Raising a Wife in a Supernatural World [Infinite] – CH32

Chapter 32: Xie Yunhuai Side Story (1)

Before a dim, icy desk, Xie Yunhuai’s brows knit tight as his eyes fluttered open.

Before full consciousness could even settle in, the class bell—carved deep into the marrow of his soul—rang out like an executioner’s summons.

Simultaneously, as Xie Yunhuai lifted his gaze toward the front, the homeroom teacher stepped through the door with the exact same posture and cadence seen across countless cycles, standing at the lectern with a leaden scowl.

Almost on instinct, Xie Yunhuai canted his head to the left, avoiding the suffocating gaze of those dense, eldritch eyes.

Yet that turn of the head brought someone else into view: a boy seated beside him, brow similarly furrowed, lounging back against the edge of the desk behind him with an air of complete nonchalance.

Xie Yunhuai froze for a fleeting second.

This new deskmate seemed rather different from those of past loops.

Different how, exactly…? Mostly, he gave off the distinct impression of being someone you did not want to cross.

Even in that furrowed brow, the unbridled arrogance and razor-sharp edge in his features were laid bare without the slightest pretense.

The thought flashed through his mind and was gone just as swiftly. Before the other boy could notice the appraisal, Xie Yunhuai averted his eyes, lowering his lashes to listen in numb silence as the teacher barked out the line he had heard thousands of times before:

“Only five days left until the Gaokao! Look at you, dragging yourselves around half-dead! How do you expect to compete with anyone else?!”

The blackboard eraser slammed onto the podium with a grating, piercing crack.

Xie Yunhuai held his breath: another person was about to die.

He loathed the cloying, inescapable stench of blood that perennially hung in the air. Over countless resets, holding his breath at the sight of corpses and gore had become second nature.

Just as expected, someone died—another face from the batch of newcomers newly materialized in the room.

The boy beside him, however, remained remarkably composed, avoiding an instant demise right at the opening bell.

As the heavy reek of iron swiftly snuffed out the panicked shrieks and settled over the classroom, Xie Yunhuai blinked down at the sea of text before him, his vision sluggish.

He had forgotten the contents of this lecture again.

He had heard these same lessons and worked through these exact problems hundreds, thousands of times across the loops. Yet with every cycle that reset, the knowledge and memories in his head seemed to thin out, fading into mist.

Perhaps this time, he was destined to perish during the break after the very first period.

Xie Yunhuai was all too familiar with the diverse ways he met his end across these endless resets.

His earliest death had occurred right after his first reset following a gruesome demise. In that cycle, he had been just like those frantic newcomers, shouting and screaming across the room in a desperate bid to warn everyone of the “truth” and the “abnormality.” He had been torn apart before he could finish his first sentence.

Later on, the most frequent cause of death was homework. As his memories deteriorated, facing those worksheets left him increasingly stranded. The questions looked entirely alien to him, and the only path remaining was succumbing to his primal instincts—frenzied madness, followed swiftly by death.

At that thought, a stray notion flickered through his mind: Once I turn into a monster later, will the first person I bite be this fierce-looking deskmate?

Should I offer him an apology in advance?

No… He looks strong. He probably won’t let me bite him at all. He’ll probably just kill me first.

His focus drifted further, wandering off down odd tangents: If that’s the case, maybe I should pick a different classmate to bite when the frenzy takes over?

Even if he devolved into a beast, a sliver of his consciousness would remain intact. If possible, Xie Yunhuai still preferred to die with a shred of dignity.

Though he had rehearsed countless scenarios of his impending demise in his head, the moment the bell chimed for the end of class, Xie Yunhuai still picked up his pen and set to work in earnest.

He still wanted to live. Even if it meant clinging to life for one more class, one more minute, or just one more problem…

Yet his estimation of his own fading faculties was agonizingly precise.

He had hit another question he couldn’t parse.

He had heard the explanation and worked through the steps thousands of times in his past lives!

He had done his utmost to push aside all stray thoughts and the suffocating reek of blood, forcing himself to hang on every word during the lecture!

Why was he still running into problems that felt completely alien so quickly?

Was his brain rotting away, growing more foolish with every cycle of death?

Was he doomed to become just like his classmates—numb, hollow, drifting through an eternity without knowing who he was or that he was trapped in a loop, knocked over like a mindless pawn time and time again?

How could he possibly accept that?

In this unending purgatory, he was the sole bearer of memories. How could he resign himself to sinking into oblivion, relinquishing any hope of ever walking out of these school gates?

Trapped like ink on a page, the words arranged in fixed permutations, doomed never to break free from the margins…

Xie Yunhuai stared unblinkingly at the question as it warped before his eyes, the characters twisting into grotesque, alien shapes. Crimson veins spiderwebbed across his sclera. The wrath accumulated across countless cycles began to swell in silence. He had anticipated this death, yet facing it anew—even after thousands of rehearsals—the tide of fate and raw despair threatened to sweep him away. The metamorphosis was taking hold, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

His heart held only rage, indignation, terror, and an all-consuming despair.

What is the answer to this question?

Why am I always the one who can’t solve it?

Why does it have to be me?!

…

Tap, tap…

A brisk, light rap abruptly shattered the dark trance pulling him under.

Hypersensitive, Xie Yunhuai whipped his head around.

Unexpectedly, he collided with a pair of remarkably clear, breathtakingly pale green eyes.

“Here. Copy it quick. Class starts in two minutes.” The owner of those green eyes slid a notebook filled to the margins with notes right up to Xie Yunhuai’s fingertips.

Xie Yunhuai stared into those eyes, his mind lagging behind for several seconds before the meaning of the words finally registered.

He blinked blankly, realizing that he had just been hauled back from the brink of destruction.

“…Thank you.” He managed a small, grateful smile, his eyes curving faintly.

Internally, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

How wonderful. I get to live a little longer in this loop.

The notes were remarkably thorough. After copying the solution to the problem, Xie Yunhuai noticed how neat and handsome the penmanship was.

The strokes were sharp and clean, written with effortless fluidity that never crossed into messiness.

A brisk, untamed freedom radiated from every line, immediately conjuring an old idiom in his mind: the writing reflects the man.

Having finished copying, Xie Yunhuai handed the notebook back.

During the long wait before the teacher arrived, he kept his eyes trained on his worksheet, appearing studious while secretly turning over the character of this helpful deskmate in his head.

I wonder how long he’ll survive in this cycle.

Those eyes really are beautiful, like the first pale green shoots budding on a tree branch in early spring.

If I could pluck them out and preserve them forever using some special technique, wouldn’t that be wonderful?

Though the owner looks like he wouldn’t part with them willingly. What a shame…

If our class assignments were about crafting exquisite eyeballs, I might actually score full marks.

He let his mind drift into strange, tangled reveries until the teacher’s command to submit their worksheets broke the trance.

Xie Yunhuai could have simply walked up to turn in his own paper, but on pure, unbidden impulse, he looked over at Qin Fu’an and whispered before the other could rise: “Teacher Zhang has an awful temper. Let me turn yours in for you this time.”

The moment the words left his lips, his heart fluttered with a nervous leap—pure guilt.

This was the very first time he had ever slandered an instructor behind their back.

Even so, he forced his expression to remain impassive, taking his new deskmate’s paper and walking toward the podium with a facade of utter calm.

Before handing it over, Xie Yunhuai cast a seemingly casual glance at the header, taking in the three bold, sprawling characters: Qin Fu’an.

The name felt like the polar opposite of the boy’s sharp, unyielding temperament.

Many students failed to turn in their assignments that period—every single one of them a newcomer.

Listening with lowered head as those new students stammered through frantic excuses, Xie Yunhuai couldn’t help thinking that his deskmate was remarkably different from the rest of the fresh arrivals.

Not only had he turned in his paper, but he had helped him finish his as well.

Looked at that way, this new deskmate seemed rather formidable…

The thought had barely crossed his mind when a slender hand entered his lowered field of vision, long fingers loosely pinching a scrap of paper that drifted quietly onto his desk.

Xie Yunhuai: “…?”

Startled, he snapped his head around, utterly stunned that this person would dare pass notes while the teacher was actively throwing a fit!

Was he not afraid of getting caught?

Passing notes was explicitly against the classroom code…

Xie Yunhuai’s nerves frayed with anxiety. Yet his deskmate showed no hint of unease over breaking the rules; beneath his scrutiny, the boy brazenly nudged the note a fraction closer.

He nudged it…?!

Xie Yunhuai could even feel the faint, prickling itch where the edge of the paper brushed against the side of his wrist.

Xie Yunhuai: “…”

Strung taut with sudden panic, his pulse spiked. Every nerve was primed, watching for the teacher ahead to notice the covert movement. Yet his body moved with traitorous compliance, lifting his wrist just enough to stealthily pin the slip beneath his palm.

Xie Yunhuai had assumed his new deskmate was braving the risk of passing notes because of some vital, life-or-death question.

Before unfolding it, he had already resolved to answer whatever was asked to the best of his ability.

Yet the moment his eyes landed on the contents, he froze in sheer disbelief. He doubted his own senses, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open again…

The ink remained entirely unchanged.

He hadn’t misread it, nor had fear conjured an illusion.

Written across the scrap in that familiar, bold hand was a single, audacious question: What’s your name?

Xie Yunhuai stared at the paper, then at the handwriting, holding his breath for three or four agonizing seconds before slowly drawing in a deep, steadying lungful of air.

If he didn’t, he was terrified he might succumb to impulse and slam the paper straight into Qin Fu’an’s outrageously striking face.

The tension in his chest curdled into an inexplicable, rising swell of silent fury. Xie Yunhuai whipped his head toward Qin Fu’an, only to be met with an innocent, expectant gaze urging him for a reply.

In an instant, every initial impression Xie Yunhuai had formed of Qin Fu’an collapsed into dust.

Fierce? Brilliant? Exceptional?

This person was simply an arrogant bastard who thought he could do whatever he pleased just because he had pretty eyes!

Xie Yunhuai’s fingers crushed the note into a tight, crumpled ball. Pressing his lips into a pale line, he warned himself in silence never to have another interaction with this new deskmate.

He was grateful to the boy for granting him a little more time to live, but his instincts screamed that Qin Fu’an’s temperament and reckless methods were far beyond what he could handle.

Someone this ostentatious and lethal was bound to draw every eye in the room; peril and destruction would trail him like a shadow. It was far safer to keep his distance, lest he get caught in the collateral damage.

Yet over the course of the period, Xie Yunhuai discovered that his resolutions had zero impact on Qin Fu’an.

The boy continued scribbling notes, tossing them to the other newcomers, who promptly used the hints to stall the teacher’s lecture.

Worse, Qin Fu’an kept glancing over, staring at him every few moments. Xie Yunhuai tried his best to ignore it, but Qin Fu’an’s gaze was just like his presence—overbearingly predatory.

It was merely a stare, yet it left Xie Yunhuai squirming with discomfort, feeling as though every inch of skin swept by those green eyes was burning hot and terribly awkward.

With no other choice, Xie Yunhuai buried his head lower to keep his composure intact, feigning deep absorption in the lesson.

Yet the more he shrank away, the more brazen the other boy’s scrutiny seemed to become…

Clutching his pen until his knuckles whitened, he whipped his head around and shot Qin Fu’an an indignant glare, trying to warn him against crossing the line.

Yet… Qin Fu’an’s eyes truly were breathtaking.

Every time he looked into them, the urge to carve them out and preserve them in a glass jar flared up unbidden.

Fighting back those strange, macabre impulses, Xie Yunhuai resolved to ignore Qin Fu’an entirely, slumping back into his seat to zone out.

He had little choice but to space out; thanks to the newcomers’ coordinated interruptions, the teacher had rehashed the same problem countless times.

When the bell rang, the teacher’s punitive trap arrived right on schedule, yet Qin Fu’an’s reaction managed to catch Xie Yunhuai off guard once again.

“What do you usually do in this situation?” he asked with casual curiosity.

Xie Yunhuai didn’t want to engage with him, nor did he want to look at his unrestrained arrogance. Yet pinned beneath those green eyes, he pressed his lips together and gave the blunt truth.

“If you can’t get out, you die.” At that moment, Xie Yunhuai even felt a flicker of anticipation regarding how Qin Fu’an would react.

Would he be terrified? Would he shudder at the thought of death just like everyone else?

Would he… die alongside him during this very break?

Every scattered calculation was shattered clean by Qin Fu’an’s sudden, vicious kick.

Before the eyes of the entire class, Qin Fu’an sent the teacher blocking the threshold flying backward out the door…

Xie Yunhuai stared in a daze at the teacher shrieking in fury on the corridor floor. His classmates were staring just as blankly.

This was the very first time they had ever seen an instructor brought so low, and the first time they had witnessed someone as brazen as Qin Fu’an.

Before Xie Yunhuai could collect his wits, an iron grip closed around his wrist, hauling him forward in a dead sprint.

Though he stumbled on the sudden pull, the sensation of stepping clean over Teacher Zhang’s soft, bloated bulk gave Xie Yunhuai a secret, wicked thrill.

What a surreal sensation. It turned out students could trample teachers beneath their boots after all.

And the squish beneath his soles was surprisingly novel.

Yet before he could dwell on it, the freezing gale outside the classroom battered him relentlessly, scouring his already muddled mind completely blank.

Sprinting through that biting winter wind, it was impossible to ignore the searing heat wrapped around his wrist.

The grip was iron-firm. It was an ordinary human body temperature, yet against the winter chill, it burned with an almost scalding intensity.

The moment they came to a halt, Xie Yunhuai yanked his wrist free without hesitation.

Xie Yunhuai hated Qin Fu’an.

And he hated the sight of butchery, severed limbs, and gore even more. Fighting back the bile rising in his throat, nausea and starvation churned violently in his gut. Xie Yunhuai couldn’t even recall how he made it back to his seat.

Only when the sickness settled did he realize the desk beside him was empty.

Qin Fu’an hadn’t returned.

It was hard to define the tangled knot of emotions that gripped him during that stretch of waiting; all he knew was that he did not want to hear that Qin Fu’an had died.

Qin Fu’an shouldn’t die this early.

To keep his mind from straying, Xie Yunhuai simply buried his nose in his worksheet.

The warning bell chimed, and a bizarre, flattened version of Teacher Zhang materialized in the doorway. The unsettling discord surrounding Qin Fu’an’s supposed death grew heavier in Xie Yunhuai’s chest. Just as he was trying to deduce how the boy might have perished, that familiar figure sauntered through the door right on the heels of the final chime.

Without realizing it, Xie Yunhuai let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He even felt a petty swell of pride: See? I told you this guy wouldn’t die so easily.

As Qin Fu’an slid back into his seat, Xie Yunhuai’s hands moved faster than his thoughts, sliding his completed worksheet across the desk divide.

Meeting the other boy’s searching, thoughtful look, Xie Yunhuai gripped his pen in self-reproach, forcing an air of cool detachment. His mind had never operated with such sharp, inventive clarity as when inventing an excuse for his actions:

“Now we’re even.”

Xie Yunhuai was rather proud of the phrasing. He was merely settling a debt of gratitude; once the slate was wiped clean, there would be no ties between them.

Yet that hound of a boy! Not only did Qin Fu’an fail to appreciate the gesture, but he leaned in close to Xie Yunhuai’s ear and shamelessly reprimanded him for cheating!!

Xie Yunhuai hadn’t felt this furious even when facing death, yet Qin Fu’an could effortlessly provoke his temper time and time again.

Qin Fu’an was completely unhinged.

If he didn’t want it, fine! Qin Fu’an was the one who would die, not him!

Stewing in quiet indignation, Xie Yunhuai yanked his paper back, dropping his head to ignore the boy entirely.

Yet without his conscious awareness, mingled with the fury was a strange, delicate thread of grievance.

That grievance simmered quietly throughout the period, only to be disrupted by Qin Fu’an once more.

Because Teacher Zhang… was simply too ridiculous.

Xie Yunhuai fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling into a grin. But a flattened Teacher Zhang, whose fury and malice resembled a two-dimensional schematic, was undeniably bizarre and hilarious.

Xie Yunhuai felt a flash of mortification at how easily pacified he was; he had been earnestly angry just a moment ago…

“Here. For you.”

Accompanied by Qin Fu’an’s amused drawl, a small object was tucked into his pocket.

A piece of candy.

Fingering the sweet, Xie Yunhuai stared at Qin Fu’an in a daze. The other boy’s lips were moving, saying something, but the words seemed to slide right off him.

So he went out just to buy me candy.

Is Qin Fu’an genuinely out of his mind?

Risking his life just for a piece of candy…

Xie Yunhuai listened to Qin Fu’an’s rambling.

He heard Qin Fu’an call him a picky eater, and he heard him remark that finicky kids were hard to raise and prone to malnutrition.

For reasons he couldn’t grasp, watching Qin Fu’an’s careless, easy smile made the faint grievance that had just receded swell a hundredfold. He couldn’t care less about the consequences of Qin Fu’an submitting a blank paper, keeping his head ducked in stubborn silence as the boy orchestrated his ascension into “Teacher Qin.”

Xie Yunhuai’s head was consumed entirely by those offhand remarks and the candy pinched in his palm.

I am not a picky eater.

I am not hard to raise.

And I am certainly not malnourished.

You were the one who chose to buy me candy.

You were the one who chose to take the risk.

I never asked you to raise me…

Standing behind the lectern as Teacher Qin, the boy seemed unreachable, radiating an untamed brilliance that belonged to a completely different world from the hollow, lifeless monstrosities below.

He was so warm, so blindingly bright… yet an abrupt surge of dark malice and bitter resentment flared in Xie Yunhuai’s chest.

Let this Teacher Qin die.

Let him die right here in this classroom.

Let him die before my very eyes.

Dye those green eyes in crimson gore, and extinguish every scrap of light clinging to his frame.

The candy in his grip had long since been crushed to powder. Xie Yunhuai looked down at the ruined wrapper, then tossed it into the trash can alongside his discarded worksheet the moment the dismissal bell rang.

If Qin Fu’an could be crushed and discarded just like that piece of rubbish, that would surely be far sweeter than letting him live.

This was the very first time Xie Yunhuai had ever actively yearned for someone’s death.

Yet Qin Fu’an remained utterly oblivious to his malice, leaning through the window from outside and holding out an open palm before him.

“Student Xie, give me back my candy.”

A single sentence, eight simple words, and every scrap of Xie Yunhuai’s bitter malice was shattered to pieces.

Qin Fu’an wanted the candy back.

But I threw it away…

Cornered by Qin Fu’an’s pressing stare, the only solution Xie Yunhuai could muster was running out to buy him a replacement.

Yet beneath that thought lay a skyrocketing swell of flustered mortification, accompanied by a prickling sting behind his eyes that he couldn’t explain.

Xie Yunhuai braced himself to go buy the sweet; he would rather owe anyone in this world than owe Qin Fu’an.

Yet the open palm demanding the candy suddenly flipped upward, gently patting the crown of his head.

He was intercepted at the classroom door.

Once again, his wrist was seized in that familiar, inescapable grip, dragging him back inside.

Qin Fu’an said that if he didn’t want to eat, he could leave the leftovers for him.

Qin Fu’an said that deskmates ought to be closer than ordinary classmates.

Qin Fu’an was like an unyielding fortress wall, an unfathomable ocean; before him, Xie Yunhuai could only yield in helpless defeat, conceding again and again.

And so, the boy who had just thrown away a piece of candy wasn’t reprimanded in the slightest; instead, a rich, fragrant square of chocolate was pressed between his lips.

Later, he was fed the lavish lunch Qin Fu’an carried back to the room.

Yet Qin Fu’an had skipped his own meal entirely, running off to aid those newcomers.

A prickle of irritation settled into Xie Yunhuai’s chest.

Is Qin Fu’an truly that fond of playing the savior? Can anyone win his help that easily? Is that what he means by classmates looking out for each other?

If all those classmates dropped dead, would he stop entertaining such absurd notions of charity?

As it turned out, Qin Fu’an truly was an infuriating, overbearing creature.

Xie Yunhuai was dragged all the way to the cafeteria entrance against his will.

His dread of the cafeteria far outweighed his fear of death, yet Qin Fu’an acted as though he were blind to the resistance, forcing him down into a seat to eat.

And then, Xie Yunhuai caught the noisy murmurs drifting from the nearby table:

“The boss treats his deskmate way too differently. He really was feeling him up and harassing him this morning!”

“…Look, if getting harassed means getting real food, sign me up!”

“Tch. Smitten fool.”

Hearing every single syllable with pristine clarity, Xie Yunhuai: “…”

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