Ning An's Wild Wish System

"Read the following article and complete questions 11 to 15."

"(11) This article primarily describes a young husband’s longing for his wife. Please describe the husband’s feelings when he says to his wife, ’Baby, I miss you to death,’ and explain how this relates to him eating his wife..."

"(12) Please briefly analyze the underlined sentence ’Her eyes are as crystal clear as red agate, exuding a lively, drool-worthy aura, as if standing on the altar of the gods, emitting a tempting fragrance like a sacrificial offering.’ What does this express about the author’s mood at the time?"

Song Zhuofan looked at the exam paper, covering her forehead, feeling a bit of a headache.

Squinting, the content of the test paper remained unchanged, not a single character altered.

Not again!

She took a deep breath, her face showing utter despair.

She lifted her head, closed her eyes for a moment, and looked at the test paper again.

Only to see the text on the paper, like a twisted black hole, changing unexpectedly.

This reading passage should be titled "Longing," but now it reads "Sacrificial Meal."

A drop of hot sweat slid down her forehead, across her cheek, and fell from her collar.

By accident, she gripped the edge of the paper too hard, crumpling the entire paper instantly.

Immediately, she raised her hand to signal.

"Teacher."

The teacher responsible for invigilating this high school senior mock Chinese exam noticed the commotion and immediately directed her gaze over.

When she saw it was Song Zhuofan, she instantly showed a look of regret, mixed with a bit of disgust.

She quickly walked over to Song Zhuofan, bent down, and spoke in a low voice:

"Zhuofan, are you feeling unwell again?"

Song Zhuofan remained silent, then nodded her head.

Upon hearing this, the Chinese teacher stood up and looked at Song Zhuofan, her expression indescribable.

After a few seconds, she tapped the table, signaling Song Zhuofan to follow her out.

It’s a rainy season, and the corridor outside the high school classroom was narrow and dimly lit.

Despite her best efforts to lower her voice, the sharpness in the Chinese teacher’s tone was unmistakable.

Her words seemed to emerge from her throat bit by bit, not loud but highly penetrating, prompting almost every student to pause their writing and listen attentively.

"Tell me, how many times has this happened to you this month?"

"I understand, senior year is very stressful, and the physical toll is considerable. We teachers all know, we’ve been through it ourselves, and we understand you."

"But now, almost every senior teacher is dissatisfied with you. Don’t you know why?"

Song Zhuofan kept her head down, her expression unclear, remaining silent.

"Not saying anything? Do I, as your teacher, need to repeat in front of you the bizarre essay you wrote about altars, statues, and children being placed inside?"

With her eyes lowered, Song Zhuofan said, "Teacher, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it."

"It’s not a question of whether you meant it or not."

The Chinese teacher looked at her with indescribable disappointment: "Song Zhuofan, you said you didn’t want us to contact your parents, to prevent them from worrying. We respect your wishes, and we understand your family’s situation."

Pausing, the Chinese teacher continued, "Because you’ve always been top of the class, we’ve placed great hopes in you, believing you could adjust. But now?"

"Not only have you not adjusted, but your hysteria has worsened. Be honest with your teacher. Did you actually use the money we gathered for you to visit a doctor? What did the doctor say? Does this hysteria affect your future life?"

Hysteria...

Song Zhuofan inadvertently glanced aside and noticed the honor roll posted in the corridor.

Her photo was at the top of the honor roll, but beneath it, the sentence with her personal motto was changing.

"Song Zhuofan, female, died on November 1, 2024, cause of death: Lady Xiang’an’s return..."

Still next month?

Song Zhuofan lowered her head, her gaze inexplicably void of life.

She clearly understood that her condition was not hysteria, but she couldn’t explain what was really happening to her.

She couldn’t possibly say she was Sister Huozi, could she?

"Teacher, I did go to the hospital, and I’ve brought back the receipts. The doctor said my problem wasn’t serious, just that the academic pressure was too much. As long as I avoid too much stress and stimulation, my condition can be controlled. Otherwise, it will keep worsening and become uncontrollable in the end."

As the Chinese teacher heard this, the words she intended to say were abruptly swallowed back.

This was indeed a threat, but Song Zhuofan is a top student, the school’s treasure, and also proof of her teaching success. For her, this threat was real.

If it were any other student, the moment they saw the exam paper, their parents would have already been called to the school.

Still, as they say, what else does a school evaluate if not grades?

Who endures more hardship? Who can be a more diligent workhorse?

The Chinese teacher took a deep breath:

"...Understood, then you should go back and rest first."

"Follow the doctor’s orders: rest when needed, take your medicine when needed. If anything feels off or there’s a shortage, let the teacher know. The school will find a way to help you, understood?"

"Thank you, teacher. Thank you, school."

The Chinese teacher gave her another complex look, waved her hand, and then returned to the classroom to continue proctoring the exam.

Soon, she packed her things, left the classroom, and hurried towards the school gate.

This floor was full of senior students, all writing furiously. Suddenly hearing the sound of urgent footsteps in the corridor, many people paused their writing to look.