No Money To Cultivate Immortality? Chapter 86: Transplantation - Novel Cool

Chapter 86: Transplantation

(Thanks to the loyal supporter ‘Lhcccc’)

"Can I also spend some money to… touch this poor guy? Just… feel him? Touch him?"

But even the thought of touching him sent a wave of nausea crashing through Le Mulan’s mind—flashbacks of the Arena flooded back, and she nearly gagged. Her cultivation technique, already paused, instinctively began to stir again, trying to pull her away from the torment.

Where once Le Mulan could still maintain a calm, rational conversation with Zhang Yu despite her inner revulsion, after what happened in the Arena, she now felt a visceral, physical aversion to even the idea of touching him.

"No. I must change my mindset. I must overcome this weakness."

"Rich people shouldn’t fear the poor."

With that resolve, Le Mulan forced herself to halt her cultivation again.

"But I can’t go too hard at first. Need to start light."

"Maybe I could just observe their training? No… watching up close still makes me sick. Need to go even lighter."

"Or… what if I skip human contact entirely? What if I just buy a few of Zhang Yu’s clothes instead? His old clothes—stained with his skin flakes, oil, scent, sweat… just thinking about it makes me feel filthy."

"No. Still too disgusting. Need to go even lighter."

After endless internal debate, Le Mulan finally decided: she’d download Zhang Yu’s social media photos. She’d start by looking at pictures of the poor every day.

"Once I can look at his photos without feeling sick… maybe then I’ll be ready to try touching his clothes."

…

On the way back, Zhang Yu stared at the 5,000 yuan that had just landed in his account. First thing: a new Weighted Suit. The old one had been destroyed during the Martial Arts Competition.

After spending 2,000 yuan, his balance dropped to just under 13,000.

Once he got home and received the new suit, he wasted no time putting it on and rushed back to the abandoned building for training.

That night, as the 24-hour cooldown timer finally expired, he finally unlocked the ability to switch the Feather Scroll’s Specialization to Chisui Hunyuanqi.

This technique had only one move—but it demanded absolute, synchronized control of every muscle and tendon in the body, requiring precise, simultaneous stretching or contracting of every single fiber.

For most people, mastering it would be a grueling, months-long process of isolated, incremental training.

But for Zhang Yu?

"Hard?"

"Good. The harder, the better. The greater the gap between me and others, the more obvious my talent."

Zhang Yu stood still, feet shoulder-width apart, hands hanging naturally at his sides. Then, following the digital manual, he began to activate his entire musculature and tendons.

But his first attempt was a mess. His body felt scattered—missing the leg muscles here, forgetting the tendons in his hands.

If this had been the original Zhang Yu, he’d have spent months training each muscle group individually, taming them one by one, before even attempting to unify them.

But now, after just a few rough attempts, Zhang Yu felt a jolt—like electricity surging through his body. His mind flooded with memories, instincts, and techniques—millions of micro-adjustments, perfect control over every fiber.

Chisui Hunyuanqi mastered.

In that instant, his control over his muscles and tendons reached a level he’d never known before.

Inside the abandoned building, Zhang Yu clenched his fists and pushed—crack!—a thunderous sound erupted from within, as every muscle and tendon snapped into full extension.

His body shot upward by several inches, swelling slightly like a ball being inflated. The pressure was pure kinetic energy—generated by his entire musculature.

"Too easy. Again."

Joy flared in Zhang Yu’s chest. He pushed again. With each pulse, his muscles tensed and released like springs. His blood grew hotter, and in the cold night air, a visible white vapor began to rise from his body.

He knew this was the effect of Chisui Hunyuanqi—using every muscle to drive blood, blood to energize bone marrow, and marrow to strengthen flesh and bone. It was building his Physical Strength Level, enhancing his explosive power.

Ten repetitions later, the technique leveled up to Level 2.

But Zhang Yu collapsed under the strain—exhausted, as if he’d just fought Song Hailong in a brutal battle.

"Body-Refining Techniques really are tougher than combat arts," he groaned. "Every session feels like every single muscle in my body exploded once."

He sat down, focused on his cultivation technique to strengthen his Dao Heart, while slowly recovering his strength.

After half an hour, he felt ready again.

He stood up and began once more.

Night turned into dawn. Though he had to rest after every ten reps, Zhang Yu kept going—off and on—until, by morning, he’d pushed Chisui Hunyuanqi all the way to Level 6 (43/60).

His body trembled violently. Inside, his blood roared like a storm surge.

Zhang Yu exhaled deeply, then slumped forward, utterly drained.

"…I’m dead."

"I’m starving."

…

Songyang High School – Cafeteria

Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen were wolfing down Synthetic Food, their faces lit with satisfaction.

The old disdain? Gone.

Now, they could only mutter: “Truly delicious.”

After all, the new Synthetic Food wasn’t just affordable and convenient—it was actually good. Nutritious, satisfying, and perfect for two people now focused on body refinement.

But while Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen devoured their meals, Qian Shen and Zhao Tianxing across the table looked pale and miserable—food untouched, faces ashen.

Because yesterday, after school, they’d attended a special training session for the Sports Competition Team. After signing a series of confidential contracts, they finally learned the truth behind the Special Training Program.

Now, Zhao Tianxing could barely breathe.

The program worked like this: senior students donated their muscle fibers. Using Songyang High School’s advanced Daoist technology, those fibers were transplanted into younger students, merging seamlessly with their existing muscle tissue.

With the Daoist tech, the fusion was immediate—and the results were explosive.

Not only did Physical Strength Level spike instantly, but the new muscles could still be trained, growing stronger over time.

In short: first-years could buy muscle from second-years. Second-years could buy from third-years.

It was a system where you bought strength from the poor.

And the price tag? It was laid out like a menu.

Names of second-years, paired with specific muscle groups—trapezius, deltoid, supraspinatus, biceps—each with a price listed beneath.

Zhao Tianxing had seen Shuang Youpeng—once the top student—listed there, his shoulder muscle priced at a staggering amount.

It was all too surreal.

He remembered the conversation he’d had with Lan Ling—the second-year top athlete, a core member of the Sports Competition Team, and one of the program’s enforcers.

Wang Hai? Just a coach. No real power. Only a title because he led the team to victories.

…

Zhao Tianxing: "We’re buying their meat… but what happens to them?"

Lan Ling: (calmly) "Don’t worry. We leave them a root. They’ll eat, train, and grow back."

Zhao Tianxing: (panicked) "So it’s… cut, grow, cut, grow? Like cattle or sheep?"

Lan Ling: (smirking) "Humans are more expensive than livestock. They’re making a profit."

Qian Shen: (furious) "It’s not about money! You’re literally buying physical strength! That’s like buying grades!"

Lan Ling: (shrugging) "Exactly. You’re buying points."

Qian Shen: "You can’t buy points!"

Lan Ling: "You can. Otherwise, how do you think you got your cultivation? The medicine you take, the techniques you learn, the knowledge you study—what do you think they cost?"

Qian Shen: "…That’s not fair."

Lan Ling: "Money is fairness. Why are you standing here, instead of Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen—students with better grades?"

"Because you have more money. Because your parents can afford the sponsorship."

"Money gets you better grades. Money buys points."

Zhao Tianxing: (stunned) "Sponsorship?"

He suddenly remembered his parents’ recent talk about selling the house.

It clicked.

But Qian Shen just stared, frozen in disbelief.

He Dayou leaned in, smiling. "Enough, Qian Shen. This is how the world works. Money is power. If you’re worried about rumors—don’t be. Everyone signed confidentiality agreements under the eyes of the Divine Truth. No one will talk."

As the son of a school board director, He Dayou turned to Lan Ling.

"I’ve decided. Can we sign the contract now? Can I start the transplant today?"

To join the program, signing the contract was mandatory—and it included school and student council control over the student’s future university and major choices.

He Dayou had no worries.

As the heir of a powerful family, he wasn’t bound by such restrictions.

But…

He glanced at Zhao Tianxing.

He knew Zhao Tianxing wanted to join the team, but with his family’s limited funds—barely enough to pay the sponsorship—he’d be restricted in his college choices.

He Dayou thought to himself: “Commoners. Still miles away from real wealth in Songyang City.”

Lan Ling nodded.

"Starting tomorrow, we’ll perform small daily transplants. You’ll feel your Physical Strength Level rising constantly—every hour, every day."

(End of Chapter)

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