The next morning, the fog deep in the mountains had yet to disperse.
When Fu Songcheng sat up from that musty-smelling hard board bed, Shen Ning’s bed was empty—she seemed to have gone out very early.
The way Fang Ruiyang and Xu Jixing looked at him also carried a trace of oddness, and there wasn’t even a single exchange between them about “the instance” or “clues.”
Fu Songcheng took a deep breath, gathered the lesson plans belonging to “Zhang Xinci” in his arms, and pushed the door open to leave the dormitory.
His tasks today were heavy—not only did he have to teach art, but he also had to double as the Chinese teacher.
The school was built next to Village Chief Li Guoping’s house—a dilapidated earthen-brick courtyard.
The morning Chinese class went unexpectedly smoothly.
“The reeds are lush and green, the white dew turns to frost. The one I call my beloved, is somewhere across the water…”
Below the podium, over twenty boys—dressed in rags, sallow and emaciated—sat upright.
They followed Fu Songcheng’s lead reading, reciting in perfect unison. Over twenty pairs of eyes stared fixedly at the blackboard—or rather, at “Zhang Xinci” on the podium.
Standing on the podium, Fu Songcheng maintained “Teacher Zhang’s” gentle expression while calculating in his mind.
These NPC children were obedient like machines programmed to specifications.
He had tried deliberately pausing mid-lesson, or misreading a character, but the children below showed no reaction—they simply continued reciting the text mechanically, following his earlier rhythm.
…
At four-thirty in the afternoon, it was time for the art class.
This class had no textbook, so Fu Songcheng simply put down the chalk and pulled a chair over to sit in front of the podium.
“Teacher Zhang,”
A boy named Heiwa in the front row raised his hand. His fingernails were packed with black mud, but his eyes were startlingly bright. “Tell us about the city.”
“Yeah, Teacher Zhang,” a little boy beside him in ragged clothes also looked at him pleadingly. “Is it true there are iron boxes in the city that run by themselves without oxen pulling them?”
Fu Songcheng looked at them.
“Those are called cars.” Fu Songcheng spoke, recalling the world outside the game. “The city has lots of cars. Not just cars—there are also giant artificial birds that can fly in the sky, called airplanes.”
“The buildings in the city are very tall—so tall they touch the clouds. At night, all the streetlights come on, and the whole city is like daytime. It never goes dark.”
“Wow…”
A chorus of uniform gasps rose in the classroom.
“The people there must be really happy, right?”
Heiwa swallowed and asked in a small voice.
Fu Songcheng’s brow lifted. He thought this was a chance to extract information, so he leaned forward tentatively and lowered his voice:
“Heiwa, you want to go to the city so badly—so did the teachers who taught here before ever tell you how they got back to the city?”
“They said as long as you study hard and test out of the mountains in the future, you can go to the city.”
Heiwa’s innocent voice echoed through the classroom.
At five in the afternoon, the end-of-class bell—which was actually just a broken piece of iron hung under the eaves, struck by Li Guoping—rang out.
The sound echoed through the small courtyard.
“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed.”
Fu Songcheng rubbed his brow. These children were only interested in off-topic digressions; any actual knowledge was like playing the lute to a cow for them.
Fu Songcheng was exhausted after a whole day of teaching.
He lowered his head and packed up the chalk and lesson plans on the podium.
The children in the classroom rose in twos and threes, slinging their ragged cloth bookbags over their shoulders and heading out.
Just then, Fu Songcheng felt a gaze.
Or rather, several extremely uncomfortable, greasy gazes.
He snapped his head up.
Three men had appeared outside the classroom door at some point.
They looked to be anywhere from their twenties to thirties, wearing mud-spattered ragged clothes and liberation shoes on their feet.
One had a long scar at the corner of his mouth; the other two had brutish, fleshy faces.
Even from three or four meters away, Fu Songcheng could smell the thick stench radiating off them—a mix of earthy soil and sour, sweaty body odor.
They didn’t come in. They just blocked the classroom exit like three solid walls of flesh.
Fu Songcheng’s eyes turned cold instantly.
He tucked the lesson plans under his arm and walked expressionlessly toward the door.
But he remained on guard at all times—if these three NPCs dared to make a move, he would immediately draw his dagger and fight.
“Move aside.”
Fu Songcheng walked to the doorway and coldly tossed out three words.
But to his surprise, the voice that came from his mouth was trembling.
“Teacher Zhang, class is over?”
The scar-faced man in the lead grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow-black teeth.
Not only did he not step aside—he took a step closer.
As he approached, that nauseating stench of sweat instantly enveloped Fu Songcheng.
“Teaching these little brats must be exhausting,”
A fat man beside him leered at “Zhang Xinci’s” fair cheeks, his gaze brazenly roaming over her chest and waist. “Teacher Zhang, want some water? My family just boiled some hot water.”
“No, thank you. I need to go back to the dormitory.”
Fu Songcheng was burning with rage. What he wanted to curse was “Get lost.” But he discovered in horror that his vocal cords and facial muscles were completely disobedient!
Zhang Xinci was afraid.
This twenty-one-year-old female university student, who had always lived in her ivory tower, instinctively felt terror facing three strong, crude adult males radiating obvious malice.
Fu Songcheng’s fingers twitched frantically at his side.
His right hand was limp, his palm soaked in cold sweat.
Zhang Xinci’s fear submerged his player’s combat instincts like a tide.
This body, from the excessive tension and fear, had even begun to show slight stress-induced stiffness.
“Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!” The scar-faced man saw “Zhang Xinci” retreat half a step and grew bolder.
He raised that rough hand with black mud packed under the nails and planted it firmly on the doorframe, completely blocking the way out.
The scar-faced man lowered his voice, his tone carrying a nauseating flippancy and insinuation. “Teacher Zhang, you city girls are so fresh and tender. Six months in this mountain gully—must be so lonely. How about your big brothers take you for a walk in the mountains? We know where the wild fruit is sweetest.”
“What do you want? This is a school!”
Zhang Xinci’s voice rose, carrying an obvious sob.
Fu Songcheng was anxious.
Don’t cry! The more afraid you are, the more excited they get!
Hit him! Hit his jawbone!
Yet he could only watch helplessly as his own body trembled violently with fear, his steps retreating uncontrollably into the classroom, step by step.
He was like a bystander locked in the passenger seat, anxiously watching the car he was in lose control and hurtle toward a cliff.
“So what if it’s a school?”
The fat man sneered and stepped brazenly into the classroom. “The teachers before also taught in this school, and in the end they all stayed to be our wives. Teacher Zhang, since you came to our Ya’nan Village, you’re one of us now.”
Those words were like a basin of ice water poured over Fu Songcheng’s head.
The teachers before? They all stayed to be wives?
“Don’t come closer! Come any closer and I’ll scream for help!”
Zhang Xinci retreated step by step, her back already against the blackboard.
She clutched the lesson plans tightly to her chest like prey driven into a dead corner.
“Go ahead and scream. See who’ll come to help you!” The three men let out crude, raucous laughter, steadily tightening their encirclement.
Just then, footsteps came from outside the classroom.
Fu Songcheng whipped his head around and saw several students who hadn’t gone far yet.
Heiwa, that little boy in ragged clothes, and a few other children.
They stood in the courtyard just a few meters away.
“Heiwa! Go get the other teachers! Hurry!”
Zhang Xinci shouted shrilly, as if grasping at a lifesaving straw.
Fu Songcheng also felt a flicker of hope in that moment. As long as another NPC intervened, or the matter was blown up, these three thugs should have some scruples.
But the next second, a scene that made the blood in Fu Songcheng’s veins run cold unfolded.
Heiwa stood in place, tilting his head, watching everything happening in the classroom.
His eyes showed no fluctuation—no panic, no anger, no sympathy.
He was like someone watching an utterly ordinary spectacle.
“Teacher Zhang, Uncle Laizi just wants to play with you.”
Heiwa spoke matter-of-factly in his childish voice. “My dad usually corners Auntie Widow at the end of the village against the wall like this too.”
“Exactly,”
The little boy beside him continued, “City teachers all end up tied up in a house having babies in the end. Uncle Laizi, are you going to buy Teacher Zhang candy?”
Boom—!
It was as if something in Fu Songcheng’s mind exploded.
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