Mrs. Shaola was certainly tireless, even relishing this feeling. This was exactly the effect she wanted, to intimidate the new students, tear down their thin skin, and show them that with skin as thin as theirs, how could they ever hope to be a noble lady?
“Fei An, Mrs. Shaola…” Samimi’s thoughts ran on and on, but she herself didn’t care. Thick-skinned and unafraid, say what you will.
“Fei An, Xia Ji Jiang. It’s not bad, but your tone still lacks confidence. How can you be an elegant noblewoman with such timidity? You have a lot to learn!” Mrs. Shaola gave another formulaic lesson.
Only then did she formally take Samimi to report in, leading her to a small Self-Teaching Chapel.
Samimi was led into a small room inside the Little Chapel, and it felt just like a prison cell.
“Stay here and don’t make any trouble. I’m going to get the instructor to come see you. Don’t you dare stir up any trouble, or I’ll be the one in trouble.” Mrs. Shaola took her file and strode off.
“Mrs. Shaola, thank you so much for your help.” Samimi beamed with a sincere smile.
Mrs. Shaola was caught off guard by this and, at a loss for words, just opened the door.
But most of the children who came here started out with that kind of innocent, guileless look. Yet after some time of education, they would no longer smile so recklessly.
Such a bright smile only told others that you were easy to bully; it had no other meaning.
They had to learn how to fake a smile, to hide true feelings within subtle expressions, never letting their real emotions slip, never easily letting some man read their thoughts. Even if it was Fei Jing, they still had to be reserved, to play hard to get.
If beauty alone was enough, there were plenty of pretty girls out on the street. So why did the nobles always favor the priestesses from here?
Of course, it was because of the Soul of Integrity, a noble and elegant bearing, far superior in devotion and wisdom, absolutely not something those brainless wild girls outside could ever compare to.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Shaola was a bit off this time.
Because Samimi’s genuine, innocent smile was also an act, just making people think she was a pushover.
After a while, Mrs. Shaola finally returned, bringing along two old Saints.
“Remarkable, this child is truly special.”
“It’s rare to find such a good seedling here in the congregation.”
The two elderly Saints circled Samimi, observing her closely and letting out admiring sighs.
Seedling? What a strange way to put it. Samimi was baffled, wanting to complain, but managed to hold back.
The old Saints reached out to examine Samimi’s face, pinched her earlobes, and checked her gums—there truly was not a single flaw in her beauty.
“Born beautiful, but a bit unkempt,” one of the elderly Saints commented.
After they finished, they set down the black box they carried and slowly opened it.
It was only then that Samimi noticed the two of them were each holding suspicious tools.
One of the old Saints took out a pair of scissors, while the other revealed a variety of cosmetics, looking at Samimi as if she were prey.
Samimi felt a little nervous, but couldn’t move, so she could only endure it.
The elderly nuns gave Samimi a thorough haircut, blow-dry, and makeover. They completely transformed her. Coupled with her cute, pastoralist-style white robe, she was like a brand new person.
Mrs. Shaola took out a mirror for her to look at.
Samimi realized that the sly, slightly rebellious girl from before was gone, and she had now become a gentle and elegant young priestess.
Her previously wild, golden hair had been straightened, her hairstyle now much like that of the prodigy Priestess Rebecca and Headmistress Meishan Yaolin. Did all young Saints have to wear their hair the same way?
Even her pale little face had been given some color. Where there was once only icy indifference, there was now a touch of bashful red.
Her sharp brows had been shaped, and the fierce shadows under her eyes had been softened; she couldn’t look cold even if she tried.
At this moment, Samimi felt like a bird whose second feather had been broken, losing her edge.
“Finally looking like a person. From today on, this will be your room. Classes start officially tomorrow,” Mrs. Shaola nodded with satisfaction, but her expression remained stern.
With that, they finally left, leaving Samimi alone in the room.
A bewildered Samimi slowly walked up to the mirror, touching her unusually delicate face.
“What am I doing, have I fallen into an illusion spell?”
Samimi poked her pale, fleshy cheeks. Clearly, she looked very delicate, yet somehow she could still squeeze out a bit of muscle. Truly amazing.
She was already starting to feel a bit homesick, longing to go back, wanting to return to Sweet Melon Town, to herd cows with the little pastoralists at home, and soak in Healing Power together.
But she couldn’t just give up like this. The Watermelon Town Chief was still working hard, Left Hand Brother was still striving, and her Old Mother was still confined somewhere, who knew where? She couldn’t quit now.
Samimi firmed her resolve and sat cross-legged on the little new bed to meditate and rest.
Unbeknownst to her, Mrs. Shaola and the two elderly Saint instructors were watching her from outside the window, secretly observing.
“That child’s meditation is very professional.”
“Indeed, not at all ordinary.”
The two old instructors watched Samimi’s meditative state and were once again surprised.
“But her Healing Power, honestly, is rather poor,” Mrs. Shaola commented sharply.
“She doesn’t need to be extraordinary. As long as she can emit light, that’s enough,” one of the instructors replied.
What an immortal, unfiltered statement. This is why those refined, perfect priestesses could do so well.
Priestess Rebecca and the others clearly had excellent Healing Power, yet they couldn’t compare to those who, while less talented, somehow shone brighter, and were never truly valued in the rescue teams.
This was the cruel reality: an era that didn’t care about professional ability, a tragic fate for pastoralists and clerics.
After a day’s rest and a whole day of eating nothing but milk porridge, Mrs. Shaola finally brought Samimi to her official class.
They arrived at a Little Chapel, pushed the door open, and found the room arranged like a small classroom, with rows of apprentice seats.
The only difference from a regular classroom was the presence of a female clergy seat behind the lectern.
A large group of young priestesses were already sitting inside, quietly listening to the lesson. Everyone was extremely focused, not a trace of noise. You could tell at a glance this was a top-tier school, with a learning atmosphere second to none.
This made Samimi think of the super-lax atmosphere of the Magic Academy, and she suddenly missed the simple, down-to-earth days on the Magic Academy campus.
As expected, the campus after graduation was always memorable; back when you were still studying, it felt like a prison.
Mrs. Shaola spoke a few words to the Priest Instructor, and Samimi was assigned a seat in the last row.
“Samimi, this is going to be tough.”
Wasn’t this just throwing herself onto the fire?
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