The afternoon Cultural Classes passed smoothly under Chen Mo's "strategic focus." He was like a dry sponge, desperately soaking up the relatively "friendly" drops of knowledge in Chinese and history. His goal was clear: he had to break 300 points in his Cultural Classes, no matter what! As for Martial Arts Class...the foundation his predecessor had left behind didn't seem as bad as he'd imagined. With some effort, he could at least pass and earn a junior college diploma—giving his parents in this world something to show for it, and dressing his future career as a "copycat author" in an outfit that wasn't fancy, but at least respectable.
Of course, during breaks in his revision, his gaze would make its "routine rounds" of the classroom like an old beat cop. The class beauty, Xu Yunjing, was naturally a prime "subject of observation." She was practically a product of the Creator's favoritism: good grades, good looks, and a great figure. Even the baggy School Uniform, utterly devoid of fashion sense, somehow gave her a statuesque, crisp look, like a "school-uniform model." The youthful curves it faintly outlined were enough to inspire countless silent dramas in the minds of the hormonally overcharged boys in the back rows.
"Tsk, someone else's kid really is something..." Chen Mo thought with a sigh, but his appreciation went no further. A soul in its thirties had long since passed the stage of getting all worked up over a pretty face. Once he'd finished admiring her, he buried his head in his "primitive capital accumulation" plan again, as disciplined as an ascetic.
The highlight of the afternoon was a full three hours of Martial Arts Class.
For the first time, Chen Mo stepped into the ridiculously spacious martial arts classroom. Special Soft Cushions covered the floor, and the air held a faint mix of sweat and herbal balm. According to his memories and the instructions of their teacher, Instructor Xu—a middle-aged Martial Artist with bulging muscles and a piercing gaze—their training at this stage mainly focused on Standing Meditation and Body Tempering Fist.
Black Tiger Stance, Savage Bull Stance, Calling Crane Stance... Their names were plain, yet they embodied the essence of this world's century-long evolution of Martial Arts Civilization. His predecessor had focused on the balanced, steady Black Tiger Stance, the best for laying a foundation, along with its accompanying Body Tempering Fist routine. According to Instructor Xu, these techniques had undergone over a hundred rounds of refinement and were now fully perfected. They were true stepping stones to tempering the body, unlocking one's potential, and ascending beyond the ordinary.
The atmosphere in the martial arts classroom was solemn yet charged. No one slacked off or joked around. Everyone gritted their teeth, sweat soaking through their training clothes. They all knew this wasn't just about the 45 percent of their Gaokao score allocated to martial arts. It was also about whether they could leap over the dragon's gate in the future. Martial artists with excellent scores could earn special admission to top universities even if their Cultural Classes scores were poor. And if someone was Skilled in Both Civil and Martial Arts, the gates of elite universities would swing wide open.
Chen Mo focused, too, practicing meticulously according to his memories and the instructor's guidance. Standing Meditation required concentration, with Qi and Blood gently surging in time with one's breathing. Body Tempering Fist, on the other hand, demanded forceful movements and precise form, every punch and kick engaging the muscles throughout the body. He soon realized he'd been a little too hard on his predecessor.
His predecessor's talent for Martial Arts might have been mediocre, but he was nowhere near the bottom. Thanks to his hard work—or, more accurately, the pressure of exams forcing him to apply himself—his Black Tiger Stance was already close to Minor Accomplishment, and his Body Tempering Fist had reached the "proficient" level. In class, that put him slightly below average, but nowhere near the bottom. His close friend Zhang Shun and a few other classmates who clearly weren't cut out for martial arts hadn't even reached the "proficient" threshold in their stances. They were still struggling at the "beginner" stage.
Looks like...the kid wasn't completely useless. At least he left me something to build on. Chen Mo's mood brightened a little, like a ray of light breaking through a gloomy sky. He trained even harder. After three hours, he was drenched as if he'd been fished out of water, his muscles aching, yet he felt an unusual rush of excitement.
Getting a second chance at life, who didn't have some small, unrealistic fantasy? What if...just what if, with a middle-aged man's perseverance and understanding paired with this young body, I could get an unexpected surprise out of Martial Arts?
At last, at nine that evening, the exhausting yet strangely fulfilling study session came to an end.
The classroom lights went out one by one, and the students poured from the school building like floodwaters released from a dam. In an instant, the once-quiet campus filled with the clamor of youth.
"Bring me a jianbing guozi tomorrow morning!"
"Do you actually know how to solve that math problem or not?"
"Hurry up! We can still get a game in when we get back!"
"Hahaha, that pose you struck in Martial Arts Class today was hilarious..."
Chattering voices, footsteps chasing and horsing around, the crisp ring of bicycle bells, and bursts of laughter that came from nowhere yet spread like wildfire...all these sounds wove together into a sea of vibrant life.
Chen Mo didn't leave with the crowd right away. He deliberately slowed his pace and let himself fall behind.
The campus streetlights were already on. Their yellow glow filtered through the sparse early-spring leaves, casting shifting, mottled shadows across the concrete paths. The bright moon hung like a veil, softly covering the familiar sports field, the quiet school buildings, and the hazy outlines of the dorms in the distance.
He stopped and looked back.
He watched the lively figures running, laughing, and throwing their arms over each other's shoulders beneath the lamplight and moonlight. He saw the pure joy and worries on their faces, still unmarked by life. An indescribably complicated feeling rose slowly in his heart, like the lingering kick of well-aged liquor—sharp and mellow all at once.
So this was youth.
He'd once had it, only to let it slip away without noticing. He'd once found it stifling and dull; now he treasured it like a precious jewel.
The commotion before him gradually overlapped with his own faded, hazy memories of high school, yet the world's unique backdrop of Martial Arts made it seem more vivid, more charged with possibility. These young people faced not only mountains of homework, but also grueling training on the martial arts floor. Their futures seemed to hold broader, more uncertain possibilities.
He was like a spectator who'd glimpsed the script in advance, watching the grand drama unfolding onstage—a drama he'd once been part of himself. He knew what came next: farewells, everyone going their separate ways, struggling in the crucible of society, and eventually being worn down and learning to compromise. Yet the actors onstage were still immersed in the joys and sorrows of the present, both anxious and hopeful about the storms to come.**
The moonlight flowed in silence. The evening breeze carried a trace of chill, drying the sweat at his temple and ruffling the clothes and hair of the teenagers—and of him, an old teenager himself.
This is wonderful... he sighed silently, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
There was envy in that feeling, and nostalgia, along with a faint sense of superiority from someone who'd been through it all. But more than anything, there was deep comfort and gratitude.
He was grateful for this unbelievable chance to return to the scene of the life he'd once fled in a panic, and now missed so dearly, with such a unique perspective.
His future remained uncertain, the pressure of the Gaokao still weighed like a mountain, and the path of Martial Arts stretched long and difficult...but here, beneath this familiar, noisy moonlight of youth, brimming with endless possibilities, he felt a peace and strength he hadn't known in years.
Perhaps the point of getting another chance wasn't just to make up for regrets. Perhaps it was also to teach him to cherish the moments he'd failed to appreciate the first time around.
He drew in a deep breath of the campus night air, mingled with the scent of grass and the sweat of youth, then finally turned and joined the stream of students flowing toward the school gates.
His silhouette remained somewhat thin, but his steps were firmer than they'd been during the day.
The night was still young, and the road ahead was long, but his final year of high school had only just begun.
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