Chapter 144: [Passing the Imperial Examination] Finding the Classroom
Bai Cha looked at the bowl of brains, her expression beyond description.
“What kind of brain is this?”
Judging by its size, it was almost certainly pig brain.
Whenever their dorm went out for hotpot, Ah Zhao liked to order a serving of pig brain, though Bai Cha had never touched it.
Her stomach was frail; anything with the slightest hint of a fishy or metallic odor would make her vomit uncontrollably.
Sure enough, Mother Han said, “It’s pig brain. I bought it specially—it was really expensive! I can’t bear to spend money on anything for myself every day, just so I can save up a bit to buy nice things for you.”
Hearing this familiar brand of emotional blackmail, Bai Cha remained entirely unmoved; she used that tactic frequently herself, so she was immune to it.
However, when dealing with emotional blackmail, one couldn’t simply snap back, because the other party always claimed it was “all for your own good.”
“But… they say ‘you are what you eat.’ Don’t people usually say you’re ‘as dumb as a pig’? Won’t eating pig brain make me dumber and dumber?”
Mother Han froze. In a sudden panic, she hastily snatched the bowl of pig brain away and dumped it straight into the trash can.
“You’re right! We can’t eat this kind of thing! But what kind of brain nourishes the mind then? How about trying monkey brains?”
Bai Cha: “…”
That’s illegal, thanks.
“Animals aren’t as smart as humans, but humans can’t be eaten either. My biology teacher said that if humans eat human flesh, they’ll contract prions and become even dumber.”
Bai Cha heavily emphasized what the teacher had supposedly said, taking care to prevent her mother from pulling off any horrifying stunts.
Upon hearing this, Mother Han indeed abandoned her idea of finding human or animal brains to nourish her daughter’s mind.
“Forget it then. I’ll just gather more walnuts for you instead. Walnuts should be fine, right? Like restores like!”
Walnuts were certainly edible—at least they were normal food. Pig brains weren’t inherently abnormal either, but nobody ate pig brains raw like that.
Bai Cha downed the glass of milk in one go.
“I’ll go get my backpack.”
“Alright. Mom will get you some more milk—remember to drink it during break. Milk is good for you, and take these eggs too.”
Mother Han didn’t follow her into the room. Bai Cha took the opportunity to retrieve the sponges, wrapped them casually in some tissue paper, and stuffed them into her pocket, cleaning up the marks on the floor while she was at it.
Carrying her backpack, she stepped out of her room.
Mother Han shoved two eggs and a bottle of milk into her hands.
Bai Cha obediently peeled one of the eggs and ate it right then and there. Mother Han’s eyes instantly softened, melting into a gaze as gentle as water.
Yet, she didn’t walk her daughter to school, despite having been practically glued to her side at home.
Bai Cha wasn’t worried about being unable to find the school, though.
Given Mother Han’s state, she would almost certainly rent an apartment right next to the school.
Stepping out the door, the summer morning temperature was just right. They were currently on the seventh floor; as she headed downstairs, a household on the third floor happened to open up, and a student wearing a school uniform stepped out.
Their eyes met.
Clad in identical uniforms, they clearly belonged to the same school.
Unsure whether the other person was a player or a student, the two exchanged a silent, subtle nod before continuing down the stairs.
Still, acting like that meant the other party was almost certainly a player just like her.
After all, if they didn’t know each other, why bother nodding? And if they did, why keep completely quiet?
Reaching the bottom of the apartment building, she encountered a few more people wearing school uniforms.
Sure enough, this neighborhood was a dedicated school district.
Stepping out onto the street, numerous roadside food stalls and vendors lined the way.
The stalls grew denser as one headed toward the left, indicating the school lay in that direction.
Bai Cha walked naturally toward the school.
At the same time, several people trailed along behind her.
A single glance told her they were players as well.
A clock hung above the school gates, reading 5:30.
Just as she reached the entrance, a loud bell suddenly chimed.
Several students near the gate heard the chime and instantly began sprinting toward the academic buildings as if possessed.
Seeing this, Bai Cha also broke into a light jog toward the academic buildings.
However, there were five separate buildings on campus—which one housed the senior class?
One of them was the laboratory building, easily identifiable by the gilded lettering on its facade.
That left four.
Bai Cha narrowed her eyes, observing the faces of the people running past her.
Quite a few individuals shared the same gaunt, sallow complexion as Han Yingying, their eyes completely dead and hollow as they ran.
Bai Cha trailed behind them, heading toward the very last academic building.
A separate set of large gates stood at the base of this building; between it and the building in front of it, iron gates were installed at both the front and back exits.
Stepping inside, she indeed spotted a plaque reading “Senior Class 12” right on the first floor.
At the entrance to the stairwell, another iron gate stood closed.
A middle-aged man with a protruding belly stood beside it, his gaze cold and detached.
“Hurry up, hurry up! Do you all still want to take the college entrance exam or not? It’s already half past five! Morning self-study starts at six! Going to study early doesn’t cross your minds—do you think you’re smarter than everyone else?”
Bai Cha ignored him and picked up her pace up the stairs.
There were only four floors in total, so it wasn’t particularly tall.
Adjacent to the stairwell on the second floor was Senior Class 9.
Bai Cha made her way all the way to the fourth floor, where Senior Class 3 was located.
There were three classrooms per floor, and a quick scan revealed no sign of a restroom.
Panting slightly, she stepped into the classroom.
The moment she entered, a wave of suffocation washed over her—there were eleven surveillance cameras installed inside the classroom.
Three at the front, three at the back, two spaced out along each side wall, and one directly overhead.
What’s more, these cameras were high-definition, 360-degree rotational models with zero blind spots.
Such a massive surveillance setup had long surpassed the bounds of standard school security; it was clearly installed not to prevent accidents, but to monitor the students.
A dark-faced, middle-aged man was already seated at the podium—likely the class teacher—staring expressionlessly at every student walking through the door.
The desks in the classroom were arranged individually, one per student.
Now came the problem: Where was her seat?
She had actually considered this issue on her way here.
Another student brushed past her side.
Bai Cha suddenly staged a clumsy stumble, grabbing right onto that student.
The student stumbled from the pull.
“I’m sorry,” the other person apologized, assuming they had bumped into her.
Bai Cha shook her head as she stood back up, her face twisting in pain.
“I think I twisted my ankle. Could you help me carry my things over first?”
“Should I help you walk, then?” The boy felt somewhat guilty.
“It’s fine, let me catch my breath for a moment. Don’t let me delay your studying.”
The boy hesitated, cast a glance at the teacher who was glaring intensely at them from the podium, and swallowed hard.
He took her backpack, walked over to a seat in the back row near the window, set her bag down, and then returned to his own seat.
Bai Cha then feigned a slight recovery, limping along while supporting herself against the edges of the desks as she walked toward her seat.
The player who had been following Bai Cha all the way in stood there a bit dazed, unsure how to find his seat.
He had no choice but to bite the bullet and walk inside.
Fortunately, a seating chart was actually laid out on the teacher’s podium.
However, a teacher was sitting right behind it.
That player tried his best to walk past naturally, casting a swift, subtle glance down at the chart.
He got lucky—his assigned seat was indeed past the podium, located in the fifth row on the innermost side.
A few more players filed in afterward.
With fifty-eight players in total, even if they were evenly distributed across twelve classes, each class would have at least four players.
One female player had been slightly delayed while looking for the academic building, arriving only when almost everyone in the classroom was already seated.
The teacher sitting behind the podium pointed a finger straight at her.
“You! Stop right there! Step out here!”
The female player felt her heart instantly drop into her stomach.
