Chapter 889: A Day of Hua

Heimu said, pulling a freshly generated identity card from his pocket; the card is the school's standard work badge, printed with Kesi Mo's code and a string of numbers, "Your armor is a new security equipment under testing, needing field operation testing in the campus environment. So your job is to patrol the campus, stand wherever you think you need to stand. No one will find it strange, because you wearing like this is work necessity."

Kesi Mo took the identity card, lowered her head and looked at it for a while.

Then she put the card away, stood straight, and in a standard tactical report tone said, "Understood. Security Test Staff."

"What about me?"

Heimu took off the Witch Hat, and her long hair fell behind her shoulders.

On the System Panel, the identity forgery module had completed the final round of data writing.

"Teacher." she said.

The Cognitive Influence module on the System Panel had automatically activated.

This function does not need to modify the Painted World's Rule; it only adds a layer of cognitive filter on the existing Rule.

Anyone who sees them will automatically match their appearance and behavior pattern to the information on the identity card.

Kesi Mo, wearing armor, stood at the school gate; others only thought "Oh, the security staff testing new equipment is here again." Ge Lei Xiu, carrying a drawing board, walked down the corridor; others only thought "The art‑specialty student's drawing board is huge." She herself stood at the podium; others only thought "The teacher is quite young."

Just that simple.

Perspective shift.

The alarm clock rang.

A hand reached out from the blanket, groped in mid‑air a few times, and precisely slapped the snooze button on top of the alarm.

The alarm let out a strangled ding, then fell silent.

Hua lifted the blanket and sat up.

Gray‑blue long hair was slightly messy after a night's sleep; a few stray strands stuck up at the crown, and the ends formed a curve on the pillow.

Ice‑blue eyes still held the drowsiness of just waking, eyelids half‑lowered, eyelashes casting two shallow shadows on her cheeks.

She sat on the edge of the bed, dazed for a while, then stood, folded the blanket, fluffed the pillow, walked to the window and pulled the curtains open.

Canghai City's morning sunlight poured in through the window, shining on her still slightly sleepy pretty face.

She squinted, then turned and walked toward the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, she had finished washing up, put on the light blue and plain white collared school uniform.

The waist‑cinching cut fit her slender figure, the cuffs were neat and simple, and the dark school trousers made her legs long and straight.

She tied her gray‑blue hair into a low ponytail, checked in the mirror that the collar was flat and the cuffs wrinkle‑free, then opened the front door and stepped out.

The street block's morning was very quiet; the old town's characteristic life atmosphere had not fully awakened.

Steam from the roadside breakfast stalls rose from the baskets, the mist turned golden in the morning light.

An elderly person practiced tai chi by the road, and a radio played very light opera.

An orange cat crouched under a utility pole, glanced at her, then continued licking its paws.

The school was about a twenty‑minute walk from her home.

She left home at the same time every day, took the same route, turned the same corner, and waited at the same ginkgo tree for the red light.

After entering the school gate, a few early‑arriving students stood here and there in the hallway.

Hua walked very quietly, her back straight, a habit from years of martial training that she cannot shed even in school uniform.

She kept her head slightly lowered, the gray‑blue low ponytail swayed gently behind her shoulders, ice‑blue eyes looked at the ground a short distance ahead; when classmates passed by, she would slightly turn her body to let them by, but would not greet them proactively.

Of course it wasn't that she didn't want to greet; she just didn't know what to say.

She is always a beat late in such matters; by the time she thought "I should say good morning," the other had already passed her.

At the hallway corner, a figure leaning against the wall waved at her.

That person wore a fitted black teacher uniform, a school‑badge pin at the collar, gray‑white long hair draped over the shoulders, and a lazy curve at the mouth corner.

Heimu said, "Good morning."

Hua stopped, gave a slight bow.

"Good morning, teacher."

The voice was light, with a hint of introverted restraint, but the courtesy was flawless.

Heimu looked at her, the curve at the mouth corner deepened slightly.

Then she reached out and, very naturally, smoothed the small exposed part of Hua's collar.

The motion was light; Hua even froze for a moment before reacting.

Heimu withdrew her hand, still wearing that faint smile.

"Today we have a transfer student. Ice‑blue hair, very quiet, will sit beside you. Please keep an eye on her."

Hua gave another slight bow.

"Alright, teacher."

Heimu nodded, turned and walked toward the staff office along the hallway; the hem of her black teacher uniform swayed lightly behind her.

Hua stood still, watching her silhouette disappear around the hallway corner.

Then she lowered her head, looked at her smoothed collar, pressed it lightly with her hand, and continued toward the classroom.

Most of the classroom was already occupied.

Hua went to her window seat, hung her backpack on the hook by the desk, took out the textbook and notebook, and placed them neatly on the desk.

Around her, classmates chatted in small groups; she simply sat quietly, turned her gaze to the window. On the playground, a few early‑rising students were jogging; the row of ginkgo trees beside the track had begun to shed leaves, golden leaves were blown by the morning wind, spiraling down from the branches.

At that moment, the classroom door was pushed open.

Head Teacher entered, followed by a girl with ice‑blue hair.

She wore the school uniform, the white shirt's collar was immaculate, the skirt covered her knees, and the white‑silk‑wrapped calves glimmered faintly in the morning light.

She stood beside the podium, cradling a drawing board in her arms.

Head Teacher clapped her hands, signaling everyone to be quiet.

"This is today's newly transferred student. Ge Lei Xiu. Starting today, she will join our class. Ge Lei Xiu, please greet everyone."

Ge Lei Xiu tilted her head.

Her gaze slowly swept across the whole class, finally lingering on the empty seat beside Hua.

Then she spoke, her voice steady and soft, very clear.

"Hello everyone. I am Ge Lei Xiu. I like drawing. Please take care of me."

After speaking, she gave a slight bow.

The Head Teacher pointed to the empty seat next to Hua.

"You can sit beside classmate Hua. If you have any questions, you can ask her; she is the Class Monitor."

Ge Lei Xiu, carrying her drawing board, walked to the seat beside Hua and sat down, placing the board against the desk. Then she turned her head and, with those ice‑blue eyes, quietly gave Hua a look.

Hua glanced at her and gave a slight nod.

"Hello."

"Hello."

Ge Lei Xiu also nodded.

Then she took the pencil clipped to the drawing board and began sketching something on a blank page of her notebook. Hua turned over and glanced; Ge Lei Xiu was drawing the ginkgo tree outside the window, its golden leaves rendered semi‑transparent by the morning light.

Hua withdrew their gaze and opened the textbook.

Heimu stood at the window of the classroom Backdoor, watching this scene through the glass, a slight curl at the corner of the mouth.

What Hua's wish is, she does not know yet.

But at least they have already come in.

As for what comes next, we'll deal with it as it comes.