The black-haired young man seed to have no dust in his eyes, not sparing even half a glance for the unrecognizable ghost creature on the ground.
His gaze had no resting place, yet seed to be staring at sothing specific.
As if through this endless darkness, he was gazing at an untouchable void.
Seeming to detect the disrespectful peeping, the fallen ghost deity lightly lifted his eyes.
An empty, indifferent gaze fell upon those black creatures hidden behind layers upon layers of tree branches.
A flurry of wing-flapping sounds erupted, accompanied by mournful cries that resembled both birds and humans—
After all that was disrespectful to the deity disappeared.
The incomplete dark star gradually faded away.
The enormous divine figure also slowly transford into fragnted light and shadow.
All the eerie and terrifying phenona receded like a tide, as if nothing had ever happened.
The Writer's aura beca restrained and gentle.
A calm expression reappeared on his handso, refined face, as if the one who had just used hierarchical suppression to punish the ghost creature wasn't him at all.
Not a trace of terrifying, horrifying presence could be detected.
The black-haired young man resembled an encouraging teacher, speaking in a persuasive, consultative tone, "Do you think what I said makes so sense, Teacher Tang?"
The B-level ghost creature on the ground was still deeply trapped in endless fear, its ugly, massive body kneeling prostrate, trembling uncontrollably, completely unable to utter a single word in response.
"I suppose you agree as well, Teacher Tang, so I'll go in first then." The Writer lowered his brows and eyes, turned around without paying further attention.
He used his wooden cane to push against the door again, directly widening the small crack.
It was very obvious—he didn't want to touch the filthy things here with his hands.
"Boom—"
The originally narrow door crack that could only accommodate one person was completely opened, raising so dust. The two wide-open doors would welco their distinguished guest.
The gentle, jade-like black-haired young man stepped inside.
His dark long gown rged with the darkness, ripples like water passing over his body without leaving any trace.
Spread before him was a long, silent corridor, with soft, luxurious carpets stretching into the distance.
An enormous crystal chandelier hung overhead, seemingly already covered in dust.
On the left side of the corridor was a row of huge windows, with pale light from an unknown source pouring through the windows onto the carpet.
Tinged with so reddish light, it wove sowhat distorted reflections.
On the right side were portraits, hidden in the darkness, making them difficult to see clearly.
The Writer paused for quite a while before strolling through the corridor again.
He wasn't in a hurry, taking a few steps then pausing, walking sowhat slowly, his gaze lightly sweeping over the art paintings posted on the corridor walls.
Actually, if one looked carefully, his pupils seed sowhat unfocused, without clear concentration.
Unfortunately at this mont, no existence dared to peek again—
Xiao Gui'an hadn't fully recovered yet, the mournful cries faintly echoing in his ears hadn't completely faded.
They sounded like his own, yet also like countless others'.
So lonely, so hopeless.
His fingertips trembled slightly. Although perfectly fine, he inexplicably felt intense pain in all ten fingers.
When using hierarchical suppression, the Writer's extrely concentrated hatred and resentnt montarily made Xiao Gui'an himself feel suffocated.
He was the Writer, and the Writer was him.
His emotional fluctuations were too great, and the Writer's acting degree actually increased again, directly reaching 20%.
The segnt of finger bone that Xu Zisheng had retrieved for him earlier was integrated into the Writer's soul body. Even though the body prepared by the system wasn't present now, the finger bone's power was still affected.
Under the combined effect, the Literary Star hierarchical status hidden deep within Xiao Gui'an's soul was finally activated.
Whenever he thought of his deceased loved one, of that dark, hopeless world, of those laughably extre human hearts, he felt subrged by endless madness.
That anger from being betrayed by soone trusted, that enduring hatred that wouldn't dissipate for thousands of years—like the deepest curse—made him want to destroy everything before his eyes—
Xiao Gui'an walked extrely slowly, suppressing those negative emotions, gradually adjusting his state of mind, piecing together the fragnts of his human side.
[...]
[That was really terrifying just now...]
[What do you think, System—]
[That guy was both ugly and disgusting, I didn't dare look carefully just now, my eyes could only dart around everywhere...]
[I never expected to experience workplace bullying on my first day as a teacher. Can't we just get along well? This work environnt needs improvent!]
If the Zero System were in the consciousness space, it would probably loudly retort.
Take a good look at who could possibly bully you! Didn't you see the miserable state of that B-level ghost creature just now?!
[Proxy System, how do you think I perford?]
[Your... acting skills... are exquisite... currently... the Writer's acting degree... has reached... 20%...]
The Proxy System was even more rigid and stiff, and seed to be lagging and stuttering more severely due to its earlier struggle with another force.
But being able to make sounds gave Xiao Gui'an great comfort.
While monologues are fine, constantly performing alone lacks flavor.
Finally arriving at the end of the corridor, different from the various art portraits earlier, posted at the very end of the corridor was a crayon drawing with a suddenly changed style.
It depicted four children—one girl and three boys—holding hands as if playing a ga.
Each of their bodies had a dark shadow, seemingly colored over with extrely dark black markers, the pressure penetrating through the paper.
Their faces were unclear, red ink had already made the figures in the drawing unrecognizable.
"Much better than those so-called art paintings."
Although the technique was childish and it had been scribbled over ssily, the Writer could discern the care contained within this painting.
He indifferently withdrew his gaze, walked past that painting, and knocked on the white door at the end of the corridor.
"Click—"
The door opened silently, and the Writer's tall, straight figure disappeared through the doorway.
In the deathly silent, dim corridor, a child's figure in that distorted crayon drawing seed to move slightly, looking toward where the Writer had disappeared.
It was an office.
The office was lit with warm yellow lights, emitting a comfortable and serene atmosphere within the darkness.
It wasn't hard to see that the office's exquisite decor was no less impressive than outside. The desks and chairs were made of premium materials, and the old objects displayed were quite valuable.
Teacher Xu stood to one side of the door, hands tightly clasped together, standing straight as a pale statue.
Only when she heard the slight sound of the door opening again did she move, turning her head slightly to look.
The Writer appeared completely unhard, walking in gracefully with gentle brows and eyes.
But the tall, thin man's figure didn't reappear.
"It's like this—Teacher Tang thought the night scenery was quite nice tonight and decided to admire it outside a while longer." The Writer lightly curved his lips into a smile, offering an explanation.
As for whether others believed it or not—that was their own business.
"Oh my! This must be our institution's new teacher!" Suddenly, a voice ca from the side.
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