Chapter 110
A new cub?
Su Ci was slightly surprised. Given the current state of Prison Star, it didn’t seem like an ideal time to take in more cubs.
Perhaps aware of this concern, Guo Hui quickly followed up with another message.
[Admin Office – Guo Hui]: The new cub departed several months ago and has already been traveling aboard the spaceship for quite some time. Sending her back now would not be ideal.
Long interstellar voyages are exhausting, even for adults, let alone cubs. Returning her along the same route could cause significant psychological harm.
Moreover, even if sent back, it’s unlikely the original welfare institution would be willing to take her in again.
[Admin Office – Guo Hui]: I’ll compile her information and send it to you shortly. Please prepare yourself.
[Admin Office – Guo Hui]: Oh, and Caretaker Su, the inspector asked me to remind you that the growth records for your cubs haven’t been uploaded. This is an important part of your assessment, so please take it seriously.
Su Ci raised an eyebrow. The inspector?
[Admin Office – Guo Hui]: The inspector is currently on extended leave but will return before your probation ends. During his leave, he will periodically review your work status remotely. Please be advised.
The fact that Su Ci had lasted this long was already beyond anyone’s expectations at the administrative office.
Not only had he broken the so-called “one-week curse” for caretakers, but there had also been no breakdowns of the nanny robots under his watch.
Although new nanny robots were in the process of being requisitioned, the staggering number of robots scrapped annually at Base 24 had drawn criticism from the Star Alliance, making approvals increasingly difficult.
While they would likely receive new robots eventually, the process had become frustratingly slow, much to the administration’s dismay.
Now, however, it seemed they finally saw a glimmer of hope.
Wanting to ease the pressure on Su Ci, Guo Hui sent another message.
[Admin Office – Guo Hui]: Don’t be too nervous. We genuinely hope you’ll pass your probation, but you understand that certain procedures must be followed.
In other words, Su Ci just needed to fulfill the basic requirements to keep the process moving smoothly.
Su Ci stroked his chin thoughtfully, then turned to A-Yan across from him and asked, “Have you been keeping up with the growth journal I asked you to write?”
A-Yan nodded and replied via his communicator, “Su Su, do you want to check it?”
He pulled out the notebook from his space button, but Su Ci shook his head. “Take pictures of it with your communicator and send them to me. Make sure the other cubs start doing theirs as well.”
To Su Ci, growth journals were meaningful only if the cubs wrote them themselves.
A-Yan tilted his head. “But they don’t know how to write, do they?”
Lu Jiao might be an exception, but the literacy rate among the other cubs was abysmally low.
“That’s exactly why this is the right time for them to learn,” Su Ci replied.
For their future development, basic education was non-negotiable. Moreover, Su Ci had already found an excellent teacher for them.
*
At 2 PM, after the cubs finished their naps and Little Li Hua had finally completed her punishment of copying text all night and day, she and her brother left their room to play on the greenfield.
But before they could start, they heard Su Ci announce their new schedule:
“From now on, you’ll spend at least one hour every day learning to read and write. There will be a 20-minute break in between.”
Hearing this, Little Li Hua, who had just finished her punishment, turned pale.
“Do… do we have to?” she asked, her voice trembling as her lips quivered. Her large round eyes filled with tears, making her look pitiful.
But Su Ci didn’t soften.
“Yes,” Su Ci replied. “Except for A-Yan, who has already mastered all the characters, each of you must learn.”
His gaze swept over the cubs. Though his expression remained calm and gentle, every cub he looked at couldn’t help but feel a chill run down their spine. Even the Crimson Flame Tiger cub, crouched nearby, instinctively puffed up its fur, its tail stiffening.
However…
The little tiger’s eyes held a hint of confusion. Does this mean I have to learn too?
Among all the cubs, the happiest was Lu Jiao. In the silence that followed, he was the only one who eagerly raised his hand.
When Su Ci nodded at him, he asked, “Su Su, are you going to teach us to write? Or will it be Brother A-Yan?”
The boy’s eyes sparkled with excitement, filled with a thirst for knowledge.
But Su Ci shook his head. “Neither. A-Yan has his own assignments to complete.”
As for himself, he simply didn’t have the time—or more importantly, the patience.
“Xiao Zhi,” Su Ci called.
The base AI’s interface appeared before the cubs, projecting a light screen.
Su Ci continued, “From now on, Xiao Zhi will be your writing instructor, providing one-on-one lessons.”
The communication devices used a privacy mode that could block conversations from being overheard. Naturally, this technology was well within the capabilities of the base AI.
This way, even if all the cubs attended lessons together, each could receive personalized instruction without interfering with one another.
As for letting the children return to their rooms to study, Su Ci had considered it. However, being confined in a closed environment wasn’t conducive to their emotional stability.
For most of the cubs, studying wasn’t exactly an enjoyable activity. If there were additional sources of emotional stress in their environment, it could easily lead to incidents.
On the other hand, studying outdoors—especially near the greenfield—was entirely different.
The greenery naturally helped soothe emotions, and with the spiritual energy released by the small spirit sprouts, the cubs would find it easier to maintain focus and absorb what they learned.
Moreover…
Su Ci’s gaze shifted to the star chain fruit vines that had undergone the Spring from Deadwood technique. Among all the plants, they were growing the fastest, their vines nearly covering the majority of the rope net.
Judging by the energy fluctuations coming from them, it wouldn’t be long before a few new spiritual plants appeared in the nursery.
At that point, the demand for fertilizer would increase exponentially. However, given the star chain fruit roots’ natural nutrient-enriching properties and Cen Liang’s willingness to provide fertilizer, it shouldn’t be a major issue.
Satisfied with this thought, Su Ci turned his attention back to the cubs.
He continued, “In addition to learning to write, you’ll also need to complete a daily journal before bedtime. Each day, you’ll record your growth.”
Hearing this, even Lu Jiao looked confused.
A journal? What’s that?
Little Lang Ze couldn’t hold back and raised his hand. After Su Ci nodded, he asked, “How do we write this journal?”
“Write about what you did during the day and what you learned or felt. If you’re unsure how to start, you can ask Xiao Zhi,” Su Ci explained. “Xiao Zhi will collect your journals and send them to me for review.”
Hearing that Su Ci would personally review the journals, the little wolf cub, who had been planning to slack off, suddenly felt his heart skip a beat. The other cubs exchanged uneasy glances.
At that moment, Rong Heng also raised his hand, following Lu Jiao’s example. After Su Ci acknowledged him, he asked, “But we don’t know many words yet. What should we do?”
Su Ci repeated the same answer: “Ask Xiao Zhi.”
The base AI: “…”
Handling multiple queries simultaneously was part of its core functionality, but no one had ever thought of using the base AI for teaching at the nursery.
Understandably, there were no child-focused educational programs in Base 24’s system. The AI had to urgently download resources from the interstellar network and attempt to run them on short notice.
And to make matters worse, Su Ci demanded one-on-one tutoring, tailored instruction, and seven different teaching modes to suit each cub’s personality, intelligence, and learning pace.
While the base AI didn’t have a physical body, it could almost feel its core overheating.
But what choice did it have? With Su Ci holding the highest authority in the base, the AI could only comply with his commands.
Even as Su Ci spoke with the cubs, the base AI was dedicating all available processing power to developing and refining the seven unique teaching plans. Its core grew hotter by the second.
Fortunately, aside from Number One, all the nursery’s cubs had daily activity data logged. These records, designed for easy retrieval by researchers and to assist caretakers, had already been processed and analyzed to some extent.
In the end, the base AI managed to draft seven preliminary teaching plans just in time for Su Ci to announce the start of the first lesson.
As for the ninth cub still en route, her plan would be devised upon her arrival.
Before the class began, 4586 had thoughtfully arranged desks and chairs on the nearby open space for all the cubs—even the little Crimson Flame Tiger received a desk.
However, Ran Lie stared at the desk in front of him, his tiger eyes filled with hesitation and unspoken frustration. As a tiger, did he really need a desk to learn writing alongside the others?
“Alright, focus on your lessons,” Su Ci said before leaving, fully entrusting the class to the AI and happily assuming the role of a hands-off supervisor.
Watching Su Ci’s departing figure, Ran Lie could only take a deep breath and silently recite the mantra from his Buddhist cultivation technique. Surprisingly, the mantra proved effective—he felt his turbulent thoughts calm down halfway through.
“Little Lie-Lie, please open your eyes,” came a cheerful voice.
Ran Lie’s composure broke instantly as his tiger eyes widened in shock.
Lie-Lie was bad enough—now I’m being called little?!
He opened his mouth to protest, only to remember he could currently only meow. Glancing at the other cubs, he swallowed his indignation and clamped his mouth shut.
For Ran Lie, the base AI simulated 4586’s playful and cutesy tone.
“Very good, Little Lie-Lie. Please focus your gaze on the light screen, and let’s begin the first segment of today’s lesson,” the voice continued. “This segment will last 40 minutes, followed by a 10-minute break.”
Ran Lie glowered but eventually glanced up at the light screen—and froze. His attention immediately sharpened.
Displayed on the screen was the mantra Su Ci had previously written for him.
The handwriting was clearly Su Ci’s, and the screen zoomed in on the first character, enlarging it in the center while minimizing the rest of the text to the top-right corner.
“As we can see, this is a classic ancient Chinese character…”
The AI began explaining the character’s pronunciation, how to write it, and most importantly, its meaning and extended significance.
Next, it introduced the corresponding universal language character, teaching its pronunciation and writing method as well.
Just from this one character, the lesson branched into countless related concepts, accompanied by images and videos. For Ran Lie, who had limited exposure to the world outside, the session was utterly captivating.
This was no longer merely a writing lesson but a window into understanding the greater world. By the time he mastered the character, the knowledge he gained would far exceed just that single word.
Even the little tiger was engrossed and eager to learn, let alone the others.
The base AI tailored its teaching plans to each cub. For Rong Heng, the young lion, the plan closely resembled Ran Lie’s: using the mantra as an entry point for literacy lessons, which alone could keep them busy for quite some time.
For Little Li Hua, who loved flowers and painting, the lessons were built around famous flowers and artworks. Lu Jiao required no special adjustments—he was ready to follow the basic interstellar curriculum for young cubs, progressing naturally from simple to advanced material.
Little Lang Ze’s plan was even simpler: displaying pictures of food on the screen kept him glued to it for hours. The only challenge was periodically reminding him to wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth.
The sixth cub, the little monkey, was still in a deep sleep due to soul repair, so he required no immediate attention. The real challenge, however, was the third cub, Zheng Xing.
Based on the base AI’s records, Zheng Xing rarely showed interest in anything other than clutching his metal ball.
Furthermore, since he was visually impaired, the AI questioned whether teaching him to read was even meaningful.
This newfound tendency to reflect—thanks to the additional workloads Su Ci had imposed—prompted the AI to consider these questions seriously. However, it didn’t let these doubts stop it from diligently completing the tasks Su Ci had assigned.
A light screen appeared in front of Zheng Xing, and the AI presented a series of mechanical concepts and began narrating them.
Initially, Zheng Xing sat with the other cubs, his head down as he played with his metal ball. Slowly, however, his hands stilled, and he began to lift his head.
Although his eyes remained unfocused, his expression turned remarkably intent.
The AI, unusually excited by this breakthrough, prepared to double down on its efforts. However, Zheng Xing suddenly raised a hand and pressed it against the light screen.
This familiar gesture sent the AI’s core processing units into overdrive.
Thankfully, Zheng Xing wasn’t that kind of anomaly.
Instead, he simply absorbed all the content the AI had prepared for him in an instant—though absorption alone wasn’t enough. It would take much more time for the knowledge to be fully internalized.
Afterward, the boy’s energy visibly flagged. The sheer volume of information consumed in such a short period had clearly overtaxed his mental strength.
Unlike a certain abnormality who had directly taken over the entire base AI, seized top-level authority, and saddled it with an ever-growing list of extraneous tasks, Zheng Xing’s similar ability nevertheless triggered the AI’s vigilance. Quietly, it flagged Zheng Xing as a subject for close observation.
Though Zheng Xing had demonstrated comparable abilities with nursery machinery before—such as briefly gaining access to unrestricted room entry during the monster invasion of the nursery—this felt different.
Back then, the base AI hadn’t needed to exercise any “subjective initiative,” after all.
After Zheng Xing grew fatigued, the base AI switched the lecture audio to soothing light music to help him relax.
It wasn’t a problem—he had already outpaced the others significantly and didn’t need to study further for the time being.
In the green field, the plants continued their vigorous growth, climbing the ropes and metal frames, glistening in the afternoon sunlight.
Beside the greenery, the cubs earnestly immersed themselves in their lessons, absorbing knowledge and, at the same time, the nutrients they needed for growth.
This scene, full of vitality, was something the nursery had never witnessed before.
So much so that Luo Shengfei, upon seeing it, was completely stunned. He had come to deliver the refurbished 4583 unit and to discuss the greenhouse with Su Ci.
Apparently, Cen Liang from the plantation center was seriously considering dismantling a greenhouse and sending it to Su Ci!
This idea had initially been a joking suggestion from Luo Shengfei, but it turned out to be feasible. The materials used in the greenhouse were modular, detachable, and self-repairing—perfect for disassembly and reassembly.
After confirming that Cen Liang was serious and since the surveillance equipment mysteriously began working again, Luo Shengfei, with some free time, decided to visit the nursery to determine how large a greenhouse Su Ci might need.
Of course, the main reason was his curiosity about why the plantation center was willing to humor Su Ci’s whims.
Looking at the scene before him, Luo Shengfei quickly understood. He glanced at the cubs diligently studying and then at the lush, thriving plants. His expression was filled with disbelief.
“Caretaker Su, you really are…”
Looking at Su Ci lounging lazily nearby, basking in the sun and eating a sausage, Luo Shengfei was utterly at a loss for words.
He turned his gaze back to the plants, his myriad thoughts condensed into one simple request: “When the fruit ripens, can I have a few? qaq”
Su Ci raised his eyes slightly and said, “Equal exchange only.”
Fine.
Luo Shengfei wasn’t disappointed. Especially when Su Ci mentioned that the fruits would likely be of S+ quality, his gaze toward the star chain fruit vines grew fervent.
Su Ci didn’t seem like someone who would exaggerate. If these fruits truly reached such quality, they would be considered luxury items even outside Prison Star.
Being able to eat them here was akin to manna falling from the heavens.
“Wait!” Luo Shengfei suddenly turned to Su Ci. “The star chain fruit the plantation center distributed before… that wasn’t something you grew, was it?”
“No,” Su Ci shook his head. Though it wasn’t directly from him, it was somewhat related.
Relieved, Luo Shengfei began discussing the greenhouse requirements.
When Su Ci explained his plans to cultivate all the land surrounding the nursery building and utilize the entire vertical space as well, Luo Shengfei couldn’t help but gasp.
“You’re aiming way too high!”
Looking at the lush green plants in the field, Luo Shengfei didn’t know how Su Ci managed it, but he still gave him a thumbs-up.
“You’re better than the folks at the plantation center. Go as big as you want—I’ve got your back!”
Luo Shengfei, ever loyal, began drafting a design based on Su Ci’s requests. Eventually, he decided on a plan to completely encase the nursery building—
Essentially creating a dome-like cover for the entire structure, leaving only openings for passageways.
“The materials for the greenhouse are highly translucent, so indoor lighting won’t be affected,” Luo Shengfei explained. “But… it’s a lot more fragile than metal walls. It probably won’t hold up to much damage.”
If there was a monster invasion, one strike might shatter it.
“No need to worry about that,” Su Ci replied calmly.
Seeing Su Ci’s composure, Luo Shengfei scratched his head. “Alright, then. For this plan, we’d need materials from three or four greenhouses. It depends on whether the plantation center agrees.”
He sat down beside Su Ci, watching the cubs diligently studying nearby, still looking a bit dazed.
In all the time he had been there, the cubs had sat quietly at their desks, fully focused on their lessons. Their obedience was almost unbelievable.
“The kids are doing better and better…” Luo Shengfei couldn’t help but sigh.
At the same time, a twinge of regret filled his heart. “If only you’d come here a few years earlier.”
A few years ago, Prison Star wasn’t as dangerous as it was now. If the kids had shown improvement back then, they might have had a chance to be sent elsewhere as the situation deteriorated.
“Now, Prison Star isn’t fit for anyone to live on…”
Su Ci remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Instead, he looked up at the nursery building and said, “When you have time, come by and install windows in the cubs’ rooms.”
“Windows? You’d need approval for that first.”
“Mm.”
Satisfied, Luo Shengfei didn’t stay long. Shortly after sitting with Su Ci, he received another repair assignment and reluctantly took his leave.
Before leaving, he reminded Su Ci, “Don’t forget—save me a few fruits when they ripen!”
After he left, Su Ci leaned back in his chair and dozed lightly. When he opened his eyes again, the cubs had finished their lessons and were racking their brains to write their growth journals.
Stretching lazily, Su Ci called A-Yan to join him as he headed to the administrative building.
“Su Su, what are we doing?” A-Yan asked.
“Picking up a new cub.”
*
Logistics Building, Ship 245H
“We’re here. Let’s head down,” Shi Yijiang said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and looked at the little girl in the co-pilot seat.
The girl, about six or seven years old, wore a pink frilly dress. Her short, pale-white hair was neatly combed, and her similarly colored long ears hung obediently behind her head.
It was hard to imagine how such a soft, adorable girl ended up being sent to Prison Star’s nursery.
Hearing Shi Yijiang’s words, the girl snapped out of her daze, quickly stood up, and stepped down from the co-pilot seat to follow him out of the cockpit.
“Chirp chirp!”
A sharp bird call suddenly rang out.
The girl turned back, realizing what she’d forgotten. Perched on the co-pilot seat was a small, plump bird that looked more like a decorative ornament. It hopped twice before flapping its wings and flying toward her.
The girl extended her hand, and the round little bird landed squarely in her palm, nuzzling affectionately against her wrist with its tiny beak.
Sensing Shi Yijiang’s gaze, the chubby bird tilted its head at him and innocently struck an adorable pose.
