Unexpected Night

Evening brought literacy class.

After a month of self-study, Su Qing was leagues ahead.

Not exactly brag-worthy—her intelligence and learning ability were at their peak, outpacing her spirit beast classmates by miles.

Perhaps because she’d unwittingly taken on some of Teacher Qing Ge’s workload, helping prepare and teach lessons, patiently explaining things to the little beasts, they no longer called her “that human” or “human girl.” Now, they called her “Little Teacher.”

They still teased Qing Ge relentlessly, though their attitudes had softened since the course began. But with Su Qing, they were surprisingly well-behaved.

When she spoke or taught, they listened attentively, not causing mischief in her presence. If caught misbehaving, they’d cling to her legs, whining and begging her to look the other way.

Su Qing figured it was because she wasn’t as soft as Qing Ge. When they messed up, she called it out—not scolding, just laying out consequences. The beasts respected that.

With her in charge, the class stayed under control.

Qing Ge was touched, saying she was more effective than the legendary “Orange King.” The beasts were starting to pay attention, not just napping. Their masters were thrilled too, some thanking Su Qing, hopeful for their beasts’ final exams.

Su Qing’s month-long beast curriculum was ready, and Yuanbao’s one-on-one tutoring officially began.

Chen Xinha spoke with her via Lingpass, arranging to pick up Yuanbao an hour late, giving Su Qing time for private lessons.

Borrowing the classroom key from Qing Ge, promising to lock up, Su Qing shut the windows, cleared the desks, and carefully untied Yuanbao’s immortal-binding rope.

Once free, the massive dog leapt into the air.

“Woof woof woof! Aroo aroo aroo!”

Yuanbao’s giant tongue slobbered her twice before it bolted across desks, bouncing wildly, shedding fur everywhere.

Su Qing wiped the licked spots, sneezing.

*Yuanbao, you’re a horse.*

Ten minutes later, after Yuanbao burned off energy, she said, “Alright, let’s start the lesson.”

Yuanbao squatted on a desk, howling upward.

Su Qing pulled out its custom textbook.

It was more a picture book.

She adapted “The Ugly Duckling” into a cultivation-themed *Divine Dog Aotian*, chronicling an overlooked mutt’s rise to majestic divine dog through effort.

A classic underdog story—humans or dogs loved it.

Simple but gripping, it used common words thoughtfully. Most crucially, Su Qing drew illustrations. From scruffy mutt to regal divine dog, she sketched key moments, buying basic paints from the second cafeteria to color them vividly.

Speech bubbles adorned the pictures, with large, bold text below, designed to drill into a dog’s brain.

With this book, Su Qing was confident. She hadn’t used the spirit bone Chen Xinha gave her and didn’t plan to.

Taking a deep breath to shake the absurdity of teaching a dog, she launched into the story, kindergarten-teacher style, with passion. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

“Long, long ago, in a forest lived a mother dog. She birthed eight pups. Seven were adorable, but the youngest was so ugly, his siblings called him Little Mutt.”

Yuanbao’s howls quieted, ears perking up.

“Though ugly, Little Mutt was kind, always helping others. But his looks drew mockery. Everyone said, ‘Ugly Mutt, get lost!’”

Yuanbao hopped off the desk.

“His siblings taunted, ‘You’re so ugly, not like us, not our family!’ Heartbroken, on a rainy day, Little Mutt ran away.”

At this, a furry dog head rested on the desk, eyes glinting at the illustration.

Yuanbao muttered, “Why’re they so mean? My siblings are all weird-looking too.”

*That’s because they’re not dogs, and you’re the weird one.*

Su Qing, unfazed, flipped the page, dodging its drool. “Little Mutt walked and walked, hungry and tired, until he collapsed at a cabin door, falling asleep. Then, someone…”

She paused at climactic moments, making Yuanbao retell the story and learn key words.

At first, it resisted, barking and whining, but neither worked on Su Qing. Even stealing the book was useless—it couldn’t read.

After a few rounds, Yuanbao realized: to hear more, it had to learn words. It was the quickest way.

Its learning drive exploded.

By the lesson’s end, it memorized every word Su Qing taught. @Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

When Chen Xinha arrived, Yuanbao’s eyes, for once, weren’t glued to the spirit bone but lingered on the book. Pawing at Su Qing, it whined, “Little Teacher, I wanna hear what happens to Little Mutt! When does he become a divine dog? Will you tell me more next class?”

Su Qing grinned. “Study your words, and I’ll keep telling the story.”

“Is this my Yuanbao? Who are you? Get out of my dog!” Chen Xinha, shocked, inspected Yuanbao’s head, half-convinced she’d grabbed the wrong dog. Seeing the five words it wrote, she instantly paid Su Qing 50 spirit seeds.

Circling Su Qing, staring until Su Qing got goosebumps, she asked, “Something on my face?”

“No!” Chen Xinha shook her head, eyes sparkling. “You sure you won’t study beast taming? Be my junior sister! You’re a natural!”

Su Qing thought it was less beast taming, more child psychology.

“I’m not great with animals,” she explained. “And beast taming’s too expensive. I can barely cover my cultivation costs.”

True enough.

Chen Xinha knew the cost of beast taming. Before her twelve beasts, she was a big spender, buying fancy robes from Lingbao Pavilion. Now, every spirit stone was split in two, money vanishing endlessly.

A pack of gold-eating beasts.

She comforted Su Qing. “Once you hit Qi Refining, you can take sect missions. Money won’t be so tight.”

Su Qing nodded, mentioning her qi induction struggle.

Chen Xinha had no advice. “I started cultivating in the womb, inducing qi at birth.”

Su Qing was floored. *Born ahead of the starting line.*

Chen Xinha reassured her: in the Sword Sect’s history, no student failed to reach Qi Refining.

Fair point.

Convinced, Su Qing pocketed her spirit seeds and returned to the dorm in high spirits.

The day should’ve been routine: eat, work, train, sleep. But a muffled thud woke her at midnight, signaling something unexpected.

Sitting up, she called out in the dark, and the dorm lit up.

Candles were too much hassle for nighttime, but Tang Yueling, ever extravagant, hung voice-activated night pearls on the ceiling—electric lights for the rich.

With light, the scene was clear.

A figure lay on the floor, black hair splayed, motionless. Her sword frantically nudged her with its hilt, unable to rouse her.

It was Tianning.