Xiao Gui'an looked down at the Tai Chi uniform he was wearing and thought it would be better not to go to the classroom dressed like this.
So he opened the door and entered.
In this orphanage, there were definitely no shortage of prying eyes.
His clothing slowly transford as Xiao Gui'an opened the wooden case he was carrying, pretending to search through it while considering what to bring.
Only after his thoughts manifested into a proper, more approachable light-colored white shirt did Xiao Gui'an pick up the wooden case and step outside.
When no ghosts appeared, being in the orphanage just felt like arriving at a rather dilapidated place.
He didn't plan to eat, but instead wound through various paths directly toward the classroom.
What kind of food could this place prepare for ghost teacher NPCs? Xiao Gui'an didn't want to think too deeply about it.
As a ghost NPC who had forcibly entered this instance, his energy maintenance didn't rely on those flesh and blood things anyway.
The Writer walked along the cobblestone path, searching for the way to the classroom. When he turned a corner, he encountered an unexpected person.
It was that cleaner who had opened the door for him yesterday.
The other man was bent over, head buried deep, slowly cleaning fallen leaves and garbage from the corner of the wall. Beside his feet sat a plastic bucket.
The water in the plastic bucket was extrely murky, with several unrecognizable objects floating and sinking within.
This place seed sowhat remote, and it was 'reasonable' that the Writer, who wasn't familiar with the orphanage's layout, would wander here.
The Writer moved like a ghost, completely silent.
It wasn't until he stood still behind the old man that the cleaning elder seed to notice him. Hunched over, he turned around and saw the dark-haired youth standing not far away.
The cleaner uncle imperceptibly froze for a mont, then quickly recovered. Rubbing his wrinkled hands together, he greeted the Writer, "Teacher, did you sleep peacefully last night?"
The other man squinted his turbid eyes—his reaction clearly showed surprise that the Writer could still be in the orphanage without being expelled.
The Writer didn't seem to mind the other's covert inspection of him. He carried no scent of blood or decay, nor any traces of battle or struggle.
In fact, compared to yesterday, the Writer standing here now lacked even the slight travel weariness he had carried when arriving from 'outside' last night.
"I slept relatively peacefully." The answer had to be given this way, just like ordinary conversation.
The Writer's gaze swept over the bucket placed at the cleaner's feet, as if wanting to know what was inside.
Noticing the other's curiosity, the cleaner shifted to block the line of sight.
When he smiled obsequiously, those two mismatched gold teeth beca sowhat dazzling.
"You should get going, teacher. You mustn't be late."
Rules outweighed everything. Since he wanted to play the 'teacher' NPC role in this instance, he had to follow certain behavioral logic to so extent.
"The classroom is along this path to the left. Turn at the end and you'll arrive."
"Alright, then I'll let you continue your work." The Writer appeared very accommodating, not pushing further. His gaze paused slightly when he saw the cleaner's hands, then he left as if nothing had happened.
Only when the other's figure gradually disappeared from view did the cleaner move again. He reached into the bucket, fishing out a lumpy object that had sunk to the bottom.
Dirty, filthy water dripped from between the cleaner's fingers. The thing he held in his hand was dark in color, overall bluish-purple, with faint, seemingly disordered red veins visible.
With a squelching sound, he sared the thing against the wall, using it like soap to wipe. Disgusting juices slowly flowed down the wall surface.
After walking so distance, Xiao Gui'an raised his hand to look at his well-defined knuckles—there were no obvious marks.
But that cleaner's hands were different.
Those hands were covered in wrinkles, very rough, but with so depressions between the fingers. The skin in the depressed areas was smoother, as if he had worn sothing unknown for a long ti.
Following the directions, Xiao Gui'an successfully reached the classroom.
The classroom reeked of mold. The desks and chairs seed to be made of decent material originally, but they were arranged crookedly, covered entirely with scribbled filth. Everything looked damp, like products from the previous century.
It was a pity this place had no sunlight, or else taking them outside to sunbathe might have been better.
Raising his hand, he used ghost power to open the tightly shut windows one by one, attempting to ventilate the room.
But whether the classroom was close to a sewer or sothing, a rotting, stinking sll drifted in through the windows, causing physical revulsion.
Mixed with the classroom's original moldy odor, one could only say it wasn't worse—because it was already utterly terrible to begin with.
Xiao Gui'an: ...
He stood on the platform, using faint ghost power to cover the desks, chairs, and props with a thin mbrane before moving closer.
When the ti ca, the orphans filed into the classroom one after another, finding their seats and sitting down.
The role-playing didn't go as smoothly as Xiao Gui'an had imagined, because before class started, the rules actually prompted him to assign 'reasonable' task requirents.
But he managed to evade this through wordplay.
After completing his teaching, Xiao Gui'an didn't leave imdiately with nothing to do.
Instead, he followed behind the orphans and went with them to the next class location.
Waiting for them at the door was Teacher Xu, who taught handicrafts.
Facing her cold gaze, the Writer smiled gently and gave a reason—he planned to observe and absorb more teaching experience.
"I won't disturb the class order. I hope Teacher Xu can give this opportunity."
There seed to be no precedent for this, but it had never been prohibited either.
This matter entirely depended on Teacher Xu, who was leading this class.
The pale, stern-faced woman said nothing, quietly walking into the handicraft room and directly ignoring the Writer. In another sense, this could be considered a form of tacit permission.
The Writer walked in calmly and lightly, with a soft laugh.
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