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Chapter 32: Martial Energy and Physical Education
Spirit Realm.
Li Xingyu had been silently observing Zhang Yu’s condition the entire time. When he saw Zhang Yu’s pain level spike to 37, he sensed that the limit had been reached.
"He won’t last much longer like this."
Glancing at Zhang Yu’s head, Li Xingyu’s vision revealed real-time data—heart rate, breathing patterns, neural activity—all displayed clearly in his mind’s eye.
"He’s at his tolerance threshold. The pain level should be reduced now."
"This level still falls within the first-tier Dao Heart range, nothing special. Yet he managed to grasp the profound secrets of the Celestial Martial Arts Diagram?"
As Li Xingyu mused, he suddenly felt a shift in Zhang Yu’s aura. The twisted expression on his face gradually smoothed out, and a faint, sinister smile crept across his lips.
"Huh? He held on?"
The sensation emanating from him… it felt like the very essence of the Celestial Martial Arts Diagram.
Li Xingyu stared in surprise. Watching Zhang Yu endure minute after minute, steadily pushing through until the full 60 minutes had passed.
His inner calculation intensified. "This kind of willpower… his Dao Heart is nearing the second tier."
"Even though he hasn’t fully mastered the techniques from the Celestial Martial Arts Diagram, he’s clearly absorbed some of its deeper principles—enough to strengthen his own resolve."
"This guy’s dangerous. His intel could fetch a good price."
With that thought, Li Xingyu quickly drafted a detailed report on Zhang Yu’s performance and uploaded it to the intelligence network, initially pricing it at 1,000 yuan.
Then he paused.
He changed the price to 10,000 yuan.
And on the title, he wrote: "Shocking! An Unparalleled Martial Genius Emerges at Songyang High!"
…
Removing the spiritual interface mask, Zhang Yu trembled as he staggered to his feet. Even though he had already left the spirit realm, a phantom ache still burned through his body.
Beside him, a student on the bed tried to stand—but collapsed instantly, legs giving out beneath him.
Around the beds, similar scenes unfolded one after another, clearly still suffering from the lingering aftereffects of the Spirit Realm.
One student immediately opened a small medicine bottle and popped a pill.
Zhang Yu guessed it was a Daoxin Buffer.
While cultivation methods like the Basic Mind-Cultivation Method or the Tianwu Scripture of the Heart could gradually elevate Dao Heart Level through disciplined practice and mindset alignment, many students still opted for Daoxin Buffers.
These pills adjusted neurotransmitters and brain secretions, boosting mood and mental resilience—making it easier to endure pain and strengthen the Dao Heart.
But Daoxin Buffers weren’t without cost. The higher the quality, the stronger the effect—but also the more expensive, addictive, and dangerous the withdrawal.
Once addicted, users often had to keep taking them indefinitely. Stop abruptly, and their Dao Heart would regress violently.
The original Zhang Yu had been unable to afford refills, and his Dao Heart—once near the second tier—had slowly deteriorated.
But now, after intense trials and deep insight into the Tianwu Scripture of the Heart, Zhang Yu felt his willpower returning, nearing that lost level once more.
And this time, he had no intention of touching Daoxin Buffers again.
He trusted his own potential, his self-discipline—far more than any pill.
Yet there was no time for rest.
Morning exams weren’t over. A second round awaited. Students scrambled to gather themselves, hurrying toward the next testing hall.
…
At the Mana Exam hall, Zhang Yu found assistants and testing equipment already set up.
When his turn came, patches were attached to his arm, chest, and lower abdomen. Following instructions, he began circulating Martial Energy—drawing it from his dantian and channeling it to his palms.
This test was far more precise than usual, designed to prevent any discrepancies in Monthly Exam results.
The patches didn’t just measure total Martial Energy volume—they also tracked the efficiency of each energy flow.
This was to prevent students from simply buying massive quantities of energy through money, lacking true cultivation quality.
Zhang Yu could feel the difference. Compared to the torment of the Daoxin Exam, the atmosphere here was far calmer.
After all, one’s Mana Level was already determined long before the exam. It wasn’t something you could change on the spot.
You either had Martial Energy—or you didn’t. You either knew how to use it—or you didn’t.
When Zhang Yu completed the test, the assistant teacher responsible for data recording let out a soft gasp, glancing at him twice.
Zhang Yu asked, "Teacher, is there something wrong?"
The assistant shook her head quickly. "No, nothing."
But in her mind, she muttered: "Incredible energy efficiency… Definitely another rich kid."
…
Lunchtime.
The cafeteria was filled with hollow-eyed students—zombies in human form.
Some still recovering from Daoxin Exam aftereffects. Others crushed by poor results, consumed by despair. A few even contemplated suicide.
Bai Zhenzhen sighed, slumping into her seat. "Ugh… this life."
"The Daoxin Exam’s question setter must’ve been born without a horse, or maybe he’s even planning to post an online review of his own exam and set his phone to vibrate in his crotch…"
For over two minutes, she ranted without repetition—until Zhou Tianyi arrived.
Only then did she finally stop ranting and take a bite of food.
Zhang Yu knew this kind of tirade was echoing across every high school in Songyang City.
Zhou Tianyi sat down and immediately said, "Did you hear? Several schools had students break down emotionally."
Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen locked eyes, both instantly focused on him.
Zhou Tianyi continued, "The rules for this Daoxin Exam were brutal."
Some students, aiming for high scores, accidentally pushed their pain levels beyond their limits—fainting inside the Spirit Realm and getting kicked out instantly, with their exam score recorded as zero.
He shook his head. "When they woke up… some couldn’t handle it. Just… collapsed."
"Zero," Bai Zhenzhen murmured quietly. "The ultimate shame in high school. From that moment on, you lose all right to exist here."
"If it were me, I’d break down… and before dying, I’d make sure to kill the question setter."
Zhang Yu asked, "So the question setter’s in trouble? If one of the victims was rich, wouldn’t their parents go ballistic?"
Zhou Tianyi stared at him like he’d grown two heads. "Are you serious?"
Zhang Yu: "You mean rich kids can’t get revenge? The question setter’s got serious protection?"
Zhou Tianyi shook his head. "No, I mean… rich kids can’t even die at school."
"Everyone pays for security. If something happens, the whole school alarms instantly. Security or teachers are there in seconds. Even if someone jumps off a building, the emergency medical team rescues them."
He said it matter-of-factly. "If a rich kid wants to die, it’ll be on his own terms—somewhere else. At school? Even suicide’s not fatal."
Zhang Yu stared at him, then slowly nodded.
In this broken Kunxu system, it really might be that way.
After eating, Zhang Yu took advantage of the Specialization cooldown and reconfigured the Feather Scroll’s specialization to Zhou Tian Cai Qi Fa.
He practiced the breathing technique a few more times.
Zhou Tian Cai Qi Fa – Level 8 (3/160) → (6/160)
…
By afternoon, it was time for the final exam: Physical Education Exam.
In the massive training ground, Wang Hai sat on the judging panel.
Over the next few hours, he and several other first-year PE teachers would assess every first-year student.
He glanced at the list of candidates, his eyes lingering on Zhang Yu’s name.
Zhang Yu had once been the model student—consistent, disciplined, taking his medicine, getting his needles, doing everything right.
A good attitude, strong pain tolerance. He’d even become Wang Hai’s observation subject last month.
If he kept going, Wang Hai wouldn’t mind grooming him into the next Zhao Tianxing—another star pupil, a future champion, a personal legacy.
But this month, Zhang Yu had begun challenging Wang Hai’s authority in class—daring to shout slogans about natural body cultivation, the so-called "heretical path."
At first, Wang Hai suspected Zhang Yu had found another supplier—someone trying to steal market share from the Model Class.
But after Zhao Tianxing’s investigation and report, that theory faded.
Then came the rumors—Zhang Yu had been taken as a disciple by the Golden Core Immortal.
Wang Hai was one of Songyang High’s top PE teachers, but he wasn’t close enough to the Golden Core Immortal’s circle to confirm the truth.
He didn’t know if it was real.
As he pondered, ten students walked onto the stage ahead.
They stripped down, exposing every muscle, their skin covered in detection patches.
Roar! Roar! Roar!
With bestial roars, their muscles swelled violently—veins bulging, power erupting from every fiber.
The detection patches fed real-time data to the teachers’ screens, measuring the explosive strength of each muscle group as it fired.
Unlike the crude, whole-body assessments of the past, this test analyzed strength at a microscopic level—every limb, every joint, every muscle fiber.
Wang Hai and the other judges scanned the students rapidly—assessing muscle definition, body structure, explosive form—cross-referencing with the data.
In the Physical Strength Level exam, raw power wasn’t the only factor.
Every dimension, size, and structure of the body mattered.
Which muscles were built for power? Which were practical in combat? Which were alive, responsive? Which were dead, inert?
Only experienced judges could weigh all these factors.
Even students with identical Physical Strength Levels could differ wildly in performance—due to structure, size, and form.
Wang Hai had seen hundreds of two-hundred-pound, three-hundred-pound meat heaps over his decades as a teacher. He’d even watched five-hundred-pound beasts.
He quickly jotted down his scores.
Then his mind drifted back to Zhang Yu.
"Let’s see what you get."
"If you’ve been isolated for three weeks and your score plummets… then you’re clearly not a Golden Core disciple."
"And then…"
A cold glint flashed in Wang Hai’s eyes.
Anyone who threatened his business—anyone who disrupted his flow—would be expelled.
(End of Chapter)
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