The delicate little box lid opened, and a mist-like wisp of smoke drifted out from the crystal container.
"Through vast reed marshes, I lose my way; autumn frost dampens my robes. Lost? Adrift? At the heart of shimmering ripples, the waters once reflected the girl I loved.
—Congratulations, host, for drawing 'The Fair Maiden, by the Water's Edge.' This is a temperament enhancement, granting you the ethereal poetic aura of reeds and morning dew. It will activate when specific conditions are met."
The wisp of smoke drifted lazily toward Ye Qianying's hem but dissipated just before touching her, like a wistful old dream.
Shrouded in the haze, Ye Qianying's expression flickered with momentary distraction.
When she refocused, she was met with the stern, aged face of Teacher Zhong.
"Congratulations on scoring full marks," Teacher Zhong nodded at her, his voice hoarse but unmistakably pleased. "Keep up the good work in the future, understand?"
Ye Qianying nodded.
She still held the small crystal box in her hands. The scene of her drawing the prize must have been visible to both proctors, yet neither showed any sign of surprise.
Then again, Teacher Zhong had already grown accustomed to Ye Qianying’s abrupt appearances—why would this be any different?
There was one thing Ye Qianying had never mentioned—she had searched for Teacher Zhong’s name in the real world.
Given the old teacher’s dedication and skill, if he existed outside this simulation, he would undoubtedly be a revered and well-known educator. His surname was uncommon enough that a simple search should have turned up results.
Yet, disappointingly, she found nothing.
He was likely a construct of the system, existing solely within this virtual space.
Teacher Zhong had once mentioned that all the other students had already taken their middle school exams—only Ye Qianying remained. Judging by his words, he was probably the homeroom teacher of this classroom, and she was simply assigned as his student.
Soon, Ye Qianying would begin a series of high school-level tasks, but Teacher Zhong was only a middle school instructor.
In other words, their relationship—this unique bond of proctoring and tutoring—would soon come to an end.
What a shame. She hadn’t even had the chance to give him a gift.
"Thank you for your guidance and care during this time," Ye Qianying said sincerely. "You’re an exceptional teacher, and I’m honored to have learned from you. It’s a pity our time together was so brief."
"If circumstances allow, I’ll visit you again and seek your advice."
Teacher Zhong didn’t respond at first. Instead, he removed his thick-framed reading glasses and polished them meticulously.
Perhaps, after decades of weathering farewells, he had long grown accustomed to the comings and goings of students.
The other proctor, a male teacher, couldn’t help but chuckle at her words.
"Hahaha, this kid’s really something. Alright, make sure you come back to visit Teacher Zhong, don’t forget… Pfft—Teacher Zhong, look at this girl…"
Finally, the old teacher settled his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and sighed at Ye Qianying as if she were a headache.
"Silly girl."
Ye Qianying: "…"
"Go on, do what you need to do," Teacher Zhong waved her off. "Keep studying hard."
Baffled by his parting remark, Ye Qianying ultimately chose to log out, leaving the virtual space behind.
Once outside the simulated classroom, she took a moment to steady her wistful mood.
"System," she called. "Show me my current stats."
She had two recovery progress bars to fill—one for her appearance, the other for her legs. From the moment she received the mission, she had decided to prioritize restoring her face first.
After all, if mobility remained an issue, she could still rely on a wheelchair. But she couldn’t keep wearing a veil forever.
The system projected a screen before her, displaying three simple lines:
[Host’s Appearance Recovery Progress: 5.39%]
[Host’s Leg Recovery Progress: 0%]
[Host’s Current Points: 11,150]
Her appearance had already recovered by over five percent.
Ye Qianying wheeled herself to the dressing mirror.
After the accident, her family had wanted to remove all mirrors from the house. It was only after her vehement protests—and her relatively stable emotional state—that they relented.
Still, the full-length mirror in her walk-in closet had been shrouded in heavy drapes by the housekeeper.
Ye Qianying reached behind her head, unfastening the three hidden clasps of her veil. As her fingers grasped the pale gray fabric covering the mirror, they trembled faintly with anticipation.
With a swift motion, she flung the drapes aside. The thick, soft material pooled on the floor like spilled water, revealing her reflection in the wide mirror—seated in her wheelchair.
Slowly, she leaned closer.
The face staring back at her had been ravaged beyond recognition, beyond even the most advanced medical repair.
To put it bluntly, her current appearance could frighten a child.
But something had changed.
Ye Qianying adjusted her angle under the light, comparing carefully before finally confirming it.
It was different now.
Before, most of her face had been a landscape of uneven burn scars. Now, much of that roughness had smoothed out.
There had also been faint, scattered scars on her eyelids—ones barely noticeable before.
But now, even when she pressed nearly nose-to-nose with the mirror, squinting under the light, she could only make out the faintest trace of a line, proof that an injury had once been there.
Gazing at her reflection, her resolve hardened:
If she kept studying, her face—and her legs—would heal.
She exhaled deeply, bent down to gather the fallen drapes, folded them, and set them aside.
They weren’t needed anymore. From now on, the mirror would stay uncovered.
As if sensing her mood, the system waited until she wheeled out of the closet, leaving the mirror behind, before softly calling her attention.
"Host, your cumulative points have exceeded 10,000, and you’ve completed a main storyline task. Since both conditions are met, you may now unlock the 'Study Space' feature."
Ye Qianying paused. "Then unlock it. But… wasn’t the simulated exam already a study space?"
This time, even through the system’s synthesized voice, she could hear its wry amusement.
"Host, the exam simulation system is only open for exam functions... Although you've managed to uncover its tutoring feature, that's not its primary purpose. It's like using an electric kettle to cook instant noodles—its main function is to boil water, but if you insist on using it otherwise, the manufacturer can't stop you."
Ye Qianying nodded thoughtfully, mulling over the system's words, before a flicker of suspicion crossed her eyes.
"You seem unusually lively today?"
The system didn’t shy away from the question: "As your cumulative historical points gradually increase, my level of intelligence progressively unlocks as well."
Ye Qianying accepted this explanation but quickly followed up with another question.
"You mentioned 'cumulative historical points,' but I remember you just showed me my current points balance."
"Correct. Even if you've spent your points, the total you've ever earned remains recorded. By the way, Host, your cumulative historical points are 11,184. As payment for accessing the temporal archive, you’ll be charged 1 point daily as rent until the 'ten-year' time limit concludes."
One point per day?
Ye Qianying blinked, finding the amount almost charitable in its generosity.
"After all, the system exists to encourage your studies, not to drain your life away," the system replied right on cue.
Ye Qianying: "..."
She realized that since gaining higher intelligence, the study system had become noticeably sharper in its remarks.
After reflecting on the system’s newfound personality, Ye Qianying began exploring the functions of the study space. Steering her consciousness into it, she quickly noticed how different it was from the previous exam simulation.
—Setting aside its purpose and marvels, just in appearance alone, the study space resembled a vast library.
The decor wasn’t lavish but carried an understated elegance. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched endlessly, enough to drown a book lover in sheer delight.
Even Ye Qianying felt a surge of excitement at the sight of this grand library. The first thought that crossed her mind was a famous quote: "If there is a paradise on earth, it must take the form of a library."
Here, in this study space, she had an unblemished face, healthy legs that could run and jump, and access to countless books... It truly was a slice of heaven.
A computer sat on the library’s front desk, resembling an administrator’s operating system. Ye Qianying approached and fiddled with it, trying her name as the login password—and to her surprise, it worked.
The study system chimed in: "This is your study space. Of course, you have full access."
Once booted up, the computer displayed a simple interface with only three options: "Search," "Records," and "Tutoring."
"Tutoring is available too?"
Muttering to herself, Ye Qianying tentatively tapped the option.
Several subcategories popped up, and she selected "Mathematics."
About ten seconds later, an elderly man strode confidently through the library’s entrance. He wore an outdated pullover shirt, thick-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose, and carried a thermos filled with chrysanthemum tea.
The moment she recognized his face, Ye Qianying straightened in shock. "Teacher Zhong? How is it you?"
"Silly child," the old teacher said as he approached, setting down his thermos and giving her an exasperated look. "I’ve always taught high school—I was just assigned to proctor your exam. During major exams, teachers from across the city are reassigned as proctors. It has nothing to do with which grade I teach."
Ye Qianying: "..."
Unwilling to let it go, she pressed further, "Then what about you saying all my classmates had graduated...?"
A kindly glint flashed in Teacher Zhong’s eyes. "You even forgot to write your name—how careless can you be? I just wanted to give you a scare."
Ye Qianying: "..."
Who knew you had such a playful side, old man.
Now she understood why the male teacher had laughed so oddly before she logged out of the exam simulation.
To think she’d told her future homeroom teacher for the next three years, "Goodbye, Teacher, I’ll miss you"—no wonder she’d be in for a rude awakening when school started.
