Chapter 10: Inhuman

March 18, 2024, morning, Qingtan City.

Contract, Shadow Ghost, Spiritual Academy—three unrelated terms, shoved into the mind of this clueless girl in just two days.

After Xia Yin’s clear response, Xueqiu wanted to know more about them.

“Is the Spiritual Academy specifically for fighting Shadow Ghosts?” she asked suddenly, walking along the permeable brick pathway.

“Of course. You might wonder why a school fighting those monsters is called the Spiritual Academy. I’m curious too, but the principal decided that name decades ago,” Xia Yin explained.

“Principal?”

Xueqiu paused, not because she cared whether the Academy’s leader was called a principal or a dean.

She realized that since leaving Wanda Plaza, Xia Yin hadn’t mentioned their next destination, just wandering the streets with her.

“What? Weird? Even a place as isolated as the Spiritual Academy has normal school titles and departments—student council, registrar’s office, you name it…”

At the mention of “student council,” Xia Yin added:

“Oh, and take my advice: don’t join the student council when you get to the Academy. It’ll kill you.”

“Kill you?” Xueqiu didn’t understand.

“Yeah, something like that,” Xia Yin said, hands in pockets, scanning the other pedestrians.

“Just don’t join, no matter what. Especially avoid a girl named Ou Ziyun, the student council president.”

Xueqiu nodded.

She and Xia Yin passed a middle school.

On the field, students lined up, testing for 800-meter and 1,000-meter runs.

As the whistle blew, the track grew lively.

So far, Xueqiu’s understanding of Xia Yin and his group remained half-baked.

Like a physics problem in class—change the conditions, and without grasping the core principles, you’re just scribbling formulas.

“Stop, stop, stop!”

After circling the same traffic light for the third time, Xia Yin gave up first.

“If you’ve got nothing else, you can head home now. You know we’ve been looping around here.”

Xueqiu’s home wasn’t far, but she hesitated.

Go back alone to that empty house, wait seven days, then let that foreign guy drive her and Xia Yin out of Qingtan City to some mysterious school?

A minute later, standing still, she gave a slight nod, silently agreeing.

Inside the apartment complex elevator, ads for “certificate forging” and “driver’s license test proxies” were plastered on the walls.

Some were practically fused to the panels, likely stuck there for over six months.

As the elevator ascended, Xia Yin stood in a corner, scraping one ad off with a gold-colored claw knife.

“Still nothing to say? Not a word since the car, not even a question? Just so you know, you understand less than 1% of us.”

Xia Yin glanced back at Xueqiu.

The girl lowered her head slightly, her face under the white hoodie strikingly delicate.

On the way back, Xueqiu had been replaying the past two days.

She’d thought about it yesterday—since her grandma’s death, she hadn’t shed a single tear.

When her parents died, Xueqiu, still a boy then, had been heartbroken for a long time.

He’d cried, sobbed his heart out, but he knew crying was useless, just a way to vent.

Now, facing the death of her last family member, she couldn’t even vent.

It was like something inside her had died, replaced by a “nothing matters” mindset.

“Senior,” Xueqiu said as they left the elevator, using a new title.

The boy looked surprised, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face, as if long ago, when he was a kid, he’d timidly called someone else the same.

“Oh? Finally calling me ‘Senior’? Not bad, not bad. ‘Big Brother’ works too. No need to be so formal.”

Xueqiu didn’t look up.

Her question came from early yesterday morning, from Carlos’s words.

“When Mr. Carlos said ‘we’re not people,’ what did he mean?”

She vaguely recalled that moment, when she’d briefly thought the two in the car were like the tentacle monster—just with human faces.

“You’re calling him Mr.? Nah, Carlos is just a third-year senior at the Academy. I’ve got more experience—I enrolled at 14… mostly ‘cause he’s a stickler.”

Xia Yin sighed.

“Not people… not people… Alright, let me show you.”

With that, he grabbed Xueqiu’s hand, pulling her to the stairwell at the end of the hallway.

The stairwell was filthy, dust coating the floor.

Exposed wires on the walls hinted at a removed surveillance camera, taken down for some reason.

Xueqiu said nothing, letting him drag her.

“A dark stairwell with no cameras—perfect for shady stuff.”

As he spoke, Xia Yin dropped his morning’s easygoing vibe.

He let go of her hand, gave her shoulder a light push, and reached for his waist.

He pulled out a handgun.

Xueqiu recognized it—the one he’d shown her that night, now fitted with a silencer.

Startled by the sudden push, she tried to steady herself.

But in her vision, Xia Yin aimed at her and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Bang, Xia Yin mouthed, mimicking the gunshot.

The bullet flew from the barrel, hitting the palm of her raised left hand.

The white-haired girl, already struggling to balance, stumbled backward from the impact.

Xueqiu was stunned.

She couldn’t believe the boy who’d saved her, comforted her, and bought her clothes was now shooting at her.

The next second, she felt someone steady her.

Like a dance partner in a waltz, her waist was caught, her shot palm covered by a larger hand, pulling her back.

“Feeling okay? Check your hand. Is it torn to bits?” Xia Yin grinned, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Xueqiu lifted her hand to the spot where the bullet hit.

She’d felt it, like a pebble smacking her palm, but there was no wound.

Not even a drop of blood—just faint redness.

“Heh, would a normal person stay this calm after taking a shot? No, no—would a normal person take a shot like that and have no* wounds?” Xia Yin asked.

Xueqiu shook her head.

“I’m not normal.”

“We’re not normal either. We’ve got Shadow Ghost blood in us. But those monsters? Even less so.”

He tucked the gun away.

“By the way, if I’d used special bullets or sliced you with that blade from last time, it’d be different. You’d be cut in half.”