously, “Director Mama is already very good. All the uncles and aunties at the welfare home are very good.”

When the children found out they would be going to the amusement park the afternoon after next, they were thrilled.

For the next two days they were extra well-behaved—studying diligently, eating and sleeping enthusiastically, always rushing to help with chores (though most of the time they only made more work).

Finally, the appointed day arrived.

Just before nine in the morning, a bus pulled up at the welfare home.

Two people got off: a middle-aged man in casual clothes with a square face and righteous bearing, and a young man in his early twenties.

The middle-aged man warmly stepped forward to shake the director’s hand. “Hello, hello. Are you Director Mei? I’m Lin Guodong, the manager of Good Friends Park.”

As the director exchanged greetings with him, the young man beside Lin and the bus driver opened the luggage compartment and unloaded several boxes.

Lin said, “These are some gifts from Good Friends Park for the children.”

The director was about to refuse, but Lin quickly added, “They’re not expensive things—just some clothes for the kids, books, a few cans of formula, and a couple of small toys.”

Clearly, he had made the effort to learn about the welfare home. The gifts ranged from clothes for teenagers to formula for infants.

Seeing the director’s expression soften, Lin held her hand and smiled. “I once thought of running a welfare home myself, but all kinds of things got in the way and I never managed it. After learning about Hope Welfare Home these past few days, I have to say, Director Mei, you’re truly a remarkable woman.”

The director no longer declined.

Lin laughed. “Then let’s not waste any more time. Please bring all the children out.”

The staff carried the younger ones out. A few toddlers were held in arms, standing at the entrance, gazing enviously at their older siblings.

Lin asked in surprise, “These little ones aren’t coming?”

The director smiled. “They’re too young. They’d just make trouble.”

Lin waved his hand. “No problem. I came today to invite everyone from Hope Welfare Home. The little ones have their own ways to play. The director should come too, and Master Wang as well—everyone together!”

No one knew how he even knew Master Wang’s name.

In the end, the whole orphanage was given a day off, and everyone went together in a lively group to Good Friends Amusement Park.

On the bus, Director Lin curiously asked which child had been the one to call the amusement park.

Mu Xing obediently raised his hand.

When Director Lin saw it was him, he smiled. “The moment I first saw you, I couldn’t help but take a second look. This child is really handsome. Your name is Xingxing, right?”

Mu Xing nodded.

Beside him, little Jin, who was three and a half, piped up in his milky voice: “Brother Xingxing is amazing! He’s a top student! Every time he gets full marks! He can draw, and he plays ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ for us too.”

Little Jin actually had no idea what “top student” meant, but since he often heard the older boys praise Brother Xingxing like this, he learned to say it as well.

Director Lin was astonished. “Really? Then Xingxing is truly impressive!”

But then something crossed his mind, and his smile softened a bit. Read the full chapter at HololoNovels dot com. In front of the children, he couldn’t bring himself to ask—how could such an outstanding child have become an orphan?

When they arrived at the amusement park, the orphanage staff discovered that Good Friends Amusement Park hadn’t even opened to the public that day, keeping the whole place just for them.

Director Mei felt uneasy, but Director Lin waved it off casually. “It’s fine. These days our park hardly has any visitors anyway. To be frank, we don’t really rely on it for profit. Being able to bring joy to the children from the orphanage—that’s worth far more than a few tickets.”

All of the orphanage’s staff had come, and several young employees accompanied the children, easing the shortage of hands.

Soon, the amusement park workers realized these kids were not like other children.

Normally, kids this age loved to run wild. In a place like an amusement park, they would have been like horses let out of their reins, impossible to call back.

But these children, walking together with the adults, although their eyes shone with wonder and longing, stayed obediently by their side without running off.

A young female staff member asked a middle-school–aged boy, “Little one, don’t you want to play with these rides? Why aren’t you running over?”

The boy, Cheng Sheng, shyly whispered, “Director Mama told us that everyone in the amusement park is good to us. She said when we get here, we shouldn’t run around or yell, so we don’t cause trouble for you.”

The girl’s eyes stung.

She was the customer service worker who had answered the call that day. She was supposed to be off today, but she had volunteered to come as their guide.

Smiling, she said, “You’re not troubling us at all. Today we’re here just to play with you. You don’t need to be so reserved.”

She asked Cheng Sheng, “Do you want to ride the roller coaster?”

Cheng Sheng’s eyes lit up.

After getting permission from Director Mei, the children soon split up.

The older ones who could handle more thrilling rides went off with one staff member.

The younger ones went to the merry-go-round and bumper cars.

The very little ones were carried onto the kiddie train that toured the park, with staff blowing bubbles for them to chase.

Even though Director Mei had warned them repeatedly, in the end they were children. After playing for a while, they loosened up, and the amusement park was filled with joyful laughter.

Snacks from the stalls were all free. At first no one dared take any, so the staff grabbed them and stuffed them into the children’s arms.

Lunch had also been arranged beforehand by Director Lin. At the park’s theme restaurant, each child even received a bear-shaped ice cream.

Mu Xing had only thought he’d found a chance for his friends to finally visit an amusement park. He hadn’t expected Director Lin to be so thoughtful.

Considering they were children and the park was far out, Director Lin didn’t keep them for dinner. Instead, he arranged for the bus to take them back. On the way home, each child was given a stuffed animal souvenir.

He also handed Director Mei a card and a thick envelope.

The card was a VIP pass for the amusement park. From then on, whenever they had time, she could bring the children to play.

The envelope was full of photographs—taken that day by the staff of the children.

Director Mei pulled them out one by one, not only seeing the children’s smiling faces, but also herself and Master Wang and the others.

Her eyes reddened. She carefully put the photos back, planning to post them in the classroom once they returned.

She murmured, “Director Lin is truly a good man.”

Sitting behind her, Mu Xing heard these words and nodded in deep agreement: yes, Director Lin truly was a good man.

During his interview, he would make sure to praise him.

The interview was scheduled for three days later.

But the day before, Director Mei suddenly called Mu Xing into her small office, her expression both delighted and conflicted.

Calling it an office was generous—it was just a simply furnished little room, piled with books and ledgers, where she usually managed the orphanage’s affairs.

“Xingxing, I have some good news for you.”

Mu Xing blinked his eyes at her.

Dean Mei said, “Do you remember Director Lin? From Good Friends Amusement Park? He called me today, and we spoke for a long time about you. He said he has a friend who wishes to adopt you. I wanted to ask what you think.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

Ch 150: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

How to be a teacher, Mu Xing actually didn’t know.

But he had a talent no one could match: he was born to be liked by little ones.

At two or three years old, three or four years old, that age was usually the hardest to keep focused, the most restless, but when they heard that every evening after dinner, Brother Xingxing would teach a lesson and tell them a story, all the children were well-behaved.

At dinner, they didn’t even need the aunties to watch over them. They wolfed down the food in their bowls, then were carried off to wash their hands and take their baths.

At six-thirty, everyone gathered in the little house.

Mu Xing wasn’t sure how to teach children, but after all, what children needed was simple.

Each class lasted half an hour.

With picture cards bought online, one math class taught counting, one literacy class taught recognizing characters, one English class taught basic words.

The last class, the children sat around to listen to Brother Xingxing tell a story.

The welfare home had an old piano someone had donated. It could still be played, though the sound wasn’t very accurate. Mu Xing tuned it a little himself, then before bedtime played a lullaby for the children.

By then, it was already nine o’clock.

The children were taken back to their little rooms by the aunties, falling asleep with sweet fairy tales in their dreams.

Mu Xing even seriously gave the children simple homework: collect ten different leaves, pick a flower, give it to your favorite friend, things like that.

While he was at school during the day, the children earnestly did the tasks Brother Xingxing had assigned.

At first, Mu Xing only gave basic lessons to the younger ones who hadn’t started school, but later, somehow, many of the older kids came too.

Some even brought their homework, listening to Mu Xing teach the little ones “1, 2, 3, 4” while they worked on their assignments.

The little room quickly became too small.

So the director, the aunties, and Uncle Wang the cook cleaned out a rarely used storage room, scrubbed it spotless, replaced the window glass until it shone bright, and turned it into the children’s new classroom.

The new classroom had many tables and chairs.

At the front were small tables and stools for the little ones. In the back rows were big tables, made by Uncle Wang sawing planks of wood himself, so the older children could study and do homework.

This was something Mu Xing hadn’t expected. Original translation at HololoNovels dot com. Because in the welfare home, very few kids liked studying. When he asked before, many had said studying was boring, the teachers were hard to understand, and that after graduating junior high, they would just go work and make money.

Mu Xing had talked about it, but he couldn’t change their mindset.

When he asked again, they scratched their heads awkwardly: “Little Jin and the others are so young, yet they’re so serious every night. They’ll definitely be great at studying in the future. Before, none of us were good at school, and it didn’t seem like a problem. But now, we’re so much older than them—we can’t be worse than they are, right?”

“And in our dorm we talked it over too. We think it’s a good thing for the little ones to love studying. We can’t be a bad influence.”

Mu Xing hadn’t expected this surprising gain, but seeing everyone eager to learn was always a joy.

Since some of the older ones genuinely wanted to study, he spent weekends helping them catch up.

A few months later, when the semester ended, the welfare home received a huge surprise.

As expected, Mu Xing ranked first in his grade.

And more than a dozen other children from the home who went to school also showed very noticeable improvement.

Wei Wei, who lived in the same room as Mu Xing, made it into the top twenty in his class for the first time.

When he got home, he nearly ran the whole way, showing his test paper to everyone, proudly boasting: “The homeroom teacher praised me! I’ve been under him for a year and a half, and this is the first time I’ve been praised!”

For the welfare home, this was a tremendous event. All six staff members worked there out of love. Their greatest hope was that every child could grow up well and have a beautiful future.

The director, who normally counted every expense down to the penny, generously spent money to buy each child a nice notebook and pen, and even splurged on a projector for the classroom, making lessons much easier.

Uncle Wang the cook clearly dipped into his own pocket again. At dinner, every child had a big, fat, delicious chicken drumstick in their bowl!

After the final exams came what was, for the children, a long vacation.

For ordinary kids, summer break meant not only homework, but all kinds of tutoring classes, traveling with their families, trips to amusement parks, visiting relatives…

For the children of the welfare home, there was none of that.

The home didn’t have enough staff. Everyone was busy every day, with no time to take the children out.

Besides, the children didn’t really have anywhere to go.

For over thirty kids, the world they knew was mostly this welfare home on the outskirts of town, converted from a factory compound.

One day, everyone sat together in the classroom to watch an animated movie. When the main character went to an amusement park, Mu Xing clearly saw that every child, young or old, wore an expression of longing.

He thought for a while, then used the home’s only computer to look up some information.

The next day, he borrowed the director’s phone and called an amusement park.

The customer service agent on the line was surprised to hear a child’s voice: “How can I help you, little one?”

Mu Xing, without a trace of guilt, pretended to be just a kid: “I want to go to the amusement park to play.”

The customer service lady chuckled and said, “Of course, we’re open every day.”

“But I don’t have any money.”

She went quiet for a moment before replying, “You can ask your mom or dad to bring you.”

“I don’t have a mom or dad.”

The customer service agent froze.

Mu Xing went on, “But I have lots and lots of friends. Today, Director Mama took us to watch the movie ‘Little Superman,’ and in it the amusement park was so big. Original translation at HololoNovels dot com. None of us have ever been to an amusement park. Today I saw a flyer with this phone number on it, so I secretly called you.”

For some reason, the customer service agent’s eyes stung. Keeping her sweet voice, she asked, “Who is Director Mama? Is this her phone?”

Mu Xing said, “She’s our Director Mama.”

“Where do you live?”

“I live at the Hope Welfare Home.”

“…”

Mu Xing hadn’t just picked a place at random.

This amusement park, called “Good Friends Park,” had been around for quite a while. Compared with the big-name chain parks that were popular now, its facilities were older and the grounds smaller, and it didn’t get many visitors anymore.

But Mu Xing had looked it up. The park had been built by the owner for his son. Back in the day it was hugely popular. Even though it had few guests now, it was still well maintained, and not a single accident had ever happened.

He thought, someone like that wouldn’t be able to refuse a child’s request.

Sure enough, before long the director called for him.

“Did you use my phone to call some amusement park?” she asked curiously. “Someone just called me and asked when we’d like to come play. They said they could even send a car to pick us up.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣