Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Psychological Assessment Class

After working on the exercises for a while, a light sheen of sweat appeared on Sun Kai’s forehead. He set down his pen, a sense of puzzlement rising within him.

His deskmate was behaving differently than usual. At this hour, he would normally be immersed in a stack of practice tests, diligently working through problems, or quietly murmuring key knowledge points to himself. Morning was when the mind was sharpest, and with only two months left until the college entrance exams, no one could afford to waste a minute.

In truth, his deskmate, Xiao Nan, had slightly weaker grades than his own. When he revised at home, he’d accumulate a few tricky questions, and upon meeting in the morning, he’d often ask Sun Kai for help with certain problems. He would time his questions for the moments when Sun Kai paused between exercises, so as not to be a bother.

At those times, Sun Kai would act reserved, then proceed to explain the problems with a mix of pride and satisfaction. Both of them, lacking in spirit and vitality, struggled with martial arts techniques, and this sense of shared adversity brought them a subtle camaraderie.

But today, it was odd.

After waiting a while without the expected question, Sun Kai glanced sideways. Xiao Nan was engrossed in a small blue notebook, his brow alternately furrowed in confusion and brightening with sudden understanding, entirely absorbed.

He wasn’t doing exercises, nor reciting notes.

Curious, Sun Kai leaned over for a closer look.

The pages were filled with elegant handwriting, interspersed with detailed diagrams of the human body’s blood and energy flow, drawn with remarkable skill.

They were martial arts diagrams, charts of energy circulation—Sun Kai recognized them at a glance.

Everyone had their own way of taking notes, and each person’s understanding of martial arts was different. For a while, Sun Kai himself had eagerly borrowed top students’ class notes, hoping to absorb their insights, yearning for a breakthrough.

But in the end, it had been useless.

Someone else’s understanding could not be fully grasped, and even memorizing it didn’t guarantee success in practice. The path of martial cultivation, for all its theory, came down to training—true mastery depended on practice, not just study.

This guy, betraying the cause.

Sun Kai shook his head and stopped paying attention.

...

In Class 5 of the third year, only a dozen or so students actually met the required standards for spirit and vitality in martial arts. These were the ones with a real shot at top-tier martial arts universities—the truly outstanding students.

Another dozen or so fell just short of the required levels, but weren’t too far off. Their sword techniques were respectable, and their spirit hovered on the edge of a breakthrough. With a final push in these last two months, they just might break through and gain admission to a martial arts university.

The remaining forty or fifty students, however, had little hope in martial cultivation and were unremarkable in every respect. As the final academic-martial arts split approached, these students, including Sun Kai, devoted themselves to academic revision, leaving behind dreams of physical training and swordplay.

Though Yuangjiang No. 1 High School called itself a martial arts institution, not every student could go far down the martial path. The school allowed great flexibility in this regard—whether to pursue academics or martial arts was largely up to the individual.

In Sun Kai’s view, everyone had different talents, and there was no need to force oneself. Getting into a liberal arts university, then going into research, politics, or business, was a perfectly valid path—a way to support a family without worry.

In today’s society, those who truly stood out, who reached the heights, were but a tiny handful. Even becoming a warrior didn’t guarantee a carefree life; those fighting on the front lines had no control over life or death. Compared to the protected lives of liberal arts students, ordinary martial artists, who enjoyed some benefits but faced constant danger, might not actually be happier.

With that thought, Sun Kai felt at peace.

“You still haven’t given up on the martial arts entrance exam?” he sighed, his tone calm but tinged with anger—wasn’t this just aiming too high?

They had been desk partners for so long; how could Xiao Nan not know his own circumstances? At this stage, giving up on academic revision in favor of martial arts—who was he trying to fool?

The reality was harsh. One had to know their limits, he thought, or risk failing both the martial and academic exams.

A sense of sympathetic frustration welled up in Sun Kai, words piling up in his throat with nowhere to go.

Xiao Nan, catching the question, simply lifted his head with a smile. “If I’m not mistaken, the test is in the next couple of days. A little more study, a little more practice—maybe I’ll pass.”

“You? Pass the assessment?”

Sun Kai wondered if he’d misheard, his voice rising in surprise.

A few classmates glanced over, one or two frowning at the disturbance. During self-study, everyone was careful not to make noise. Shouting like that was out of line. Some students looked at Xiao Nan with amusement, turning away to snicker—another one who couldn’t accept reality, they thought.

Xiao Nan blinked in confusion. “Don’t you want to pass the martial arts exam and get into a good university? Graduates from those schools are given official posts with high status.”

“That’s not the point,” Sun Kai retorted, rolling his eyes, his acne burning red. “Did your family suddenly come into money? Did they buy you a stash of Vitality Pills and Meridian Pills? Or Spirit-Nourishing Incense?”

“No,” Xiao Nan shook his head. The things Sun Kai mentioned were first-grade elixirs, ten times more expensive than the ungraded pills sold at his family’s shop—far beyond their means. They weren’t rich.

Vitality Pills strengthened the body, Meridian Pills cleared the blood vessels, and Spirit-Nourishing Incense fostered clarity for meditation. The first two cost fifty thousand apiece, while the incense was one hundred thousand per stick. His family could sell the house to afford a few, but then what would they live on?

Worst of all, even with these expensive aids, progress was uncertain—results varied from person to person.

Only now did Xiao Nan understand. To his deskmate, his own spirit and vitality were barely above average, far from the required 3.0 needed to pass the school’s martial arts test. Without potent medicine, a breakthrough was unthinkable.

No wonder Sun Kai looked at him so strangely.

For students like Sun Kai, switching to academics wasn’t due to hopeless lack of talent; if one could afford the expensive medicines, there was always a sliver of hope for breaking through.

But in the end, the reason always came down to money.

You might not succeed even with a big investment—but without it, you definitely wouldn’t. It was a cruel reality.

For most families, the gamble was a hard choice.

Sun Kai gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t lie to me—you must have bought the pills. Xiao Nan, your mother works hard for her money; why waste it? If you tell her you’re sure to pass the martial arts test, and then fail after spending all that money, she might not recover from the blow.”

He knew Xiao Nan’s situation well enough to guess the rest.

By the original course of events, that’s exactly what would have happened.

Xiao Nan was at a loss for words. How could he explain? Would anyone believe him if he said things had changed, that he was no longer who he used to be?

He had no desire to argue—his deskmate’s impression of him was too deeply rooted. The more he said, the less meaningful it became.

So he simply smiled lightly. “Money’s just money—you can always earn more. But some opportunities only come once in a lifetime. Miss it, and it’s gone forever.”

That sounded so reasonable.

Sun Kai stared, as if seeing his deskmate for the first time, frustration churning inside. “Should I gamble too? No, that’d be hopeless—if I told my parents, they’d kill me.”

After a few more idle words, the conversation drifted away from why Xiao Nan wasn’t doing exercises and was instead poring over martial arts notes.

Before long, the classroom began to buzz with activity. As the bell rang, groups of three or five students trickled in, faces alight with excitement and nerves.

“Did you hear? First period today is the Spirit Tempering class,” a boy with sweat still beading on his forehead and heat rising from his face said to a friend as he walked in.

He had clearly just finished physical training—his blood and energy were still high, only now settling.

“That’s every Monday. What’s the big deal? Of course you’re happy—your spirit’s strong,” another tall boy with a center-parted haircut sighed. “I’d rather take the martial technique class. I’ve just made a breakthrough with my Bloodletting Sword Form.”

“No, just now I saw Wei Yunyun in the hallway. She said today’s Spirit Tempering class will use Spirit-Nourishing Incense.”

“Really?”

Excited gasps broke out around the room. Most families couldn’t afford that incense—it was outrageously expensive.

Thanks to the Ministry of Education, each student at Yuangjiang No. 1 High received a Vitality Pill every year, and once a month they enjoyed a class with the Spirit-Nourishing Incense—a school benefit.

But the homeroom teacher had already used the incense at the start of the month. Now, at month’s end, there was another session?

“It’s true!” declared Yang Yankun, the homeroom teacher, appearing at the door. “Today’s lesson is not only Spirit Tempering—it’s also the Spirit Test.”

A wave of joy swept the class, quickly giving way to groans.

The academic-martial arts split was about to begin.

Everyone had known this day would come, but it still felt sudden. Most faces turned grim, apprehension settling in.