Life flew by at the pace of the "Grind Emperor," like film played in fast-forward, each page turning over with traces of sweat and books. There was just one new routine: every day or two, whenever Chen Mo sat cross-legged in meditation, a familiar warmth would rise from his Dantian. Gentle yet powerful, it flowed slowly along his meridians, soothing his aching muscles as it passed. The Qi and Blood Capsule, which cost five hundred yuan each, was taking effect as "accelerant" for his cultivation. Every surge added to his Qi and Blood.
The effects of the Qi and Blood Capsule really were immediate. Combined with the efficient learning and cultivation feedback from the system, Chen Mo's progress was visible to the naked eye. His proficiency in every Cultural Class subject was steadily climbing to higher levels. Even the mathematics that had given him the most trouble had reached Lv. 2. Functions and derivatives, which had once looked like indecipherable scripture, now seemed like puzzles with clear solutions. He still had a way to go before reaching the level of a top student, but he was more than prepared for the Gaokao.
His progress in Martial Arts was even more encouraging. Nourished by his abundant Qi and Blood, his proficiency in Black Tiger Stance and Body Tempering Fist was growing more than twice as fast as before. The warm energy in his Dantian was growing stronger by the day. What had begun as a thin wisp gradually condensed into a palm-sized vortex of energy. Whenever he practiced Standing Meditation, the vortex spun and the Qi and Blood throughout his body surged with it, filling his limbs and bones with seemingly endless strength. He could clearly feel himself drawing closer, step by step, to the Critical Point where quantity gave way to quality.
The biggest change had taken place in his relationships with his classmates.
It all started with Chen Mo's obvious progress. He used to be practically invisible in class: an average student in both academics and Martial Arts, easy to lose in a crowd. But now, he could give precise answers to difficult questions in class and hold a steady Black Tiger Stance in Martial Arts Class. It was hard not to notice him.
The change began in the back rows, where a group of boys gathered who weren't top students but were especially easygoing. They had once only exchanged nods with Chen Mo, but during breaks, they gradually began approaching him to chat.
"Brother Mo, wait a second!" A boy wearing black-rimmed glasses hurried over with a geography worksheet in his arms. A little embarrassed, he asked, "That big question from yesterday about monsoon circulation—I keep feeling like my answer's incomplete. How did you write it?"
Chen Mo had been looking down at a book on Martial Arts theory. Hearing the boy, he put it down and took the worksheet, giving it a quick look. It was covered in writing, but the boy had gotten stuck on a key point. Pointing to the outline of a mountain range on the map, Chen Mo explained clearly, "You can't just copy the textbook's explanation of what causes monsoons. You have to factor in the terrain shown on the map. See, this mountain range runs east to west. It blocks some of the cold air moving south and also changes the path of the warm, humid air. That's why the region gets more rain in the east than in the west... When you write your answer, make sure to mention how the terrain affects things. That's the key point."
"Oh! So that's how it works!" The boy slapped his thigh, eyes lighting up as he suddenly understood. "I knew something felt off. I missed the terrain—that was the key! Thanks, Brother Mo!" He thanked Chen Mo again and again, then hurried off happily with his worksheet.
Scenes like that played out every few days. Sometimes it was reading comprehension in Chinese class or an English cloze test, but more often, it was something related to Martial Arts.
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"Chen Mo, your Black Tiger Stance is really solid!" A burly boy, drenched in sweat from training, came over and scratched his head in frustration. "Instructor Xu has praised you a bunch of times. Why can't I get it right? I always feel like the energy's stuck in my chest instead of sinking down. My legs start shaking after ten minutes. Got any tips?"
Chen Mo thought about what he'd learned from training and replied earnestly, "I think it might have to do with coordinating your breathing. Don't deliberately try to 'push' the energy down; that'll only backfire. When you breathe out, try imagining the breath flowing down your spine and all the way to Yongquan Acupoint on the soles of your feet. Also, when you practice Standing Meditation, grip the ground with your toes, like roots digging into soil. Find that feeling of putting down roots, and the energy might sink more easily."
"Hey, that makes sense!" The boy's eyes lit up. He eagerly ran to a corner of the sports field, dropped into a stance, and tried it, muttering to himself, "Breathe out... energy sinking to my feet... toes gripping the ground..."
Chen Mo watched him go and couldn't help smiling. He always responded this way: calm and patient, sharing whatever he knew without coming across as a know-it-all. Whenever he offered advice, he added something like, "I'm just guessing, so I might be wrong," or, "Instructor Xu's advice is the real standard." That way of speaking let him share what he'd learned while saving the other person's pride and keeping them from feeling pressured. His mature way of handling things, along with his solid progress, quickly won him the goodwill of the back-row "commoners' circle."
That wasn't the only change.
Even the top students in the front rows began paying attention to Chen Mo. This was the class's "first tier," home to students who excelled in both academics and Martial Arts. Usually, they kept their heads down and studied hard, paying little attention to what was happening in the back.
The class monitor, Li Haoran, was a typical example. Everyone agreed he was a top student: his Cultural Class grades had kept him in the top ten in the grade for years, and he had long since broken through the bottleneck in Body Tempering Fist. Reserved and composed, he rarely struck up conversations with classmates. But one day during a break, he happened to pass Chen Mo's desk and, unusually, stopped.
"Chen Mo." Li Haoran pushed up his glasses and spoke calmly, his gaze falling on the math worksheet spread across Chen Mo's desk. "On the last big derivative problem in the recent quiz, did you use a variation of Lagrange's mean value theorem? That was a clever approach."
Chen Mo had been working through a problem he'd gotten wrong. He looked up, a little surprised. He hadn't expected Li Haoran to notice the solution he'd jotted down. Smiling, he replied modestly, "Good eye, class monitor. I got stuck using the usual methods, so I had no choice but to try another approach. It's nothing compared with how systematically you solve problems."
At that, the corners of Li Haoran's mouth seemed to lift ever so slightly into a faint smile. He nodded, his tone still calm but now tinged with approval. "It's already impressive that you thought to try another approach during an exam. We can compare problem-solving methods sometime." Then he turned and went back to his seat.
They had only exchanged a few words, but it was like a pebble sending small ripples through the class. Li Haoran wasn't one to praise people lightly, much less suggest talking things over. Recognition from someone in the class's first tier naturally meant something.
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