A Straight Wife Fallen from the Sky - Chapter 18

Three divided by two—simple primary school math.

If Sang Zhancheng couldn’t even answer this, Mu Jiahui might actually have to pinch her own philtrum to keep from fainting.

She watched as Sang Zhancheng began counting on her fingers.

Mu Jiahui’s heart leaped into her throat.

Sang Zhancheng spoke!

The sentence that would decide Mu Jiahui’s fate appeared!

“One point five…?”

Mu Jiahui breathed a sigh of relief.

She relaxed too soon. Immediately after, Sang Zhancheng added muddledly, “But you can’t have half a kiss. So, does that mean it’s two?”

Mu Jiahui really felt like she was going to faint.

“This is math! It’s not reality. Of course there’s no such thing as half a kiss, but how can you just abandon the correct answer like that!”

She was inches away from grabbing Sang Zhancheng and forcing her to do those mental arithmetic drills mandatory for primary schoolers.

Sang Zhancheng lowered her fingers.

“But this math doesn’t have any practical meaning? You said it yourself, there’s no such thing as half a kiss.”

At this moment, Mu Jiahui truly felt like she was facing a primary school student.

Any person who had received six years of secondary education, even if they had such doubts, would have abandoned the pursuit of “mathematical meaning” under the repeated battering of fractions.

Only primary schoolers just starting to touch upon science would spend all day pestering teachers and parents with questions like, “Why did Xiao Ming spill ink on the exam paper?” or “Why does Xiao Hong have to share her snacks with Xiao Ming? Can’t she just eat them herself?”

In truth, Mu Jiahui didn’t quite understand the meaning of arithmetic either.

Even though she had learned derivatives and integrals, and studied ellipses and hyperbolas, she hadn’t applied them to her daily life since.

But she knew one thing: if she didn’t learn them and instead spent her time pondering their meaning, she would have no education.

Without an education, she would have to go back and get married, living a subhuman life where she could see the end from the beginning.

She was unwilling.

“The meaning is that if you don’t know it, you won’t get points. If you don’t do it right, there are no kisses.” Mu Jiahui struck Sang Zhancheng from a very utilitarian angle.

“Fine.” Sang Zhancheng still looked unconvinced.

If she had known Mu Jiahui didn’t mean three kisses per page, she would have tried to bargain much harder.

Feeling like she had gotten a bad deal, the little succubus pouted as she took back her completely incorrect paper and sat back in her chair dejectedly.

She remembered Mu Jiahui wanted her to finish this entire stack of papers.

But she didn’t really want to. She had already spent an hour on such an exhausting task; she wanted to play.

And so, she sat there for a long while without picking up her pen again.

Mu Jiahui rolled up a paper and gave her a light tap.

“Keep writing. You basically did nothing just now. No resting allowed.”

“Wu…” Sang Zhancheng covered the back of her head.

Mu Jiahui really was a big pervert! A big demon! She actually saw through her intentions and wouldn’t even let her rest!

The “rotten” little dummy’s tail drooped, swaying back and forth, clearly showing her bad mood.

“…Do the next set properly, and I’ll make up the missing half-kiss along with it. I brought you dessert; you can only eat it after you’re finished.” Mu Jiahui rubbed her temples.

Dealing with a child who lacked internal drive, she could only use the carrot and the stick together.

Sang Zhancheng’s eyes lit up instantly, and her tail curled high.

“Mumu! Really?! What kind of dessert!” Her voice unconsciously became high-pitched and sugary, as sweet as a cake.

“The milk tea and chestnut cake you were nagging about.” Mu Jiahui even took the thermal bag out to show Sang Zhancheng.

Sang Zhancheng was a split second away from bolting from her seat to snatch the treats.

Mu Jiahui threw her a sharp look, freezing her in her seat.

That was the chestnut cake she had been dreaming of; she wanted to eat it right now!

She took back her previous thoughts. Her partner-sister was clearly a good person. To go out and bring back exactly what she wanted to eat—she was simply an angel!

When she thought about how she could get two kisses after finishing this Chinese paper, her mood became so good she could have ascended to heaven on the spot. she began writing furiously.

Her little wings also flapped frantically, as if she really might take flight the next second.

Mu Jiahui moved her chair next to Sang Zhancheng to supervise her.

Finding the wings an eyesore, Mu Jiahui reached out and pinched the pair of small wings.

They were like a bat’s, quite thin and light. Bone and flesh—she wondered if they could actually fly, she commented inwardly.

A sensation like an electric current surged from where Mu Jiahui pinched, instantly spreading through her whole body.

A numbing tingle rushed to her head, making Sang Zhancheng shudder involuntarily.

“Don’t… don’t pinch, woo…” Sang Zhancheng’s cheeks and the tips of her ears were flushed completely red.

The sensations transmitted by the wings and tail were very acute; even a tiny touch could trigger certain unspeakable thoughts.

If the situation hadn’t been so inappropriate, Sang Zhancheng wouldn’t have stopped Mu Jiahui from touching her wings.

It actually felt quite good, but her rare sense of shame held her back, making her want to retract her wings.

The next second, the wings and tail vanished.

Sang Zhancheng felt a sense of relief, but also a sense of loss.

If Mu Jiahui kept stroking the wings, then pinched the tail, maybe…

“Ah, sorry.” Mu Jiahui only then noticed Sang Zhancheng’s abnormality.

Recalling the introduction in the manual, she roughly understood that a succubus’s wings were a private area that shouldn’t be touched.

The air grew slightly thick with ambiguity.

Sang Zhancheng became restless; though the wings were tucked away, her spine felt a bit numb and hot.

She wanted to scratch it, or rather, she wanted Mu Jiahui’s touch.

“Don’t fill in the student ID, and don’t bother with the name. I’m the one grading it, what’s the point of writing that?” Mu Jiahui always managed to pop the hard-won pink bubbles with a single sentence at the perfect time.

“Fine.” Sang Zhancheng stopped her hand, which was currently drawing a black square, and moved down to look at the first practical writing piece.

Seeing Sang Zhancheng seriously marking up the text, Mu Jiahui retracted her gaze.

Surely, she can’t get a zero in Chinese, right? She thought naively, still fantasizing that the girl could score a ninety, while she wrote her own notes.

“Do I have to write the essay too?” An hour and a half later, Sang Zhancheng spoke up.

“Hmm?” Mu Jiahui didn’t react for a moment.

“Yes. You’re only starting the essay now? I’m afraid you won’t make it in time.”

“The questions are a bit hard, and there are so many, I can’t finish…” Sang Zhancheng muttered weakly.

She had seen this set of questions before, but given her lazy nature, she naturally hadn’t done them.

Back then, she had heard her classmates shouting about how hard it was, so it was normal that she couldn’t finish.

Mu Jiahui didn’t say much.

As for things like writing the essay first before completing time-consuming reading comprehension, she would teach Sang Zhancheng later.

“Give me the front parts, I’ll grade them for you.”

Sang Zhancheng sluggishly handed the two sheets to Mu Jiahui.

The answer to the very first multiple-choice question was wrong.

Mu Jiahui looked closely; the first question was just a comparison task, not particularly tricky. At least, Mu Jiahui got the correct answer with a glance.

One could only say Sang Zhancheng was a bit careless; she had underlined the key points in the text, but it was unclear if she had missed them or failed to understand them.

The first short-answer question was only a quarter finished.

After finishing the first reading passage, Mu Jiahui finally felt something was wrong; her eyelid twitched.

She graded quickly, finishing in less than five minutes. Sang Zhancheng was still on the side brainstorming her essay, not having written a single word.

Mu Jiahui counted.

Out of ten multiple-choice questions, Sang Zhancheng got four right.

And the long-form questions were incredibly off-base. If asked to analyze the emotion expressed in a sentence, she wrote about its function; if asked for the function, she analyzed the overall emotion of the text.

Mu Jiahui covered her forehead, speechless.

Right, she shouldn’t have held expectations for Sang Zhancheng.

As long as she had no expectations, she wouldn’t be hurt by the disastrous results; she would be invincible.

Twenty-five minutes later, the standard exam time was up. But Mu Jiahui let Sang Zhancheng continue writing.

It wasn’t until another half hour had passed that Sang Zhancheng finally handed in the essay.