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Chapter 9: The Advantage of Thick Skin
Zhao Juan was the math representative. "She’s a good person!"—this judgment came from Gu Lu’s original host’s memories.
Fan Xiaotian often borrowed money from her, and Zhao Juan almost always obliged. She was a kind girl, though the original host had never asked her for help. It made sense; he wouldn’t even ask his own mother when hungry, let alone classmates.
As time ticked by, Zhao Juan cried harder the more she was consoled. A famous author once said, “Some anxieties are born from comfort.”
Humans were like that—sometimes they wouldn’t cry until someone tried to comfort them, at which point they’d break down completely.
Gu Lu pondered this, but then, distracted, he noticed his frowning and visibly tense desk-mate. A mischievous thought struck him.
He leaned toward Zhou Lin and whispered sharply, “The teacher’s here.”
“!” Fully absorbed in her work, Zhou Lin’s heart nearly leapt out of her throat. Panicking, she quickly flipped her workbook onto the floor to her right.
Thud. All evidence destroyed, Zhou Lin steadied herself on the desk, leaned over, and bent down to retrieve it.
Impressive—a true master of desktop cleanup!
Zhou Lin’s calculations were clever: as long as she wasn’t caught red-handed, the teacher wouldn’t scrutinize what a “good student” was doing during morning reading.
After a moment, there was no shrill voice of the math teacher, no loud thud of textbooks hitting the podium.
Slowly rising, Zhou Lin scanned the classroom—no sign of the math teacher.
“Gu! Lu!” Zhou Lin gritted her teeth, glaring at him like an angry lioness. But homework came first. After delivering the threat, “You’re dead after class!” she dove back into her work, her high ponytail swinging to the left.
Gu Lu reflected on his actions. How childish was it to pull such a prank while someone was trying to catch up on their homework? Had he been assimilated just days after crossing over? No, he concluded—it wasn’t the new world’s influence. His nature was inherently mischievous. Back on Earth, he loved hiding around corners to scare people.
Fifteen minutes passed, and morning reading time arrived…
Human joys and sorrows didn’t always align. Gu Lu couldn’t help but think, “It’s not a big deal—why cry for so long?”
Two minutes later, Ms. Yan entered the classroom. Her mood soured when she realized no one had started the morning reading session.
Slam, click-click. The textbook landed on the podium with extra force, and her heels clicked harder against the floor.
“Everyone back to your seats! Why hasn’t the morning reading started? It’s already been three minutes.” Ms. Yan called roll. “Zhao Juan.”
The chatter in the room dwindled as the teacher’s sharp gaze swept across the students. Against the silence, Zhao Juan’s sobs stood out starkly.
“What’s going on? Why is Zhao Juan crying?” Ms. Yan noticed immediately.
Among students, there was an unspoken rule: regardless of personal relationships, if someone in the class was dating, everyone would cover for them.
So, various excuses emerged:
“She’s crying because she’s feeling unwell.”
“There’s something wrong at home.”
“She can’t solve a math problem.”
…
Ms. Yan, in her thirties, was no fool. These disjointed excuses only highlighted how poorly coordinated the students’ lies were.
Couldn’t they at least get their stories straight?
“Quiet!” Ms. Yan barked. “What’s really going on? Zhao Juan, look up and tell me.”
The power of bloodline suppression manifested again. Zhao Juan, like a rain-soaked kitten abandoned in the storm, lifted her tear-streaked face pitifully.
Her bangs were soaked, clinging to her forehead. Zhao Juan felt as if she were balancing precariously on a suspension bridge, both heartbroken and terrified. Choking back tears, she began, “It’s just…”
Most students empathized with each other, so the classroom remained silent.
Her close friends, however, were as tense as if they too were walking the tightrope with her.
“I pushed Zhao Juan, and she hit the door, so she started crying. I’ve already apologized,” Gu Lu suddenly interjected without warning.
Ms. Yan shifted her piercing gaze from Zhao Juan to Gu Lu. “Why did you push Zhao Juan?”
“I was just joking around—I didn’t mean to use so much force. I’ve already apologized,” Gu Lu replied calmly.
Something felt off. If Zhao Juan were truly injured, why would she defend Gu Lu? Ms. Yan scrutinized Gu Lu, who appeared genuinely remorseful.
Having taught for five or six years, Ms. Yan could spot a lie from a mile away. This wasn’t one.
“The school has repeatedly warned against roughhousing during breaks. If she’s crying this hard, what if something serious happened? Could you afford it?” Ms. Yan scolded.
Gu Lu defended himself. “I checked—there’s no bruising or swelling, and I’ve already apologized.”
“No bruising or swelling doesn’t mean there’s no internal injury!” Ms. Yan countered. “Get out! You’ll stand in the hallway for both morning reading and the next class.”
“I’ve already apologized,” Gu Lu muttered under his breath as he exited.
Ms. Yan’s tone softened. “Is everything okay, Zhao Juan? Do you need to visit the school infirmary?”
“No… it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Zhao Juan said, her tears finally subsiding.
“One bad apple spoils the barrel.” Ms. Yan fully believed the story now; the logic lined up. Students didn’t want to involve teachers, hence the awkward explanations.
“Go wash your face in the restroom. If Gu Lu bothers you again, tell me—or Mr. Li, your homeroom teacher. Either way works,” Ms. Yan instructed.
“Don’t worry—I’ve already helped you punish him. It’s over,” Ms. Yan added.
Her underlying message was clear: the punishment ended the matter, and parents needn’t be involved.
Mr. Li had mentioned that Gu Lu’s family was struggling financially. If Zhao Juan told her parents, they might demand compensation, which wouldn’t be ideal.
Zhao Juan rose, glanced at Gu Lu standing pensively in the hallway, and headed to the restroom.
“So, let me remind you girls: don’t run wild with boys, especially ones like Gu Lu. He won’t pass the high school entrance exam—he’ll end up in vocational school. What kind of future does that promise?”
Ms. Yan truly looked down on Gu Lu, yet she still helped him. Her final words emphasized effort: “Focus on your studies. There are only two months left. Get into a good high school, and you’ll have succeeded one-third of the way.”
Most of Class Five stopped listening to the teacher and instead marveled at Gu Lu’s earlier actions.
Impressive! Many classmates thought silently.
Even Ren Jie mused, “He’s usually so gloomy, but this time… kinda cool.”
Soon, the classroom echoed with the sound of Class Five reciting math formulas: “Generally, inverse proportion functions y…”
In exams, Gu Lu would inevitably lose to Zhao Juan and Zhou Lin. But when it came to sheer audacity and mental resilience, he crushed them utterly.
After finishing his punishment during morning reading and the first period, Gu Lu hadn’t even had time to grab a drink before Mr. Li summoned him to the teacher’s office.
Naturally, Ms. Yan had informed him. As the homeroom teacher, it was his duty to intervene.
Thus began another round of scolding.
“Tell me, what if something serious had happened? Could you afford it?” Mr. Li concluded with this question. “Alright, return to class for the next lesson.”
“Yes, Mr. Li, I understand,” Gu Lu replied. Instead of leaving, he seized the opportunity to broach another topic. “Mr. Li, there’s something I’d like to ask.”
“What is it?” Mr. Li asked without looking up.
“I want to participate in the Ye Shengtao Cup National Middle School Writing Competition. Could you help me register?” Gu Lu explained.
The Ye Shengtao Cup required registration through schools—whether this would change in the future remained uncertain, but for now, school accounts were mandatory.
“Earlier, you mentioned the high school entrance exam. I thought about it afterward. If I achieve good results, I might earn a guaranteed admission spot,” Gu Lu elaborated.
If he didn't explain clearly, how would the teacher help?
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