A Straight Wife Fallen from the Sky - Chapter 36.1

Mu Jiahui felt she was being misunderstood regarding something quite strange.

She turned her head to glance at Sang Zhancheng, whose breathing was ragged and unsteady, but she couldn’t discern anything specific.

It was just a kiss—why did Sang Zhancheng’s mother have such a huge reaction?

However, Fu Yaoqin wasn’t looking with her eyes. She had judged by the fluctuations in magical power that her daughter was on the verge of being swept up in passion, and she instantly realized what had just occurred.

To have interrupted her daughter’s “good timing”—she truly felt she deserved to die for that!

“Should I call your mother back?” Mu Jiahui asked Sang Zhancheng, looking at the bags by her feet.

“She’s probably gone far by now.” Sang Zhancheng wagged her tail and leaned back against Mu Jiahui’s side.

“Alright. I’ll tidy up; you go and correct your mistakes.” Mu Jiahui opened the bags.

She saw enough food to last more than three days. Considering she already had a fridge full of groceries, she wondered how much food—and money—would go to waste if they couldn’t finish it all.

Mu Jiahui closed her eyes, nearly fainting. You can waste anything, but you must never waste food! Her only hope now was that these meals and her own ingredients could survive the next three days. If they didn’t, she’d have to stuff herself to death trying to finish them.

Two potatoes, a portion of ribs, two pieces of beef, and a plate of some kind of meat from the other world. There was also a “love bento” from Sang’s mother. With so much food crammed into the fridge, the meat would expire by tomorrow at the latest, and the potatoes didn’t look like they could last another week. Not to mention the bento—it really should have been tossed two days ago.

Mu Jiahui was fraught with worry. She felt a bit of a breakdown coming on. She shouldn’t have agreed to Sang’s mother’s request to bring food in the first place. She decided she would never agree to it again. Visiting Sang Zhancheng was fine, but bringing food was strictly forbidden.

The Freshness Test

Sang Zhancheng was in the living room memorizing vocabulary. After Mu Jiahui taught her a certain pictographic memory method, her enthusiasm for memorizing words soared. If you asked her, she’d say the part where she made up shapes was the most interesting—it was like drawing, and she liked being able to “slouch off” legitimately.

Mu Jiahui decided to cook all the food. Once cooked, it might last a few more days. Leaving it raw wouldn’t work; the meat was already looking a bit dark.

At lunchtime, Sang Zhancheng stared at the strange-looking meat and couldn’t bring herself to use her chopsticks.

“Mumu, why does this meat look so un-fresh?” Sang Zhancheng poked around for a long time but couldn’t find a single piece to her satisfaction. She was originally supposed to eat the bento her mother gave her, but after eating it for three days straight, even Sang Zhancheng was sick of it. Today, she resolutely pushed the bento toward Mu Jiahui, letting the human who “loved eating leftovers” handle it.

“…Cough.” It was about to expire; how could it be fresh?

“Then just eat the vegetables,” Mu Jiahui said, trying to gloss over it.

“But even the potatoes aren’t fresh…” Sang Zhancheng took a bite and found them slightly sour.

Mu Jiahui watched her expression and took a bite herself. To a human, there was no strange taste. But a succubus judged the freshness of ingredients based on magical values; their sense of taste was different from humans, making them far more sensitive to food spoilage. Mu Jiahui didn’t know this yet and simply assumed it was a difference in taste between species.

“How about the bento then?” Mu Jiahui pushed her rice toward Sang Zhancheng.

Sang Zhancheng pouted and reluctantly accepted it. If the one cooking weren’t her partner-sister, she would never eat leftovers or anything un-fresh.

“I don’t think it tastes weird,” Mu Jiahui finally added.

“You humans can’t see it, but I can. The magic contained in them has dropped to almost nothing, so they aren’t fresh,” Sang Zhancheng said, eating in agony. She didn’t even dare slow down her pace, fearing Mu Jiahui would force-feed her.

Mu Jiahui once again realized the wonders of magic.

There were many leftovers. Sang Zhancheng refused to eat them, and Mu Jiahui couldn’t finish three plates alone. If all magical races could judge freshness through magic, wouldn’t her plan to give food to the neighbors fail? Mu Jiahui stared at the three almost untouched plates in distress.

She decided to try anyway. She knocked on the door of the Deer-person next door. A Deer-woman poked her head out.

“Um, I cooked too much, if you don’t mind…”

The Deer-person sniffed. “This has gone bad. Even if it hasn’t passed its expiration date, we won’t eat it.” Before closing the door, she added a warning: “You’d better not eat it either; it smells very strange.”

Mu Jiahui’s heart sank as the door slammed shut. At least she hadn’t been labeled as a creep trying to poison her neighbor.

Stubbornly, Mu Jiahui tried the other doors. There were six households on one floor; surely she could find someone to eat leftovers with? After knocking on five doors, she finally faced the reality: she really couldn’t.

If only food preservation could be done with magic. Unfortunately, Mu Jiahui was a “muggle.”

She forced herself to eat while tearfully contemplating her future career direction. She ate, then exercised, then exercised and ate again. After two days of this, Mu Jiahui finally finished the three plates of leftovers—and promptly fell ill.

The “Deadly” Study Session

Since no one had been supervising her, Sang Zhancheng—who hadn’t learned a thing in two days—threw herself onto Mu Jiahui, looking as if she were at a funeral.

“Mumu! Oh, Mumu… you’re so pitiful, wuwuwu. Are you okay?”

Mu Jiahui, too weak to speak, glanced at Sang Zhancheng. I’m not dead yet; is this necessary?

Sang Zhancheng shivered. For the past two days, she had done nothing but draw and write little segments of stories. She had even found all the storybooks in the study and read them once, not even sparing the essay-writing guides. To be fair, those essay books were quite interesting—provided she didn’t have her phone.

“Did you… not do the problems?” Mu Jiahui’s face was pale, yet she didn’t forget to care about Sang Zhancheng’s studies. She had been so focused on not wasting food that she hadn’t noticed Sang Zhancheng’s status.

“…I, I did do some.” Sang Zhancheng’s eyes darted around as she began to lie. Reading an essay book counted as reviewing for Chinese composition!

Seeing her like this, Mu Jiahui nearly fainted again. On one hand was wasting food; on the other was wasting time. She couldn’t tolerate either, yet now she found she couldn’t balance them. She was truly going to be fumed to death.

Mu Jiahui slowly propped herself up and followed Sang Zhancheng into the study.

“You… continue… self-study. Ask me if there’s anything you don’t understand.” No matter how unwell she felt, as a teacher, she couldn’t let her student’s progress fall behind! It was the same as work; remote work couldn’t be delayed. Although the deadline was still over a week away, Mu Jiahui decided she would continue as soon as she felt a bit better in the afternoon. She wanted to finish the task within the week.

Sang Zhancheng was quite moved. A single tear escaped her eye.

“Mumu, wuwu… I, I’m sorry! I will definitely study hard today!”

If her partner-sister was staying by her side to study even while sick, could Sang Zhancheng still slack off? Definitely not. Sang Zhancheng rallied, picked up her pen, and felt a surge of passion as if she wouldn’t sleep until she finished seven sets of exam papers.

Half an hour later, Mu Jiahui fell asleep.

Sang Zhancheng glanced back, put down her pen, and quietly pulled out her essay book. I’ve already studied for half an hour; reading a few stories isn’t over the top, right? What seven sets of papers? Seven problems were more like it.

Another hour passed as she read. Sang Zhancheng was engrossed, occasionally drawing in the margins, completely unaware that the person behind her had woken up.

Mu Jiahui didn’t feel much better, but she was afraid that if she slept any longer, the unconscious little succubus would waste more time.

“Sang Zhancheng,” Mu Jiahui called out with a raspy voice.

Sang Zhancheng’s tail stood straight up in fright. She knew it.

Mu Jiahui massaged her forehead and sat closer. “What are you doing?”

Sang Zhancheng hurriedly hid the book. Mu Jiahui had seen it, of course. Fine—no phone, but she had books. Mu Jiahui had forgotten that this was a common slacking-off tactic for high schoolers: reading books. Especially Chinese language supplementary materials, which had many short stories that students loved to read.

Sang Zhancheng swallowed hard. Mu Jiahui just stared at her, devoid of emotion. But Sang Zhancheng could feel she was angry. The little succubus cowered, tears welling up, and silently handed the book over to Mu Jiahui.

If Mu Jiahui had the strength, she would have definitely whacked her with the book.

“One kiss deducted for today.” Mu Jiahui had no strength, so she had to change her tactics.

“Ah… how can this be? I truly know my mistake, wuwuwu.”

The “ying-ying-ying” crying started again. Honestly, if this kid used even half the energy she spent crying on actual focus, she wouldn’t be playing with her fingernails after two minutes of studying.

Mu Jiahui raised her hand to stop the ear-piercing noise. Sang Zhancheng kept the tears pooled in her eyes, her tail wagging lonely and pitifully. Anyone who didn’t know better would think Mu Jiahui was bullying her, when she was clearly the one in the wrong.

But Mu Jiahui really fell for this act and couldn’t bring herself to scold her.

“Finish the tasks I gave you the day before yesterday first. Then we’ll talk about kisses.” Mu Jiahui simply stayed by Sang Zhancheng’s side to supervise.

The Breaking Point

With Mu Jiahui watching, Sang Zhancheng naturally didn’t dare play around. But since she hadn’t studied for two days, she was rusty, and her speed was much slower. Moreover, due to her lack of physical strength, Mu Jiahui couldn’t explain things too many times; Sang Zhancheng had to grasp them herself.

Sang Zhancheng studied in pain, and Mu Jiahui supervised in pain. The two huddled together didn’t look like a loving couple but rather like a teacher and student in a “love-hate” relationship. Clearly, without the teacher, the student really couldn’t move forward.

The more Sang Zhancheng looked at the textbook, the more questions she had. Her thinking was too jumpy; she would quickly leap from a definition in the book to something else and start daydreaming. Mu Jiahui could control her hands, but she couldn’t control her mind.

“If you keep this up, we’ll just practice essays today,” Mu Jiahui gave her a final ultimatum after catching Sang Zhancheng daydreaming yet again.

“No! I will definitely study hard!” Sang Zhancheng knew that “Essay Day” meant writing essays all day and then revising them until muscle memory was achieved.

As it turned out, half a day passed, and Sang Zhancheng hadn’t even finished self-studying one unit.

Mu Jiahui pressed her brow, truly at a loss for words. Sang Zhancheng sat beside her, looking obedient and ready to accept criticism. Her tail wagged slowly, exactly like her dog Xiaobai when it made a mistake and faced the wall in reflection.

“You wasted two and a half days. You could have done eight sets of papers and learned several units. Tell me, what exactly have you been doing these past two days?” Mu Jiahui said each word deliberately. She wasn’t as fiery as when she usually caught Sang Zhancheng slacking; she spoke slowly, which sent a jolt through Sang Zhancheng’s heart.

This tone was too terrifying. It felt as if the person wasn’t angry because they had given up on the matter entirely.

Sang Zhancheng swallowed, looked up, and saw the word “disappointment” in Mu Jiahui’s eyes. That look was like a blade that instantly pierced Sang Zhancheng’s heart. She hung her head, unable to stop her tears.

Firstly, she felt indignant. She felt that two and a half days wasn’t that much time, and it wasn’t like she had learned nothing at all—she was just slow. Secondly, she felt dejected. She had thought Mu Jiahui had great confidence in her.

In truth, that flash of disappointment was fleeting. Much of it was directed at herself for failing at a critical moment. But Sang Zhancheng hadn’t looked up, so she hadn’t seen that. She cried intensely, her heart aching so much she almost couldn’t catch her breath.

Mu Jiahui hadn’t expected such a large reaction. She didn’t think she was being particularly harsh; she hadn’t even scolded her directly. Any other homeroom teacher would have been much more vicious after catching a student repeatedly slacking. She had forgotten that her role wasn’t just “teacher”—she was Sang Zhancheng’s partner. She had failed to provide the necessary understanding and tenderness.

After crying for a while, Sang Zhancheng finally looked up, sobbing as she peered at Mu Jiahui.

“I, I can’t do it,” Sang Zhancheng said softly through her tears.

“What?” Mu Jiahui thought she had misheard.

“I can’t do it! I can’t make it!” This questioning caused Sang Zhancheng to raise her voice, becoming almost hysterical. “I just can’t do it! I can’t focus! I can’t learn! I look at it and I just start drifting off!!” Sang Zhancheng let out everything in her heart in one breath.

She had tried. She felt she just wasn’t capable. Something everyone else could do—the simple act of focusing—she just couldn’t do well. Every time she made a resolution, the feeling would vanish after a few minutes and she’d want to play. She couldn’t stand herself like this.

Yet, she didn’t feel any sense of relief. Looking at Mu Jiahui’s stunned expression, her heart throbbed even more painfully. She couldn’t take it anymore. Sang Zhancheng stood up and bolted outside.

“Sang Zhancheng! Wait!” Only then did Mu Jiahui realize she had said the wrong thing.

Normally, Mu Jiahui would have chased after her. But today her body was ailing; she couldn’t keep up with a young, strong succubus. Yet Mu Jiahui had a feeling: she had to chase her. If she just let Sang Zhancheng leave like this, her heart would break too. She finally remembered that Sang Zhancheng was her partner.

Mu Jiahui forced herself to stand, her legs trembling. After two steps, she collapsed to the floor. The thud coincided with the sound of Sang Zhancheng opening the door.

Sang Zhancheng caught the sound and paused. Mu Jiahui couldn’t be throwing things, could she? More tears welled up. Is she so disappointed in me that she has to smash things to vent? Also… is she really not going to try to stop me?

The more Sang Zhancheng thought, the more miserable she felt. She crouched at the door and began to wail.

About two minutes later, she suddenly remembered something and rushed back to the study. She saw Mu Jiahui collapsed on the floor.

“Siss, Mumu!” Sang Zhancheng was terrified; she didn’t even dare to let her tears fall. She hurried to kneel down and flip Mu Jiahui over.

She was still breathing! But Mu Jiahui’s eyes were closed.

“Mumu! Wake up!” Lacking common sense, Sang Zhancheng was also on the verge of fainting. She hadn’t expected that throwing a tantrum would lead to such serious consequences. Mu Jiahui was already sick; by all rights, she shouldn’t have provoked her. A wave of regret washed over her, and Sang Zhancheng lay down, burying her face in Mu Jiahui’s chest, crying uncontrollably.

After a while, Mu Jiahui finally woke up. Thanks to her usual exercise, she was healthy enough; otherwise, this incident might have left her with some lasting issues. Then she saw the culprit who was currently “mourning” her.

I’d rather have stayed unconscious.

Mu Jiahui closed her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the situation. Whose stupid succubus is this, thinking I’m dead? Could she be mine?

“You… move aside first, you’re crushing me.” Mu Jiahui said expressionlessly, staring at the white ceiling, speechless.

“Ah! Mumu! Wuwu… I thought, I thought you… I was wrong, I shouldn’t have lost my temper, wuwu…” How could Sang Zhancheng let go now? She shifted positions to cling to Mu Jiahui, wrapping her arms around her neck and rubbing her face against Mu Jiahui’s.

She really was like a puppy.

Mu Jiahui’s temper vanished. She reached up to stroke Sang Zhancheng’s head, while simultaneously holding her down. “At least let me get up first?”

“Mm-hmm, I, I’ll pull you up. Mumu wuwuwu…” Sang Zhancheng managed to pull Mu Jiahui onto a chair and made her sit comfortably.

Mu Jiahui held her head. It hurt a bit; she must have hit it when she fell. But what was more painful was enduring the little succubus’s wailing.