Chapter Thirty-Three: Forcing the Unwilling

Jiang Wangshu had the sweetest sleep since crossing over, and even after opening her eyes, she was still wrapped in the lingering fragrance of last night’s dreams.

It was just that sleeping a whole night on stone had left her aching all over.

She walked to class, wincing with every step, and found herself the center of attention, people turning to look at her before whispering excitedly to their companions.

She grew uneasy—what was going on? Did she forget to wash her face properly?

She touched her cheek, only for two girls to suddenly step forward, faces set with determination.

She took a step back, quietly on her guard.

“Hello, idol, may I have your autograph?” One of the girls held out a sheet of white paper in both hands.

“Me? Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” Jiang Wangshu let out a breath, relieved it wasn’t trouble. To be honest, she’d been busy dealing with people these past couple of days—it was exhausting.

The girl studied her features carefully, then said with absolute certainty, “You’re Jiang Wangshu, I’m not mistaken. I watched your sword move yesterday—it was incredible. Please, can I have your autograph?”

The girl pressed her palms together, eyes wide and innocent, her voice soft and pleading.

Jiang Wangshu’s face flushed instantly. She stammered, “If you don’t mind, then of course.”

Who could resist a girl’s earnest request? Certainly not her.

She accepted the paper and pen, and laboriously scribbled her name in her dog-legged handwriting. “There you go.”

The girl took it, stared at it in silence.

Jiang Wangshu scratched her cheek awkwardly, her gaze darting about. “You don’t like—”

The girl suddenly let out a delighted cheer, cutting her off. “Idol, your handwriting is so unique!”

The other girl, cheeks flushed, shyly produced her own paper and pen. “C-could you… I’d like one too.”

With their autographs in hand, the two girls left, bubbling with joy.

The remaining girls, seeing this, exchanged glances before rushing over.

Before Jiang Wangshu could react, she was surrounded and swept away.

“Ahhh, it’s my first time meeting a real, powerful sword cultivator—I want to touch you!”

“You looked so tough from afar yesterday, but up close you’re adorable! Can I pinch your cheeks?”

“Sign for me too—if you hit it big in the future, I’ll sell it for a fortune!”

The girls’ lively, harmless enthusiasm left Jiang Wangshu sweating under the crush, unable to resist them, her weak protests drowned in the tide of voices.

Half an hour later, Jiang Wangshu finally staggered into the classroom, her clothes twisted and marked all over with lipstick prints.

Lian Yangxia took one look and jumped in shock. “Whoa, what happened to you? Why are you so disheveled?”

Jiang Wangshu retorted, “Isn’t today supposed to be a basic theory class? Why are you here?” She shook her head. “Never mind, just give me a dust-clearing spell.”

All those lipstick marks were tokens of the girls’ affection—she was reluctant to remove them, but walking around like this was bound to distract others.

She closed her eyes, feeling the dust-clearing spell sweep over her, doing her best to suppress her unwillingness.

In her last world, her constant ill luck attracted all sorts of unsavory people, leaving her friendless and alone.

She never imagined that in this world, so many girls would like her. Now she truly understood that girls were the best thing in the world.

Cradling her face, she couldn’t help but break into a broad smile.

Lian Yangxia grinned slyly. “Teacher, what are you reminiscing about? Class is starting—aren’t you going to lecture?”

Jiang Wangshu was about to share her joy when a sudden flash of insight struck her, eyes widening. “What did you say?”

“Teacher? Lecture? What’s that got to do with me?”

A timid girl nearby spoke up softly: “Teacher Yu Jianyi just came by and said you’ll be taking over his classes—he’s gone into seclusion.”

Lian Yangxia nodded at the desk. “Look, Old Yu left you all the teaching materials.”

Jiang Wangshu stared, stunned. “That casual? Did the principal approve?”

Suddenly, everyone’s jade pendants chimed, and a schoolwide announcement appeared:

“We hereby appoint Jiang Wangshu as assistant instructor, responsible for all teaching duties during Teacher Yu’s seclusion. For any questions, contact Sword Cultivation Department Head Dai Anrong.”

She picked her jaw off the floor. The old principal really agreed!

She looked helplessly at the nine students in her class. “Isn’t this absurd? Aren’t you going to protest?”

One classmate’s eyes widened. “Protest what? It’s not like you’re incompetent.”

Another chimed in: “Yesterday you put those arrogant spell cultivators in their place—it was thrilling. Learning from you is only right.”

The others all voiced their support.

Jiang Wangshu clutched her head in frustration. “But I really don’t know how to teach!”

She barely understood these books herself, let alone explain them.

Lian Yangxia nudged her shoulder, amused. “Don’t stress. Look at the note Old Yu left you.”

Only then did Jiang Wangshu notice the slip of paper tucked in the book:

“My friend Wangshu, your guidance has benefited me greatly. I must hurry into seclusion to break through to Foundation Establishment. Please take over practical instruction and help them comprehend sword intent. I’ll thank you properly after I return.”

Lian Yangxia looked at her earnestly. “Sword cultivators have suffered too long without true sword intent. Our whole department hopes to learn from you. Please, we’re counting on you.”

Faced with so many hopeful eyes, Jiang Wangshu felt their expectations settle on her shoulders like a heavy mantle.

The money-burning system popped up to comfort her: “Host, don’t worry. Here’s a Sword Cultivation Teaching Manual, only 880 million. Worth every penny.”

Her composed expression almost cracked. Eight hundred and eighty million—for a textbook more expensive than her weapon? Outrageous.

She could fight back shamelessly against malice, but against such fervent sincerity, she felt as though she were sinking into warm, heavy cotton.

With a long sigh, she gave in. Owing two billion was owing, owing ten billion was still owing.

She closed her eyes and then opened them again. “I have just one last question: will the school pay me, or am I working for free?”

Lian Yangxia beamed. “We’ll apply to the principal for the highest salary for you.”

A stranger’s voice interjected, “If the principal won’t pay, we’ll all chip in to make sure you stay as our teacher.”

She turned toward the sound.

From an empty corner of the room came a burst of commotion.

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

“Move over a bit.”

“Look, you’ve scared our junior into silence.”

As a piece of transparent fabric was lifted, sword cultivators appeared in every corner of the classroom.

Boys and girls alike, all wore matching expressions of passion and anticipation.

“Hello, junior—I’m your senior from third year.”

“Junior, I’m your second-year senior…”

From first years to fourth years, all three hundred and twenty sword cultivators in the department had gathered here—their destinies converging at this moment.

Later generations would call this: The Dawn of the Sword Cultivators’ Rise.