The livestream’s popularity had broken through the 100.000 mark and was climbing at an exponential rate.

  In the center of the screen, the Student Ghost was floating in front of the blackboard. The chalk in his hand was ground down to a nub, but his eyes were getting brighter, his voice louder and more resonant.

  "Everyone pay attention here! This auxiliary line is the key to breaking the problem! Many students fall into a trap here, assuming it's an isosceles triangle, but it's actually a right triangle!"

  The comments section was peaceful—fanatical, even.

  [Comment: I get it! Master, I’m enlightened!]

  [Comment: This ghost teaches better than the tutor I pay 500 an hour for!]

  [User 'Desperate Senior Year Mom' sent Super Rocket x10!]

  [User 'For Tsinghua' sent Luxury Yacht x5!]

  Gift effects exploded across the screen, illuminating the dim classroom with a kaleidoscope of neon lights. The iPad in John’s hand vibrated wildly—the sound of Merit Points hitting the account.

  "We're rich... we're actually rich..." Bone stood to the side holding the fill light (which was actually a tactical flashlight), the fire in his eye sockets dancing chaotically. "Boss, this is way faster than fighting monsters with our lives on the line! Should we just do this from now on? Sign this kid as our top streamer?"

  John looked at the excited little ghost, then at the frantic barrage of comments. But instead of being happy, his brow slowly furrowed.

  He sensed something was wrong.

  This wasn't just a heartwarming story about a "Scholar Ghost Teaching Math." Behind this, there seemed to be something deeper, heavier, and more oppressive.

  "Grace," John retreated to the corner of the classroom and lowered his voice. "Is this normal? I mean, these people... why are they so crazy? For a few math problems, they aren't even afraid of ghosts anymore?"

  Grace’s holographic projection sat on John’s shoulder, rapidly analyzing the data stream from the comments. Her expression lost its earlier playfulness, replaced by a trace of gravity.

  "Boss, what you're seeing isn't a thirst for knowledge."

  Grace pointed to a comment that just scrolled past: [If only this ghost could take the exam for my son, dying would be worth it!]

  "What you're seeing is... anxiety. A collective, pathological survival anxiety."

  "In this cultural system, education is no longer simply about 'nurturing people'; it is about 'filtering.' It's like a giant meat grinder. Children are stuffed in and force-fed knowledge, not to make them wiser, but to grind them into standard parts that fit societal requirements."

  Grace sighed and continued her explanation.

  "Think of it like... a Spartan training camp. But Sparta trained warriors to kill enemies; this trains test-takers to crush their peers in the rat race. In this process, the child's autonomy is erased, their independent thinking castrated. The only value of their existence is that score."

  "If the score isn't high enough, they feel like waste—just like this little ghost. Even in death, his obsession is 'I didn't test well,' not 'I didn't live enough.'"

  "This kind of suppression is more vicious than any Necromancer’s curse."

  John felt a chill run down his spine.

  "How do you know this so clearly?" John couldn't help but ask.

  Grace puffed out her chest (as flat as it was) and pushed up her non-existent glasses proudly.

  "Hmph, this lady is a deep-net user of the global internet! My data footprints cover the dark web and every major forum. I don't just know this; I know the 108 ways to write terms like 'Hengshui Model,' 'Chicken Baby' (Tiger Parenting), and 'Involution.' In the world of the network, there are no borders, only pain points."

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  John fell silent.

  He looked at the little ghost who was still lecturing.

  The child looked happy because he was finally being "acknowledged." But this acknowledgment was built on the foundation of him continuing to play the role of a "test-taking machine."

  What if he stopped? What if he got a question wrong?

  Would these parents, currently shouting "Master," instantly turn their faces and curse him as an "evil ghost leading children astray"?

  Just then, the Top Donor—Ranking #1. user [For Tsinghua]—suddenly spoke up.

  [Top Donor: Streamer! Don't let him stop! Have him explain that advanced physics problem at the back! If he gets it right, I'll send another ten rockets! This is crucial for my kid getting into the honors class!]

  The comments section instantly jumped on the bandwagon:

  [Yes! Don't stop! Keep teaching!]

  [Why is the ghost slowing down? Is he slacking off?]

  [Streamer, hurry up and push him! Time is points!]

  The fanatical atmosphere soured. It shifted from a thirst for knowledge to coercion.

  The little ghost clearly felt the pressure. His hand began to tremble, and the resentment that had dissipated by half began to gather around him again.

  "I... I'm a little tired..." The ghost’s voice grew weak. "This problem... I haven't learned it yet... I don't know it..."

  [Comment: Don't know? How can you not know? Aren't you a top student?]

  [Comment: Are you just fishing for money? Streamer, make him talk! Stop pretending!]

  [Comment: Trash! You can't even solve this problem, what kind of ghost are you?]

  Malice.

  Pure malice, born from disappointed expectations, surged toward the helpless soul like a tide.

  The golden light in the little ghost's eyes vanished, replaced by a dense, dark red glow.

  "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm stupid... I shouldn't have slacked off..."

  He began to frantically bang his head against the blackboard, making dull thudding sounds.

  "Boss!" Bone panicked. "The kid's gonna lose control! How do these people flip their faces faster than flipping a page?"

  Grace was frantic too. "Merit Points are reversing! The system judges us as 'fueling negative emotions'! If this goes on, the kid will turn into a Vengeful Spirit and be trapped here forever!"

  John looked at the ghost, who was self-harming.

  He had two choices:

  A. Obey the audience, force the ghost to continue (or use illusions to trick the audience), make the money, and run. This was the most rational commercial choice, enough to pay off his interest.

  B. Kill the stream, interrupt this farce, and free the ghost. But that meant offending the patrons and paying a massive breach of contract fee (platform traffic costs).

  "Money..."

  John patted his pocket. It was empty.

  If he didn't make money, he couldn't save his mom, and he couldn't redeem himself.

  But if he earned this money...

  He remembered Tom the apprentice crying in front of the oven. He remembered the crocodile thrown into the sewer. He remembered every life used as a tool and discarded when spent.

  "Screw the rockets."

  John cursed under his breath.

  He strode onto the podium and snatched the chalk from the ghost's hand.

  "ENOUGH!"

  John’s voice blasted through the microphone to the entire chat room.

  "He is tired. He is not a machine. He is a child who has been dead for ten years."

  John took off his fox mask, revealing his tired but determined face (though the beauty filter was cranked up a bit high).

  "You want to learn the problems? Learn them yourselves! Forcing a dead person to teach you—is this what you call 'for the child's own good'? You people are eating buns dipped in human blood!"

  [Comment: Streamer, are you sick? Don't want money anymore?]

  [Comment: Refund! Refund! Give me back my rockets!]

  [Comment: Stop acting like a saint! It's just a ghost!]

  John sneered.

  "Grace, cut the signal. End the stream!"

  "But Boss, the penalty fee..."

  "I said cut it!" John waved his hand violently, and the Yin-Yang iPad screen instantly went black.

  The livestream ended.

  The world was quiet.

  Only the sound of the little ghost sobbing remained in the classroom.

  "I'm sorry... did I... mess up again?" The ghost curled into a ball, shivering.

  John walked over. This time, he didn't stand far away like before.

  He crouched down until he was eye-level with the ghost.

  "You didn't mess up. You did great."

  John reached out. Although he couldn't touch the spirit body, he hovered his hand over the ghost's head, making a petting motion.

  "You don't need to get full marks. You don't need to get into the honors class. And you don't need to please anyone."

  "You are already dead. Death sucks, but it has one advantage—"

  John looked into the ghost's eyes and said seriously:

  "That is... no one can assign you homework ever again."

  "Class is dismissed, student. Go home."

  In that instant, the little ghost froze.

  "Class... dismissed?"

  Those three words were like a key, unlocking the shackles that had bound his heart for ten years.

  "Really... I don't have to take exams anymore?"

  "No more."

  The little ghost smiled. It was a smile that truly belonged to a child—a smile of relief.

  His body began to transform into countless particles of light, slowly dissipating into the air.

  "Thank you, teacher... Goodbye, teacher..."

  The light faded. The problems on the blackboard vanished with it.

  John stood up, feeling empty inside.

  "Boss," Bone looked at the black screen, "we took a huge loss this time. Those donations... we probably have to refund them all."

  "Refund them, then."

  John picked up the mask from the floor and put it back on.

  "I don't earn blood money. That's leaving a way out for the living, and leaving some dignity for the dead."

  Although his pockets were still empty, and the debt still hung over his head.

  John felt that this gig tonight was the most beautiful one he had ever done.

  Because he hadn't just crossed over a ghost; he had crossed over that little kid inside himself... the one who was also terrified of disappointing others.

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