Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Beastly Teacher (Part Two)

I waited in that little corner of mine for a full six hours before that damned professor finally ambled up to the lectern with his slow, mincing steps.

I have to admit, the professor was rather handsome. The moment he set foot on the stage, he instantly captured the hearts of a swath of female students. Looking closely, he couldn’t have been much over thirty—a typical baby-faced man. Who would have thought that someone so young could already be a renowned professor of archaeology?

The baby-faced professor introduced himself first; his name was Zhou Runfa, and he had just celebrated his thirtieth birthday.

Good heavens, his name truly honored his ancestors! Zhou Runfa—practically identical to Chow Yun-fat! The entire class was floored.

The lecture finally began. My legs had gone numb from standing so long, and I had no mood to listen, so I glanced around. To my amazement, most of the girls weren’t paying attention either; they were staring at the handsome teacher on stage, practically drooling.

Ah, women at any age fall for attractive men, and even the rich beauties are no exception.

Zhou Runfa lectured for nearly eighty minutes, but I suspect only A-Shuang and a few others beside her were truly paying attention.

This so-called masterclass was probably the most pointless I’d ever attended—mostly because I hadn’t heard a single word Zhou Runfa said!

By the time class ended, it was past eight. Although I was closest to the front door, our wretched school had an infuriating rule: all students had to exit through the back door, or face disciplinary action.

There was no helping it. I was just an ordinary student, no privileges, so I squeezed along with the crowd toward the back.

Jostling forward at a snail’s pace, I somehow ended up face-to-face with my nemesis, A-Shuang, after about ten seconds. I managed a helpless “Hi,” only to be met yet again with her standard line for the past several days: without so much as a glance, she said coolly, “Get lost.”

I had nothing more to say. Bowing my head, I allowed myself to be swept out with the rest of the crowd.

Outside the classroom, I wandered alone down the dim campus paths. The streetlights lining the road seemed to reflect my mood—faint and gloomy.

I had no desire to return to the dormitory. Instead, I roamed aimlessly through the dark campus, slipping past the guards to enjoy my freedom. Of course, I wasn’t the only one.

At this hour, plenty of couples and heartbroken souls would wander the campus after eluding the patrols. In such a mix of people, with no one to watch over things, creeps were everywhere.

These creeps often took photos of pretty girls, edited them, and posted them online for likes and popularity. But, believe it or not, that wasn’t the worst of it at our school.

The most disgusting story I’d heard was about a beautiful girl from two years before. After breaking up with her boyfriend at night, she was assaulted on campus by a depraved teacher. That monster was never caught—even after eight years.

Eight years! That’s two full graduating classes, and still nothing. It’s probably hopeless.

Without realizing it, I wandered into the derelict area behind the academy, a zone the school had yet to develop. Waist-high dead grass was everywhere; it used to be a favorite spot for couples until the rape and subsequent suicide of that girl eight years ago. Since then, many who came here claimed to have heard the sound of desperate, heart-wrenching crying. Four years ago, a couple was found dead here, supposedly scared to death, their bodies in a ghastly state. After a slew of rumors, the school finally declared the area off-limits, branding it a place of great misfortune.

But I hardly cared about such things, so I ventured in, treading slowly through the tall, withered grass. Old, discarded desks and chairs from the founding days were piled up nearby, rotting away with the passage of years, resembling decaying corpses.

The wasteland was vast—about the size of a soccer field. The grass wasn’t all waist-high; some patches barely reached my ankles. A moss-covered path led further in, and I pressed on, heart pounding.

Though I possessed an immortal body beyond the reach of mortal harm, my heart was still susceptible to fear. Swords and knives couldn’t touch me, but what’s truly terrifying at times like these isn’t physical danger—it’s a battle of the mind.

Strolling through this dark, desolate field, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a headless woman was standing behind me. If I turned around, she’d whisper, “Give me back my head... Give me back my head...”

Fortunately, my nerves weren’t too fragile. I walked on, and soon the dead grass gave way to what looked like a primordial park—mossy benches, lamp posts long since disconnected from power.

All around was silence—so silent I couldn’t hear a thing, not even the chirping of crickets. Gradually, I relaxed. But the very instant I let my guard down, a piercing female scream nearly shattered my composure.

The scream came from right behind me.

Should I turn around and be startled, or wait for whatever was back there to lay its decayed hands on my shoulders?

In the end, I gritted my teeth, took a swift step forward, and spun around. My plan was to put a little distance between me and whatever it was, so I’d be less afraid when I faced it.

I turned and opened my eyes—nothing was there! I’d been scaring myself. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned around again.

That was when I truly learned the difference between seeing a ghost by accident and facing one head-on.

Standing before me was a corpse, hair hanging over its face, reeking of rot. Its lifeless, glassy eyes stared unblinkingly at me, and in that instant, I realized what true terror meant.

She must have been the student who took her life after being assaulted years ago. With her hair obscuring her features, I could never have guessed that she’d once been a beauty.

I crumbled, body collapsing to the ground as I watched the female corpse slowly raise her decayed arms to strangle me, mumbling incoherently about something—something about “fate” and “life,” but I couldn’t make out a word.

Her hands clamped around my neck. I wasn’t worried about suffocating—I was a demon corpse, already beyond mortal bounds, and could go centuries without breathing. What truly bothered me was the stench of her rotting flesh, which churned my stomach so violently that I vomited right in her face.

I shoved her aside and staggered to a lamp post, retching. The corpse climbed to her feet and began lumbering toward me like a zombie.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Even as a demon corpse, I couldn’t endure that kind of olfactory assault. I shifted into my first-dimensional form—my eyes turned red and my powers surged through me.

The female corpse recoiled in shock. She, a ghost still bound within mortal limits, froze three meters away, staring in astonishment. Then, in fluent Chinese, she stammered, “You... you’re not human either!”