Chapter Twenty-Six: Different Paths, Same Destination

When he reached the fourth floor, the classroom was already two-thirds full. Most students wore furrowed brows as their pens scratched busily across the pages.

Xiao Nan knew they were working through practice problems.

With only two months left before the college entrance examination, no amount of time seemed sufficient.

They drilled at home in the evenings, and again at school in the early morning.

What surprised Xiao Nan was that, contrary to his previous impressions, none of the students he saw were gaunt or sickly, fragile enough to be toppled by the wind. Each was brimming with vitality, their bodies strong and robust.

This, perhaps, was the true distinction between a martial arts high school and an ordinary one.

Even those who had set their sights on the humanities could not help but devote considerable time to training their bodies under the pervasive influence of martial practice.

He wondered how many students this year would gain admission to a martial arts university.

Xiao Nan’s desk was at the back of the classroom, by the window—a veritable sanctuary for those with no heart for study.

Here, one could freely read light novels, play games, and remain well hidden.

By the final year, it was already clear who among the students possessed talent and robust energy; such things were all but decided. It was rare to hear of anyone making miraculous progress in just a month or two.

Thus, at this stage, the teachers were not overly strict.

Their energy was spent on the gifted students; as for those deemed “beyond help,” while it wasn’t quite a case of letting them run wild, the difference was negligible.

Xiao Nan’s seatmate was Sun Kai, a thin student with glasses and a few glaring pink pimples across his face.

Why did nearsighted students exist even in a martial arts high school?

Xiao Nan could only say that physical training and martial cultivation had little to do with the condition of one’s eyes.

He had seen Gu Junwu, a martial artist, still wearing glasses at the hospital.

Sun Kai was immersed in his work, utterly absorbed. When someone tapped his shoulder, he looked up in a daze and, recognizing Xiao Nan, sat up a little straighter to make room before returning to his studies.

Xiao Nan shook his head and sighed inwardly.

He was usually much the same—even more diligent than Sun Kai, if anything.

The reason some students lagged behind was not for lack of effort, but because, despite all their hard work, they always found themselves a step behind in every aspect.

The crushing realization that time waits for no one, that hope can so easily collapse, left only the option of self-numbing perseverance.

Yet, whether one studied or not, worked hard or not, in the end, it seemed to matter little.

Xiao Nan sat down, but rather than pulling out a textbook like the others, he opened the blue-covered notebook Qin Shuang had given him.

For all his dissatisfaction with his predecessor’s physical aptitude, he had to admit that the knowledge of the humanities and sciences in his mind was quite comprehensive.

A moment’s reflection brought back vivid memories of burning the midnight oil, hopelessly lost in a sea of problems.

Had it been his former self, Xiao Nan would have been relentless, determined to conquer every difficult question.

After all, he had no confidence in his martial arts examination and could only seek solace elsewhere.

But now, Xiao Nan viewed things differently.

Given his current academic standing, he felt he would do well enough in the exams even without further review.

What’s more, as a martial arts student, he enjoyed preferences in the grading of cultural subjects, much like art or sports students had in his previous life.

As long as his grades weren’t abysmally poor, no university would shut its doors to him.

Furthermore, Xiao Nan’s current spiritual cultivation was, by his own estimation, quite advanced—his memory, comprehension, and logical thinking had all improved significantly.

Even if he forgot something, he was confident he could quickly relearn it without wasting precious energy on trivial matters.

The attendance during self-study periods was telling; those truly buried in their books were, by and large, students with no hope for the martial arts path.

Those with high vitality and breakthroughs in spirit were mostly out training on the field or in the gym.

They had no time for endless drills and rote learning.

From the beginning, life had already drawn its lines of division.

Different goals, different struggles, and vastly divergent futures.

…

The handwritten notes weren’t lengthy, and the content was relatively concise, but the figure illustrations were meticulously rendered.

The diagrams showing the flow of energy and blood were especially thorough.

They began with force rising from the ground, then to driving power from the legs, channeling it through the waist and arm, before gathering and exploding outward in a strike.

As if fearing Xiao Nan might not understand, the notes included tiny labels, cautionary points, and various tips for exerting force.

For example: running with weights tied to the legs, training the waist while suspended upside down by a rope, dashing with hands and feet bound by resistance bands…

Each training method detailed precisely which muscle groups and movements should be coordinated for practice.

“If one were to follow this regimen strictly, it would indeed be possible within a month to integrate the body’s strength and energy, mastering a focused, powerful strike.

It would also increase flexibility and agility, specifically addressing the problem of poor coordination in the limbs.”

Xiao Nan let out a long sigh, feeling a touch of emotion for the thoughtfulness hidden in the notebook.

“She may seem fierce, but her heart isn’t bad. Her refusal to call off the engagement isn’t, as I once suspected, purely opportunistic…”

He couldn’t be blamed for his suspicions; though outwardly naive, he was inwardly cautious.

One must not harbor ill intent, but one must also guard against others.

After so many years, such vigilance had become second nature—a professional hazard.

In a world awash with desire, only after weathering many storms does one learn the value of sincerity over calculation in human relations.

After reading the earlier training methods and the diagrams of energy flow, Xiao Nan’s curiosity about the rest of the content only grew.

The insights Qin Shuang had written seemed vaguely familiar.

He had practiced them in his past life.

Compared to what the teachers at Yuanjiang No. 1 High School had taught, the notebook’s explanations were more detailed and profound.

Simply put, it included things never covered in class.

High school instruction was shallow; teachers never taught advanced material, focusing solely on exam preparation.

They taught only the basics: the thirteen foundational sword techniques, the Spirit-Forge Body Method, the Moonlight Visualization, and so on.

These were emphasized repeatedly, ad nauseam.

As for those who had mastered the basics and sought further knowledge—well, that would have to wait until university.

Thus, students whose parents were martial artists and could provide comprehensive guidance gained a clear advantage.

Occasionally, a teacher with a keen eye for talent might tailor their instruction to exceptional students, but such cases were rare—certainly not for underachievers like Xiao Nan.

After all, in a class of seventy or eighty, it would be exhausting for even the most dedicated teacher to provide detailed, hands-on instruction for each student.

But this notebook was different. In terms of martial technique, it laid out a path of breakthrough tailored specifically to Xiao Nan’s body.

Not only did it cover the essential exam skill of gathering energy and unleashing a focused strike, it also outlined plans for further advancement.

It explained how to generate explosive power, how to keep every move at its peak of strength, and how to conceal energy for delayed release.

From the “Force Gathering” stage to the subtler transformations of hard and soft power, nothing was omitted.

At this, Xiao Nan’s eyes lit up.

These training and attack methods echoed the stages he had practiced in traditional martial arts in his previous life.

Perhaps “stages” was not quite the right term; it was more about techniques for exerting force and the levels of mastery.

In that world, there was little difference in the fundamental physical constitution among people.

A martial artist reached their peak in youth, and with age, their vitality inevitably dwindled…

In old age, when fists and staves grew heavy, and challenges still came, one had to rely on capable disciples for support.

It was a melancholy fate.

Of course, there were exceptions—some old masters, by bringing their skills to the highest level, could outmatch younger fighters not with strength but with technique.

A move or two was enough to defeat an enemy.

What did they rely on?

The blue notebook made it clear.

The so-called “energy and blood gathering strike” was exactly what Xiao Nan remembered as the “whole-body force” of national martial arts.

To combine the scattered into the whole, to unify energy and blood.

Different worlds, different theories—yet the essence converged.

Beyond the “force gathering” stage came the transformation of hard and soft power.

At its peak, a strike could shatter gold and stone, yet in its most subtle form, it could pulverize stone, penetrating and destructive.

Was this not the distinction between “explicit force” and “hidden force”?

Only, the notebook did not rigidly divide the levels but offered a unified overview.

Thinking further, the “transformative force” of traditional martial arts in his previous world corresponded to the consummate blending of hard and soft power, with energy permeating every part of the body.

To reach the state where intention guided action, and energy could flow to every inch of skin and pore—

To sense the pressure of force at will, shifting from hard to soft, or soft to hard as needed.

That was the realm of transformation.

As for the later methods of “light and heavy,” “square and round” force application, Qin Shuang mentioned them only in passing, without elaboration.

Perhaps she had not encountered or practiced them, and so could not explain.

More likely, she simply saw no need to record stages beyond her reach.

“To think that a single method of force application could be played with in so many ways…”

After reading, Xiao Nan felt an itch in his heart, as if he’d finished a novel that ended abruptly, leaving him unsatisfied.

The girl hadn’t been entirely forthcoming.

What would benefit him most was not “force gathering” or “hard and soft” transformation, but the techniques of “light and heavy,” “square and round.”

A pity.

Xiao Nan felt a tinge of regret.

That martial arts in both worlds shared the same lineage was, at least, good news.

Those ten years of bitter training in his past life had not been wasted, nor would he need to start over.