Transformed into a High School Deep Closet Goddess Teacher in a Hot Romance with a Scumbag Girlfriend - Chapter 11

In the blink of an eye, it was Tuesday.

During the afternoon break, the large office was as bustling as usual. Sheng Xining got up to make herself a cup of coffee. When she returned, she saw the class monitor, Liang Qihui, anxiously blocking another student from her class—Wu Qinming.

Wu Qinming was waving his composition notebook in the air, his face pale, his eyes burning with defiance. He struggled fiercely against the monitor’s restraint, clearly unwilling to back down.

Sheng Xining set down her coffee cup and looked at them. “What’s going on? No roughhousing in the office. If there’s something wrong, talk to me properly.”

Even as she spoke, one glance at the composition notebook told her exactly what was happening.

Liang Qihui reluctantly let go. “Ms. Sheng, Wu Qinming, he—”

“What’s it to you, Liang Qihui?” Wu Qinming’s uniform was impeccably neat, his cropped hair jet-black. Thin and pale, he looked severely malnourished, his narrow eyes deeply set and brimming with a stubborn, almost sinister intensity. He spat out viciously, “Do I need your permission to talk to Ms. Sheng? Who the hell do you think you are, just some lousy class monitor? Mind your own damn business and shut up!”

The commotion drew the attention of nearby teachers and students.

“It’s alright, Qihui. Thank you. Go back to class first,” Sheng Xining reassured him with a smile, giving him a pat on the shoulder before turning to Wu Qinming. “What did you want to talk to me about? Let’s sit down and discuss it calmly.”

Wu Qinming only relaxed slightly after watching Liang Qihui leave. He walked over to Sheng Xining’s desk and solemnly opened his composition notebook to the marked page, pressing his finger firmly against the line she had circled in red.

“Ms. Sheng, I don’t understand,” he said. “What’s wrong with what I wrote here?”

Wu Qinming was a “notable” figure not just in Class 3 of Grade 11 but throughout the entire No. 1 High School—highly opinionated, fiercely independent, and at times even radical. A passionate literature enthusiast, he often represented the school in essay competitions.

The passage in question was from the weekend composition Sheng Xining had just graded and returned. In it, Wu Qinming had used exaggerated metaphors like “the Eight-Nation Alliance burning down the Old Summer Palace” and “looting and pillaging” to describe certain things.

Sheng Xining explained, “As I noted in the margin, you should reconsider this metaphor. Historical and political events, especially those tied to the suffering of the Chinese people, require careful thought. Even if there’s a superficial similarity between the subject and the metaphor, we shouldn’t prioritize novelty and flair over appropriateness.”

Wu Qinming scoffed, clearly proud of his literary flourish. Raising his voice, he retorted, “Ms. Sheng, I disagree. I have the freedom to express myself! Isn’t that the whole point of writing? Besides, this is nothing. Do you know why China, with its vast cultural heritage, has only produced one Mo Yan? It’s because some people always blow things out of proportion, making a mountain out of a molehill! They’re suffocating literary freedom!”

Some People

“…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sheng Xining noticed the subtle shift in the room. Though no one was openly staring, ears were perked in their direction, the atmosphere unnervingly quiet. Ji Bingyan happened to be tilting his head back for a sip of water, his gaze drifting down toward them.

I had long heard that Wu Qinming was a well-known figure among the students at No. 1 High School. On the first day of class, Lin Pingfeng had also discussed the students in their class with her, specifically highlighting Wu Qinming. But it wasn’t until today that she truly witnessed his demeanor up close and personal.

Teacher Ji was watching. Sheng Xining tapped her fingers twice on the essay notebook, then turned to Wu Qinming with a smile brimming with teacherly virtue.

She said, “You love literature and pursue literary freedom. As your teacher, I completely understand and respect that. But I want to ask you—if you were to use the burning of the Old Summer Palace as a metaphor in the college entrance exam, that kind of writing would definitely be flagged as politically incorrect and receive a zero. Would you still write it that way?”

The air was dead silent.

Wu Qinming suddenly went mute. He took a step back, slowly looking Sheng Xining up and down, his pale, rigid face twisted with defiance.

Teacher Huang, whose seat was by the window, noticed that the city inspectors, led by the principal and his entourage, had already reached the hallway and would soon enter the main office. She quickly shot Sheng Xining a warning glance.

Last night, the No. 1 High School faculty group chat had emphasized that city officials would be inspecting the school today, reminding teachers to dress appropriately and, above all, avoid any incidents.

Sheng Xining immediately stood up, gently tugging at Wu Qinming’s uniform sleeve to signal that class was about to start and he should hurry back. When he ignored her, she softened her voice, suggesting they go buy a bottle of water together or continue their discussion in the garden downstairs.

But Wu Qinming remained motionless. He began tearing pages from his essay notebook, flinging them one by one onto Sheng Xining’s desk.

As the situation spiraled out of control, the other teachers in the office grew restless. Some spoke up, and even a male teacher stood, ready to intervene and drag him away.

“Wu Qinming, are you insane? Stop it!” A female student couldn’t take it anymore and snapped, quickly gathering the torn pieces for Sheng Xining. “Teacher Sheng has already explained everything to you. Are you incapable of understanding basic human speech?”

Footsteps and voices outside the office grew louder and closer.

Suddenly, Wu Qinming staggered as a flash of white darted past his vision—someone yanked him away.

Ji Bingyan pulled him to the garden behind the teaching building. She wore a crisp, well-fitted white blouse, the elegant brooch on her chest rising and falling with her breath after the run. Her high-quality black skirt finally showed the faintest hint of everyday wrinkles.

Ji Bingyan: “Wu Qinming.”

Wu Qinming: “Teacher Ji!”

Before Ji Bingyan could continue, Wu Qinming pointed angrily toward the teaching building. “Who does Sheng Xining think she is? She’s only been at No. 1 High for a few days! Just because she says something, does that make it right? Some kind of imperial decree? Before this, she was just some rich kid pretending to know everything. If she weren’t a teacher, what right would she have to lecture me?”

“You do realize she is your teacher, Wu Qinming.” Ji Bingyan’s tone was icy, each word deliberate. “If you don’t respect her, you don’t respect me.”

Wu Qinming looked up in surprise as Teacher Ji continued—

“We’re both teachers. Literature teachers. If you disrespect her, you’re disrespecting me too. Understand?”

He furrowed his brow, staring at Teacher Ji, feeling her logic was a bit of a stretch. He had been targeting Teacher Sheng—how had it suddenly turned into an affront to Teacher Ji?

But on second thought… maybe there was some truth to it?

After locking eyes with Ji Bingyan for a long moment, Wu Qinming gradually broke free from that chilling obsession.

He scratched his head, and his pale, sickly face finally showed a trace of human warmth as he said, “I’m sorry, Teacher Ji. I was wrong just now.”

“I’ll pick out a new composition book for you,” Ji Bingyan replied coolly, her expression still tense and devoid of a smile. Then she abruptly changed the subject, “But as for the apology, you should say it to Teacher Sheng.”

Wu Qinming responded softly, though he wasn’t entirely at ease. He wondered why, if Teacher Ji had been so angry earlier—saying that disrespecting Teacher Sheng was the same as disrespecting her—she now seemed indifferent after he apologized to her and told him to apologize to Teacher Sheng instead.

The class bell had already rung ten minutes ago.

Wu Qinming didn’t have time to dwell on it further as Ji Bingyan hurried him back to Classroom 3.

He turned back repeatedly, watching Teacher Ji pacing in the garden with her hands behind her back, and a quiet warmth slowly spread through his heart.

Compared to his own Chinese teacher, Wu Qinming felt much closer to Ji Bingyan. In the first semester of his freshman year, he had written an essay and revised it over and over, but in the end, he still felt it was terrible. Frustrated, he crumpled the draft into a ball and threw it toward the trash can, only to be seen by Ji Bingyan, who happened to be passing by.

She bent down, picked it up, and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles. Standing in the sunlight, she read it attentively for a while before looking up and smiling at him.

From then on, Wu Qinming loved showing everything he wrote to Ji Bingyan, seeking her feedback and guidance. Ji Bingyan never neglected him just because he wasn’t her student. She often stayed up late reading his “masterpieces,” offering thoughtful suggestions.

Wu Qinming grew increasingly fond of her, even feeling that her literary talent was wasted teaching at this school—she should have been a writer instead.

The faculty group chat of A City No. 1 High School was filled with harmony.

Director Wang kept posting photos in the group of the principal leading city officials and the head of the education bureau on a tour, reporting on the school’s work. He mentioned that the school’s efforts in creating a harmonious and healthy campus had received high praise from the city leaders.

Below, a sea of uniform likes—[thumbs up], [celebrate].jpg.

One of the photos captured the city leaders warmly interacting with the teachers in the main office, with the highest-ranking official standing right next to Sheng Xining’s desk.

Multiple pictures were taken, and in one of them, Teacher Huang was caught in the act—while listening attentively to the leader’s speech, she discreetly reached behind her to remove a leftover scrap of a composition book from Sheng Xining’s chair.

During the evening self-study session, when Sheng Xining returned to the office, she sent three thumbs-up emojis in the group before turning to Teacher Huang beside her and teasing, “Impressive, Teacher Huang! Not only sharp-eyed but also quick-handed. Thanks a lot~~~”

Teacher Huang chuckled. Though they taught different subjects, both were young female teachers and shared neighboring desks, so they had naturally grown close.

Teacher Huang said with concern, “Xining, don’t take what happened earlier to heart. They’re just a bunch of kids.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not upset. Wu Qinming came to apologize to me this afternoon,” Sheng Xining replied as she packed her bag, her eyes uncontrollably darting toward Ji Bingyan. Then, with immense joy, she called out, “Tea—cher—Ji!”

Ji Bingyan was intently typing on her laptop, rushing to complete the task assigned by Director Wang—compiling the work report from the leadership inspection earlier that day. When someone suddenly called her name so loudly, she visibly startled.

Suppressing her racing heart, Ji Bingyan asked, “What is it, Ms. Sheng?”

Sheng Xining picked up her bag and approached with a bright smile. “Thank you for today, Ms. Ji. Let me treat you to a late-night snack!”

After a brief, thoughtful frown, Ji Bingyan responded politely yet distantly, “I still need to finish this report. It’s all part of my job, so there’s no need for such courtesy, Ms. Sheng.”

“…Alright.” Sheng Xining stiffly turned away. “Then… I’ll be going now. Goodbye.”