Watching Antuxi’s calm back, Tunzuo felt an indescribable sorrow welling up in his heart.
Suddenly, inspiration flowed like a spring, and he achieved empathy with those literary scholars.
“If heaven had feelings, heaven would grow old; the fragrance of plum blossoms comes from bitter cold.”
Tunzuo forcibly stitched together two completely unrelated lines of poetry to lament his current state of mind.
The witch who clung to hope waited until the end of time, only to be met with snow in June and a lone plum blossom weeping in the cold.
It was a pity that this tender bud of his—the bright smile on his face—wouldn’t last long before being frozen by the biting wind called “Legendary Witch Pressure Sandwich.”
Antuxi, leisurely sipping her tea, was demonstrating to Tunzuo with her actions:
“The user you are trying to reach does not want to talk to you, and not only that, but she maliciously refuses to hang up, as if enjoying the music of your calls ringing in her ear.”
This was Antuoxi Otilis—never proactive, never responsive, never refusing—simply indulging in the perverse pleasure of fishing for trouble and toying with witches.
Faced with her mother’s almost disconnected coldness, Tunzuo felt like crying but had no tears.
He let out a silent scream in his heart.
‘Mommy! Please look at me! The principal came to your doorstep in person, so obviously she knows you’re here! Can’t you just not make things hard for a young witch? Let the legendary witches handle their own business! This isn’t how you cross rank to fight!’
Stuck between Antuxi and Andersen, Tunzuo’s complaints flowed like a mighty river, endless.
Yet despite that, Tunzuo plastered a fake, unskilled business smile on his face.
He had no choice.
His Ghost Witch intuition gave him a strong sense of crisis.
He could predict that if he said one wrong word next, Antuxi would gracefully disappear from the dining room and then come back with a kindly smile and buy him two “oranges.”
As for whether those “oranges” were the passionate heart of a loving daughter or the malicious fruit of punishment—Tunzuo had no way of knowing.
Not daring to gamble, he swallowed his saliva, shifted his gaze from the seemingly harmless teddy bear plush in front of him, and turned to look at Olivia beside him.
He blinked wildly, sending her Morse code with his eyelids.
‘Hey, pervy dragon, don’t just watch the show! Do something! Aren’t you close with Principal Andersen? Use your experienced social skills to help me pass this persuasion check with a huge DC!’
Receiving Tunzuo’s distress signal, Olivia’s bright golden reptilian pupils contracted slightly.
She elegantly lifted her eyelids and met the teddy bear’s button eyes, engaging in a silent exchange of looks.
But after just one second, Olivia naturally turned her head away, her movements fluid as if the brief eye contact had never happened.
Olivia shifted her gaze guiltily, starting to study the ornate crystal chandelier on the ceiling, occasionally muttering comments as if she knew what she was talking about.
“Hmm, the cutting technique on the crystal is pretty good. Looks like it’s Drow elf style—quite different from traditional high elven. Too bad it’s artificial crystal, not natural…”
‘F, you useless pervy dragon!’*
Watching Olivia’s betrayal—the “I’m scared, don’t count on me” move—Tunzuo felt so angry he almost coughed blood.
Internally, he pulled out a little notebook and sharply deducted affection points from Olivia.
Forced by circumstances, Tunzuo had to rely on himself.
He took a deep breath, drew the somewhat thick air into his lungs, and tried to make his smile look as sincere as possible.
With a tone that was 30% fawning, 30% awkward, and 40% death-or-glory, he addressed the teddy bear plush on the table.
“Chief? What chief? Principal, you’re talking about Lord Lovecraft, right? Oh, what a joke you’re making…”
As he spoke, Tunzuo subconsciously glanced at Antuxi’s movements out of the corner of his eye.
Confirming that she wasn’t stopping him, he steeled himself and continued his nonsense.
“You know, although I might—possibly—indeed—have a little trace of Lord Lovecraft’s magical power on me, I’m completely in the dark about it. After all, I’m a Lost Witch. Lord Lovecraft has been missing for so long, I don’t know her whereabouts either. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been wandering outside all this time, right?”
Hearing Tunzuo’s fabricated lies, the teacup in Antuxi’s hand trembled slightly, stopping midair without any further movement.
The ripples on the tea’s surface betrayed her unsettled inner thoughts.
As for Tunzuo’s disjointed excuse, the teddy bear plush neither accepted nor denied it.
It just lowered its head unhappily, covering its face with two fluffy paws, looking very sad.
This was the first time Tunzuo had sensed such a human-like emotion from a stuffed toy.
Then, Tunzuo heard Andersen’s voice, full of grievance and resentment, coming from inside the teddy bear.
“Mmm, little An’an is such a big meanie.”
She finally comes back once, and she doesn’t want to see her principal?
She even makes little Tutu tell lies for her.
The principal is so sad.
“You know, most of the messes little An’an left behind over the years were cleaned up by me. The mountains of paperwork, the senators who can’t stop arguing—I’ve been the one holding it all together.”
Andersen’s childish voice echoed in Tunzuo’s ears, but the tone was extremely incongruous with the voice—full of weariness.
Tunzuo couldn’t help but feel a pang in his stomach, as if his conscience was being tormented.
He looked at Antuxi, who still had no reaction, as cold as an ice sculpture, and sighed inwardly.
‘Mommy! Why do Otilis witches have to make things hard for other Otilis witches? We’re all witches—why hurt each other?’
But things had already come to this.
Even if the act was full of holes, Tunzuo had to force himself to keep playing.
He had no choice—whose fault was it that he had a bad mommy who liked to make things difficult for a strong witch?
So Tunzuo gave an awkward laugh and fell silent, sitting in his seat like a wooden post, waiting for Andersen to speak first so he could adapt.
Seeing Tunzuo go silent, the teddy bear plush’s button eyes glimmered, as if thinking of a countermeasure.
After a while, Andersen spoke again, her voice filled with nostalgia.
“Little An’an wasn’t like this before. When she was a student, although she was naughty and always causing trouble, she was very clingy. Every time she got into trouble, she would hide behind me. Little Tutu, let me tell you a story. Once…”
Whoosh—!
Before Andersen could finish, a fierce wind howled like a hungry tiger pouncing!
The wind carried a hint of angry irritation.
The surging torrent of magic made the tableware clatter loudly, as if performing a tap dance.
But almost the instant the wind blew, with a “thump,” something was suddenly opened.
A dim light bloomed in Tunzuo’s hand.
When the wind died down, the witches looked closely and saw Tunzuo holding Huanye open wide like a sturdy shield, protecting the teddy bear behind it.
As for Tunzuo himself, he was facing the seemingly empty air in front of him, showing an awkward but polite smile.
Olivia, sitting beside Tunzuo, stared at him in shock, her mouth slightly open and unable to close for a long time.
She couldn’t figure out when her little ghost had become so bold.
“Hiccup—where did that wind come from?”
Ailin, dead drunk, was completely confused.
She lifted her head groggily, her eyes unfocused.
“Hey, you there—close the window. Seriously, can’t even let a witch drink in peace…”
Ailin lay face-down on the table, giving orders on her own, seemingly completely unaware of the abnormal atmosphere in the dining room.
But the other witches, except Ailin, were dead silent, holding their breath.
Especially Le Ruiya.
She kept her head down, her eyes fixed on the already empty plate, not daring to move her gaze an inch.
Any witch with half a brain could tell from the conversation between Tunzuo and Andersen, and from the sudden burst of ferocious aura just now, that there was another big shot present—one who was probably very close to Tunzuo.
And standing opposite Tunzuo, having reached out with an eagle claw toward the teddy bear, Antuxi was staring at Huanye blocking her path.
Her gaze was icy, as if she wanted to devour Tunzuo alive.
‘Oh ho, you’ve grown some guts? Already trying to protect your nest? Nice!’
Tunzuo read the meaning in Antuxi’s eyes, but he was at a loss for words.
Cold sweat trickled down his temples.
‘Damn it, my body moved on its own! No, I have to explain to Mommy quickly, or I’m dead!’
With a weight on his shoulders like he was carrying the entire kingdom, Tunzuo forced a smile that was uglier than crying and stammered an explanation.
“The t-teddy—it’s Fox’s—very important—can’t be broken…”
Hearing Tunzuo’s explanation, Antuxi’s icy expression softened slightly.
She squinted and looked at the teddy bear poking its head out from behind Huanye’s canopy, tilting its head at her cutely.
The plush’s face was adorably clueless, as if everything that had just happened had nothing to do with it.
Antuxi was silent for a moment, then she snorted coldly, withdrew her hand, and stopped pursuing.
“Old hag, little dragon brat, and you, stupid daughter—the three of you, come with me.”
Antuxi’s voice was cold, but her tone was commanding and indisputable.
Under Antuxi’s pressure, Tunzuo and Olivia could only slink away, clutching the teddy bear like two convicted prisoners, following behind Antuxi to a corner of the dining table.
After sitting down at a quiet table, Tunzuo felt the atmosphere was a bit too oppressive.
But the teddy bear plush trotted over to Antuxi on its short legs and greeted her in a childish voice.
“Welcome back, little An’an. Did you enjoy your vacation?”
The teddy bear spoke, its tone becoming very cheerful.
In response, Antuxi gave a cold laugh, folded her arms, leaned back in her chair, and exuded a domineering aura that screamed “Stay away from me.”
“Vacation? That’s a nice word you chose, old hag. What, did you come to blame me for skipping work? But if it’s really about official business, I suggest you save your breath.”
Faced with Antuxi’s sarcasm, Andersen didn’t argue or get angry.
The teddy bear just shook its head amiably, as if it could tolerate all the discontent.
“After all, little An’an now has little Tutu. According to regulations, you can count that as maternity leave. Even if little Tutu is your convert, besides, I can’t control you anymore. You’ve grown up—there are some things the principal shouldn’t meddle in.”
“Hmph, at least you know your place, old hag.”
Hearing that, Antuxi nodded in satisfaction, and the old sly fox smile returned to her face.
Seeing that Antuxi’s mood had eased slightly, Andersen began to try to get to the point.
“So, little An’an, are you ready to officially return? The council really needs a leader to make the final call right now. Otherwise, everyone is arguing over many policies and can’t get them passed. No one listens to anyone—it’s such a hassle…”
But Antuxi waved her hand dismissively, as if shooing away an annoying fly.
“I’m not going back to work until my daughter graduates. After all, I can’t let my dear daughter have a childhood lacking in love. I have to be a good mommy, right?”
Hearing that, Tunzuo pointed at himself in shock, feeling like his ears were playing tricks on him.
‘Me? Mommy, look back at everything you’ve done to me. Do you even believe that yourself? Besides, I’m almost thirty—what childhood…’
Andersen fell silent after hearing Antuxi’s reply, as if thinking about something.
Then she asked hesitantly:
“But tonight, little An’an, didn’t you make such a big scene at the school festival to tell everyone that you’re back? All the council members, every single one of them, basically already know.”
“I was informing them. They should clean up what needs cleaning, organize what needs organizing. So when I actually return, I won’t have to scramble to fill the gaps. If I find mistakes during inspections, I’ll have to replace my subordinates—a hassle.”
Antuxi’s tone was light, as if demonstrating her magnanimity as the Chief of the Witch Council.
Faced with Antuxi’s explanation, the teddy bear went silent again.
After a long while, a soft laugh came from inside the plush.
The laughter carried a hint of relief and a hint of resignation.
“Is that so? Then the principal understands. I look forward to the day little Tutu graduates. I hope to see a hardworking little An’an then.”
Seeing Andersen give in so easily, Antuxi couldn’t help but be a little surprised.
“Hmm? Old hag, you’re giving up that easily? I thought you’d try to convince me a few more times, or use some fairy tale to guilt-trip me.”
The teddy bear shook its head, its childish voice carrying a breezy quality.
“Little An’an has grown up. She’s the Chief of the Witch Council. She should make her own decisions. The principal chooses to respect that. Besides, I only came to find little An’an as a side trip.”
“Side trip?”
The unexpected word made Antuxi raise an eyebrow in confusion.
The teddy bear nodded, extended a paw, and conjured a magnificent envelope—entirely black, adorned with gilded patterns.
The envelope exuded an aura of nobility and luxury, with a hint of wild draconic might flowing inside.
The wax seal on the envelope bore the crest of a majestic dragon head with huge curled horns—the emblem of the Gold Family.
The teddy bear handed the envelope to Olivia and said to her with a hint of awkwardness:
“Little dragon, it looks like we’ve been found out.”
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