Villain Strategy Rules [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 9

After returning to the dorm, Wen Zhixu didn’t report Chaoyao’s fight to the authorities. Somehow, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wasn’t sure how the headmaster would punish Chaoyao, but since she was already in her final year of high school, any punishment—likely labor or writing a self-criticism—would only waste her time.

“9:46.” The moment Wen Zhixu stepped into the dorm, Yang Yue glanced at her watch and announced the time with a teasing smirk.

Wen Zhixu set down her backpack and argued, “It’s not even ten yet. There are still 14 minutes left, which means I completed the task ahead of schedule.”

Congratulations, Host. The target’s favorability has significantly increased. Keep up the good work—you’re the best I’ve ever seen.

The sudden voice of the system made Wen Zhixu freeze for a second. Right… she was here on a mission. The system had been updating the past couple of days, and she’d nearly forgotten.

Wen Zhixu: “Are you done updating? Can you check the current intimacy level now?”

30%.

Host, the system update is complete. From now on, you can call me 006, and I’ll appear. I’ll stay with you until the very end!

Wen Zhixu: “Do you know what specifically made Chaoyao’s favorability jump so much?”

Not at the moment.

Ugh. What was even updated? It’s still the same as before. Well, at least now she had someone to discuss things with.

Night fell, and with the shrill ring of the evening bell, the entire institute quieted down. Wen Zhixu was exhausted. Chaoyao had been called away by someone just as they reached the dorm entrance, so Wen Zhixu had returned alone.

She’d meant to check if Chaoyao had made it back to the dorm, but she was so tired that she drifted off to sleep before she could.

The next morning, when Wen Zhixu stepped out, she noticed Chaoyao’s door was already locked. Assuming she’d gone to study early, Wen Zhixu didn’t think much of it and headed straight to the cafeteria.

But by midday, Wen Zhixu hadn’t spotted Chaoyao in any of the classrooms. The girl had vanished like dandelion fluff scattered by the wind—without a trace.

At lunch, Wen Zhixu couldn’t hold back anymore and texted Chaoyao to ask where she was. Still, there was no response.

“System, where do you think she went?”

Only detecting a very dark place.

A dark place… Could she have gone back to nap? Maybe she’d already eaten?

“Why are you staring at your phone like that? Are you dating someone?” Yang Yue asked from across the table.

Wen Zhixu replied absentmindedly, “Just checking if Chaoyao’s eaten yet.”

“Chaoyao?” Yang Yue raised her voice in confusion. “Wasn’t she locked up?”

Wen Zhixu’s pupils dilated. “Locked up? What do you mean?”

Yang Yue looked even more puzzled. “Didn’t the headmaster find out about her fight yesterday? She was punished—they won’t let her out until tonight. Oh, right, you arrived later. If the kids misbehave, the headmaster locks them in a dark room for 24 hours.”

Wen Zhixu was stunned. She hadn’t told the headmaster—she’d only threatened Chaoyao in the heat of the moment. There was no way she’d actually reported it. Besides, she had no idea this place even had a punishment like that. Did they really withhold food and water for a full day?

“But how did the headmaster find out? Wasn’t I the one who handled it?”

She was certain she hadn’t informed the director, nor had Yang Yue known about this during their phone call yesterday. Could it have been Song Chaoyao who reported it? If that were truly the case, then she wouldn’t cover for him either.

Yang Yue explained, “Although you were the one who handled it, Chaoyao’s records are clearly marked. The first point of contact would always be the director. The director was probably busy and remembered we were out, so she told her to find any available teacher—which happened to be you.”

These words struck Wen Zhixu like a bolt from the blue, leaving her flustered. She had never known such a situation existed. Could this be why Chaoyao’s story ended in tragedy? Was it related to the treatment she endured daily? She had assumed the orphanage was simply a place where parentless children formed a collective—difficult to teach, perhaps, but ultimately manageable for the teachers.

Now it seemed they might not be living in a loving environment after all.

So Chaoyao’s corruption wasn’t solely due to external factors, but stemmed from the toxic environment that had twisted her psyche since childhood.

Wen Zhixu asked, “Doesn’t anyone try to stop this? This is corporal punishment—it’s prohibited by law.”

As her voice rose, several glances turned their way. Yang Yue hastily covered her mouth, abandoning their meal to pull her outside. “Don’t say such things out loud. We’ve tried—Teacher Zhang and I—but were refused. We’re just volunteer teachers; we can’t change traditions decades old.”

“Besides, how many times can you help? Once, twice—but can you help for a lifetime?”

The cold wind brushed against Wen Zhixu’s face, gradually calming her. After a moment of furious thought, she asked, “Where’s the isolation room?”

Yang Yue hesitated before answering, “There’s a small building beside the dorms—sometimes used for group movie screenings. The innermost room is the isolation chamber.”

“The key hangs on the nearby wall. There’s a timer—usually after 24 hours, someone comes to unlock it.”

Upon hearing this, Wen Zhixu declared, “I’m going there now. Leaving someone in a sunless room for a full day would drive anyone insane.”

Yang Yue gripped her wrist, glancing around nervously. “You shouldn’t. The director might let it slide with you, but what happens after you leave? She’ll only devise worse punishments. There’s only so much we can do.”

Wen Zhixu shook her off. “Then I won’t leave.”

Following Yang Yue’s directions, she found the isolation room—a path so dark, hollow, and silent it seemed to merge with the void. She couldn’t imagine how anyone subjected to regular confinement there could maintain sound mental health.

Standing before the door, Wen Zhixu ran her hand over the cold iron barrier—secured by heavy chains and a massive lock, without even a small window. Groping in the dark, she retrieved the key from the wall and asked her system, “If I rescue her, does this count as altering the plot?”

It does, and there will be ripple effects. But since your primary mission is the romance route, it won’t affect you.

Wen Zhixu worried that, as Chaoyao had said, if they left, the punishment would only escalate. If she left later, would Chaoyao also be affected?

“I understand.”

Without hesitation, Wen Zhixu opened the door, pulled out the key, and hung it back on the wall. Then she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

The room was pitch black, and Wen Zhixu could barely see anything, though the strong sunlight outside managed to seep in faintly.

The square room contained only a single mat. Chaoyao was curled up in a corner, the torment of the past dozen hours having dulled her reaction to the sound of the door opening. The once-vibrant girl now resembled a fledgling bird with broken wings, seeking refuge in the most hidden spot she could find, trying desperately to protect herself.

Wen Zhixu walked over, the tapping of her shoes shattering the silence. Chaoyao flinched but still didn’t lift her head to see who had entered.

With so little light, Wen Zhixu could only vaguely make out the path ahead, occasionally stumbling over something unseen. After a few steps, she stood before Chaoyao.

The faint glow was now blocked by Wen Zhixu’s figure, plunging Chaoyao’s vision into complete darkness. She didn’t look up, only buried her head deeper and covered her ears with her hands. Her weak, uneven breaths were painfully audible, growing heavier as if she were facing something terrifying, trying to stifle the sounds she made—only to fail.

Wen Zhixu reached into her pocket and pulled out a washed apple. It felt as heavy as a thousand pounds in her hand. She crouched down slowly, gently stroking Chaoyao’s hair before whispering, “I heard… tonight is a peaceful night.”

Though it was midday outside, inside, it might as well have been midnight.

At the sound of Wen Zhixu’s voice, Chaoyao finally lifted her head. Her eyes fixed on the apple, her pupils contracting slightly as her breathing steadied. The person before her was like a blinding light, shattering the surrounding darkness, bringing illumination to her world.

Chaoyao uncurled her arms from around her legs and took the apple. She brought it to her lips and took a bite.

Wen Zhixu hurriedly said, “I didn’t tell the headmistress about the fight. It really wasn’t me.”

Chaoyao smiled weakly. “I know. There was no escaping this. You should leave—if the door stays open too long, they’ll notice.”

“Why leave?” Wen Zhixu shook her head. “I’ve already locked the door.”

Chaoyao’s hand went limp at those words, and the apple slipped from her grasp. Luckily, Wen Zhixu was close enough to catch it. She took a bite herself and said, “This means we’ll both be safe before nightfall.”

Chaoyao asked, “Why did you lock yourself in here?”

Wen Zhixu replied, “I can’t let you out. I don’t dare save you… but I can stay with you. Being alone is scary, but not when there are two. I’ll stay until you can leave.”

She hadn’t known who would come to open the door, but she trusted Yang Yue. Before locking herself in, Wen Zhixu had already sent her a message. She believed Yang Yue would be the one to finally free them.

This would remain a secret. No one would ever know that two people had been inside the solitary confinement room today.

After a long silence, Chaoyao stared intently at the apple in her hand and asked, “You… why are you so kind to me?”

“Chaoyao…” Wen Zhixu suddenly leaned in close, whispering by her ear, “I have no other demands of you. I just feel… your future should be bright.”

The sudden proximity flustered Chaoyao. She instinctively turned her head, unaware of how close they were until her lips brushed against Wen Zhixu’s cheek.

The soft contact made her reluctant to pull away, yet upon regaining her senses, she felt a surge of panic. She tried to explain, “I…” but the words caught in her throat.

Wen Zhixu simply sat down beside her, took her hand, and rested his head against Chaoyao. “From now on, it’s just the two of us here.”