Early the next morning, Li Xin received the bad news that he had to teach all morning.
The Rabbit Teacher who delivered the message thanked him for covering his shift last night while simultaneously shoving a class schedule into Li Xin’s arms: “Teacher Li, you originally only had one class this morning, but to help you and the students integrate as quickly as possible, the Dean rearranged your schedule last night.”
Li Xin: “…”
Li Xin had reason to suspect this was the Dean’s revenge for him breaking the surveillance cameras in the infirmary. But at this moment, he could only offer a hollow, strained smile: “I appreciate the Dean’s thoughtfulness.”
The Rabbit Teacher showed a touched expression and continued, “There isn’t much to do in the morning. You mainly need to lead them in some games and look after their physical and mental health.”
Li Xin nodded perfunctorily, then looked at the schedule in his hand. It only had two massive words written on it: Games and Psychological Counseling.
Li Xin stared at the words “Psychological Counseling” for a long time, then folded the schedule and tucked it into his pocket, his expression unchanged: “Understood.”
The Rabbit Teacher nodded with complete trust, fully confident in Teacher Li’s professional standards—unaware that he had only learned what his actual job duties were just last night.
Last night, Li Xin had sacrificed his remaining sleep to turn the entire dormitory upside down, finally figuring out at four in the morning exactly what he was supposed to be teaching in this hellish place.
At the time, he stared at the red-covered philosophy and psychology certificates on the desk, feeling speechless.
But thinking about it, it made sense; in a school established to “grow people backward,” it was highly unlikely they would hire teachers for language, math, or English.
Philosophy it is, then, Li Xin thought, maintaining a good attitude.
Although he was certain he had never studied philosophy or psychology in his life, Li Xin felt he was quite good at brainwashing people, so he figured it wouldn’t be a big problem.
This sense of confidence lasted right up until he arrived at the classroom door and bumped into Yu Suheng, who was pushing the door open.
Hearing footsteps, Yu Suheng paused. He glanced sideways and saw Li Xin and the Rabbit Teacher. His gaze swept over Li Xin’s smiling face, and then, with his usual expressionless demeanor, he walked straight into the classroom.
The reaction was very “Yu Suheng.” Looking at that cold face, Li Xin realized he couldn’t tell at all if the man was angry about what happened last night.
However, he didn’t have long to dwell on it, as chaotic footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor. Li Xin looked up and saw Lin Zhuanghong and his group, still sporting their “bird’s nest” hairstyles.
Li Xin watched their slightly disheveled appearance with curiosity, though thankfully, at least no one was wearing pajamas this time.
Lin Zhuanghong, who had endured nightmares all night before being slapped awake by Yu Suheng, hadn’t expected to run into these two “gods of death” right at the classroom door. With dark circles under his eyes, he forced a smile that looked worse than crying: “Haha, Teacher Li… you’re early.”
Li Xin glanced at the clock, his tone languid: “Mm, there are two minutes left before the bell. That’s a minute earlier than yesterday.”
Lin Zhuanghong: “…”
Li Feng and Liu Heng behind him looked relatively better, though still haggard. Conversely, Feng Hao, who had been tortured the worst yesterday, was in surprisingly good condition—ruddy-faced and full of energy. As he saw Li Xin, a flash of fear and resentment flickered in his eyes.
Judging by their states, Li Xin could more or less guess what they had experienced during the night. But time was limited, so he could only usher them inside before the bell rang.
Since this was no longer a special training session for transfer students, there were a dozen or so students scattered around the room, ranging from small children to teenagers. When they saw Li Xin and the Rabbit Teacher enter, they stood up in unison, their movements perfectly synchronized and their slogans loud, making it look like a Nazi barracks.
Compared to these well-trained “good babies,” the flustered Lin Zhuanghong and his group looked completely out of place.
Li Xin enjoyed being surrounded by the crowd, feeling not the slightest bit of discomfort, walking as casually as if he had entered his own home.
“Ah, at ease, at ease,” Li Xin waved his hand. After stepping onto the podium, he glanced around briefly and memorized their faces.
Since he wasn’t sure about the day’s procedures, he simply clapped his hands and decisively passed the buck: “Alright students, our teaching assistant, Rabbit Teacher, will explain today’s lesson arrangements to everyone.”
The Rabbit Teacher didn’t react to this. Like a true assistant, he described the plans in an orderly fashion.
“Today is an interest class. We have previously collected your preferences, so everyone can find partners to work with according to your interests.”
The Rabbit Teacher paused and added, “Related props can be found around the campus. You can go anywhere except the first and fifth floors. The requirement is that all interests must result in a corresponding project. Those related to sports must be assessed by a teacher. All students who complete their goals can come to the Rabbit Teacher and Teacher Li to sign in. The deadline is 11:30.”
After finishing, the Rabbit Teacher turned to look at Li Xin without caring about the crowd’s reaction. Li Xin blinked and picked up where he left off: “Alright, that’s it. Everyone is dismissed.”
Hearing the order to disperse, the NPCs all got up and left, while Lin Zhuanghong, Li Feng, and the others were a step behind, staying by the door to discuss something.
Li Xin took a moment to recall what they had signed up for: Liu Heng wrote “Calligraphy,” Lin Zhuanghong “Weaving,” Li Feng “Painting,” and for Yu Suheng, Li Xin remembered he wrote “Origami.”
To be honest, he hadn’t expected Yu Suheng to pick such a conservative hobby. In Li Xin’s judgment, this was a guy who should have written “Giant Wood Carving” and then used a saw provided by the dungeon to hack at the boss.
The group discussed for a long time outside. The classroom soundproofing was good, so Li Xin didn’t hear anything useful. Once the players left, only he and the Rabbit Teacher remained.
Looking at the empty classroom, Li Xin had no interest in staring at the Rabbit Teacher, so he stretched, stepped down from the podium, and waved at him: “I’m going out to take a look.”
This behavior didn’t seem odd for a teacher, so the Rabbit Teacher didn’t object, only saying, “Understood. I’ll wait here; someone might finish soon.”
“Mm.” Li Xin naturally didn’t refuse, gave a casual acknowledgment, and left without hesitation.
The building during the day wasn’t much brighter than at night.
The person who designed this building didn’t seem to like sunlight. In the corridors of each floor, there was only one small, high window on the north side. The sunlight huddled into a miserable little patch, unable to light up even a small corner.
There were a few NPC students gathered on the third floor. As Li Xin passed by, he happened to see one of them tearing a piece of skin off his arm, claiming he wanted to carve it into a puzzle shape.
Across from him, another was using a knife to carve characters into his own chest, claiming he wanted a tattoo.
The scene was even bloodier than he had imagined, and a persistent, rotting stench hung in the hallway.
However, there were a few “normal people” there.
Passing by the stairs, Li Xin noticed a girl playing with a mouse. Facing Li Xin’s inquiry, the girl showed him the dead mouse she had tied up tightly with string, saying she liked “Shadow Puppetry.”
Watching the dead, wide-eyed mouse being contorted into various shapes, Li Xin patted the girl’s head, expressing his affirmation of her hobby: “Good job.”
The girl was happy, and Li Xin took the opportunity to probe for her name.
“My name is Fengfeng, I’m six years old.” Fengfeng stroked the mouse in her hand, her eyes filled with tenderness. “I’ve been here for three years. I feel like I’m constantly moving toward my goal.”
Li Xin lowered his eyes, looking at her, and tested her: “Do you remember why you came here?”
Fengfeng nodded: “I remember, I came for…” As she spoke, she paused as if she had frozen. Then, a wave of confusion flashed across her eyes, and her brows furrowed tightly.
“I came for…” She began to mumble unconsciously. The mouse in her hand dropped with a plop, its hollow eyes staring straight ahead.
Li Xin noticed a flash of overly complex emotion in those eyes—a mix of pain and resentment that was hard to describe.
Li Xin was certain that was not a look a child should have.
But in an instant, Fengfeng clutched her head tightly. Large tears rolled down her cheeks and hit the ground. Her lips moved as if to say something, but in the next second, it all turned into blankness.
Li Xin stood there, quietly observing her reaction, his eyes devoid of any emotion, like a spectator unable to empathize.
Fortunately, Fengfeng’s emotional breakdown didn’t last long. When she looked up again, those eyes had returned to their consistent, joyful state.
She smiled innocently and answered Li Xin’s question: “I came here to become better! I want to be an artist when I grow up; I love art!”
After speaking, she suddenly saw the mouse she had dropped and hurriedly picked it up, stroking its head with pity.
“I see.” Li Xin smiled lightly, unable to tell whether he was satisfied or unsatisfied with the answer.
Before leaving, Li Xin asked one last question: “Do you like this class?”
The girl looked at him for a moment and finally nodded: “I like it.”
This answer left Li Xin deep in thought. Because just moments ago, with the child who was cutting flesh from his own body to make a puzzle, Li Xin had received the exact opposite answer.
His eyes were hollow and fearful. Facing Li Xin’s question, he had shaken his head almost hysterically.
Li Xin still remembered his answer:
“No!! I don’t like it anymore! Please, Teacher, let me study, let me go study… I don’t like it anymore… I…”
And Li Xin remembered that the student’s dream was to become a researcher.
Is that why?
Your goal needs to be linked to your interest. The deeper the connection, the easier it is to pass this class.
Because that way, you are striving for your goal, rather than fooling around.
Li Xin pondered as he stepped down the stairs. He suddenly realized he still lacked information.
These players must have been required by the dungeon to write down their goals when they entered.
Except for Feng Hao, who was too stupid to see it, the others were not newcomers.
Therefore, when they filled out their interests in the classroom, they would easily connect them to their goals, so they would likely write something related.
Following their habits, they would definitely write conservative activities, the ones farthest from danger.
What would they write? Calligrapher, painter, artist?
After all, it is very difficult to judge the quality of art. A curved line can be a piece of art; there is plenty of room for maneuver, and you don’t even need much skill, as long as you can explain it.
If they really did that, then just for this class, they wouldn’t face too much danger.
But this also brought the biggest problem.
Li Xin thought idly.
A deep connection also means they are easier to integrate. And once they truly integrate, they will follow the Dean’s plan and gradually turn into children. By that time, they might never be able to leave.
Li Xin’s brain kept turning, trying to integrate all the fragmented clues. This was something he was good at, but this time, it wasn’t going smoothly.
As he reached the last step, Li Xin had just come to his senses when he suddenly felt a chill.
He instinctively wanted to retreat, but in the next second, a hand suddenly shot out from his side, gripped his arm tightly, and dragged him into the storage room behind him.
In just a breath, he was slammed hard against the wall. His back hit the cold surface, sending a dull, sharp pain through him.
In the darkness, he endured the pain and instinctively looked down, meeting—as expected—a pair of deep-sea blue eyes.
His fragile neck was pressed by a single hand, but Li Xin froze for a moment, until he heard a cold yet pleasant voice ring out in the darkness:
“Teacher Li, stealing is not a good habit.”