Raising a Wife in a Supernatural World [Infinite] – CH8

Chapter 8: Spook High (8)

Muffled cheers rippled through the classroom. The players’ eyes shone with pure relief, and the rigid numbness clamping down on the NPC students visibly thawed.

Qin Fu’an closed his textbook and stepped out into the corridor just as the bell wound down.

He walked up to the hallway window and smiled at the Dean, who had retracted his head. “Mission accomplished. I don’t believe I disappointed you, Dean?”

The Dean tilted his head toward Qin Fu’an, his expression thoroughly satisfied. “You did very well. Spook High will certainly have a spot for you on this year’s graduation roster.”

This was essentially securing an early guarantee of graduation.

Yet Qin Fu’an showed no sign of jubilation. Instead, he inclined his head slightly, leaned closer to the monstrous administrator, and lowered his voice: “Dean, simply graduating would be far too easy for me. To be completely honest, I’m quite concerned about the senior class’s overall performance on the Gaokao this year. If you can trust me… why not let me take over Teacher Zhang’s classes and teach a few more sessions for the seniors? Consider it my humble way of contributing to the school. What do you think?”

The Dean hadn’t anticipated that this was Qin Fu’an’s true objective.

Frowning, he opened his mouth to object, only to find himself unexpectedly drawn into those deep, eerie green pupils once more.

His expression turned blank for a heartbeat. The Dean nodded in a daze, a note of groggy struggle weaving through his voice: “Alright. I trust you. I’ll take this up with the Principal shortly.”

“Much obliged, Dean. Rest assured, I won’t let you down.” Qin Fu’an arched an amused brow, watching the Dean’s massive bulk turn and shuffle slowly, heavily down the corridor until it disappeared around the corner.

Letting his hands drop, he turned around, only to meet a pair of icy, scrutinizing eyes watching him through the classroom window.

Seeing his little deskmate looking so cold and distant, Qin Fu’an raised his eyebrows. Leaning forward over the sill, he propped himself up with one hand while extending his open palm toward the boy with the other.

Xie Yunhuai: “?”

Under his bewildered gaze, Qin Fu’an twitched his hand, a half-smile playing across his lips. “Student Xie, give me back my candy.”

It was no exaggeration to say that the moment those words registered, Xie Yunhuai’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He lost all his cool detachment, his voice tightening slightly: “Didn’t you buy that for me?”

“I did. But your picky eating seems to have cured itself, so my candy has outlived its purpose.”

Spinning his absurd lie with utter nonchalance, Qin Fu’an thrust his hand closer to Xie Yunhuai’s face, demanding his debt with easy insolence: “Hand it over. I know you haven’t eaten it yet. As it happens, I’m in the mood for a taste myself.”

Hearing this, the words “I already ate it” died right in Xie Yunhuai’s throat.

His face darkened a few shades further, the fingers hanging at his side curling into tight fists. Staring down at the open palm held before him, he fell silent for a long beat before delivering the cold, unvarnished truth: “I threw the candy away.”

Hounded into a corner, his pale, delicate face flushed with a faint bloom of mortified vexation. Xie Yunhuai met Qin Fu’an’s gaze and said earnestly, “If you want some, I’ll go buy you another right now.”

Qin Fu’an caught every bit of his embarrassment and prickliness.

He could even see Xie Yunhuai’s colossal, sky-blotting dark soul shuddering along with his mood, its ragged edges curling inward.

If one ignored its terrifying proportions, truth be told, it looked rather endearing.

The next second, the open palm hovering before Xie Yunhuai flipped over. Before the boy could react, Qin Fu’an reached out and gave his head a light, unexpected pat.

Xie Yunhuai froze beneath the touch.

He whipped his head up, glaring at the retracting hand.

The corners of his eyes flushed a faint pink, but the glare inside them was pure, unadulterated murderous intent.

Qin Fu’an paused his hand mid-air, cutting in before Xie Yunhuai could lash out: “You threw away my candy.”

The killing intent in Xie Yunhuai’s eyes sputtered.

Qin Fu’an drove it home: “I went out of my way to buy that.”

Xie Yunhuai: “…”

He stood up, intending to march straight to the cafeteria and buy a hundred candies to dump over this man’s head.

Except his path was blocked.

“Out of my way,” Xie Yunhuai said, scowling.

Qin Fu’an pointed toward the wall clock above the blackboard. “Three minutes until class. Going out now isn’t buying candy; it’s a death wish.”

“…” Xie Yunhuai sucked in a sharp breath. His chest brimmed with furious retorts, but he couldn’t find a single way to throw them at Qin Fu’an.

Qin Fu’an gave him no chance to speak anyway. Catching the boy by the wrist, he hauled him straight back toward their seats.

“I actually saw you toss it,” he remarked breezily as they walked. “If you don’t like sweets, forget it. I’ll get you something else next time. Whatever you don’t want to eat, don’t throw it out—just stuff it in my desk and I’ll finish it.”

It wasn’t until they reached their desks that Qin Fu’an released his wrist.

Though Xie Yunhuai knew he was technically in the wrong, hearing this patronizing nonsense still prompted him to snap back, “We’re just classmates.”

“Shouldn’t classmates look out for each other?” Qin Fu’an tilted his head with an innocent shrug. “Besides, we’re deskmates. We ought to be closer than ordinary classmates to begin with.”

Xie Yunhuai: “…”

He was struck by a profound wave of helplessness.

When dealing with someone like Qin Fu’an, he really should have kept his distance right from the very start.

Pulling out his chair, Xie Yunhuai sat down, flipping open the textbook needed for the next period.

With two minutes left before class, Qin Fu’an’s presence made those brief hundred and twenty seconds feel excruciatingly long.

Fortunately, someone seized the gap to approach.

“H-hello…” Nan Zhu stood before Qin Fu’an, far more timid and deferential than before. She looked at him as though beholding an unfathomable, hidden heavyweight.

Weighing her words carefully in her mind once more, she finally ventured, “You’re a player too, aren’t you?”

When she asked, Qin Fu’an glanced sideways and noticed his deskmate showed no hint of confusion or surprise at the term. It became clear that this was an innate mechanism of the game instance—which explained why the players had discussed rules so openly after the first class.

Seeing no reason to hide it, Qin Fu’an gave a brief nod, confirming her suspicion.

That single nod brought a visible, collective sigh of relief from Nan Zhu and the players watching anxiously behind her. A warm smile broke across Nan Zhu’s face as she spoke deferentially: “That’s wonderful! Boss, if there’s anything you need our help with moving forward, please don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t drag you down!”

It was a veiled yet completely transparent plea for protection.

Yet she struck the right balance in tone and delivery, never crossing into annoyance.

Having spoken her piece, Nan Zhu respectfully set down a portion of the supplies she had purchased prior to the instance onto Qin Fu’an’s desk.

Whether he needed them or not, she had laid her sincerity bare.

To her immense relief, Qin Fu’an made no move to decline her words or the offering.

Nan Zhu managed her timing impeccably; the warning bell for class chimed just as she slipped back into her seat.

Looking down at the items spread across his desk, Qin Fu’an found his interest in this so-called instance game piqued a little more.

A pen, two bottles of eye drops, a roll of quick-clot bandages, and a chocolate bar capable of instantly replenishing one’s hunger meter.

Qin Fu’an reckoned Nan Zhu had emptied out at least half of her personal inventory, considering she had only cleared two beginner runs so far.

Once the bell faded, Qin Fu’an intended to sweep the supplies into his desk drawer.

Out of the corner of his eye, however, he caught a curious, probing look from his neighbor.

Qin Fu’an’s hand paused. Then, before the teacher could cross the threshold, he swiftly tore open the chocolate wrapper, snapped off a small corner, and popped it right into his completely unguarded deskmate’s mouth.

Xie Yunhuai blinked blankly, his tongue instinctively pressing against the morsel shoved between his lips. A fleeting bitterness brushed his palate, instantly chased by a rich, velvety sweetness.

Keeping his lips firmly sealed over the chocolate, he turned to stare at Qin Fu’an.

Meeting his bewildered gaze, Qin Fu’an waved the remaining chocolate bar and slid it right into Xie Yunhuai’s desk compartment.

“Remember what I told you?” Qin Fu’an inclined his chin toward Nan Zhu’s upright back, his brows lifting playfully. “If this ends up in the trash can too, you’ll have to go buy another from her to pay me back.”

Xie Yunhuai followed the line of his finger, then swiftly pulled his eyes away.

He rarely ate such snacks.

To be precise, none of the students in Spook High had ever bought snacks from the cafeteria.

In his memory, across all the endless time he had been trapped in this high school, this was the very first time Xie Yunhuai had tasted a sweet confection.

It was precisely because he had never experienced it that he hadn’t discarded the lollipop the moment Qin Fu’an slipped it into his pocket earlier.

Had he never tasted sweetness, it wouldn’t have mattered. But now, he had been forced to taste it.

Rich chocolate melted across his tongue, the decadent, silky sweetness sweeping into every corner of his mouth…

It was only a small square, dissolving into nothingness far too quickly.

For once, Xie Yunhuai felt a pang of regret at how fleeting the sensation was. Yet the memory of the full bar Qin Fu’an had tucked into his desk surfaced almost instantly, washing away that flicker of loss before it could take root, leaving only lingering pleasure in its wake.

By the time the lingering flavor dissipated, Xie Yunhuai realized he had completely lost track of what the teacher at the front was lecturing on.

He furrowed his brows in annoyance, gripping his pen tightly in an effort to focus. Yet his mind felt entirely coated in melted, velvety chocolate, utterly incapable of locking back onto the lesson.

Qin Fu’an didn’t disrupt this period. There was no need to; no matter how much bizarre, gruesome lore the teacher on the podium droned on about, the homework wouldn’t pose any challenge to him.

Instead, what Qin Fu’an looked forward to far more was the lunch and midday break that followed.

That window of time was bound to be the “safe period” granted by this game instance for players to uncover rules and piece together the background lore, wasn’t it?

Carrying this keen anticipation for the unknown, Qin Fu’an finally heard the bell ring for dismissal.

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