Funny thing. It’s a stuck‑up noble school with a weird crew. Yet the “other three” Yan Xiaoyi smugly dubbed the Miracle Age aren’t shallow at all. We cut class not from laziness, but because we’ve got work. That high word has nothing to do with youth.

If you really want the backstory, here’s my take. School’s for survival knowledge and basic socializing. But mostly it’s a runway to higher ed, then closer contact with money—vulgar, yet no one refuses it.

On that second point, I disagree. Socializing is a must in girls like Nan Dongye’s mental template. I never thought bonding with classmates who don’t share my interests matters. That’s probably why I click with Baoyu and Xiaoyi. Except for Xu Xian—sunny on the surface, decayed inside—the three of us dive into our own worlds, poking at the essence of things.

I’m exaggerating again. Back to the point: work. Yes, work!

Let’s rewind. If the core goal is already solved at this stage, what’s school for? Me, Xiaoyi, even the flush Baoyu can feed a family without our parents. Strip away optional socializing and human basics. What’s the point of school?

Just my opinion, for reference. Our income doesn’t lose to any college grad. We nailed the perfect fusion of hobby and job. The Miracle Age’s Four Heavenly Kings are all heroes with secret arts. Our personal skill trees pierce the sky.

Chubby self‑styled suave scholar Jia Baoyu writes delicate prose like a demon. A quick Baidu of his pen name shows he’s a forum big shot called Little Qiong Yao. Also… as a side hustle and hobby, he’s a VIP gold smut writer on an adult community. His saucy smut is so filthy it could stain heaven and earth. One glance and a legion of otaku go blissed‑out and run out of ammo.

His golden partner, Yan Qing the rogue, is a famed top‑tier artist on That Site. A casual doodle becomes a vivid R‑18 doujin. His fundamentals are so solid you’d suspect a studio pro. One writes, one illustrates—their chemistry is heaven‑made.

As for Xu Xian—tell me a high school young master who can bed a grown office lady and get her to keep him as a boy toy isn’t talented. Xiaoyi calls him a heretic normie. Baoyu and I worship him, five points to the floor.

Smack!

A crisp thwack cracked on my skull. From the sound and feel, I could tell how thick that stack of mock papers was. And… how bad Nan Dongye’s period cramps were right now.

Anyway, my miserable sleep time ended. If I don’t sleep in my own bed, I dream easily. I dreamed I explained our bros’ skill builds to the audience. Frequent dreaming is bad. You know that nasty state where your body sleeps but your mind sleepwalks. You wake up foggy, like you never slept.

“Homework!” Nan Dongye waved a rolled stack of tests in my face.

It reminded me of Little Fish teasing the landlady’s Siamese with a foxtail weed. Cats love fast‑moving things. They’re easy to bait into spinning, leaping, eyes shut.

Right now, Nan Dongye really took me for a dog. Hands on hips, she shook the papers with that look—afraid of a rabid bite, yet itching to tease me. Like a conductor at a music festival.

“I’ll bite you!”

I played along, drew up both legs, and stood on the chair. I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips into a smile. Vampire‑red lips, stark and scary.

Nan Dongye jumped back two steps. She struck an Ultraman stance to banish evil and said, “You can really sleep. You didn’t wake the whole morning!”

I bobbed my head and looked around. Turns out it was lunch break. No wonder only a few were left in the room. Baoyu stared at me, blank. Xiaoyi stared at me, blank. Creepy.

“Let’s go eat.” I stretched.

I was talking to Baoyu and Xiaoyi. But the class monitor was first to shoot me a killer glare. “The school has a cafeteria!”

Ah. That reminded me of the unequal treaties we just signed. That’s how the Qing died. My plan to eat, then escape Prison School, failed.

Seeing my deflated face, Baoyu howled once. He finally accepted no one would cover for us anymore. He gathered up his melted then re‑solidified body fat, and with Xiaoyi, shuffled out.

“Wait for me!”

Smack!

This time Nan Dongye seemed to hurt more. Which meant my head hurt more too.

“You can’t. Ms. Gu wants you in the office.” Nan Dongye pointed the papers at my nose. Her face was slightly pale.

Baoyu turned back and gave me a deep look. His eyes held fierce envy and teary “wish you a blissful night” vibes. He waved, then under the blazing noon sun, went farther and farther…

I didn’t get it. Why does getting caught by the homeroom teacher make him that jealous? I could only cover my head and mutter to Nan Dongye, “You okay?”

“I’m… fine. Go on. Watch your mouth. Seriously, you’re the only one who sleeps through Ms. Gu’s class. No matter how we call you, you don’t wake!” She gave a cautious reminder, forced a smile, dropped the papers, and left the room.

Sleep? Who dares claim they never slept in class during school years? Is that the reason? Or is it my perennial bottom scores making the principal’s granddaughter, who wants results, uncomfortable all over?

Xiaoyi often sketches things like the Prinz Eugen heavy cruiser on tests for practice. I choose a blank paper. Is it wrong to respect knowledge by staying silent?

I stood anxious at the office door on the third floor. Minutes after leaving the classroom, I was drenched in sweat. I cared more about the AC inside than the punishment to come.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in.”

A muffled woman’s voice, like something was between her teeth. It was my first time hearing the new homeroom teacher.

I opened the office. The AC chill hit me along with a sharp smoke stink. I saw the woman with the same surname Gu as the principal. And she saw me, too.

On the desk, a screen was playing some prime‑time melodrama. A sultry young woman in a gray office suit was curled on a ball‑shaped lounge chair. Her small calves in black nylons had slipped free of heels, hugged by both arms. Before I came, she was clearly into it.

From every angle, she was a landscape—ridges here, peaks there, all different. That was my first thought.

No wonder Baoyu, the masochist, gave me that drooling look. Forget the Marlboro in her hand—Ms. Gu screams queen‑class teacher. “Sexy teacher” is probably the better term. The teacher.avi chest was unprecedentedly ample. Throw in a whip, have Ms. Gu in heels step on me once, and I might submit on the spot.

If I weren’t a pervert, I’d definitely confess to the 36D homeroom teacher. With an IS‑style suicide bombing, like when I faced that demon four years ago. Queens… I really, really like them. That was my second thought.

But—note the but—I’m no longer that clueless dominatrix‑obsessed weakling. The old priest couldn’t cure my perversion, but at least taught me how to use a dead‑air aura to avoid meeting a second demon.

Stare…

Maybe she’s never seen me awake. The sexy teacher stared straight at me. Cigarette between her lips, lost in thought, she stared. I covered my nose and stared back at the cigarette nearing her red lips.

(⊙＿⊙) (⊙＿⊙)