The hallway lights flickered on and off, accompanied by a buzzing electric current.
To prevent the lights from dying and leaving them at the mercy of any shadows, the group instinctively trod heavily, as if the sound of their own footsteps could provide some form of security.
Li Xin led the way. He didn’t know which genius had designed this building, but the staircases on every floor were completely offset. Fortunately, the staff dormitory was on the top floor, so he had walked the route once when he came down with Teacher Rabbit.
The corridor was silent save for their footsteps. While Yu Suheng, who was as cold as an ice block, walked slowly at the rear, the others followed closely behind Li Xin.
This formation gave Li Xin the surreal feeling that he was playing “Hawk and Chicks”—except he wasn’t a plump, protective mother hen; he was a hawk who still hadn’t figured out if his menu included chicks.
The group, each harboring their own secrets, successfully made it to the fourth floor.
Li Xin was lucky; the first room by the stairs had an “Infirmary” sign.
The door wasn’t even closed—just slightly ajar.
Li Xin paused, staring at the thin sliver of darkness behind the door. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if this world was actively trying to insult his intelligence.
No danger along the way, a conspicuously marked destination, and an ajar door. If this wasn’t a trap, he’d turn his name backward.
This trap was too targeted; it was clearly aimed at Li Xin in his role as a teacher. He had no intention of being stubborn enough to jump straight into it.
Leaning sideways against the iron railing at the edge of the hallway, Li Xin noticed the wary gazes of the “students.” He gestured toward the ajar door with his chin, mocking everyone equally: “The infirmary is here. No little kids are afraid of doctors, right?”
The group collectively backed away, their faces full of rejection: Who wouldn’t be afraid? The doctors here don’t cure illnesses; they kill you!
Seeing them retreat eight hundred meters in an instant, Li Xin remained unfazed, his smile unchanging. Instead, acting like a bossy authority figure, he held up the scattered papers in his hand and made a show of speaking: “Since no brave little one wants to volunteer, feel free to form a line now. 30 seconds.”
After speaking, he raised his eyes to scan the restless crowd, tapping his fingers on the handrail, his gentle voice carrying a cold sense of pressure: “Better not try your luck. My patience… is limited.”
Those few words caused everyone’s expressions to turn grim, their secret anxieties and guilt nearly collapsing instantly. No one wanted to die in this sunless place. While resurrection wasn’t impossible, the cost was something not everyone could afford.
This dramatic shift in attitude didn’t change Li Xin’s expression. He squinted at the group, who went from dawdling to shoving each other, and added fuel to the fire with utter indifference:
“10, 9, 8… 3…”
The death-knell countdown exacerbated the already tense conflicts. He even saw some people pull out bizarre objects—likely props or supernatural items.
“2… 1.”
As the countdown ended, Li Xin looked with satisfaction at the perfectly straight line, though he couldn’t say whether he felt happy or not.
The one at the front of the line was Lin Zhuanghong. He knew perfectly well that being first in this situation was no different from walking to one’s death, so he certainly hadn’t offered to do it. But some jerk behind him had used a prop, pinning him to the floor so he couldn’t even step back if he wanted to.
Seeing everyone else hiding behind him, Lin Zhuanghong was red with fury: “Who the hell…”
But before he could finish his stream of profanities, he was coldly suppressed by Li Xin’s gaze: “What’s a five-year-old doing swearing? Hold it in.”
Lin Zhuanghong: …You’re the five-year-old! Your whole family is five!
Though he was cursing wildly in his heart, Lin Zhuanghong swallowed the insults. He didn’t want to offend a major NPC right at the start.
Getting played was just a sign of his own incompetence. Lin Zhuanghong took a deep breath, deciding to learn from the pain: Damn it, if I don’t die this time, I’m going to hunt down the jerk who played me and beat him up!
With this resolution, he stared at Li Xin’s face as if trying to bore a hole through it.
Li Xin, who had been dragged into this mess despite being “innocent,” didn’t care at all. He straightened up and said with the air of someone about to send a man to his end: “What are you waiting for? Get in.”
Lin Zhuanghong: …
It’s a knife if I step forward, and a knife if I pull back. Lin Zhuanghong went for it.
He took a deep breath and, with lightning speed, shoved the door open—with so much force it was as if he were launching a rocket. This caught Li Xin, who had finally scraped together a bit of conscience and intended to warn him to knock first, completely off guard.
The door swung back, facing a desk. As it slammed against the wall with a loud thud, several papers covered in writing flew into the air, and a roar of rage followed from within:
“Who is it!? Go to hell!!”
Lin Zhuanghong’s heart skipped a beat, a sense of impending doom chilling his blood.
Sure enough, the moment the door rebounded off the wall, flashes of silver light streaked through the air. Li Xin’s pupils constricted. He grabbed Lin Zhuanghong by the collar and yanked the terrified man aside.
The next second, a spiderweb-like object swept past the spot where Lin Zhuanghong had been standing. It slammed into the rusted iron handrail, and in less than three seconds, it corroded a huge, web-patterned hole into the metal.
No need to guess—this was intended to kill.
Seeing this, Li Feng couldn’t suppress a “Holy shit,” while the man who had just narrowly escaped death, Lin Zhuanghong, was drenched in cold sweat. If he weren’t still being held by the collar, he would have collapsed to the floor.
Among the people present, only Li Xin and Yu Suheng remained unchanged. Li Xin had anticipated it and wasn’t surprised; Yu Suheng stood lazily in the distance, as if everything happening here had nothing to do with him.
The door swung briefly on its hinges before settling. Through the narrow gap, a pitch-black eye appeared, the giant white of the eye surrounding a small, gloomy pupil that scanned the room, finally resting on Li Xin.
The figure inside paused. A flash of greed and disappointment crossed its eyes before it spoke slowly: “Ah… Teacher Li.”
“Good evening.” Li Xin released Lin Zhuanghong’s collar, lowering his eyes to look at the figure in the gap: “Aren’t you going to open the door, Doctor? The students are all waiting.”
The title of “Doctor” seemed to please the school doctor, and he began to chuckle. Li Xin frowned imperceptibly, thinking it sounded like a sawed-throated donkey.
Having laughed enough, the doctor finally pulled the door open. His short, gaunt frame looked empty beneath his white coat.
“Please.” The doctor retreated to his seat without another word.
This time, Li Xin didn’t expect the shaken players to take the lead; he stepped inside first. Papers were scattered across the floor from the violent opening of the door. Li Xin had no intention of cleaning up for the doctor, so he just carefully avoided stepping on them.
The players followed suit, tiptoeing inside before instinctively huddling in the corner.
The doctor ignored them, scribbling something down before shoving a form into Li Xin’s hands: “Not much on the agenda tonight, but you’re too late. You’d better hurry.”
The doctor’s plain glasses hid the malicious gaze behind them as he spoke in a professional tone: “A student missing?”
Li Xin grunted, succinct: “Late.”
“Oh… late.” The doctor laughed again. He finally spared a glance at the players, murmuring to himself: “Five is still too slow…” He stared at the surviving Lin Zhuanghong with a look of regret before turning his gaze away.
Lin Zhuanghong: …What are you regretting!? What, is five too slow for you—are you planning to kill one right now?!
The brief “friendly” exchange ended. The school doctor took a set of keys from the wall and asked Li Xin: “Does Teacher Li intend to observe at the exam room, or stay in my office?”
Li Xin actually wanted to stay in the office, because he knew exactly what would happen in the exam room, but the doctor had been staring at him with a look that clearly said if you stay, I’ll chop you up.
“Fine, the exam room.”
Li Xin, claiming to be highly understanding, sighed as if to say you leave me no choice, which thoroughly disgusted the school doctor.
The exam room was at the end of the fourth floor. The doctor pushed open the metal door and flicked the light switch.
Blinding white light flooded the room. Li Xin frowned under the glare, and as his eyes adjusted, the heavy scent of blood filled his nostrils.
Following that, he heard someone retching in suppression.
In the center of the room sat a single metal operating table, surrounded by scattered saws, axes, and chisels. These objects would be terrifying even in a standard operating room, yet here they were in a school for five- and six-year-olds.
Add to that the dark, dried blood splattered across the floor, walls, and ceiling, and it could easily pass for a serial killer’s basement.
Li Xin looked silently at the blood on the wall, clearly the result of something being forcibly hacked apart, and spoke with genuine sincerity: “I didn’t expect a physical exam to be so… physically demanding. Do you specialize in orthopedics?”
“Hmph.” The doctor impatiently picked up a blood-stained stethoscope from a pool of gore, jammed it into his ears without wiping the blood, and bared his sharp, snow-white teeth at the pale-faced players: “Well, who’s first?”
Who could possibly volunteer!? Would they even have eyes left to see if they did!?
The doctor waited, but when no response came, his expression chilled. He didn’t pick anyone himself; instead, he turned impatiently to Li Xin, who was showing great interest in an eyeball that someone had dropped in the corner.
“Teacher Li, your students don’t seem very obedient.”
Hearing the doctor’s sinister tone, Li Xin poked the eyeball, and upon feeling the moisture on his fingertips, he smiled and stood up: “They just enrolled, after all. If they were obedient, they wouldn’t be here, right?”
This was a conclusion Li Xin had drawn based on Teacher Rabbit’s reaction earlier: this school took in “disobedient” students to “correct” them. As for why they were labeled disobedient or what constituted a successful correction, he didn’t know.
But the information he had now was enough to handle these random tests from the true NPCs.
Sure enough, the doctor just stared at his back before giving a perfunctory agreement: “True. But the quality… hmph.”
The doctor said no more. He picked up a cloth from the floor and glanced at the wall clock.
“Time is running out, Teacher Li.” The doctor took off his glasses, the malice in his eyes unconcealed. “Since no one is volunteering, they are your students—so you choose one.”
In an instant, all eyes fell on the relaxed man in the corner—fear, disgust, and pleas intertwined.
Only one person was an exception.
The grey-haired young man leaned against the wall behind everyone else, his gaze fixed on the man’s handsome profile. The man lowered his eyes, as if lost in thought, and didn’t look up for a long time. When he finally did, his smiling eyes met Yu Suheng’s, paused for a split second, and then shifted away again.
A truly fake smile. Yu Suheng recalled that smile and twitched his lips: I really want to punch him.