Chapter 58: The Shy Little Fox

Audrey unconsciously bit her pen, her delicate, alluring face scrunched up; after a long while, she looked up at the ceiling, her mind blank with confusion.

Who am I? Where am I? What was I supposed to be doing again?

Waaah, this question is too hard—I really can’t solve it.

In the past, Audrey always thought she was at least somewhat of a genius, since everyone around her praised her that way, and the skills her two mothers taught her were always learned instantly.

Although such talent certainly wasn’t truly unparalleled, as others boasted, she still believed it wasn’t bad at all—she should easily rank as outstanding among her peers.

Because of her timid, reclusive nature, she’d spent her time at home reading books to pass the hours, so she remained confident in her knowledge—even her sister knew less than she did.

So who can tell me why I can only solve half of these questions?

Audrey stared at the vast blank spaces on her exam paper, her eyes growing more bewildered.

So, Auntie, are you sure you didn’t grab the wrong test? Is this really the freshman admission exam, or some sage’s introductory paper?

Looking at the exam paper covering nearly every category of the Nine Schools, the little fox was truly lost.

Had she been cooped up at home too long? Had the times changed? Did modern little witches now need such broad knowledge, mastering every school from childhood?

But this doubt was immediately dismissed by Audrey’s reason.

After all, mastering every school was something only sages could achieve—if anyone could do it, sages wouldn’t be special anymore.

Audrey roughly calculated: if she’d started studying nonstop from birth—no eating, no sleeping, no rest—she should’ve aced this exam at sixteen, given her talent.

But who could possibly do that? It’s impossible...

Right??

Audrey shook her head, trying to stop her wandering thoughts—but as she turned, she accidentally saw the classmate beside her, also taking the exam.

To be honest, she didn’t like this classmate at all—she was even a little afraid, since the girl’s appearance was textbook troublemaker: she might as well have had “I’m a bad student” written on her face.

She was clearly the type who skipped class, fought constantly, and obsessed over dating.

Even normal witch students kept their distance from such delinquents, let alone Audrey, a social-anxious shut-in.

She’d already regretted storming over and sitting beside this girl to take the exam—but the test’s difficulty had distracted her, so she’d forgotten for a while.

Now, unable to proceed with the exam, her focus shattered, and the little fox grew tense again; she scolded herself for choosing this desk so close to the girl, when there were so many ordinary lab tables in the workshop.

But...

The delinquent girl across from her seemed to be working on the practical questions. Besides standard exam problems, the test included two lab tasks: one required building a basic mechanical puppet, the other commanding it to construct a small architectural model.

For Audrey, building the puppet wasn’t hard—she’d mastered it easily—but commanding a puppet to build a house...

She was an artist who’d spent her life learning dance and song—what did she know about architecture?

Puppet theaters originally needed stage sets, and puppet makers were expected to learn basic architectural design—but Audrey, being a nine-tailed fox-demon hybrid with maxed-out illusion talent, could conjure any stage with a single spell, so she never needed physical props.

Audrey had once been proud of her illusion talent, but now, facing this architecture exam, she was dumbfounded; helplessly, she ordered her puppet to build randomly.

The puppet, once lively and graceful in dance and song, now fumbled clumsily—she’d envisioned a floating villa estate, but the final result...

The little fox stared at the square matchbox in front of her, lost in thought.

Where did I go wrong?

She turned to look at the delinquent girl beside her...

Wait—what did I miss just now?

In the time it took to turn her head, the girl had barely started building her puppet—but now, the lab table beside her had become a full construction site.

Dozens of miniature versions of the giant construction puppets she’d seen earlier in the hall were feverishly hauling bricks.

Beside the site, dozens of small alchemical furnaces stood neatly arranged; though crude in appearance, they clearly worked well—each time the transformed “Giant God No. 3” vehicles dumped building materials into the furnace mouths, flames erupted inside, and bricks, glass, and other materials spewed out the exits.

So I just spaced out for ten seconds—and missed all this?

Audrey stared at the bustling construction site beside her, then at her own layered matchbox, her tiny brain exploding with question marks.

She turned again.

Holy crap—the site had changed again.

The delinquent girl seemed to find the puppets that could switch between vehicle and humanoid forms too slow, so she dismantled them, threw the Giant God metal into the alchemical furnaces, and forged them into conveyor belts.

Then she stripped off the bulky armor from the Giant God No. 2s, making them far more agile; the removed armor was reconfigured into sorting devices.

Sorting devices were placed at the furnace exits, feeding processed materials onto the conveyor belts, which carried them to the site, where the agile, armorless puppets grabbed the materials and began construction.

The delinquent girl also crafted strange machines: a vehicle with two massive solid wheels, another with a flexible mechanical arm, a tall tower with a long arm and crane claw, and more.

Tiny mechanical puppets crawled into these odd machines and operated them.

Excavation, foundation pouring, concrete mixing, tamping, plastering, skeleton erection, scaffolding, dust covers...

When the commotion behind the dust cover ceased, the fabric was ripped away—and a miniature palace appeared before the little fox’s eyes.

The mechanical puppets that had finished their work now lined up and jumped into the alchemical furnaces; after bursts of flame, beautiful, lifelike doll women emerged.

They entered the palace, each assuming a role: some sat on thrones, others served as ministers, some played concubines, others danced and sang—clearly a miniature kingdom.

Oh my...

Audrey, who had witnessed it all, felt she’d seen a god—her mouth hung open, her alluring fox eyes wide with shock—until the delinquent witch’s voice snapped her back.

“Teacher, I’m done. Submitting my paper.”

She heard the delinquent girl say.

Instinctively, Audrey glanced at the girl’s exam paper—but the girl noticed her gaze and immediately shielded it, wary, as if afraid Audrey would steal a peek.

Audrey: “........”

For the first time in her life, someone had treated her like this—and the little fox wasn’t even angry, because in that fleeting glance, she’d seen the girl’s paper: densely packed with writing, not a single blank space.

So she could answer every question?

Impossible—how could that be? She must’ve just scribbled nonsense.

But...

Looking at the lifelike miniature kingdom on the girl’s desk, Audrey fell silent.

After a long while, the little fox looked up at the ceiling again.

She began to suspect her family had lied to her all these years—she probably wasn’t a genius at all, but a fool; how else could she be worse than a delinquent girl, with a gap so vast it was despairing?

.....The little fox is in self-imposed isolation.....