The Writer slightly turned and lowered his gaze, looking toward those children. Including the thin boy, there were now six of them.
The clock hanging on the wall was approaching eight o'clock, and the orphans sitting at the long table were eating even faster.
Even though they clearly didn't want to eat more of that extrely disgusting-looking stuff, they had no choice but to clean everything from their plates.
"Alright..."
The old woman seed about to go down for inspection, but then another commotion occurred.
Another boy had knocked over his food. He was even younger, wearing extrely thick glasses that kept sliding down.
Beside his sowhat dusty pant legs, only a small pile of that nauseating stuff had spilled.
He had clearly been nearly finished eating, but whether due to weak strength or emotional agitation, the plate couldn't hold and tipped over again.
Understanding what he would face next, he silently cleaned up the ss.
He wiped his hands roughly on his clothes, placed the utensils at the collection window, then quietly walked to stand among the orphans at the front.
"Xiao Ke, why don't you eat more? How will you grow if you don't eat more?" The old woman walked over, showing an extrely kind smile, her wrinkled hand rubbing the glasses-wearing boy's head.
The bespectacled boy shrank his neck, not daring to resist.
Among the seated orphans, one figure's eyes flickered, fingers slightly curling, as if wanting to make so move.
But now the clock hands pointed to 7:50, and Teacher Xu finally moved again. She clapped her hands and said in her hoarse voice, "Good, everyone has finished eating today. Now put away your utensils and line up to follow ."
Missed the opportunity!
The figure mixed among the orphans felt discouraged but understood this wasn't the ti for willfulness. One of them always had to stay outside.
The orphans lined up one by one, placing their trays at the collection window.
Then they followed behind the pale, stern-faced woman in order from shortest to tallest, leaving the cafeteria.
Teacher Tang glanced tentatively, seeing the Writer still appeared gentle and showed no intention of stopping them. Relieved, he imdiately stepped forward, opened the door first, and rushed out.
The others followed, and for a mont the cafeteria beca quiet again.
"Buzz—"
The tightly sealed door behind the collection window opened, and a figure erged from within. His face was unclear, but he seed very strong, directly dumping all the trays into greasy, soapy water.
The seven orphans standing at the front automatically walked over, one by one rolling up their sleeves, taking rags, and squatting beside the soapy water to take on cleaning duties.
The utensils inside had accumulated all day, piled up like a small mountain. The food residue and gri on the plates were extrely disgusting.
The Writer also walked over, copying them by rolling up his sleeves. His fingers were slender and bony—anyone could tell they were naturally ant for writing and painting.
As he approached and was about to speak, two figures blocked his path—one was the thin boy suspected to be Xu Zisheng, the other was the boy with thick glasses.
The thin boy held a wet rag and said, "No need, Mr. Yan. We can wash them."
The other boy nodded in agreent, but with this movent, his glasses kept sliding down, almost falling off.
"Maybe one more person would make it faster?" The Writer slightly lowered his eyes, looking at them, then reached out to gently push the boy's glasses back into place, speaking softly.
Absolutely not!
The two boys shook their heads like rattle-drums.
Were they crazy to let the Writer help them wash dishes?!
Seeing the gentle, jade-like black-haired youth still seed inclined, the thin boy quickly thought of an excuse: "We have to wash them ourselves. No helping allowed. It's the rules—only by making mistakes can we offset them!"
"Yes, yes!" The glasses-wearing boy echoed.
"Is that so?..." The Writer responded but didn't press further. "Call if you need anything."
The Writer stood there, quietly watching them, his presence calm and gentle.
Perhaps because of his presence, the figure washing dishes with its back to the orphans remained completely quiet, causing no additional trouble.
Half an hour passed like this. The utensils were all cleaned, and the cafeteria lights dimd one by one.
Taking this opportunity, Xiao Gui'an carefully observed the other children.
Among the remaining five children, there were two girls and three boys, all around seven or eight years old.
One boy whose fingers occasionally trembled, with disgust and fear showing between his brows, was probably a player.
The remaining orphans were likely all ghosts.
They seed excessively well-behaved, showing no trace of dissatisfaction, just chanically and numbly washing the dishes.
Their old clothes looked rather thin, washed to a faded whiteness.
It was unclear whether this horror orphanage instance had seasonal changes. Perhaps in this prison, seasonal variations made no difference.
Moreover, it drifted in desolation without concept of ti or space, never knowing where the end might be.
Spring wasn't a season of rebirth here, but cold winters could still claim lives.
Those spirits bound here, the ghosts cycling through reincarnation again and again under the rules—could they feel anything? Did they feel cold like ordinary people?
Were these orphans always the oppressed ones? Even after becoming ghosts, they remained trapped in this deep nightmare.
"We're finished washing, Mr. Yan." The thin boy spoke softly to the Writer, showing so awkwardness and shyness, as if mustering great courage to speak with the black-haired youth.
"Good, what's your na?"
"I'm Xiao Wu, sir..."
Hearing this na, the Writer smiled and reached out to rub the thin boy's head. "Then I'll be in your care, Xiao Wu—"
Feeling the gentle touch on his head, clearly not expecting this, the thin boy's body stiffened.
His eyes behind the black hair widened slightly, showing surprise, no longer lifeless.
[Hahahaha, I never thought I'd get to rub a Chosen One of Fate's head like this! Xu Zisheng actually looks like a normal child like this! Touching him is pure profit!]
Xiao Gui'an felt extrely pleased.
"So where do we go next?" The Writer stepped forward and ultimately reached out to open the cafeteria door for the children.
The bell on the door gently swayed, but this ti its sound no longer caused such heart-pounding fear.
"We... we're going for bedti stories..." one boy whispered. He had extrely dark eyes, a faint birthmark on his cheek, and walked sowhat slowly with a slight limp.
"Good, then lead the way." The Writer smiled, bent down naturally, and handed the wooden box to the thin boy.
He gave the wooden cane to the glasses-wearing boy, winking at them where others couldn't see. "Please help the teacher carry these."
Then he directly picked up the birthmarked boy who walked with difficulty.
The boy started slightly, tightly gripping the Writer's collar, a faint ink fragrance lingering at his nose.
"Will you guide the way for ?" The voice, as llow as a sumr night breeze, sounded in his ear. The birthmarked boy eventually nodded lightly.
The surrounding orphans also subconsciously moved closer to the elegant, gentle black-haired youth, already exceeding the usual distance they maintained from adults.
Their group walked through the dark, silent corridor, the black-haired youth at the center like a bright lamp.
The clock hands turned silently—this prison's mont of sin was approaching.
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