A Straight Wife Fallen from the Sky - Chapter 23

“It’s time for dinner,” Sang Zhancheng noted as she looked at the color of the sky outside the window.

As for the dense clusters of words laid out on the paper, she couldn’t absorb a single one of them. Her mental capacity for the day had been completely depleted; she was ready to start rotting in peace.

This day had felt incredibly long—three or four times longer than her usual days spent playing on her phone or going shopping. Sang Zhancheng was even feeling a bit sleepy, wanting to go to bed right after dinner.

It was indeed dinner time. Mu Jiahui took out her phone to check the time; that kiss earlier had taken up too much time, and it was already past six o’clock.

However, Mu Jiahui wasn’t hungry at all. She had eaten a lot at lunch and hadn’t exercised in the afternoon. Looking over high school textbooks hardly counted as strenuous mental labor, and her stored energy hadn’t been depleted yet.

“Are you hungry?” Regarding Sang Zhancheng, Mu Jiahui felt that her energy expenditure would be even lower.

“A little.” Sang Zhancheng spoke against her conscience, using her fingers to pinch a tiny gap to prove she was only “a little” hungry.

In truth, she was actually quite full. But she really didn’t want to keep staring blankly at the desk anymore; she was sick of the brown color of the wood.

“That means you can hold out a bit longer. Look at the plan first.” Mu Jiahui saw right through Sang Zhancheng’s true state.

Leaving aside the fact that during an intense revision phase one shouldn’t stop for food unless they are too hungry to continue, this girl was clearly still full.

How can this person be so good at slacking off?

She had barely done anything and was already clamoring for a break. Didn’t she look at the zero she got on her exam? How does she have the face to eat dinner?

Sang Zhancheng, not feeling embarrassed in the slightest, pouted as she took the plan sheet and forced herself to focus.

Mu Jiahui had divided the time from July of this year to May of next year into three major stages. In each stage, Sang Zhancheng was to complete one round of textbook revision. This meant that by the time of the exam next year, Sang Zhancheng would have completed at least three rounds of revision.

Each round of revision had a different focus.

The first round was the longest, lasting about four months. The keyword was “Comprehensive,” requiring her to understand every single point in the textbooks. As for how much she actually mastered, no specific requirement was made. Seeing this, Sang Zhancheng secretly breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t think four months was enough time to master that much knowledge.

The second round lasted about two months, and the keyword was “Proficiency.” The requirement was that by the end of this stage, she should have a thorough understanding of the exam points, striving to solve all medium-difficulty questions correctly.

Sang Zhancheng noticed that Mu Jiahui had categorized the test papers into three levels: Simple, Medium, and Difficult. According to Mu Jiahui, the number of extremely difficult questions in a set of papers was limited. These types of questions were not required for Sang Zhancheng; as long as she practiced the medium-difficulty questions until she was proficient, it would be impossible to get a low score.

The third round had no fixed duration, and the keyword was “Consolidation.” Mu Jiahui’s intention was for this stage to focus on practicing questions to reinforce specific points, but also to return to the textbooks like in the first round to ensure there were no blind spots in her knowledge.

It seemed quite wonderful.

Sang Zhancheng’s tail wagged back and forth. Following this detailed plan, she fantasized about scoring 600 points in the future and getting into an ordinary third-tier university.

Although the Succubus race was judged to have low IQ and be unsuitable for studying, under the environment of talent selection through exam-oriented education, even someone like Sang Zhancheng had dreamed of getting high scores.

But a dream was just a dream. She would always face reality the next time she turned in a blank paper for a weekly exam, and then she would continue to rot.

“Have you finished reading? Can you follow my plan?”

“Ah? That… I can’t guarantee it.” Sang Zhancheng refused with righteous indignation.

There wasn’t even any time for rest or entertainment left on this plan. Would she really not have the chance to go out eating and shopping with friends?

“Do you want to go to university or not? Your foundation is so weak; if you don’t put in more effort than others, how can you outscore them?”

Mu Jiahui was choked up by such a frank refusal. How does this little girl not follow the routine? Usually, shouldn’t she say ‘I can’? Just like Mu Jiahui’s classmates and colleagues.

“Why do I have to outscore others?” As one of the gentlest races, Succubi generally disliked competing with others, so it was normal for Sang Zhancheng to ask this.

Mu Jiahui, however, felt she was abnormal. She really wanted to pry open her skull to see what kind of mush was inside.

“University admission is based on ranking! It’s not that if your score exceeds 800 you will definitely get into a first-tier university!”

Just like in the high-pressure exam provinces of Mu Jiahui’s original world—because the students were too competitive, they pushed the score lines incredibly high. Even with a maximum score of 750, a score of 700 might not even get you into the top five.

“A first-tier university?” That was something Sang Zhancheng didn’t even dare to dream of. If she ever dreamed of herself getting into a first-tier university, she would definitely feel ashamed when she woke up.

“…Wait a minute. Tell me, what is your goal for next year?” Mu Jiahui discovered a blind spot.

As a student from an elite “rocket class” in a key high school, she had never considered the possibility of not getting into a top 50 university. But Sang Zhancheng was different. She started at only 200 points. In her world, scoring 600 points might already be considered a miracle from her ancestors.

“Just… 600? As long as I can get into a university, it’s fine.” Sang Zhancheng spoke cautiously.

She even felt she had set the bar too high. With her 200-point foundation, she would have to… she held up her fingers to calculate. 600 points was three times her current score.

Just as I thought. Mu Jiahui pressed her forehead, momentarily unsure of how to speak.

“Is it too much? Actually, 500 is okay too. A vocational college isn’t bad either; my brother-in-law went to a vocational college and he has a job.”

The little Succubus thought Mu Jiahui was pressing her forehead because of her audacity. She twiddled her fingers, looking like she had said something wrong.

“No.” Mu Jiahui’s voice softened for once as she patted Sang Zhancheng’s head. “My requirement for you is to score 800 and get into a first-tier university.”

Sang Zhancheng looked up, and upon hearing that “800,” she looked back down at her fingers.

Four times. Four Sang Zhanchengs added together couldn’t reach 800 points. From ancient times to the present, no Succubus had ever achieved such a score. She was so shocked that she thought she was hallucinating.

“Mu… Mumu, let’s just say… even dreams shouldn’t be that wild…” Being patted on the head felt so good; Sang Zhancheng squinted her eyes, her head swaying with the rhythm of Mu Jiahui’s hand, and her tail wagged in sync. She must have been dazed by her partner’s gentle attack to have heard the word “800.”

“Since it’s a dream, why not be a bit bolder?” Mu Jiahui flicked Sang Zhancheng’s forehead, stopping her ambiguous swaying.

“I’m taking back the goal I just set; it was too low. Our goal should be set at 900, to get into your world’s Dongwei University, which is ranked in the top ten globally.”

When she heard the name of the nation’s number one university, Sang Zhancheng swallowed hard. Her partner must be crazy to say something like letting a Succubus get into Dongwei University.

“Don’t be so surprised. Only by setting a high goal are you most likely to achieve a slightly lower, but still high, score. If you set your goal low, you probably won’t even reach that score in the end.”

This was something Mu Jiahui’s high school homeroom teacher had said, and it was also an old saying from her original world. Mu Jiahui found it very sensible and had experienced its effectiveness firsthand.

Facing the little girl’s incredulous expression, Mu Jiahui eventually rubbed the spot on her forehead that had turned red from the flick.

“Besides, I have confidence in you. Why don’t you have confidence in yourself?”

This child lacks too much self-confidence if she doesn’t even dare to dream of a first-tier university.