55 Snow fell during the day.

Half an hour later, he rose and walked into the classroom. For the past thirty minutes, only Yun Zheng had been sweeping, mopping, and wiping the desks.

Zhang Pa entered, glanced around, and asked, "Raise your hand if you did any work."

Yun Zheng looked at everyone; seeing no one raise their hand, he didn't raise his either. Zhang Pa repeated the question, and a chubby boy grinned and raised his hand. "Teacher, I did some work."

Zhang Pa nodded, "Good, do it again."

"What?" The chubby boy was furious, "Why?"

His raised hand earned him laughter and shouts of "serves you right" from the others.

Judging by his build, he hardly looked like a middle schooler—enormously fat, even bigger than the chubby kid from Xingfu Li. He turned to face the one who had jeered at him, "Say it again."

That guy was no pushover either, sporting a pill-shaped haircut—a round patch on top, bald everywhere else. He looked at the chubby boy with disdain, "What are you gonna do?"

"Say it again," the fat boy stepped right up to him.

"Screw you, who do you think you are?" the pill-head replied nonchalantly.

"Say it again and I'll kill you," the chubby boy snorted.

Zhang Pa, growing impatient, said, "Are you going to fight or not? Why aren't you getting started? Hurry up, are you even men?"

Damn, nothing was more entertaining than a teacher egging on a fight. The students quickly scattered, leaving space for the two combatants and Zhang Pa, who doubled as referee.

Zhang Pa asked again, "Are you going to fight?"

"Yeah, are you going to fight or not? Hurry up," the students jeered.

Zhang Pa said, "Looks like you're not going to fight. Then mop the floor."

"Why should we mop?" the chubby boy shouted back.

"Because I told you to," Zhang Pa replied. "You might not know me well yet, so I'll give you one more chance. Mop the floor."

The chubby boy stood his ground.

With a smile, Zhang Pa walked over and, without warning, started beating the chubby boy mercilessly in front of over twenty boys.

The boy was tough and could take a beating, but even he couldn't withstand Zhang Pa's relentless assault. The most astonishing thing was that, just like with the tall kid earlier, there was no visible injury, but the chubby boy howled in pain.

Afterwards, Zhang Pa asked, "Does anyone have any opinions?"

No one replied.

Zhang Pa looked at them and sneered, "In my eyes, you are trash among trash, absolute nothing, and worse—you're the kind of trash the school has given up on, which is why you're dumped on me."

He paused for a moment, noting the silence below; indeed, trash among trash, pigs unafraid of boiling water.

He continued cursing, "Let me be clear, from now on—" He stopped mid-sentence, walked over to a group of students on the right, and stretched out his hand, "Hand it over."

A student in the back pocketed his right hand, pretending not to hear.

Zhang Pa pushed aside the two in front, kicked, then pounced and gave him a rough beating. He finally snatched the phone, turned off the recording, deleted the file, and smashed the phone on the floor, "Your phone is gone."

Wow, utterly outrageous. All the students were stunned.

Zhang Pa returned to the front of the ping pong table and stood there, "Bring up all your phones. I'm only saying this once."

Yun Zheng was the first to comply. Some students hesitated, but Zhang Pa sneered, "You only get one chance. Miss it and it's gone."

A student near the door tried to escape, pulling open the door and running for it. Zhang Pa didn't stop him, but after he left, said, "Anyone else want to run?"

The students exchanged glances, saying nothing.

Zhang Pa said, "Let me give you another lesson. Wait five minutes." With that, he exited.

The trash students were full of curiosity and stayed put. Less than three minutes later, Zhang Pa returned, dragging the escapee, whose face was bloodied and battered.

He shoved him back into the class, slammed the door, "This student tried to climb the wall and skip school. I was worried he'd get hurt, so I rushed to help. He got nervous and fell."

What? The students' minds went numb. Was this a school or some gangster den?

Zhang Pa patted the ping pong table, "Where are the phones?"

After all that chaos, the students decided it was best to swallow their pride and hand over their phones. They came up one by one.

Zhang Pa quickly counted, sent someone to search the chubby boy's pockets for his phone, then waved, "Big clean-up. Anyone not working, I'll help them out myself."

And so they got to work—some moving things out, some moving things in. After much back and forth, by noon the classroom was sparkling clean.

Zhang Pa didn't dismiss them, but kept them for another lesson. "I know you don't respect me. You're thinking of telling your parents, or finding some big shot to beat me up. Go ahead, but let me say this: I just started dating someone, and my girlfriend's mother cares a lot about my job. Let's be blunt. You have one year left before graduation. If—I'm saying if—if any of you try something to get me fired, or get a reporter to make trouble, anything that hurts me..."

As he spoke, a gleaming dagger appeared in his hand, flashing coldly. He held it between two fingers, flicked it lightly, and it danced, a swirl of silver light.

While the knife spun, he continued, "My demands are simple. I don't care about your grades, don't care if you listen in class, just one thing—when class is in session, you stay in the classroom. If you can't even do that, don't blame me for being rude."

"You're probably thinking, so what if he's rude, right?" Zhang Pa chuckled. "First day, I'm giving you a demonstration. Today is for you to remember me. Listen up—if anyone plays dirty behind my back and costs me my job, I guarantee you'll pay ten times, a hundred times over."

With that, he placed his left leg on a stool, and plunged the dagger into it with a hiss—like tearing fabric. The blade pierced straight through his leg, blood slowly gathering at the tip, then gushing out, soaking his trousers and staining the floor.

Zhang Pa grinned fiercely, "Remember this: if you don't mess with me, I won't mess with you. But if you stab me in the back, three knives and six holes await you." He shouted, "Class dismissed, get out!"

The students were completely stunned. Yun Zheng was even more baffled—what was going on? How did he end up self-harming?

The impact of that stab was so great that even the tall kid and the chubby boy forgot their pain and any thoughts of revenge; everyone was dumbfounded.

"Get out already!" Zhang Pa shouted again, "Take your phones and leave!"

At last, one student raised his hand, "Teacher, let me take you to the hospital."

The others echoed, "We'll take you to the hospital."

"What hospital? Get out!" Zhang Pa glared.

Still, no one left. Zhang Pa sighed inwardly: This is about to fall apart. He held his left leg with both hands, slowly lowered it, and said, "You don't want your phones, right? Yun Zheng, go throw them away."

"Wait, no, don't throw them." Yun Zheng was the first to retrieve his phone, looking at Zhang Pa in confusion, then was the first to leave the classroom.

With him leading, the remaining twenty students left one after another. Once the door closed, Zhang Pa tossed the fake dagger aside, removed the mechanism from his pants, and muttered, "A teacher who can't do magic isn't a good writer."

He looked out the door and jumped—the principal, Qin, was staring at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I've got it under control," Zhang Pa made an OK gesture.

"What did you do… did you hit someone? Is it serious? So much blood," the principal yelled, seeing the blood on the floor.

Zhang Pa pulled him in, peered outside, and sure enough, Yun Zheng and a few students were waiting at the end of the corridor.

"It's nothing," Zhang Pa said, pulling a roll of gauze from his pocket. "Wrap my leg."

"Are you hurt?" the principal asked.

"For the sake of teaching, can you believe how hard it is?" Zhang Pa replied.

The principal wanted to go to the infirmary. Zhang Pa thought for a moment, "You're right, get more gauze from the infirmary."

Poor principal, sent running for gauze and iodine.

At lunchtime, the infirmary was locked; the principal ran up and down, fetched keys from the guardhouse, and finally returned with an armful of supplies.

By then, Zhang Pa had tidied the classroom, and as soon as the principal returned, he wrapped his leg in gauze and clapped his hands, "Done."

"Done what?" The principal already knew the wound was fake, but still couldn't figure out what Zhang Pa had done.

"Do you have a crutch? Just one," Zhang Pa asked.

"Are you here to teach or to torment me?" the principal replied.

"Same thing," Zhang Pa said.

Well, same thing. So, at noon in Number 119 Middle School, the new homeroom teacher of Class Eighteen of Year Three was escorted out of the classroom by the principal, with a terrifying scene—blood everywhere.

Everyone speculated about what had happened, but could only guess. After all, all Class Eighteen students were considered trash; others avoided them, nobody would ask.

In the afternoon, Zhang Pa led the class in self-study, dragging his injured leg.

It really was self-study—no extracurricular books, no phones allowed, only textbooks. Either read, or stare into space.

That stab had an incredible effect; a teacher, on his first day—note, a teacher, not a thug—stabbed himself just to intimidate the students… wasn't that insane?

But insanity had its uses. If he dared stab himself, who knows what he'd do to others? The tall kid, the chubby boy, the guy whose phone was smashed, the one who ended up with a bloody face—all four unlucky souls decided to endure. At least for now, better not make trouble; if they cost him his job, his girlfriend's mother wouldn't want him anymore… Good grief, who would want someone like him?

All afternoon, Zhang Pa wrote stories while the students studied. At dismissal, he said, "You all did well today. Keep it up tomorrow. Remember, no phones at school, and don't skip class for no reason."

The students ignored him, leaving the classroom quietly, but each glanced at the blood-soaked patch on his thigh before exiting. Ruthless.

After everyone had left, Yun Zheng came over, "Brother, what are you doing? Was that necessary?"

"Necessary or not, that's how it is. Take me home," Zhang Pa said.

"Can you get in the car?" Yun Zheng asked.

"Underestimate me? I could play basketball right now, believe it?" Zhang Pa limped out, laptop in hand.

Yun Zheng said, "I surrender, you're truly my boss."