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Chen Mo had originally been agonizing over the "traditional subjects" like language, math, foreign language, politics, history, and geography, wondering if his middle-aged memory and comprehension could salvage them. But as he continued to sift through the original owner's messy memories, a sudden subject name, completely different in style, struck his forehead like a heavy hammer—

Martial Arts class.

Score weighting: 45%.

Second only to the combined weight of cultural subjects, it hung high at the top of the report card, exuding an unignorable, kingly aura.

"Mar... Martial Arts class?" Chen Mo muttered inwardly, his tongue nearly twisting. "What novel thing is this? A souped-up version of broadcast gymnastics? Or a youthful rendition of military boxing?"

He forced himself to calm down, like untangling a ball of yarn, and carefully sorted through the sparse, academically-challenged memory fragments of the original owner.

Blue Star... East Asia Federation... Songjiang Province, Huihe City, Guangming District...

Place names popped out one by one, so unfamiliar they made him uneasy. This was definitely not Earth, not even a parallel world, more like a "distant relative"!

As his memories deepened, an outline gradually became clear—this was a world with Martial Arts!

Not the health-preserving Tai Chi practiced by old men in the park, nor the staged performances in competitive sports, but true Martial Arts capable of tempering the body, stimulating potential, and even... surpassing the mundane! Martial Artists held an extraordinary status in this society, revered by all. Various Martial Arts leagues and championships were ubiquitous. Those visual feasts of flesh-and-blood combat, radiating powerful winds, and frequently shattering the arena, were far more popular than football or basketball in his understanding, truly top-tier sports.

Many household names were not singers or dancers, but bona fide Martial Arts stars! Even some entertainment celebrities had to possess some Martial Arts background to be considered "properly rooted."

What astonished Chen Mo even more was this world's modern history. A cursory glance revealed that over a hundred years ago, the historical trajectory was similar to Earth's: the Industrial Revolution, World War I... But in the later stages of WWI, a mysterious force, later known as "Psionic Particles" or "Qi Tide," swept across the globe. The environment underwent subtle but profound changes, and Martial Arts began to truly flourish.

Decades ago, when the first top Martial Artist withstood a nuclear bomb, suffering only serious injuries but not death, and declared to the world's cameras, "Martial Arts is the ultimate force," the old order and concepts were completely overturned. That wasn't the end; the subsequent invasion by the "Antaya" pushed Martial Arts into the position of savior. They were an alien race that had also followed a Martial Arts civilization path. If the seniors of Blue Star hadn't relied on their powerful physiques and Qi-and-Blood burning Martial techniques, combined with still-relevant technological weapons, to resist the invasion, Blue Star would likely have become a colony long ago.

"High Martial Arts civilization! This is a damn high Martial Arts civilization!" Chen Mo's heart pounded uncontrollably, a man's romance and passion surging in his chest. Who hadn't dreamed of wielding a sword and roaming the world, settling disputes with a single punch?

But this excitement came and went as quickly as it arrived, like being doused with a bucket of ice water.

The reason was simple: the original owner, "Chen Mo," this idiot... no, this young man with the same name, not only studied as poorly as a ball of yarn played with by a cat, but his Martial Arts talent was also appallingly mediocre! His current Martial Arts class scores consistently hovered below the passing line. He was the type who would get winded doing basic stances and couldn't even sense "Qi sensation" when running basic cultivation methods.

Truly incompetent in academics, and unskilled in Martial Arts. A complete double-waste!

Chen Mo felt his molars itching, wishing he could drag out the original owner's soul and beat him up: "Buddy! Whether you transmigrated or restarted, you could have at least left me a character with some potential! Besides this body that's twenty years younger with a receding hairline, what else did you give me? Huh? What else!"

Family environment? Ordinary working-class, about the same as his own on Earth, unable to provide any divine manuals or spiritual stones.

Looking at this world's technological tree... smartphones, e-commerce (something called "Bao Tao"), instant messaging ("Wei Yan," "Q Liao"), ride-hailing ("Di Da Chuxing"), food delivery... Apart from slight differences in names, the functions and prevalence were almost identical to his pre-transmigration 2020s.

Well, the path of using foresight to start an internet business and copy business models to reach the pinnacle of life was basically blocked. The ideas he knew not only existed in this world but, influenced by the Martial Arts civilization, were even more deeply integrated—all major companies and enterprises had to have Martial Artists stationed or possess Martial Arts backgrounds and qualifications, otherwise, they couldn't operate. The industrial chains related to Martial Arts (pills, equipment, training gyms, event operations, etc.) were also incredibly well-developed.

The conclusion was harsh: in this world, without a Martial Arts background and strength, the ceiling for ordinary people was extremely low, at best a senior wage slave, a middle manager at most.

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"Sigh..." Chen Mo let out a long, heartfelt sigh, his voice filled with the helplessness and relief of a corporate slave facing reality.

Never mind, let's look on the bright side. Getting a twenty-years-younger body for free saved how much on skincare and hair transplants? Both parents alive, a harmonious family—this starting point was already beginner-friendly compared to those who transmigrated as orphans, useless sons-in-law, or those about to have their engagements broken.

"Although the hardware is a bit lacking, our software is strong!" Chen Mo began to console himself, his eyes darting around, searching for a glimmer of hope. "The cultural and artistic fields in this world, though largely 'eroded' by Martial Arts culture, still have a foundation. Those classic songs, novels, movies... they don't seem to exist here?"

Plagiarist! This classic path to wealth for transmigration travelers seemed viable! Copy some wuxia from Jin Yong or Gu Long? No, Martial Arts in this world could truly shatter mountains and rocks; those "low Martial Arts" settings would probably be seen as fairy tales. Copy some pop songs? Write some web novels? Create some blockbuster movie scripts?

Hmm... seems feasible. He couldn't claim to become a literary master, but getting by with "modest wealth" and achieving freedom in milk tea and barbecue should be manageable, right?

Thinking this, his mindset immediately calmed down quite a bit. He turned his gaze back to his desk and picked up the Chinese textbook to flip through—it was okay. After all, it was his native language; he could always score some points through comprehension and rote memorization. Politics, history, and geography were similar, being "score-by-memorization" subjects. With over two hundred days left, a focused effort could yield results.

As for math and English...

Chen Mo looked at the dense formulas and the English words that seemed like heavenly scripts, and painfully closed his eyes.

"Forget it, let it be..." he murmured in a tone of worldly disillusionment. "Some fates cannot be forced. Like my lost hairline and the calculus I'll never understand."

This sigh, full of philosophy (and resignation), attracted the attention of the girl in front of him.

She turned around, revealing a face that wasn't stunning but was very pleasant to look at. A bit of baby fat, fair skin, bright eyes, with the clarity and a hint of gossip unique to high school students.

"What's wrong, Chen Mo? Sighing so much, did you fail the Martial Arts test again?" The girl's name was Zhang Yuxi, part of Chen Mo and Zhang Shun's small circle. Her studies were also average, but she had a cheerful and approachable personality, one of the few female friends Chen Mo and Zhang Shun, being shy around pretty girls, could talk to normally.

"It's nothing," Chen Mo waved his hand, forcing a look of deep experience onto his face that didn't match his actual age but perfectly fit the current scene. "I just suddenly feel like these three years of high school are passing by in a flash. Youth is like sand slipping through our fingers, impossible to grasp, impossible to hold onto..."

Hearing this, Zhang Yuxi gave him an undisguised look of disdain: "Oh, come on! Stop your pointless whining! I can't wait for this lousy high school to end! I'm exhausted like a dog every day, and then I have to listen to my parents nag 'study hard so you can become a respected Martial Artist'... It's so annoying!"

Looking at her disgusted expression of "blissfully unaware of their good fortune," Chen Mo opened his mouth, but in the end, only a complex wry smile formed.

Life, sometimes, is truly ironic.

Only someone like him, who had truly lost his youth, had his sharp edges worn down by life, and had been struggling in the mundane world for over a decade—an "old soul"—would understand how precious this time filled with exam papers and sweat, this seemingly oppressive yet incredibly pure campus, and these noisy, simple-minded classmates truly were.

In our youth, we always eagerly rush towards the distance, thinking freedom lies there; only upon reaching that distance do we realize that what we miss most is the very starting point we were so eager to escape.

Zhang Yuxi wouldn't understand this profound realization now, nor would Zhang Shun. Perhaps, only after they too had journeyed far on the road of life and looked back, would they be able to savor that bittersweet taste.

And now, Chen Mo, the "old youth," could only carry this premature understanding, while planning how to achieve a modest prosperity through "plagiarism," and grudgingly begin to pick up that headache-inducing book, Principles of Basic Qi and Blood Circulation...

The future is bright (probably), the road is winding (definitely), the Gaokao is terrifying (undoubtedly), but life, after all, must go on, right?

At least he didn't have to write a weekly work report now—wasn't that some kind of progress?

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