Morning Light and Sweat 1

The days unfolded like the leaves of the camphor tree outside the window, stretching silently in the spring breeze, then rustling as if urged by the numbers on the countdown timer in front of the teaching building, marking the fleeting moments of time.

Chen Mo's life was precisely etched onto the constantly looping trajectory 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 minute for its ultimate value. Not a moment was wasted, not a shred of laziness allowed; even the ten-minute breaks between classes were dissected into fragmented moments for memorizing words or asking questions.

At precisely 6:10 AM, Xingfu Residential Area was still steeped in a hazy sleep.

The sky had just begun to show a sliver of dawn, a pale, fish-belly white. Thin mist draped over the buildings and green belts like a light veil, the air carrying the dampness of dew and the freshness of grass. Chen Mo quietly turned the doorknob, careful not to wake his sleeping parents and sister. Slinging his heavy backpack over his shoulder, he pushed out his old bicycle, which creaked in every part except its bell, and rode towards the school, greeting the cool morning breeze.

The streets in the early morning were exceptionally quiet, with few vehicles or pedestrians. Only the rustling sound of sanitation workers sweeping and the wisps of steam rising from a breakfast stall on the corner could be heard. The auntie selling soy milk and fried dough sticks had already set up her stall. Seeing Chen Mo, she smiled and greeted him, "Young man, so early again? Want a fried dough stick?"

Chen Mo waved his hand, smiled, and replied, "Morning, Auntie, I'm in a hurry today," before speeding up his pedaling.

He was usually one of the first students to arrive at school. After parking his bike in the innermost spot of the bike shed and locking it, he didn't rush to the classroom. Instead, he circled around to the edge of the relatively secluded grove of trees behind the sports field. Lush with vegetation and rarely visited, it had become his private "morning training ground."

He put down his backpack, took off his slightly bulky school uniform jacket, revealing a faded, sweat-wicking t-shirt underneath. The morning breeze carried a chill, and as it brushed against his skin, it raised a fine layer of goosebumps. Chen Mo took a deep breath, facing the faint eastern light. He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, stood firm, straightened his spine like a sturdy pine, relaxed his shoulders, dropped his elbows, and slowly raised his hands to chest level, palms facing each other, gradually unfolding the Black Tiger Stance.

Closing his eyes, he sank his consciousness inward. Following the Principles of Basic Qi and Blood Circulation borrowed from the library, he combined it with long, even breaths—inhaling gently, exhaling softly—attempting to sense and guide the faint yet real "Qi and Blood."

At first, only a feeling of muscle soreness arose, the lingering aftereffect of last night's training, accompanied by the tension from intense mental focus. But as his understanding of the Black Tiger Stance quietly broke through to Lv. 3 (Minor Accomplishment), he gradually began to "feel" threads of warm currents, like a small stream thawing in spring, flowing slowly along specific meridians with the rhythm of his breath, guided by his subtle intention.

This wasn't the magnificent surge of internal energy described in novels, flowing through the entire cycle. It was more like the gentle warmth felt when holding a cup of hot tea on a winter day, seeping from the palm into every limb and bone. Wherever the warm current passed, the muscle soreness slowly dissipated, replaced by an indescribable sense of comfort.

On the system panel in his mind, the proficiency behind [Black Tiger Stance Lv. 3 (Minor Accomplishment) (7/300)] ticked forward, extremely slowly but steadily, with every adjustment of his breath, every slight adjustment of his stance, every concentration of his intent—only gaining 1 point every thirty minutes.

After thirty minutes of stance training, Chen Mo's body was slightly warm, and fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, trickling down his jawline to drip onto the grass beneath his feet. He didn't pause, immediately launching into the Body Tempering Fist.

Each punch and movement was powerful and forceful, the fist wind cutting through the air with a faint "whoosh." Thanks to the foundation of his Minor Accomplishment stance, his lower body was as stable as a rock. When he punched, his waist and stance were unified, allowing strength to flow smoothly from his Dantian to his fist. His movements were fierce yet possessed the smooth fluidity of Lv. 2 (Proficient), no longer stiff and awkward as before.

Early birds in the grove, startled by the fist wind, took flight with a flutter of wings, circled above the branches a few times, and then settled back down, seemingly accustomed to the young man who arrived punctually every day.

As the first ray of golden sunlight pierced through the treetops, illuminating his profile as he retracted his fist and stood still, the wake-up bell from the teaching building chimed softly. Chen Mo slowly exhaled a long breath, the white mist dissipating in the morning light. He wiped the sweat from his brow, put on his school uniform jacket, picked up his backpack, and walked towards the teaching building.

A new day began with abundant Qi and Blood and a clear mind.

In the classroom, ripples of change were quietly spreading.

Chen Mo's "abnormal diligence" and his astonishing progress in the recent minor exam were like pebbles dropped into a calm lake, creating widening circles of continuous ripples within the small ecosystem of Class 7, Grade 12.

His deskmate, Zhang Shun, was his number one observer and "number one victim."

As soon as the morning reading bell rang, Zhang Shun, sporting a pair of panda eyes, yawned and sat down at his desk. He glanced at the faint dark circles under Chen Mo's eyes and couldn't help but click his tongue. He pulled out a box of hot milk from his backpack and handed it over, "Brother Mo, your dark circles are almost as bad as a national treasure's. How late did you grind last night?"

"My mom insisted I bring this. She said I zone out in class every day and need to boost my brainpower." Zhang Shun winked, "I think you need it more than I do. Take it, take it, replenish some energy."

Chen Mo took the milk, thanked him, and took a sip through the straw. The warm liquid slid down his throat, alleviating the dryness from his morning workout. "It's okay. I went to bed at 12:30," he said truthfully. Although the System greatly improved the efficiency of studying and training, balancing both academics and martial arts meant time was always scarce.

"12:30?!" Zhang Shun's voice suddenly rose, drawing sideways glances from several classmates. He quickly covered his mouth, lowered his voice, and said with a look of horror, "You're really made of iron! After 11 PM, my brain turns into mush. Forget studying, I can't even play games."

He leaned closer to Chen Mo, winked mysteriously, and said with a hint of worry, "Seriously, Brother Mo, did you secretly use some kind of 'Energy Potion'? My cousin told me they sell them on the black market. They can keep you awake all night, but the side effects are pretty bad, damaging your body and your brain. Don't mess around!"

Chen Mo chuckled at his words, shaking his head. "What are you thinking? I just feel like I don't have enough time, so I'm pushing myself." He couldn't explain the System's efficiency and the "Knowledge Solidification" effect, so he could only attribute everything to willpower beyond the ordinary.

Zhang Shun eyed him with a mixture of belief and doubt. Seeing Chen Mo's clear eyes, and apart from slight fatigue, no signs of the usual excitement or lethargy after taking illicit drugs, he gradually relaxed. He was occasionally inspired by Chen Mo's drive and would pretend to read his English book for a few minutes, but often couldn't last a full class before his mind wandered, and he'd turn to the comics hidden in his desk or sneakily browse his phone.

The gap widened quietly day after day through this persistence and procrastination, like two parallel lines that gradually diverged, heading in different directions.