It seems I've digressed somewhat.

He began writing in the morning, skipped lunch, and wrote until seven in the evening, nearly thirty thousand words produced. If it were a novel, it would have been dry. But Zhang Pa was writing a screenplay, with no descriptions of scenery—at most, a brief introduction of the setting, such as: this is an old residential house...

The big dog remained quietly by his side throughout, and the more it did so, the more Zhang Pa wanted to craft the story well.

The problem was, this script was a bit like a chicken rib—too insubstantial for a blockbuster, not worth the effort. If filmed frugally, there would be a thousand things wrong with it. It always came back to the question: how to get the big dog to crash into the cage? And besides, he couldn't bear the thought.

After much deliberation, he saved the document, took the two big dogs out for a bathroom break, let them enjoy a little fresh air, and returned for dinner.

In truth, there was no dinner—just the lunch the fat man had brought home earlier. That evening, the fat man and his friends went out drinking, leaving Zhang Pa to make do at home.

The weather wasn't cold, and he didn't bother heating the food. He ate with the two big dogs.

After dinner, he received a call from Zhang Lao Si, saying he was out and asking if Zhang Pa could look after them for another couple of days, inquiring about the two creatures.

Zhang Pa replied that they were fine and told him not to worry.

Zhang Lao Si explained he had to hide out in the countryside for a while, would leave in a couple of days, and would get in touch then.

Zhang Pa agreed, Zhang Lao Si thanked him, and hung up.

Looking at the two big dogs, Zhang Pa realized that if he took them to the countryside, he certainly wouldn't be able to borrow them for filming. After thinking it over, he came up with a new idea: turn it into an animated film.

But animation cost money too, and the question remained: could he recoup the investment?

After a short rest, he returned to his room and continued working, finishing the day’s update.

Zhang Pa spent the entire day as a writer, uploading his article at midnight before collapsing into sleep. He didn’t even eat the dinner the fat man had brought.

The next day, he woke early, finally experiencing that feeling of office workers in movies—the reluctance to get up, yet still having to do so. No longer could he live as carefree as a full-time writer.

He took the big dog out, fed them, packed his laptop, and headed to work.

Just as he reached the classroom door, he saw Li Yingxiong standing there, cool as ever.

The school’s five most notorious troublemakers: Yun Zheng was thin, with fierce eyes, currently unrelated to “handsome.” Wang Jiang, Li Shan, and Li Yingxiong were all close to 1.8 meters tall and similarly built. Unlike Wang Jiang and Li Shan, who were rougher and sported buzz cuts reminiscent of the later stages of Hanamichi Sakuragi—a style akin to the “bald-head” look—Li Yingxiong was different. He had a handsome face, fair skin, and wore the latest trendy hairstyle; if this were a Korean drama, he’d be the male lead.

Watching Li Yingxiong’s swagger, Zhang Pa smirked, “Are you here to compete with me for looks?”

Li Yingxiong was about to speak but was stunned by the remark, completely forgetting what he wanted to say. After a moment, he quietly said, “Thank you.”

Zhang Pa was taken aback. “What did you say?”

Li Yingxiong repeated, “Thank you,” and added, “Thank you for bringing people to help me the other day.”

Zhang Pa replied, “You’re overthinking it. I don’t do things to help people.”

Li Yingxiong smiled faintly, said thanks again, and turned to leave.

Zhang Pa called out, “You’re thanking the wrong person. The ones who fought for you were those people in the classroom.”

Li Yingxiong paused, thought it over, and walked away.

Zhang Pa chuckled; the kid was interesting.

He entered the classroom, as usual, checking if anyone was skipping class. No one was, which pleased him, so he sat at his desk and opened his laptop.

Yu Yuan approached him, “Teacher, we’d like to talk with you.”

“Go ahead,” Zhang Pa said.

Yu Yuan continued, “Regarding academic performance, we all feel you shouldn’t set the standard unilaterally—it should be discussed and a suitable score agreed upon.”

“How many points do you think is reasonable?” Zhang Pa asked.

Yu Yuan replied, “Given our current grades and attitude, I think twenty points is doable.”

Zhang Pa rubbed his nose, “Twenty points?”

“Yeah. We think, if we really try, we can complete the task,” Yu Yuan said earnestly.

Zhang Pa responded, “You could get twenty points just by randomly filling in answers with your eyes closed, couldn’t you?”

“Not necessarily. It depends on luck,” Yu Yuan said.

Zhang Pa was exasperated, “It depends on luck? Did I not hit you hard enough?”

“Teacher, you can’t do that—you shouldn’t just hit people. This is a school; education should come first. You should be caring, benevolent, loving. We are fragile blossoms here to learn…”

Noticing Zhang Pa’s expression, Yu Yuan stopped.

“Go on,” Zhang Pa prompted.

“Well, I think my point has been made. So, twenty points—is that okay?” Yu Yuan asked.

“I’ll give you twenty points in the head!” Zhang Pa suddenly realized something was off. Wasn’t the full score for Chinese one hundred and twenty? He was annoyed at his own oversight and sneered, “What’s the full score for Chinese? You’re trying to fool me with twenty points? Get back.”

Yu Yuan grinned and walked back.

At that moment, Liu Fangfang came over. “Where’s your desk?”

Zhang Pa pointed to the one by the window, but Liu Fangfang clarified she meant his seat in the teachers’ office.

Zhang Pa scratched his head, “Ah, Old Qin was messing with me. If I don’t ask, he won’t tell. Wait here.” He went to find the principal.

“I found what you wanted. Come get it later,” Liu Fangfang called after him.

“Alright,” Zhang Pa replied, striding off to the principal’s office.

The principal and an unfamiliar person were standing in the hallway outside, talking. Zhang Pa waited at the stairs.

When the principal saw him, he looked helpless. “You’re either not at work, or you come and bother me. Should I add a desk in my office for you?”

Zhang Pa was surprised. “Wow, how did you know I was here for a desk?”

The principal shook his head, said a few more words to the stranger, who then left. The principal unlocked the door. “Come in.” His tone was filled with resignation.

Zhang Pa followed, looking around. The principal asked, “What are you looking for?”

“There’s no space here,” Zhang Pa replied, sitting down.

“What do you need space for?” The principal had forgotten his earlier comment.

“To add a desk, of course. Which office am I supposed to work in?”

“You want an office?” The principal was irritated. “You’re hardly ever at work—what do you need an office for?”

“Before, it didn’t matter, but now I’m a subject teacher. I need somewhere to store books and papers. I can’t just leave them in the classroom; those monkeys will definitely steal the exam questions.”

The principal nodded, “Alright.” After thinking for a moment, he said, “Go back for now. I’ll arrange it.”

“Hurry up, and don’t try to fool me,” Zhang Pa said, getting up to leave.

“Wait,” the principal said. “About the visit to the juvenile detention center you mentioned yesterday—I checked, and it’s doable. Not only can you visit the detention center, but also the prison. Tell me when you want to go, and I’ll lead the group.”

Zhang Pa gave a thumbs up, “Good man. I’ll treat you to barbecue sometime.”

“Forget ‘sometime.’ Make it today. Despite being the principal, no teacher has ever treated me to barbecue. What a life…”

Zhang Pa laughed and refused, “I can’t today—I have class, dance class.”

“You learn dance?” The principal looked him up and down, chuckling coldly, “I’ve seen plenty of unreliable types, but you’re something else… By the way, do you want to take the teacher certification exam?”

“What?” Zhang Pa exclaimed as if stabbed.

“Teacher qualification certificate! Why are you yelling?” the principal said, annoyed.

“Why would I take that?” Zhang Pa asked.

“You’re a temp now—don’t you want to become permanent?” The principal replied. “Teachers have great benefits. Think about the feeling of having students all over the world.”

Zhang Pa laughed, “With the ancestors in Class Eighteen? Not students worldwide, students all over the prison.”

The principal said, “You’re not planning to send them all to prison, are you? Put some heart into it. Teach them well.”

“I’m putting in all my effort; it’s interfering with my real work,” Zhang Pa replied.

“You have real work?” The principal pointed to a chair. “Sit down. I want to learn about teachers’ extracurricular lives and understand their status. What real work do you do?”

Zhang Pa sat and replied, “I’m a director. You’d never guess, right? Honestly, I can’t even see it myself.”

The principal answered earnestly, “Indeed, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Zhang Pa mused, “I feel like you’re mocking me.”

“It’s not a feeling; I am mocking you. Didn’t you notice?” The principal asked gently.

Zhang Pa pursed his lips, “You’re jealous. I’m young and talented, a famous director…”

The principal asked, “Why not continue?”

“I’ve thought up a new idea.”

“Not interested,” the principal replied.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Zhang Pa said.

“In that case, go ahead,” the principal said.

“Not saying,” Zhang Pa replied. “Your task today is the desk—I need somewhere to prepare lessons.”

The principal considered, picked up the phone, dialed a couple of numbers, and after a few minutes, got a call back. He listened and said to Zhang Pa, “Here’s a benefit for you.”

“A benefit?” Zhang Pa said. “I sense a strong whiff of conspiracy.”

“What does conspiracy smell like?” the principal asked.

Zhang Pa coughed, “Boss.”

The principal chuckled, “Come on, I’ll take you to the office.”

“You’re personally taking me?” Zhang Pa said. “Definitely a conspiracy—a big principal taking a temp to the office?”

“Enough nonsense,” the principal said, heading out. Zhang Pa followed.

It wasn’t far from Class Eighteen, which was on the first floor; on the third floor in the same direction, the corner classroom was the music room, and in front of it was a small office. Principal Qin knocked, and a female voice inside said, “Come in.”

He opened the door. “Ms. Luo.”

The room was less than twenty square meters. Two large desks stood beneath the window, a file cabinet lined the side wall, and interestingly, a single bed was placed near the door, neatly made.

At one desk sat a beautiful woman—truly beautiful, with flowing long hair, a professional short skirt, high heels, and stockings. By her attire, she could have been a white-collar worker from a large company.

She stood and greeted them. “Principal.”

Principal Qin made introductions, “This is Luo Shengnan, Ms. Luo. This is Zhang Pa, Mr. Zhang. Ms. Luo teaches music. Mr. Zhang teaches Chinese and is the homeroom teacher for Class Eighteen.”

“Hello,” Luo Shengnan extended her hand.

Zhang Pa quickly gave a gentle handshake, “Hello.”

Principal Qin said to Luo Shengnan, “Director Yang informed you, right?”

Luo Shengnan replied that she had been notified.

“Good,” the principal said. “From today onward, you two are colleagues, sharing this office.”

Zhang Pa quickly spoke, “Isn’t this a dormitory?”