The Storm of the Scroll King and a Daily Interlude 2

The true "ceiling" of the class, Xu Yunjing, who had always been aloof and indifferent to everything around her, seemed unmoved.

She was still the same Xu Yunjing who listened attentively in class, executed every move with precision in martial arts class, and either read books or cultivated after class.

But the two girls closest to her had keenly noticed the change.

"Jiejie Xu, why are you leaving so late today?"

"Nothing," Xu Yunjing packed her schoolbag, her tone still flat, "I'm in good condition, so I practiced a bit longer at the Martial Arts Hall."

Only the girls around her knew that Xu Yunjing used to practice for a maximum of ten minutes after class, but recently, it had been extended to twenty minutes.

Even Xu Yunjing was "raising the stakes"?

This news was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirring up a thousand waves.

Thus, an invisible whirlwind of "involution" quietly swept through Class 7, Third Year High School, and it intensified.

With Chen Mo at the core, Zhao Peng (forced into involution), Zhang Shun (dragged into involution), and Zhang Yuxi (stimulated into involution), the first wave of involution was formed.

After Li Haoran was drawn in, he in turn led several top students around him, chasing each other, forming the second wave.

Xu Yunjing's subtle change was like a signal, making more students in the upper-middle tier of the class feel uneasy. Even the Big Bosses were working hard, so if they didn't work harder, wouldn't they be left far behind?

As a result, the atmosphere in Class 7 completely changed.

During the ten-minute break, fewer people discussed games and gossip, and more people gathered to discuss exercises, chattering even more lively than in class.

After school, fewer people rushed to the cafeteria, and more figures ran towards the Martial Arts Hall, with the sound of fists whistling and shouts shaking the heavens.

At night, the classroom lights went out later and later. Previously, the classroom would be empty by 9:30 PM, but now, even after 10 PM, many people were still buried in their studies.

The homeroom teacher, Old Li, and the martial arts instructor, Instructor Xu, were so happy they couldn't close their mouths.

Old Li adjusted his glasses and looked at the brightly lit classroom with students buried in their studies. He said to Instructor Xu with relief, "This is what the final sprint of the third year of high school should look like! Before, they were all so lax, I was anxious just looking at them. Especially that kid Chen Mo, he really set a good example! This spirit, it's great!"

Instructor Xu rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked at the students in martial arts class, sweating profusely and working ten times harder than before. Especially the figure in the crowd with standard movements and a determined gaze, he praised inwardly, "This kid, not only is he tough on himself, but he can also motivate others. He has a leader's temperament, a good prospect! Focus on cultivating him, no problem!"

Of course, Chen Mo wasn't really a cultivation robot who could perfectly execute that monstrous plan without flaws.

Life, after all, always had its little twists and turns, causing this high-speed machine to "stutter" occasionally.

For example, one afternoon during the break, a few buddies in the back row were tormented by a physics problem, scratching their heads and pulling their hair. Finally, they decided to gang up and "attack" Chen Mo.

"Brother Mo! Save us! This problem is too monstrous! I got stuck on the third question!"

"Me too, me too! I feel like all the formulas are correct, but I just can't get the answer!"

Chen Mo looked at the faces in front of him, which were wrinkled like bitter gourds, then glanced at the clock on the wall. He sighed, put down his copy of "Fundamentals of Martial Arts Theory," and took the exam paper.

He spent twenty minutes breaking down the knowledge points of that problem, explaining them in the simplest and most understandable language, from force analysis to formula application, and then to calculation techniques. He even pointed out the areas where mistakes were easily made, until everyone suddenly understood and slapped their foreheads, saying, "So that's how it is."

Watching their relieved backs, Chen Mo shook his head helplessly, silently compressing the time for his midday cultivation from 25 minutes to 20 minutes.

Time is like water in a sponge; squeeze it, and there's always some left.

Then there was the time before evening self-study. A girl with a slightly flushed face and evasive eyes, holding a notebook, hesitantly walked to Chen Mo's desk. She twisted the hem of her clothes with her fingers and said in a voice as faint as a mosquito's: "Chen Mo... um... I have an English grammar question... I'd like to ask you about it..."

Chen Mo looked up at her, then glanced at the notebook in her hand. The problem wasn't difficult; it was a basic relative clause, something anyone with a little foundation could solve.

He saw through that little bit of girlish affection at a glance.

But since the other party came under the guise of "asking a question," he couldn't directly refuse.

So, Chen Mo approached it with the utmost seriousness he applied to his studies, explaining the problem clearly, concisely, and without any superfluous emotional tone. Throughout the explanation, his gaze remained on the notebook, not lingering on the girl's face for even a second.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

The girl's mustered courage deflated like a pricked balloon. She whispered, "I... I understand. Thank you."

After speaking, she ran away quickly, her face red.

Zhang Shun, sitting nearby, watched with great interest and winked at Chen Mo with a mischievous grin: "Brother Mo, you're something else! You've got quite the charm! The way that girl looked at you, she was practically melting!"

Chen Mo glanced at him and calmly uttered a few words: "If you talk any more nonsense, you'll do an extra two sets of punches tonight."

Zhang Shun's smile froze on his face. He immediately covered his mouth and honestly lowered his head to do his homework.

Then there was Zhao Peng. Sometimes, when he was exhausted physically and mentally from cultivation and couldn't bear it anymore, he would pitifully tug at Chen Mo's arm and pout, "Brother Mo~ Work and rest should be balanced! Studying needs balance, and cultivation needs balance too! Just play for half an hour, okay? Martial Era has a new dungeon, it's super hard, let's team up and farm it!"

Chen Mo looked at his almost tearful expression and then at the time. He would occasionally soften – mainly because he was afraid of completely exhausting this "sugar daddy" and best sparring partner, cutting off his supply of Nutritional Meals.

So, the two would enter the virtual game pods and wreak havoc in Martial Era – though, more often than not, they were brutally thrashed by the dungeon BOSS.

Half an hour of game time could indeed relieve some of the tension.

His family also occasionally needed him.

His sister, Chen Qing, didn't do well on a monthly exam once, and her grades dropped significantly. She hid in her room, sulking and refusing to eat, no matter how her parents tried to persuade her.

That day, after finishing his evening standing meditation, Chen Mo walked to his sister's door and knocked.

He didn't preach grand theories like "failure is the mother of success." Instead, he simply took out his own even worse report card – from his previous life, of course – and showed it to her. That report card had more red crosses than red ticks; it was a disaster.

"Look," Chen Mo pointed at the report card, his tone calm. "Your brother was even worse than you back then, and I still managed to climb up. Your foundation is much better than mine was. What's there to fear from one mistake? Just work harder next time. If there's anything you don't understand, come find me anytime, and I'll help you catch up."

The stubborn little girl didn't say anything, but the next day, she voluntarily came out of her room and obediently ate a large bowl of rice.

These little incidents always disrupted Chen Mo's plans and took up his precious cultivation time.

But Chen Mo didn't truly dislike it.

He knew he wasn't an island, and cultivation wasn't his entire life.

These interactions, mutual assistance, and even occasional entertainment and family responsibilities were anchors connecting him to the real world, preventing him from losing himself on the path of frantic improvement.

Of course, the time that was occupied would definitely be made up.

After being interrupted, he would calmly adjust his subsequent cultivation schedule, precise to the minute.

Or, in a corner unnoticed by anyone, late at night, he would compress a cultivation session that originally took 25 minutes into 23 minutes, or even 20 minutes, with higher concentration.

He would chase back those "lost" moments, second by second, bit by bit.

Thus, amidst the increasingly intense "grind" atmosphere in Class 7, Third Year High School, Chen Mo was like a speedboat with a clear destination, cutting through the wind and waves, forging ahead.

Behind him were his classmates, dragged and pushed by him, forced to enter the high-speed channel.

Beside him were occasional supply stops he needed to make, and those warm, everyday harbors.

And ahead, the lighthouse named "Martial Artist" on the other shore was becoming clearer and brighter.

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