HTCYH Ch 44

Chapter 44: The Final Sprint of Senior Year

Tu Si awoke from a wave of weightlessness, only to find himself standing inside a dormitory.

His mind was foggy, but his body was already well-practiced at adapting to sudden scene changes. He quickly steadied himself and began to look around the dorm. Unlike the four-person dorms at his university, with upper bunks and desks below, this one was an overcrowded eight-person room with bunk beds on both sides. In the middle, four desks were pushed together. There was no balcony, and no private bathroom.

Tu Si reached for his phone to check his mission, only to realize his clothes had changed as well. He was now dressed in a loose-fitting blue-and-white school uniform, with the badge of “XX Experimental Middle School” pinned on his chest. He brushed aside the bangs falling into his eyes and found that his hair had turned into short black strands. When he tried to summon his tendrils, there was no response—the sense of connection had been cut off entirely. He was now sealed inside the body of a human teenager, all his abilities gone, no more than an ordinary person.

Tu Si froze in place, struck by thunder. A human body. A fragile human body. To put him into such a body—wasn’t this condemning him to “minor death every two steps, major death every five”? Just turning around, and this body could already be one foot in the grave! How dare Wuming!

“Grass (the plant), you idiot! What the hell! Got no eyes? Don’t you know what time it is? We’re late already and you’re blocking the way! Looking to die?” a curse rang out as a boy half a head taller than Tu Si slammed into his shoulder while rushing past.

The collision sent Tu Si stumbling, his arm numb with pain. He bared his teeth at the boy rushing away, almost on the verge of tears. He didn’t want to play this game! This game countered him too hard!

But the collision also jolted him back to his senses. He pulled out his phone, and in the black screen’s reflection he saw his appearance—it matched exactly what he had guessed. He was now that boy who had jumped from the rooftop.

Opening the app, the mission list displayed:

Mission One: Survive the college entrance exam. Suicide is forbidden.

Mission Two: Be a good student liked by the teachers, or you will be sent to Class Four for treatment.

Mission Three: Be a good child liked by your parents, or you will be sent to Class Four for treatment.

Mission Four: The mentally ill students in Class Four are contagious. Do not interact with them.

Mission Five: Help the children of Class Four return to normal.

Status Panel:

Name: Jiang Tukui

Class: Senior Year 1, Class One

Grade Rank: 13th, Class Rank: 3rd

Teacher Affection: 46% (Warning: if below 20%, you will be sent to Class Four for treatment)

Parental Affection: 37% (Warning: if below 20%, you will be sent to Class Four for treatment)

Tu Si walked toward the classroom while reading the missions on his phone, but the bell rang as soon as he crossed the sports field. Picking up his pace, he arrived at Class One of Senior Year. The classroom door was shut tight. Knowing this was the moment where tardiness was measured, he took a deep breath and knocked.

In his ear, a mechanical voice suddenly blared:

“Beep! Tardiness detected! Teacher Affection -5%. Current Affection: 41%. (Warning: if below 20%, you will be sent to Class Four for treatment.)”

Startled stiff, Tu Si watched as the tightly shut classroom door creaked slowly open. He pushed the door and stepped inside.

The teacher on the podium kept his gaze straight ahead, continuing the lecture as though nothing had happened. Tu Si, unsure how to proceed, recalled his university experience: if it had been the back door that opened, he could have slipped in quietly; but since it was the front door, his only hope was luck.

“Report,” Tu Si muttered, bracing for a scolding.

The teacher paused for two seconds, then continued lecturing, clearly having heard but choosing to ignore him.

Taking that as tacit permission, Tu Si bent down slightly and prepared to slip toward the only empty seat by the window in the fourth row.

Just as he was about to pass the podium, however, a strong hand yanked him up onto it. His elbow smacked against the desk with a loud thud, hitting a nerve. His entire arm went numb, tears instantly welling up in his eyes. He bit back a cry of pain—shedding tears over a small knock like this would be too humiliating.

Dragged onto the podium before he could stand properly, Tu Si was met with a torrent of scolding from the teacher:

“Some students think that just because their grades are good, the teacher won’t say anything. But students must develop in all aspects—morality, intelligence, physical fitness, and the arts—not just academics! Never mind that you’re late, but look at your hair! School rules clearly state: girls’ bangs cannot cover their eyebrows, and boys must keep crew cuts! Look at your hair—this wouldn’t even be acceptable on a girl! Neither male nor female! Disgusting! If you won’t let the barber handle it, then I will! Next time I see you with this unqualified hairstyle, I’ll drag you under the national flag and shave your head in front of the whole school. Do you understand?”

With that, the homeroom teacher snipped at Tu Si’s bangs with a pair of scissors.

Hair was Tu Si’s most precious thing. The instant those scissors closed, he bristled like a cat, nearly throwing a punch at the teacher’s face. His fist was already inches from the teacher’s eyes when the mechanical prompt chimed again:

“Beep! Improper appearance detected! Teacher Affection -10%. Current Affection: 31%. (Warning: if below 20%, you will be sent to Class Four for treatment.)”

Frightened, Tu Si immediately pulled back, twisting his wrist to catch the teacher’s hand before the next snip.

“Sorry, teacher. I’ll get my hair cut after school. I’ve been so focused on preparing for exams that I forgot about it. I’ll make sure to keep it proper from now on.”

“Beep! Reasonable attitude, sincere apology. Teacher Affection +2%. Current Affection: 33%. (Warning: if below 20%, you will be sent to Class Four for treatment.)”

That measly +2 nearly made Tu Si choke in rage. Thankfully, the teacher chose not to pursue the matter further. After a few more words of lecturing, he let Tu Si return to his seat and resumed class.

Sitting down, Tu Si split his attention between the lesson and analyzing the game’s missions. This time, five missions were issued at once. The last two were directly contradictory, but words like “forbidden” and “do not” carried different weights of urgency.

From Jiang Tukui’s failure, it was clear he had died by suicide, jumping from a building. Thus, Mission One—survive until the college entrance exam, and forbid suicide—was the key condition determining victory or defeat.

At first, Tu Si had secretly rejoiced. Enduring? That was his specialty. No matter how tough it got, it was only a year. A piece of cake!

But after just one day of classes, his confidence cracked. Forty minutes of high-intensity drills and questioning, followed by ten-minute breaks often consumed by more lessons. Even the 25-minute extended break included a mandatory 1000-meter run. What he had assumed to be a two-hour lunch break turned out to be: 15 minutes queuing at the cafeteria, 10 minutes to eat, and a grueling 90-minute mock test. It was a relentless double assault on body and spirit.

Classroom questioning was a nightmare compounded by the mechanical prompts: answer correctly, Teacher Affection +1%; answer incorrectly, Teacher Affection -5%. Just one math class brought his Teacher Affection plummeting to 21%. That single extra percentage point was a razor’s edge—playing with his heartbeat. Luckily, Jiang Tukui had been a liberal arts student. Chinese, history, and politics could be memorized in seconds, which allowed Tu Si to scrape by. By the end of evening study, he managed to finish with a “superb” 25% affection—barely skimming above Class Four’s threshold, buying himself another day as a regular student.

That night, after getting his hair cut, Tu Si returned late to the dorm and missed washing up before lights-out. Sitting on his bunk, he could smell the T-shirts damp with sweat from the day’s running and then dried stiff on the body, mixed with the stench of feet, sweat, and the rasp of teeth grinding and snores. His eyes glazed over in despair.

Were the youth of this new era born guilty? Must they serve time before adulthood?

For the first time in his life, Tu Si envied his own lack of a sense of smell. Living as a real human, the grass-spirit was collapsing.

Like a soul leaving his body, Tu Si flipped down from the bunk. The creak of the iron bed woke his lower-bunk roommate, earning him a colorful curse “blessing” directed at his mother. Slowing his steps, Tu Si tiptoed to the dorm door, easing it open with the lowest possible creak, and crept to the communal sinks.

Splashing his face with the icy water, he lifted his head and gazed out at the flickering glow of the old streetlamp outside.

Suddenly, he seemed to hear the buzz of its aging wiring. The frequency began to match the rhythm of the flicker. The buzzing, paired with the light’s dimming and brightening, was straight out of a horror film. If this were cinema, the urgent, oppressive, chilling BGM would already have begun. It was a warning, a foreshadowing: danger was coming.