The Cubs Can’t Possibly Be This Well-Behaved! – CH25

Chapter 25

Su Ci placed Number One on the sofa beside him.

“Grow… grow… grow grow grow…”

The soil can on the coffee table continued to emit its persistent growth signals, though the enthusiasm in its “voice” had noticeably waned.

Su Ci picked up the water glass from the table and poured a bit of the faintly infused spiritual water over the soil.

Without a special container, the spiritual energy in the water would dissipate quickly. Fortunately, with the purification arrays in place, Su Ci now had an abundant supply of such water.

“Oh ya!”

The previously listless voice from the spiritual seed immediately perked up.

“Grow—grow—grow grow grow—”

The lively sound of the little spirit seed filled the air, lifting Number One’s mood as he listened.

Snap!

Su Ci snapped his fingers, drawing the boy’s attention back.

Number One immediately turned his gaze away from the soil can and sat up straight, looking at Su Ci with a serious and attentive expression.

Su Ci didn’t start teaching right away. Instead, he began with a question to gauge the boy’s foundational knowledge.

“Do you know how to read?”

Arrays often incorporated written characters—human cultivation arrays, in particular, were derived from text. Without an understanding of written language, mastering arrays would be exceedingly difficult.

Number One nodded.

Though he appeared young, he had been at the base for quite a long time—at least ten years. From the very beginning, he could read and understand the characters used here.

Su Ci observed the boy carefully. Seeing the seriousness in his expression without any hint of deception, Su Ci rummaged through his spatial button, eventually producing a notebook and a pen.

Although Su Ci had previously written with a brush during his time among humans, this was his first time using a ballpoint pen. Fortunately, his muscle memory made it easy for him to adjust. With smooth strokes, he neatly wrote his name on the paper.

Su Ci.

He glanced at the name briefly before swiping a finger across it. The ink disappeared without a trace, leaving the page pristine and blank, as if it had never been touched.

“Here,” Su Ci said, handing the pen to Number One and gesturing to the paper. “Like I just did—write your true name here.”

Number One blinked, clutching the pen in his hand. His expression turned hesitant. While he knew how to read, he had never actually written before. In his long time at the base, he had rarely interacted with physical objects, and this was the first time he had been given the chance.

A moment ago, he had seen Su Ci write his name. The characters were beautifully written—Su Ci.

Number One had recognized those two characters before, but seeing them written so carefully by Su Ci, they seemed to carry a kind of magic.

Just looking at them brought Su Ci’s image to mind.

What a shame they were erased so quickly…

Lost in thought, Number One stared at the paper for a while. Su Ci, ever patient, simply waited for him to process his emotions.

Finally, Number One lifted the pen and, mimicking Su Ci’s deliberate movements, began to carefully write on the paper.

But what surprised him—and even startled Su Ci—was that instead of writing “Number One,” the characters he wrote were:

Zhou Yan.

“Zhou Yan?” Su Ci read aloud, his expression contemplative.

Number One, meanwhile, stared blankly at the unfamiliar characters, his eyes wide and unblinking.

He recognized how to read the name and understood its meaning. Yet when the characters appeared on the page, they felt utterly foreign.

At the same time, he had an inexplicable, instinctive understanding—this was his name.

Zhou Yan. That’s my name!

Seeing the boy’s puzzled and astonished expression, Su Ci chuckled softly. “You didn’t know before, did you?”

Number One shook his head, realizing belatedly that he now had a name.

“A designation is never a true name.”

Su Ci looked down at the characters on the page. A true name wasn’t something given by parents or others at birth. It was a symbol that existed innately with every life, a representation of their essence within the universe.

Few people ever discovered their true name. Some cultivators spent their entire lives searching for it, only to die without unlocking this key to advancing further in their path.

In that regard, this boy was already ahead of the curve.

Listening to Su Ci, Number One’s expression turned curious and bewildered.

If I didn’t know my name before, how was I able to write it now?

Suddenly, a thought struck him. He turned to Su Ci, his gaze filled with wonder and disbelief.

He remembered Su Ci’s words just before he wrote his name:

“Like I just did—write your true name here.”

Language manipulation.

Wasn’t that Number Five’s ability?

However…

Number One quickly masked his initial surprise as he recalled Su Ci using a purification-like ability in Number Eight’s room—similar to what Gu Qingchen had done.

So, Su Ci’s ability wasn’t purification—it was… replication?

Wow, that’s such a cool ability!

Number One’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the name written on the paper.

Unbeknownst to him, from the moment he discovered his true name, his eyes seemed brighter, more spirited. Even his pale, gaunt face gained a faint, healthy flush visible to the naked eye.

Su Ci’s gaze remained fixed on the paper.

The name wasn’t written in the characters commonly used by modern humans. Besides Su Ci and Number One himself, no one else in this world would likely understand these characters.

Writing one’s true name—especially in such ancient script—proved that Number One’s innate talent was exceptional. This child was no ordinary spirit.

Suppressing his curiosity, Su Ci took the pen from Number One’s hand and drew a line through the first character, “Zhou”. As the pen moved, the character vanished from the page as if it had never been written.

“From now on, I’ll call you A-Yan,” Su Ci said.

The boy looked at him, then at the remaining character, “Yan”, on the paper. As Su Ci uttered the name, A-Yan felt something stir deep inside him, as if a long-untouched corner of his heart had been awakened.

Finally, he tilted his head up, his gaze serious as he looked at Su Ci.

There was no need for words; Su Ci understood his meaning.

“A-Yan,” Su Ci called softly.

The boy’s black-red eyes glowed with the light of a kindled soul, its fire burning even brighter than before.

“Mm!”

A-Yan responded enthusiastically.

From this moment, his name was A-Yan. It was the name given to him by the caretaker—by Su Ci—and he loved it.

Seeing the boy’s delighted expression, Su Ci found him even more endearing. Unable to resist, he reached out to ruffle A-Yan’s hair again before returning to the matter at hand.

He picked up the pen and erased the remaining “Yan” character from the page, then began explaining the basics of array formations.

“It’s said that when the universe was first born, dozens of strange symbols appeared within the heavens and earth. These symbols, known as heavenly script, were considered the manifestations of natural law and later referred to as divine script.

“Array formations were derived by humans through calculations and insights from seven preserved divine scripts.”

For this reason, humans often referred to themselves as the spirit of all things, and not without justification—there were indeed great minds within this race.

As the spirit of this land, Su Ci had learned much from humans in his early days, and array formations were one of those learnings.

A-Yan listened attentively, nodding now and then, though he didn’t entirely grasp the concepts.

Heavenly script—an incredibly powerful language that can create formations!

The caretaker must be amazing to master formations like this!

Noticing the growing awe in the boy’s wide, sparkling eyes, Su Ci coughed lightly and transitioned to the next step. After the brief introduction, he began teaching A-Yan how to write the first divine script.

As the oldest being on this land, Su Ci had received the most orthodox education and training. Naturally, his expectations for his student were high.

While he could have simply taught A-Yan the purification array, teaching without understanding the principles would be akin to uprooting a sapling to force its growth.

If A-Yan was to create and modify arrays as effortlessly as Su Ci, he needed to build his knowledge from the very basics.

Su Ci hoped A-Yan would genuinely master array formations. Only then could he become a powerful and dependable ally in the future.

With careful precision, Su Ci wrote the first heavenly script onto the notebook. However, he deliberately refrained from explaining its meaning.

Heavenly script could not be explained or defined.

Each cultivator who managed to comprehend it would derive their own unique insights and understanding. Imposing a teacher’s interpretation onto a student would only stifle their spiritual potential.

While fast-tracking A-Yan’s learning might make him a capable assistant sooner, over time, such an approach would rob him of his individuality, reducing him to mediocrity.

Su Ci found such a prospect wasteful and had no intention of taking shortcuts.

Once A-Yan committed all seven divine scripts to memory, he would be considered ready to formally study array formations.

Unaware of Su Ci’s plans, A-Yan focused intently on the caretaker’s pen movements, trying his best to memorize the symbol being taught.

However, he quickly realized that despite Su Ci teaching him only one character, he couldn’t seem to remember it.

Every time he opened the notebook, it felt as though he had understood the character. But the moment he closed it and tried to recall, his mind went blank.

The character that Su Ci had written—the shape, the form—it all vanished from his memory. At most, he could faintly recall the motion of Su Ci’s pen as it traced the lines.

Glancing up at Su Ci’s calm and gentle expression, A-Yan felt a little less anxious.

With renewed determination, he reopened the notebook and focused with all his might, more earnestly than ever before.

I can’t let the caretaker down!

Even if he wasn’t naturally quick, A-Yan resolved to practice as much as it took. He would work harder than anyone else.

Su Ci observed the boy’s seriousness, a faint hint of satisfaction flickering in his gaze.

After all, this was the heavenly script. Ordinary people would struggle not just to comprehend it but even to endure the mental strain of observing it for the first time.

Let alone memorizing it.

Even with A-Yan’s extraordinary talent, mastering it on the first attempt was impossible.

Su Ci recalled from the past that among human array masters, anyone who could learn their first divine script within a month was already considered a prodigy.

But humans were different.

As a spirit, A-Yan’s potential allowed Su Ci to hold him to higher standards.

Half a month should suffice, Su Ci thought.

If A-Yan could grasp the first divine script within two weeks, they could progress to the next lesson. Such a pace seemed reasonable to Su Ci.

After handing the notebook and pen to A-Yan, Su Ci instructed him to stay in the living room and practice. He was about to head out for a stroll when a clear, youthful voice echoed in the room:

“You have an incoming video call from your contact—Song Zehe. Would you like to answer?”