Chapter 2: School
The ticking of the clock echoed relentlessly through the classroom, where Zhang Yu sat with intense focus, furiously filling out the endless exam paper before him.
But the test never ended—no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many answers he wrote, it just kept going, like an infinite loop.
His seat grew increasingly distant from the others. The figures ahead blurred, fading into darkness behind him, as if the shadows were slowly swallowing him whole.
Cold sweat dripped from his scalp. Panic clawed at his chest. His hands, still gripping the pen, began to tremble—weak, lifeless, losing strength.
Then, with a sudden plunge, he was swallowed by a bottomless void, dragged down by a storm of books and papers.
Zhang Yu jolted awake in his bed.
"Was it just a dream?"
"Or... was it all memories from my past life?"
He rubbed his head, the fragmented remnants of the original body’s memories swirling like ghosts in his mind. Though he now fully controlled this body, the old memories hadn’t fully merged. Details were still fuzzy, requiring deliberate effort to recall.
Especially the memory of that strange ritual from yesterday—just thinking about it sent a wave of dizziness crashing through him. He couldn’t remember a single thing.
Glancing at his phone, he saw it was only 5 a.m. He’d almost turned over to sleep again when he realized—he couldn’t.
This body simply wouldn’t let him.
It was as if rising at five every morning had become a second nature.
"Why does lying here feel like a sin?" Zhang Yu sat up, realizing the guilt was a lingering echo of the original owner’s subconscious.
His stomach was hollow. With a sigh, he stood.
"Fine. Might as well head to school. At least I’ll get a meal."
He remembered Songyang Advanced Daoist High School provided three meals a day, and his monthly food allowance had already been topped up.
With a debt of 700,000 yuan and only fifty-some-odd yuan in his pocket, eating outside wasn’t an option.
He left the stifling apartment, stepped through a filthy alley thick with stagnant water, and joined a crowd boarding a packed bus.
Squeezed into a stinking, sweltering cabin reeking of sweat and stale food, even the broken air conditioning offered no relief. Zhang Yu felt like a misshapen takeaway, jostled and tossed along the road toward the city center.
After an hour and a half, switching buses twice, he finally staggered off, drenched in sweat.
Wiping his face, he muttered, "Why the hell do I even commute?"
Then it hit him. "Right—can’t afford dorm fees."
Unlike his own slum-like neighborhood, the area where he’d gotten off was sleek and modern—tall skyscrapers, clean wide streets, crisp air. The people around him were polished, sharp-suited, the picture of urban elite.
He walked slowly, taking in the world around him, until finally, the school gates came into view.
There, towering above the entrance, were the words: Songyang Advanced Daoist High School.
And on the electronic screen beside the gate, a live leaderboard displayed the top ten students from each grade last month.
That was all it took.
Songyang High School was a place where grades ruled everything.
If Zhang Yu had to summarize it in his mind, it would be: Results are everything.
This was a world where academic performance was as natural as breathing. Where everyone carried an extreme obsession with scores.
“Your grades are so low, no wonder you’ve been waiting in line at the cafeteria for ages.”
“Your grades are so low, you don’t even deserve to sit at our table.”
“Top students have the right to humiliate the weak—just part of campus culture.”
All of it passed as “positive energy.”
“This is a world built on grades,” Zhang Yu thought, staring at the screen.
“Just another hell for the underachievers.”
He looked at the name on the board: Zhang Yu – 10th in Grade 1 Total Score.
“Thank god I’m not at the bottom,” he sighed.
“Even if my ranking feels a bit… inflated… at least I’m not exposed yet. Maybe I can still keep up a decent life here.”
The school cafeteria served breakfast. Following the memory, Zhang Yu walked in.
Though packed, the line moved with eerie silence. Students queued without a word, collected their food without noise, sat down and ate in silence—like perfectly meshed gears in a machine.
Some even read textbooks while eating, seizing every second to study.
He found an empty seat, took a bite of his meat bun—when suddenly, someone sat down across from him.
A girl with long black hair and pale, flawless skin.
The name came to him instantly.
Bai Zhenzhen.
More precisely: the top scorer in Grade 1, the queen at the top of the school’s social hierarchy.
She was sipping porridge, expression blank—like she was barely alive.
Even her neutral words carried an icy distance, as if she’d rather be anywhere else.
Just sitting across from her, silent, made Zhang Yu feel like he’d done something wrong.
He tried to recall their relationship, digging through the fog of memories.
Then, she spoke.
“After breakfast, meet me in the Small Garden. I’ll be waiting.”
She stood, turned, and walked away—leaving Zhang Yu with a flicker of thought in his eyes.
A few minutes later, after finishing his meal, he followed the familiar path to the Small Garden at the back of the campus.
It was quiet—nestled behind the dorms, untouched by the morning rush. With most students already in class, the place was nearly empty.
Bai Zhenzhen stood by a flowerbed. The moment she heard his footsteps, she turned, walked swiftly toward him—and then dropped to her knees.
“Dad!” she cried, clutching his legs.
“I couldn’t say it in the cafeteria—too many people! Please, lend me some money! I’ve been overdue on my small loan for almost a month! I’m begging you—just help me!”
Zhang Yu stared, stunned.
What the hell kind of school is this?
Even the top student is doing loan drama?
Then it clicked.
He remembered.
Bai Zhenzhen wasn’t his friend because they were both high scorers.
No—she was his upline.
She’d been pushing small loans to him.
They weren’t just classmates.
They were partners in debt—two brothers in the underground world of borrowing, sharing financial intel from every lending platform they could find.
He looked down at her—her cold, stoic face now twisted with desperation.
He sighed.
“Let go. I don’t have any money.”
She shook her head. “You’re only 10th—how much could you possibly spend? Your loan limit has to be smaller than mine.”
Then, with stiff, almost embarrassed hesitation, she whispered:
“If you help me clear my debt… you can do anything you want.”
Zhang Yu’s eyes lit up.
The icy girl before him—now blushing, cheeks flushed—had a strange, unexpected charm.
He studied her from head to toe.
“Anything?”
She bit her lip, nodded.
“Yeah.”
Zhang Yu smirked. “Then… can I pawn you?”
She released his leg, stared at him in disbelief.
“Yu, you really don’t have any money?”
Zhang Yu pulled out his phone, showing her the balance—and the overdue notices.
Bai Zhenzhen stood, brushed dirt off her pants, and stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You owe 700,000 yuan? Even after graduating, it’d take years to pay that off.”
She shook her head. “You’re only in Grade 1… how did you spend this much?”
Zhang Yu rubbed his temple. “I… I don’t remember.”
Bai Zhenzhen’s expression darkened. “Did you invest in something? Were you scammed?”
Zhang Yu hesitated. “I… don’t think so?”
But then her face hardened. “Let me see your phone.”
He understood. She was worried.
Because in Songyang City, the top five causes of death weren’t disease or accidents.
They were: investment fraud, gambling, suicide, overdose, and spiritual collapse—the latter ranking fifth.
And the thought of the original Zhang Yu spending 700,000 yuan on something like that… it was terrifying.
Zhang Yu nodded. “I want to figure it out too. Let’s check the transaction history together.”
They both stared at the screen.
And one by one, the charges appeared.
Danding Pharmacy – 280.00
Danding Pharmacy – 250.00
Time Waits for No One Meditation Chamber – 120.00
Zhang Yu read aloud:
“I bought pills from the pharmacy, then rented a meditation room to practice breath control…”
In this world, Daoist cultivation wasn’t myth—it was real.
At Songyang High School, the curriculum wasn’t just math and history.
It was Daoist cultivation—the path from mortal to immortal.
The most important subject, with the highest weight in grading, and the key to getting into top universities.
Breath control—the most basic technique—was how cultivators gathered spiritual energy from the air, building up inner power.
And power was everything.
Without enough spiritual energy, you couldn’t advance.
To break through from Qi Gathering to Foundation Building, you needed at least 60 points.
The Qi Gathering stage capped at 100 points.
In the system built by the Ten Great Sects, even spiritual energy was measured precisely—down to the decimal.
Bai Zhenzhen nodded, flipping through the list.
Shuixiu Catering Services – 532.00
Zhang Yu explained: “This was extra nutrient supplements. I needed more energy.”
In Daoist cultivation, physical strength mattered just as much as spiritual power.
Consuming food rich in spiritual essence was a daily necessity—called spiritual nourishment.
Longxiang Education Services – 1,500.00
Longxiang Education Services – 3,000.00
“That was last month’s tutoring fees… and renting a spiritual root.”
Spiritual roots were rare gifts—only born in true geniuses. They boosted cultivation speed and combat power dramatically.
Even Zhang Yu’s mother had believed in legends of spiritual roots when he was in middle school.
When he borrowed money, he even used “renting a spiritual root” as an excuse to get funds from her.
But now, with advanced technology, ordinary people like Zhang Yu could rent a spiritual root—paying to boost their cultivation efficiency.
They scrolled further.
And every transaction after that was the same—more pills, more meditation rooms, more supplements, more tutoring.
All tied to cultivation.
Bai Zhenzhen paused, staring at Zhang Yu with growing pity.
“You really spent all this on cultivation?”
“And you’re only 10th—after just three months?”
“What are you going to do next?”
Zhang Yu, a man who’d just arrived in this world, had no answers. He shrugged.
“For now, I’ll just keep going. Figure things out as I go.”
As they walked toward the classroom, time ticking away, Bai Zhenzhen turned to him, voice sharp.
“You owe 700,000 yuan… and you look calmer than me, who only owe 200,000.”
“Don’t you get it? You can’t keep spending now. No more rent, no more pills, no more tutoring.”
“What do you think happens if you stop investing in your cultivation?”
Zhang Yu blinked. “What?”
Bai Zhenzhen’s eyes narrowed.
“Monthly Exam is in three weeks. No money to rent a spiritual root, no pills, no supplements, no tutoring. Everyone else is advancing every second. You’ll fall fifty spots—maybe even more.”
“And if you drop that far, you’ll be kicked out of Model Class.”
Zhang Yu’s mind filled with fragmented memories.
There were ten classes in Grade 1, ranked by monthly exam results.
He was in Class 1—the elite Model Class, with the best resources.
But the exam wasn’t just about general subjects.
The Daoist cultivation scores made up 650 points—out of a total of 700.
General subjects? Only 50.
Everyone was new to cultivation—so differences were small.
He was 10th now… but if he didn’t keep up, he’d be left behind in weeks.
Bai Zhenzhen continued, voice grim:
“No money. No progress. Lower ranking. Worse treatment. A vicious cycle—until you’re pushed all the way down to Class 10.”
She clenched her fists.
“No money, no grades—teachers see you as disposable waste. Classmates mock you. Regular class students use you to feel superior.”
She buried her face in her hands.
“In that state, even your spiritual core can’t stay stable. Your grades keep falling. You’ll hit the dropout line—dragging a body full of injuries and a mountain of debt.”
She looked up, voice breaking.
“And then they’ll kick you out of Songyang High School—without a diploma, without a future.”
She stared at the sky, whispering:
“Is that really what you want? To live at the bottom of the school’s hierarchy—humiliated daily—until you’re just a failed dropout, a social waste?”
Zhang Yu let out a dry chuckle.
“So what do you suggest?”
Bai Zhenzhen paused. Then, quietly:
“Honestly… with 700,000 yuan in debt and only 10th place… you might not have what it takes for Daoist cultivation.”
“I don’t know how you got in here—but my advice? Drop out. Go work. Otherwise… you’ll keep sinking.”
Zhang Yu said nothing.
But inside, he was screaming.
The only good thing about this world is that I can become immortal…
And now you tell me I’m not even cut out for it?
Back in the classroom, Zhang Yu’s phone buzzed.
It was Bai Zhenzhen.
She’d sent him 500 yuan—along with a message:
"Pay the utilities first."
Zhang Yu froze.
Then he sniffed his own clothes.
Ah.
She must’ve smelled the stench of days without washing.
Even though he’d gotten used to it, it must’ve been unbearable to others.
She was broke—yet still gave him money.
He stared at the screen, typed a long reply, deleted it, typed again, deleted again…
Finally, he sent:
"Thanks."
He looked down at his palm.
The symbol etched there—visible only to him—was now half-filled with black.
He’d noticed it since entering the school.
And he’d calculated: tonight, it would be completely filled.
But what would happen then?
He didn’t know.
(End of Chapter
(End of Chapter)
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