Days passed like the leaves of the camphor trees outside the window, quietly unfurling in the spring breeze, then rustling as the countdown board in front of the teaching building urged them onward, marking the passing of every second.
Chen Mo's life was mapped precisely along the endlessly looping route of "classroom—Martial Arts Hall—home." He had become a devout Grind Emperor, driven by the silent yet clear progress bar in his mind, squeezing every last bit of value from each minute. Not a moment was wasted, not an instant spent slacking. Even the ten-minute breaks between classes were broken into scraps of time for memorizing vocabulary and asking questions.
At 6:10 in the morning, Xingfu Residential Area was still immersed in a hazy slumber.
The sky had just begun to pale. A thin mist draped over the apartment buildings and green spaces like a veil, and the air carried the dampness of dew and the freshness of grass. Chen Mo had already quietly turned the doorknob, careful not to wake his sleeping parents and younger sister. He slung his heavy schoolbag onto his back and wheeled out his old bicycle, which rattled everywhere except the bell. Braving the cool morning breeze, he rode toward school.
The streets were especially quiet in the early morning, with few cars or pedestrians about. The only sounds were the swishing brooms of sanitation workers and the wisps of steam rising from a breakfast stall on the corner. The woman selling soy milk and fried dough sticks had already set up. When she saw Chen Mo, she greeted him with a smile. "You're up early again, young man. How about a fried dough stick?"
Chen Mo waved her off with a smile. "Morning, Auntie. I'm in a hurry today." Then he pedaled faster.
He was usually one of the first students to arrive at school. After parking and locking his bike in the innermost spot in the bike shed, he didn't hurry into the classroom. Instead, he went around to the edge of the secluded patch of Small Woods behind the athletic field. The trees and grass grew thick here, and few people came by, making it his private "morning training ground."
He set down his schoolbag and took off his slightly bulky school uniform jacket, revealing a sweat-wicking sports T-shirt underneath, washed pale with wear. The morning breeze was chilly against his skin, raising goosebumps. Chen Mo took a deep breath and faced the faint light in the eastern sky. He planted his feet apart in a stance that was neither square nor angled, straightened his spine like a sturdy pine, relaxed his shoulders and lowered his elbows, then slowly raised his hands to chest level, palms facing each other, and eased into the Black Tiger Stance.
Closing his eyes, he let his consciousness sink inward. Following the instructions in the Principles of Basic Qi and Blood Circulation he had borrowed from the library, he matched his breathing to a long, even rhythm—drawing breath in smoothly and letting it out gently—as he tried to sense and guide the faint yet genuine "Qi and Blood" within him.
At first, all he felt was the soreness and tightness in his muscles, lingering traces of the previous night's training combined with the strain of intense concentration. But after his Black Tiger Stance quietly broke through to Lv. 3 (Minor Accomplishment), he gradually began to "feel" wisps of warm energy, like a stream thawing in spring. Guided ever so gently by his thoughts, they flowed slowly along specific meridians in time with his breathing.
This wasn't the grand spectacle of inner power surging through the body and completing a full circuit, as in novels. It was more like the warmth that seeped from a cup of hot tea held in one's hands on a winter's day, spreading from the palms through the limbs. Wherever the warm current passed, the soreness in his muscles slowly faded, replaced by an indescribable sense of ease.
On the System Panel in his mind, the proficiency after [Black Tiger Stance Lv.3 (Minor Accomplishment) (7/300)] ticked upward with each adjustment to his breathing, each slight shift in his center of gravity, and every moment of concentrated intent. The progress was extremely slow, but steady—just one point every thirty minutes.
After thirty minutes of stance training, Chen Mo's body had grown slightly warm. Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, slid along his jawline, and dripped onto the grass at his feet. He didn't stop. Instead, he immediately began practicing Body Tempering Fist.
Each punch and movement was fierce and powerful, the force of his fists cutting through the air with a soft whoosh. Thanks to the foundation laid by his Minor Accomplishment stance, his lower body was as steady as a rock. His waist and legs worked as one when he punched, allowing power to flow smoothly from his Dantian into his fists. His movements were fierce yet fluid with the rounded ease of Lv. 2 (Proficient), no longer stiff and awkward as they once had been.
The birds waking in the woods were startled by the force of his fists. They flapped into the air, circled the branches a few times, then settled back down, as though they had long since grown used to the boy who arrived at the same time every day.
As the first golden rays of sunlight pierced the treetops, illuminating his profile as he stood still after finishing his punches, the wake-up bell rang through the teaching building. Chen Mo slowly breathed out a long stream of white vapor, which vanished in the morning light. He wiped the sweat from his brow, put on his school uniform jacket, picked up his schoolbag, and headed for the teaching building.
A new day began with Qi and Blood surging and a clear mind.
Ripples of change were quietly spreading through the classroom.
Chen Mo's "abnormal diligence" and his astonishing improvement on the recent quiz were like a stone dropped into a still lake, sending wave after wave rippling through the little ecosystem of Class 7, Grade 12.
His deskmate, Zhang Shun, was his number-one observer and "number-one victim."
As soon as the bell for morning reading rang, Zhang Shun dropped into his seat with a pair of dark circles under his eyes and a yawn. He noticed the faint shadows beneath Chen Mo's eyes and clicked his tongue in surprise. Then he dug a carton of warm milk out of his schoolbag and handed it over. "Brother Mo, those dark circles of yours are almost as bad as a panda's. How late did you stay up grinding last night?"
"My mom insisted I bring this. She said I keep zoning out in class and need something for my brain." Zhang Shun winked. "I think you need it more than I do. Here, take it. Get some energy."
Chen Mo took the milk and thanked him, then poked in the straw and took a sip. The warm, smooth liquid slid down his throat, easing the dryness left by his morning workout. "It's fine. I went to bed at half past twelve." He was telling the truth. The system had greatly boosted the efficiency of his studies and training, but keeping up with both academics and martial arts still left him short on time.
"Half past twelve?!" Zhang Shun's voice shot up, drawing glances from a few nearby classmates. He quickly covered his mouth and lowered his voice, looking horrified. "Are you made of iron? If I stay up past eleven, my brain turns to mush. I can't study, and I can't even play games."
He leaned toward Chen Mo and gave a mysterious wink, his tone tinged with concern. "Seriously, Brother Mo, have you been secretly taking some kind of 'Energy Potion'? I heard from my cousin that you can buy them on the black market. They keep you awake all night, but the side effects are bad. They damage your body and your brain. Don't go doing anything reckless!"
Chen Mo couldn't help laughing at him and shook his head. "What are you talking about? I just feel like there aren't enough hours in the day, so I'm pushing myself a little." He couldn't explain the system's boost to his efficiency or its "Knowledge Solidification" effect, so he could only chalk it all up to extraordinary willpower.
Zhang Shun studied him, still unconvinced. Chen Mo's eyes were clear, and aside from looking a little tired, he showed none of the agitation or listlessness common among people who had taken banned drugs. Only then did Zhang Shun slowly relax. Every now and then, Chen Mo's drive rubbed off on him, and he would pull out his English textbook and pretend to read for a while. But he rarely lasted a whole class before his mind wandered and he turned to the comics hidden in his desk or secretly scrolled through his phone.
The gap widened quietly with each day of persistence and slacking, like two lines that had once run parallel but were gradually heading in different directions.
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