Martial Arts Class and After School

The afternoon cultural classes passed smoothly under Chen Mo's "strategic focus." He was like a dry sponge, desperately absorbing the relatively "friendly" drops of knowledge from language and history. His goal was clear: to break the 300-point mark in cultural subjects, no matter the cost! As for Martial Arts... the foundation left by the original owner didn't seem as bad as he'd imagined. With some effort, he aimed to just pass, get a vocational diploma, and at least give his parents in this world some peace of mind. It would also serve as a not-so-flashy but at least legitimate cover for his future "Plagiarist" endeavors.

Of course, during breaks from studying, his gaze would sweep across the classroom like an old beat cop on his "daily patrol." The class beauty, Xu Yunjing, was naturally a primary "object of observation." This girl was practically a product of the creator's favoritism – good at academics, beautiful, with a great figure. Even the baggy school uniform, devoid of any fashion sense, looked inexplicably "model-like" on her, exuding a sense of uprightness and neatness. The subtly outlined youthful curves were enough to inspire countless silent dramas in the minds of the hormone-fueled young men in the back rows.

"Tsk, truly someone else's perfect child..." Chen Mo mused inwardly, but it was merely appreciation. A soul in his thirties was long past the stage of getting hot-headed just by looking at a pretty face. After his brief observation, he buried himself back in his "primitive capital accumulation" plan, as disciplined as a monk.

The highlight of the afternoon was a full three hours of Martial Arts class.

This was Chen Mo's first time stepping into the ridiculously spacious Martial Arts classroom, with its special soft mats and the air filled with the faint scent of sweat and herbal ointments. Following the instructions of his mentor (a middle-aged Martial Artist surnamed Xu, with bulging muscles and piercing eyes) and his own memories, their current stage focused mainly on stance training and Body Tempering Fist.

Black Tiger Stance, Savage Bull Stance, Calling Crane Stance... the names were simple and unpretentious, yet they contained the essence of this world's century-long evolution of Martial Arts civilization. The original owner's main focus was the balanced and peaceful Black Tiger Stance, which was best for building a foundation, supplemented by a set of matching Body Tempering Fist techniques. According to Instructor Xu, these techniques had undergone hundreds of versions of optimization and iteration, reaching perfection. They were truly a ladder for strengthening the body, stimulating potential, and stepping towards the extraordinary.

The atmosphere in the entire Martial Arts classroom was solemn yet fervent. No one slacked off, no one joked. Everyone gritted their teeth, sweat soaking through their training clothes. Because everyone understood that this not only concerned 45% of their Gaokao score but also their future prospects – those with excellent Martial Arts scores could be specially recruited by good universities even if their cultural scores were weak; if they were proficient in both civil and martial arts, the doors of top institutions would swing wide open.

Chen Mo also calmed his mind and practiced meticulously according to his memories and instructions. Stance training required concentration, with Qi and Blood subtly surging with each breath; the Body Tempering Fist involved fierce movements, striving for standardization, mobilizing every muscle in the body with each punch and kick. He soon discovered that he had misjudged the original owner a little.

While the original owner's Martial Arts talent was mediocre, it was by no means the worst. With his effort (or rather, his forced diligence under the pressure of exams), the Black Tiger Stance was actually nearing the "Minor Accomplishment" stage, and the Body Tempering Fist had reached the "Proficient" level. In the class, this was considered below average, but definitely not the bottom tier. His close friend Zhang Shun, and a few other classmates who looked like they were "bone-constitutionally unsuited" for martial arts, hadn't even touched the "Proficient" threshold for stance training and were still struggling in the "Novice" stage.

"Looks like... this kid isn't completely useless. At least he left me with some capital," Chen Mo felt a slight lift in his mood, like a ray of light appearing in a cloudy sky. He trained even harder. After three hours, his entire body felt like it had been fished out of water, his muscles aching, but his Spirit felt strangely exhilarated.

Living again, who doesn't have a few small, unrealistic fantasies in their heart? What if... what if this middle-aged man's perseverance and comprehension, combined with this young body, could lead to some unexpected surprises in Martial Arts?

Finally, at nine o'clock in the evening, the evening study session, which was both grueling and fulfilling, ended.

The lights in the classroom gradually went out, and students poured out of the teaching building like a flood released from a dam. In an instant, the previously quiet campus was filled with the clamor of youth.

"Help me get a Jianbing Guozi tomorrow morning!"

"Do you actually know how to solve that math problem?"

"Hurry, hurry, we can still play a game together when we get back!"

"Hahaha, your posture in Martial Arts class today was hilarious..."

The chattering voices, the sounds of chasing footsteps, the crisp ringing of bicycle bells, and the unrestrained laughter that erupted for no reason but was incredibly infectious... all these sounds intertwined, forming a vibrant ocean.

Chen Mo didn't leave with the crowd immediately. He deliberately slowed his pace, falling behind.

The campus streetlights had already come on. The dim yellow light filtered through the sparse leaves of early spring, casting mottled, flickering shadows on the concrete road. The bright moonlight, like a thin veil, gently enveloped the familiar sports field, the tranquil teaching building, and the blurry outlines of the dormitories in the distance.

He stopped and looked back.

Watching the lively figures run, laugh, and put their arms around each other under the lamplight and moonlight, seeing the pure joy and worries on their faces, untouched by the marks of life. A complex and indescribable emotion, like the lingering aftertaste of aged wine, slowly rose in his heart – sharp yet mellow.

This was youth.

He had once possessed it, but let it slip away inadvertently; he had once found it stifling and boring, but now he cherished it like a treasure.

The current commotion overlapped with his faded, blurry memories of his own high school days, yet it appeared more vivid and dynamic due to this world's unique "Martial Arts" background. These young people not only had to face mountains of exam papers but also sweat profusely on the Martial Arts field. Their future seemed to hold broader, yet more uncertain possibilities.

He was like an audience member who had glimpsed the script beforehand, watching the grand drama unfold on stage, a drama in which he himself had once been a participant. He knew the direction the plot would take – farewells, going their separate ways, struggling in the crucible of society, eventually having their edges smoothed out, learning to compromise. Meanwhile, the actors on stage were still immersed in the most authentic joys and sorrows of the present, feeling both apprehension and longing for the coming storms.

The moonlight flowed like water, quietly. The evening breeze carried a hint of coolness, drying the sweat on his forehead and rustling the clothes and hair of the young men (and himself, the old young man).

"It's so good..." he sighed silently in his heart, a gentle curve involuntarily forming at the corners of his mouth.

Within this sigh, there was envy, nostalgia, a hint of the subtle superiority of someone who had been through it all, but more than anything, a deep sense of comfort and gratitude.

Gratitude for having such an unbelievable opportunity to re-experience this scenery, which he had once fled from in panic and now cherished so much, from such a unique perspective.

Although his future remained uncertain, the pressure of the Gaokao was still like a mountain, and the road of Martial Arts was long and arduous... yet at this moment, bathed in the familiar, bustling moonlight of youth, full of infinite possibilities, he felt a long-lost sense of peace and strength.

Perhaps, the meaning of starting over wasn't just about making up for regrets, but more about learning how to cherish the times that were once possessed but utterly unnoticed.

He took a deep breath of the air unique to the campus night, mixed with the scent of grass and youthful sweat, finally turned around, and began to walk, merging into the crowd flowing towards the school gate.

His back was still a little thin, but his steps held more determination than during the day.

The night was still long, the road still far, but his "senior year" had just begun.