Just as he finished the entire in-class exercise, a somewhat cartoonish little star suddenly popped into existence on the question page of the Auxiliary Cultivation Manual. The little star shot from the tip of his pen toward the progress bar in the upper left corner, then burst against it with a pop, and a "+1" floated upward.
The progress bar had indeed lengthened by a tiny bit, and its color had reddened slightly, as though it had been heated.
A little signboard popped up beside the progress bar, bearing the words, "A journey of a thousand miles begins beneath one's feet!" The signboard swayed from side to side like a cat's paw, then shrank back in.
Shi Tiexin was stunned. His eyes widened as he stared blankly at the slightly increased progress bar.
He did not know who had designed this interface, this system, these effects, or where they had come from, but he felt that this was absolutely fantastic.
The sense of feedback was just too clear!
Look at that little star, that explosion, those lighting effects. Then look at that flamboyant little signboard. Although the writing on it was truly ugly—exactly like his own handwriting—it undeniably had a powerful positive motivational effect.
Just looking at this system interface gave him the urge to study by lamplight with his blood boiling, let alone all those buffs. He truly could not bear to waste even a moment.
Hm?
Why was the progress bar's color slowly turning blue again, as if it were cooling down? Did this progress bar have some kind of combo setting too? That would not do. He absolutely could not let it cool off. Strike while the iron was hot—charge, charge, charge!
Shi Tiexin raced against time as he opened the second in-class exercise, picked up his pen, and continued solving problems. On the right side of his vision, the Auxiliary Cultivation Manual's usage progress bar was displayed. A tiny scroll-shaped icon appeared there, edged with highlights, but empty within.
As Shi Tiexin continued doing problems, the empty icon began filling up from the bottom, little by little. What filled it swayed faintly like glowing ripples of water, looking remarkably satisfying.
Throughout the entire class break, Shi Tiexin did not move at all. He simply sat at his desk, writing furiously. No matter how loudly the other students shouted, chatted, and laughed, he turned a deaf ear to them all and calculated through the problems one by one. The class bell rang, and Shi Tiexin's pen tip wrote down its final number, completing the second chapter's in-class exercise.
But the little star he had been expecting did not appear.
Hm? What was going on?
Shi Tiexin was taken aback. He hurriedly pulled out the answers and checked them, only to discover that in his haste, he had made mistakes on three questions. Shi Tiexin felt somewhat embarrassed. He had actually gotten elementary-level Mathematics questions wrong, so he quickly corrected them. Only after he had corrected every wrong answer did a star fly out and strike the progress bar with a pop.
The progress bar, which had been about to cool down, reddened again, and a signboard sprang up flamboyantly—"Do not view flowers from horseback; a galloping horse cannot truly see the flowers!" It swayed a few times before shrinking away again.
Shi Tiexin suddenly understood. So that was how it was. If he did problems carelessly and only blindly chased speed, it would not actually serve as training. He had to solve the questions correctly with care and attention in order to raise his level.
That principle would remain the same even without a system.
Then, taking that further, if he had not looked at the answers and instead relied on his own strength to perfectly overcome the difficulties, or corrected his own mistakes voluntarily, would he receive even more stars?
Once he had the thought, he acted on it. Shi Tiexin immediately opened the next in-class exercise and continued cultivating his mind art.
This time, Shi Tiexin no longer wrote wildly with his pen flying like a dragon and snake. Instead, he calmed himself and faced the questions with cool focus. The moment he focused, he entered that peculiar mental state again—half understanding, half enlightenment. It was as though two voices had appeared in his mind at once: one belonged to a master showing off his moves, the other to a salted fish shouting praise.
The effects of this strange mental state were miraculous. It directly and enormously improved the efficiency of his cultivation of the first level of Mathematics. His pen swept across the paper, and one in-class exercise after another—Fun House, Brain Spin Spin Spin, I Ask and You Answer—were swiftly solved amid Shi Tiexin's concentrated calculations and thought.
Those words seemed to know that Shi Tiexin could not be disturbed right now. The various badges and progress bars all blurred into transparency, and in Shi Tiexin's eyes, there remained only question after question that seemed as though they would never end. Yet those dull and flavorless questions vaguely transformed into flights of steps. Every time he completed a question, he felt as if he were stepping upward, climbing step by step from beneath an abyss toward the heavens.
Climbing was difficult and painful, but a focused person did not notice the passing of time.
When Shi Tiexin came back to himself, the dismissal bell had already rung.
"Brother Shi, Brother Shi!" Zhou Nan cautiously approached him and said in a tone like a servant paying respects to his master, "Brother Shi, school's out. If we don't head back now, the classroom lights will be turned off."
Shi Tiexin raised his head somewhat blankly, only then realizing that the entire classroom was nearly empty. Looking down at what he held, he saw that, as if aided by the gods, he had completed the in-class exercises in four whole Mathematics textbooks during this one class.
Shi Tiexin was deeply surprised. His efficiency was that high? It seemed he had truly entered a state of focus. Of course, that peculiar mental state had helped even more. Without that strange feeling of being carried up the ranks by an expert, there was no way he could have smoothly completed four in-class exercise books in such a short time.
So, how effective had it been?
With a thought, the hidden interface appeared again. When it first reappeared, it remained in the state it had been in before vanishing, with the progress bar still below halfway. But before Shi Tiexin could feel puzzled, the interface suddenly displayed all the "idle experience" at once. A long string of stars came pouring out from the bottom of the interface with a rustle.
There were truly too many of these stars—so many that Shi Tiexin was dumbfounded!
Pop pop pop pop! A string of stars crashed into the progress bar like a meteor shower. The "Enlightenment" badge beside it erupted with dazzling radiance, and every time nine stars appeared, a point of light would also pop out from within the badge and strike the progress bar.
It seemed this was the direct display of the buff that increased cultivation speed by 10% after reaching Excellence.
The progress bar suddenly blazed with red light, like an iron rod heated thoroughly through, so red that roaring flames seemed to rise from it. The progress bar extended forward with a crackle, while the prompt board beside it kept popping up and swaying.
At first, it said, "Keep it up!", "Well done!", and "Keep going!" Later, it became, "Invincible!", "Awesome!", and "holy crap, that works too?!" In the end, the prompt board even grew larger, while its words became bold, enlarged, and laden with effects—though the handwriting was still ugly.
"Making leaps and bounds!"
"My heavens!"
"Killing spree!"
"Master, I want in too!"
Before you continue