Villain Strategy Rules [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 10

Wen Zhixu was awakened by the clanking of chains. Checking her phone, she saw it was already 9:45. Chaoyao was sleeping right beside her, her head resting on Wen Zhixu’s shoulder, their hands tightly clasped as if they were each other’s entire world.

Yang Yue entered with a flashlight and, upon seeing the two curled up in the corner, whispered softly, “Time’s up. I specifically swapped shifts with the teacher on door duty, and the surveillance cameras are covered. Teacher Song, you should leave now.” Then, pointing at Chaoyao, she asked, “Is she okay?”

Wen Zhixu shook her head. “She’s fine, but my leg’s gone numb—oh, and my arm too.”

Yang Yue glanced around the room and sighed. “I’d heard before that kids who come out of here behave for a long time afterward. Now I see why. Luckily, the three of us are decent—we’ve never snitched on anyone. These kids are somewhat fortunate.”

Wen Zhixu wasn’t aware of these things. When faced with mischievous children, she simply laughed it off. After all, as an office worker, she had a fair amount of patience for kids.

“But this is a society governed by law. Such corporal punishment shouldn’t be allowed, right?” Wen Zhixu asked. Just then, Chaoyao stirred awake and replied in a hoarse voice, “It’s no use. Someone tried before, but we’re orphans—no one will stand up for us. They’ll just think disobedient children deserve discipline from adults.”

Yang Yue suddenly urged, “Hurry up. The dormitory doors lock at ten. We can still get in, but Chaoyao can’t—she’ll be locked up again.”

Hearing this, Wen Zhixu didn’t press further. For now, the priority was to leave this awful place. Whatever else could be dealt with later.

Once back in the dormitory, Wen Zhixu wanted to learn more and also help Chaoyao unwind. She borrowed the keys from Yang Yue and took Chaoyao up to the rooftop.

The sky was filled with stars tonight, the crescent moon surrounded by twinkling little lights that blinked now and then. The moon itself cast its glow, revealing the general layout of the orphanage below.

Leaning against the railing, Wen Zhixu asked, “Do you remember how many times you’ve been locked up?”

“Three,” Chaoyao answered, then added with feigned indifference, “Twice when I was little. I was abandoned—my mom died right after I was born, and my dad just threw me away. So when I found out other kids had parents, I kept crying for my mother. They probably thought I was too noisy and locked me up.”

Wen Zhixu’s heart ached with sorrow. Being an orphan wasn’t a choice, nor should such a fate exist—but there was no changing the reality before them.

“Then don’t think about them,” Wen Zhixu suddenly said, taking Chaoyao’s hand and turning it palm up. With her finger, she gently traced three characters: “Wen Zhixu.” “Since I don’t feel like I have a home either, from now on, I’ll be your family.”

Luckily, it was dark enough that Chaoyao couldn’t make out the characters. “What did you write?” she asked.

Wen Zhixu: “…”

HAHAHAHA, Host, your name is Song Nuan! Why did you write someone else’s name?

“Ugh, they’re both my names. Now scram.”

Wen Zhixu’s mind raced wildly. She had been so immersed in the moment earlier that she’d forgotten about this complication. If both names had three characters, it would have been easier to explain—but how could she justify this now?

Got it! If she didn’t know how to explain, then she simply wouldn’t.

Wen Zhixu: “If you didn’t see it clearly the first time, then it doesn’t count. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay.” Chaoyao didn’t press further, though her curiosity ultimately won out. “Then you must promise to tell me someday.”

“Absolutely.” Wen Zhixu finished speaking and lifted her gaze to the sky, staring at the stars. “When you’re unhappy, just look at the moon. Don’t bottle it up—let your emotions out.”

“What about you?” Chaoyao moved closer. “What makes you unhappy enough to look at the moon?”

“Me…” Wen Zhixu murmured. “I’m unhappy because you’re unhappy.”

Host, you’re being so fake. Your favorability might plummet like this.

Wen Zhixu rolled her eyes. What a perfect atmosphere, ruined by this system’s sudden intrusion. “Didn’t I say I’d call you when needed? Can you just stay quiet unless summoned? You’re creeping me out.”

This was the first time Wen Zhixu had encountered such a situation. She often forgot she didn’t originally belong to this world—that she was here on a mission. When she first arrived, knowing no one, she had idly chatted with the system day after day. Over time, she’d started feeling like the system was unnecessary.

Soon, the surroundings grew quiet again. Wen Zhixu and Chaoyao simply gazed at the sky as a cool breeze brushed their faces, soothing the summer heat.

Wen Zhixu suddenly asked, “Can I know why you were asked to leave school?”

Chaoyao’s expression shifted. After a moment of contemplation, she whispered, “Do you trust me?”

Wen Zhixu replied firmly, “I do.”

Chaoyao spoke slowly, “Everyone thinks I bullied a classmate. But the truth is, I helped her. I just don’t understand… why she turned around and framed me after that.”

Wen Zhixu listened quietly, though she knew such things were all too common—not everyone deserved emotional investment.

“Someone once asked me if I regretted it. I knew most people wanted me to say ‘no,’ not to prove I was a good person, but to satisfy some twisted pleasure. I did wrong—I should have been full of regret. But all I could say was, ‘I don’t regret it.'”

Wen Zhixu: “The fact that you could make that choice the first time proves you’re a good person. But we can’t be endlessly good without boundaries.”

“Enough of this.” Chaoyao tilted her head with a faint smile. The wind swept her shoulder-length hair back, revealing her delicate features. In the darkness, her expression was the most enigmatic. “It’s getting colder. Should we head back?”

“Okay.”

–

As soon as they returned to the dorm, Wen Zhixu flung open her suitcase, dumping everything onto the floor. She began opening box after box. Clothes lay scattered everywhere, each container holding something different—yet none contained what she sought.

Yang Yue walked over and asked, “What are you looking for? Making such a mess?”

Still rummaging, Wen Zhixu answered, “My high school diploma.”

Finally, Wen Zhixu found the diploma inside a red box. The words “Chuncheng High School” remained clearly visible. The girl in the photo had her hair tied in a ponytail, her eyes sparkling with light, smiling radiantly as if filled with anticipation for the life ahead.

Yang Yue peeked at the photo. “What do you need this for? Though, you were already this pretty in high school—how many people had a crush on you back then?”

“I don’t remember,” Wen Zhixu replied absentmindedly. “I recall that with this diploma, we can visit Chuncheng High School, right? I want to go there for something important.”

Yang Yue asked, “What’s so important?”

Wen Zhixu put on a serious face. “I need to sneak into the high school and investigate what really happened with Chaoyao back then.”

“Well, that certainly is important. But why sneak in? There’s a teacher training conference in two days at that very high school, and it’s happening in the senior-year advanced class—though I’m not sure if it’s Chaoyao’s class. I thought none of us would attend, so I hadn’t responded yet. Since you want to go, I’ll sign both of us up.”

Yang Yue was the most senior teacher among them, having signed a five-year contract, so such matters were usually left to her—which worked out perfectly for Wen Zhixu.

Wen Zhixu exclaimed excitedly, “You should’ve told me earlier! I’d already come up with an excuse for tomorrow, but now we have a legitimate reason!”

Yang Yue then asked, “But how do you plan to ask around? If they wouldn’t even show the surveillance footage to the principal back then, why would they show it to visiting teachers like us?”

Wen Zhixu pondered for a moment. “Let me sleep on it tonight. Hurry up and pack—thank goodness for your flashlight.”

Yang Yue could only sigh helplessly. This was all because this kind-hearted soul had gone into that dark storage room in the first place. And after coming back, she insisted on taking Chaoyao to the rooftop for some fresh air to lift her spirits. Truly, Teacher Song was a compassionate and sentimental person.

A few days later, at dawn, Wen Zhixu and Yang Yue drove to the gates of Chuncheng High School. They entered the campus under the guise of attending the training conference, encountering no obstacles along the way, and soon arrived at the faculty office for Class 1 of the senior year.

Class 1 was Chuncheng High’s advanced science class, the primary source of the school’s college admission rates. Students here were either top-ranked in the city or came from wealthy, influential families. The homeroom teacher was a woman named Gao Xing, a locally renowned educator who wore gold-rimmed glasses and a black overcoat, appearing warm and approachable.

Upon meeting Wen Zhixu, Gao Xing greeted her politely. “You must be Teacher Song Nuan. I heard you studied at our school, though I wasn’t teaching seniors that year, so I missed the chance to be your teacher—what a shame.”

Song Nuan had entered Class 1 based on merit, so none of the teachers had paid much attention to her family background. But Song Chaoyao was different—his grades hadn’t been enough, and it was only after his grandfather intervened that he was placed in the class. This had inadvertently exposed Song Nuan’s hidden identity.

Wen Zhixu shook her hand. “Not being taught by you is my loss as well. But today, we’re here for the training. Whose class is first?”

Gao Xing replied, “Mine. The students should be on break now—let me take you to the classroom first.”

There were many attendees at the conference, and Wen Zhixu stood at the front of the group.

But being in the first position also has its drawbacks—like being the first to see someone you’d rather avoid.

Song Chaoyao glared angrily and demanded, “Why are you here?”

Wen Zhixu gave Song Chaoyao a once-over—standard school uniform, nondescript shoes, and hair tied back in a simple ponytail.

It was clear… she still feared her parents, never daring to stand out at school.

Wen Zhixu smirked. “To report you.”