But the true "ceiling" of the class, Xu Yunjing, who had always been cool and composed, indifferent to everything around her, seemed unmoved as ever.
She was still the same Xu Yunjing: listening attentively in class, executing every move with pinpoint precision during Martial Arts Class, and spending her breaks either reading or training.
But the two girls closest to her noticed the change.
"Jiejie Xu, why are you leaving so late today?"
"Nothing," Xu Yunjing replied, packing up her schoolbag, her tone as calm as ever. "I'm feeling good, so I practiced a little longer at the Martial Arts Hall."
Only the girls around her knew that Xu Yunjing had never practiced for more than ten extra minutes at the Martial Arts Hall before. Lately, though, she'd been staying for twenty.
Even Xu Yunjing was stepping things up?
The news was like a pebble tossed into a still lake, sending ripples in every direction.
And so, an invisible whirlwind of cutthroat competition quietly swept through Class 7, Third Year High School, growing stronger by the day.
With Chen Mo at its center, Zhao Peng (reluctantly drawn into the competition), Zhang Shun (dragged into it), and Zhang Yuxi (spurred into competing whether she liked it or not) formed the first wave.
After Li Haoran was swept up in it, he drew in several top students around him. They spurred each other on, forming a second wave.
Xu Yunjing's subtle change was like a signal, making even more of the class's above-average students uneasy. Even the Big Boss was working hard now. If they didn't step it up, wouldn't they be left in the dust?
And so, the whole atmosphere in Class Seven changed completely.
During the ten-minute breaks, fewer people chatted about games and gossip, while more gathered to discuss problems. Their chatter was even louder than during class.
After school, fewer students headed straight for the Cafeteria, while more ran to the Martial Arts Hall, where fists cut through the air and shouts shook the place.
At night, the classroom lights stayed on later and later. The room used to be empty by nine thirty, but now, even after ten, plenty of students were still bent over their books.
Their homeroom teacher, Old Li, and Instructor Xu from Martial Arts Class could hardly stop grinning.
Old Li adjusted his glasses and looked at the brightly lit classroom, where students were bent over their books. He turned to Instructor Xu and said with satisfaction, "Now this looks like a senior-year final push! They used to be so laid-back, it drove me crazy. Chen Mo especially—he's set a great example! I love this energy!"
Instructor Xu stroked the stubble on his chin and watched the students sweat through Martial Arts Class, working ten times harder than before. His gaze settled on the figure among them, moving with perfect form and a determined look in his eyes. That kid isn't just tough on himself; he can motivate an entire group. He's got leadership potential. Definitely worth nurturing.
Of course, Chen Mo wasn't actually a training robot, capable of carrying out that outrageous schedule flawlessly.
Life always had its little interruptions, which occasionally made this high-speed machine "stutter."
For instance, one afternoon during a break, a few guys in the back row had been tortured by a physics problem until they were practically clawing at their hair. In the end, they came over as a group to "besiege" Chen Mo.
"Brother Mo, save us! This problem's insane! I got stuck on the third part!"
"Same here! I feel like I used all the right formulas, but I still can't get the answer!"
Chen Mo looked at their sour faces, then at the clock on the wall. He sighed, put down his copy of Fundamentals of Martial Arts Theory, and took their paper.
He spent twenty minutes breaking the problem down and explaining it in the simplest terms, from force analysis to applying formulas and calculation techniques. He even pointed out the places where they were likely to make mistakes. He kept going until everyone finally understood, smacking their foreheads and saying, "Oh, now I get it!"
Watching them walk away, relieved, Chen Mo shook his head helplessly. In his mind, he silently cut his midday training session from twenty-five minutes to twenty.
Time was like water in a sponge. If you squeezed, there was always more.
Then, one evening before study hall, a girl with flushed cheeks and shifty eyes approached Chen Mo's desk, notebook in hand. She hesitated, twisting the hem of her clothes, and spoke in a voice barely louder than a mosquito's buzz. "Chen Mo... um... there's an English grammar question I wanted to ask you about..."
Chen Mo looked up at her, then glanced at the notebook in her hands. The question wasn't difficult; it was a basic relative clause, something anyone with a little knowledge could handle.
He saw right through her little crush.
But she had come under the pretext of asking a question. He couldn't very well turn her down outright.
So Chen Mo gave her his full attention, explaining the problem as clearly and concisely as possible, without a hint of unnecessary emotion. He kept his eyes on the notebook the entire time and didn't look at her for a second longer than necessary.
"Do you understand?" he asked.
The courage she'd mustered deflated like a balloon pricked by a pin. "I... I understand. Thank you," she murmured.
Then, her face red, she hurried away.
Zhang Shun had watched the whole thing with relish. He nudged Chen Mo, waggling his eyebrows with a mischievous grin. "Not bad, Brother Mo! You've got some charm! That girl was looking at you like she was about to melt!"
Chen Mo shot him a glance and said flatly, "Keep talking, and I'll make you do two extra sets of punches tonight."
Zhang Shun's smile froze. He immediately covered his mouth and dutifully lowered his head to work on his problems.
Then there was Zhao Peng. Sometimes, after training until he was exhausted in body and mind and couldn't take any more, he would tug pitifully at Chen Mo's arm and bat his eyes pleadingly. "Brother Mo~ You need a balance between work and rest! That goes for studying and training! Just half an hour of gaming, okay? Martial Era got a new dungeon, and it's super hard. Let's team up and clear it!"
Chen Mo looked at Zhao Peng's near-tears expression, then at the time. Every so often, his heart softened—mainly because he was afraid of wearing out this "sugar daddy" and best sparring partner completely, cutting off his supply of Nutritional Meals.
So the two of them would climb into their virtual gaming pods and wreak havoc in Martial Era—though most of the time, the dungeon bosses wreaked havoc on them instead.
Half an hour of gaming really did help ease their taut nerves.
His family needed him now and then, too.
Once, his younger sister, Chen Qing, got poor marks on a monthly exam. Her grades had dropped quite a bit, and she sulked in her room without eating. Nothing their parents said helped.
After finishing his Standing Meditation that evening, Chen Mo went to his sister's door and knocked.
He didn't give her a lecture about how "failure is the mother of success." Instead, he simply dug out one of his own old report cards—the original owner's, of course. It was a pitiful sight: there were more red X's than red check marks.
"Look," Chen Mo said calmly, pointing at the report card. "Your brother used to do worse than you, and I still managed to turn things around. Your foundation's much better than mine was back then. What's one bad result? Just work harder next time. If there's anything you don't understand, come find me whenever you want. I'll help you catch up."
The stubborn girl didn't say anything, but the next day, she came out of her room on her own and obediently ate a big bowl of rice.
These little interruptions often threw Chen Mo's schedule off and took up precious training time.
But Chen Mo didn't really mind.
He knew he wasn't an island, and training wasn't everything in life.
These interactions, mutual support, occasional entertainment, and family responsibilities were the anchors connecting him to the real world. They kept him from losing himself on the road to rapid improvement.
Of course, he had to make up for the time he lost.
Whenever he was interrupted, he would calmly adjust the rest of his training schedule, accounting for every minute.
Or, in some unnoticed corner late at night, he would complete a training session that should have taken twenty-five minutes in just twenty-three, or even twenty, by concentrating harder.
He would reclaim every "lost" minute, one by one.
And so, amid the growing atmosphere of cutthroat competition in Class 7, Third Year High School, Chen Mo was like a speedboat with a clear destination, cutting through the waves and charging forward without hesitation.
Behind him were classmates he had dragged, pushed, and forced into the fast lane.
Beside him were the occasional supply stations he needed to stop at, and the warm harbors of everyday life.
And ahead, the lighthouse on the far shore, named "Martial Artist," was growing clearer and brighter.
Before you continue