Tunzuo could tell that this honey had a somewhat artificial taste to it—maybe even a bit spoiled.
Watching Olivia and Naiya act so friendly, moving intimately like they were the best of friends, Tunzuo’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.
It was a physiological discomfort that made it impossible for her to accept the scene before her.
It felt like having eye drops of essential oil splashed into her eyes—a burning, unbearable sensation.
There was no helping it; the image was just too “beautiful,” beautiful enough to sting her eyes.
The two witches pressed their faces close together, as if whispering secrets only sisters would share.
Olivia’s hand was holding Naiya’s tentacle in an affectionate grip.
But as a Ghost Witch with normal eyesight, Tunzuo could clearly see the disgust in both Olivia’s and Naiya’s eyes—it was practically materializing into a corrosive liquid that would burn holes through the floor.
Olivia looked at Naiya like a swan forced to share a bed with a toad;
Naiya looked at Olivia like a frog forced to dance with a fly.
This wasn’t friendly communication at all—it was a silent biochemical war, each side trying to gross out the other, making sure no one walked away unscathed.
Tunzuo had no doubt that the moment Antuxi looked away, those two would spring apart like rockets, instantly putting eight hundred meters between them.
Olivia would definitely bury her face in a jar of facial cleanser and scrub until her skin peeled;
Naiya would probably bathe in disinfectant and scrub her mask-body with steel wool until sparks flew.
But Antuxi was quite satisfied with the humiliating performance of Olivia and Naiya—forced to maintain fake smiles while feeling like death warmed over.
The expression on her face was like watching two pets she had raised finally learn to shake hands under her careful training.
“That’s right. So, you two are good friends, aren’t you?”
Antuxi’s smile was kind, her palms pressed together against her cheek, her voice gentle as if coaxing a baby to sleep.
Faced with Antuxi’s question, the air fell into an eerie silence.
After a long pause, Olivia and Naiya’s voices rang out stiffly, flat and void of any emotion, like two broken music boxes.
“Yes, Your Grace (Sister Fox). Of course we’re good friends. Ha ha…”
That dry, hollow laughter made Tunzuo’s scalp tingle.
She raised a hand to her face in exasperation, looking up at the ceiling, unsure what to say.
Even the acting of young idols in web dramas was better than this.
But Antuxi seemed to enjoy it.
She smiled happily, raised her hand, and flicked her slender fingers lightly.
Ding!
With a crisp sound, the two icy blades that had been pressed against Olivia’s lower back and behind Naiya’s mask—radiating a chilling cold—dissolved into icy dust.
As the deadly chill and stinging pain vanished, knowing they had passed the test, Olivia and Naiya let out a long sigh of relief, grateful to have dodged a bullet.
However, before they could even exchange looks, their bodies instinctively sprang apart in opposite directions, turning their backs to each other.
Olivia pulled out a handkerchief and frantically wiped her face, while Naiya used her tentacles to rub her mask-body wildly, as if she had just touched something disgustingly dirty.
Antuxi stopped paying attention to their antics.
Instead, she smiled and reached out, gently smoothing Tunzuo’s hair with the leisurely ease of a ruler.
“Silly daughter, let me ask you.”
Antuxi tilted her head slightly, her eyes playful.
“From that scene just now, what did you learn?”
The sudden question caught Tunzuo off guard.
Her gaze swept over Olivia and Naiya, who were frantically cleaning themselves, then lifted to her smiling bad mommy, wondering what she was thinking.
Tunzuo was silent for a moment, mentally composing countless responses.
After hesitating for a long time, she stammered:
“Uh, when facing a strong enemy, we should stop internal conflict and unite against the external threat?”
It was a very textbook answer, orthodox, without any emotional bias.
However, Antuxi just chuckled lightly at Tunzuo’s reply, shook her head, and denied it:
“That’s not wrong, but that’s the survival wisdom of the weak. I’m not asking you to think from the passive side. What I want is your answer as the active party.”
Antuxi paused briefly, then radiated an aura of absolute dominance.
“What I want you to understand is this: as long as you have power and authority, you can do whatever you want. Even if you have to force two enemies to become a couple, make them act out a deep, affectionate drama—they’ll have to smile and act it out. That’s the aesthetics of power.”
Tunzuo didn’t agree with Antuxi’s overly villainous, somewhat morally deviant educational theory.
After all, her witch transformation wasn’t that deep yet; the values from Blue Star still dominated her mind.
But under the unfathomable pressure of her bad mommy, Tunzuo didn’t argue.
She obediently nodded, putting on a “Mommy is always right” good-girl face.
Antuxi naturally knew Tunzuo hadn’t taken her words to heart, but she had her methods.
She knew Tunzuo too well and knew how to stir the hidden ambition within her and instill her educational philosophy.
A sly smile curled at the corner of Antuxi’s mouth.
She lowered her head, leaned close to Tunzuo’s ear, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, tempting:
“Silly daughter, look—if you’re stronger than that little dragon brat, won’t she be at your mercy? Dragons respect strength, and dragon witches even more so. As long as you can suppress her, she’ll obediently do whatever you say. Only then can you take the lead in your relationship. Do you want her to ride on your head forever? To only cry when she bullies you?”
After hearing Antuxi’s words, Tunzuo’s pupils suddenly contracted, and the shadow beneath her churned.
Although Antuxi’s words were highly misleading, even somewhat extreme, Tunzuo did take them to heart—especially the last part about taking the lead, which struck a chord deep within her, targeting the lingering sense of inferiority and insecurity that had never fully dissipated.
Tunzuo rubbed her chin, gazing at Olivia, who was still wiping her face, with deep, unfathomable eyes.
Olivia, wiping her face with a handkerchief, suddenly felt a chill crawl up her spine.
Her dragon-witch instincts told her danger was near, but she didn’t dare turn around.
She assumed it was just residual hostility from her future mother-in-law, Antuxi.
But what Olivia didn’t know was that Tunzuo’s plan to tame the dragon had already sprouted evil seeds, sown by Antuxi’s influence.
Just as Tunzuo’s thoughts were tangled, a small, somewhat confused voice broke the silence.
“Tunzuo-san, shouldn’t we continue rehearsing? And what were you talking about just now? I didn’t quite catch it…”
Tunzuo followed the voice and saw Hai Lanyue holding a guitar, looking at her and Olivia with a confused expression.
Sally and Huli were the same—the three witches stared at each other, clearly not understanding the awkward atmosphere just now.
Seeing the three bewildered witches, Tunzuo was momentarily taken aback.
She didn’t quite understand what Hai Lanyue meant.
Hadn’t they noticed her bad mommy’s dramatic entrance and all the words she had said?
But before Tunzuo could speak, Antuxi cleared her throat and explained:
“Those little girls can’t see me. Just a little trick to increase cognitive barriers. Besides you, the little dragon cub, and Naiya, no other witch can perceive me. That’s why the dialogue sounded fragmented to them. After all, I just got back and don’t want to make a big public appearance yet.”
After Antuxi’s explanation, Tunzuo understood.
So that’s it.
Cognitive interference.
Her bad mommy still loved being mysterious.
Knowing the truth, Tunzuo quickly adjusted her expression and said to Hai Lanyue with a smile:
“It’s nothing. We were just acting out a scene—a way to relax, practicing our expressions. Now that we’ve rested enough, let’s continue practicing.”
“Is that so? I see.”
Hai Lanyue didn’t question Tunzuo’s somewhat perfunctory explanation.
She nodded obediently, retuned her guitar, and prepared to resume rehearsal.
Seeing Hai Lanyue easily convinced by Tunzuo’s excuse, Antuxi nodded with satisfaction.
She thought to herself that her daughter’s ability to lie without blinking was more and more like her own.
Like mother, like daughter.
It was gratifying.
During the subsequent rehearsals, with Antuxi watching over them, Olivia and Naiya were very well-behaved.
Although they still couldn’t stand each other, under Antuxi’s tyranny, any problems they encountered were met with humble mutual consultation.
Their attitudes were so correct it was infuriating.
“Naiya, don’t you think my pitch is a bit too high here?”
“Ah… yes, Comrade Olivia. Your suggestion is… very pertinent.”
As a result, with those two troublemakers neutralized, the practice progress of Tunzuo’s group accelerated geometrically.
Their initially rough coordination gradually became smooth.
Finally, the last rehearsal ended.
As the afterglow of the setting sun spilled through the window onto the practice room floor, a small problem had emerged during the rehearsal.
Tunzuo finished the final beat, exhaled a long breath.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, set down her drumsticks, and turned to look at Hai Lanyue.
“Hai Lanyue, is your throat uncomfortable? Your voice sounds a bit restrained…”
Throughout several rehearsals, although the witches had cooperated well with no obvious wrong notes, Tunzuo felt something was off.
It was like a fine painting with an unnoticeable scratch—it didn’t affect the whole, but it still bothered her.
Finally, during the last practice, Tunzuo figured out that the problem lay with Hai Lanyue.
Hai Lanyue’s voice was clear and beautiful, her grasp of rhythm flawless, and her technique perfect.
In theory, there should have been no issues.
But to Tunzuo, Hai Lanyue’s singing sounded constrained, following the script mechanically without expressing the emotions the song should have conveyed.
There was no anger, no sadness, no joy—only careful precision.
Faced with Tunzuo’s question, Hai Lanyue trembled slightly, whimpered, then hugged her guitar and explained in a small voice:
“Sorry, Tunzuo-san… I’m a little scared…”
“Scared?”
Hai Lanyue’s words confused Tunzuo.
She blinked uncomprehendingly.
“Stage fright? But we’re not even on stage yet. How can you be…”
Before Tunzuo could finish her thought, Hai Lanyue lowered her head, her voice as thin as a mosquito’s, and continued:
“When I think about performing in front of so many witches… I’m afraid… afraid I’ll hurt everyone again, or ruin the school festival…”
After hearing Hai Lanyue’s explanation, Tunzuo was momentarily speechless.
Indeed, Hai Lanyue’s special constitution remained an unresolved issue.
Although they hadn’t been affected during rehearsals, that didn’t mean all the witches in the audience would be safe on the day of the school festival.
What if she hit a high note and the stage collapsed?
What if she sang with emotion and the speakers exploded?
This was truly an obstacle hard for Hai Lanyue to overcome.
The atmosphere in the music practice room turned heavy.
But fortunately, the Tunzuo of before might not have had a solution, but now Tunzuo had ample backup.
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Tunzuo turned around and gave Antuxi, who had been leaning against the wall watching, her most pitiful, slightly begging expression, with big watery eyes.
Mommy, help! Please!
Faced with Tunzuo’s pleading eyes, Antuxi looked up and assessed Hai Lanyue.
Under Antuxi’s gaze, countless fine threads of fate appeared on Hai Lanyue, layered upon each other, almost cocooning her.
This made Antuxi raise an eyebrow, as if she had found something interesting, and a playful smile curled at her lips.
Antuxi rolled her eyes in thought for a moment, then gave Tunzuo an OK gesture.
The meaning was clear.
Trust—trust the great witch premier without reason!
After receiving Antuxi’s guarantee, Tunzuo beamed, her whole being brightening.
She turned around excitedly and patted her chest, saying to Hai Lanyue:
“Don’t worry, Hai Lanyue! Just sing boldly! On the day of the school festival, I guarantee that absolutely no witch will suffer bad luck because of you!”
Hearing Tunzuo’s resolute assurance, Hai Lanyue was quite surprised.
After all, there had been no solution for her constitution so far, not even the academy’s teachers could help.
However, she was willing to trust Tunzuo.
So, Hai Lanyue let out an almost inaudible “Mm,” the gloom in her eyes dispersing slightly as she hugged her guitar tightly.
And so, the date of the school festival gradually approached, to the rhythm of hurried drumbeats.
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