Chapter 14: The Auxiliary Secret Manual, A Gift Upon Login! (Part 2)

Deep in thought, Shi Tiexin no longer remembered anything about breakfast. As he hurried along, asking for directions to Class 28 of Grade One, his mind whirled ceaselessly. He pondered and pondered; if he wanted to quickly improve his cultivation, he would have to start with the aspects where he was most lacking.

First, he needed high-quality cultivation manuals. The booklets sold at the Star Workers’ School were vague and muddled, their explanations unclear and their methods unconvincing. To expect rapid results from such guides would be downright absurd. It was said that students of status at the Star Workers’ School never used those manuals themselves; instead, they found ways to acquire their own secret notebooks.

Fortunately, he was not lacking in this area.

Second, he needed a good instructor. The Star Workers’ School was, if not entirely neglected, certainly close to it; truly capable teachers were almost impossible to find. If one were to compare, they might not even measure up to the students of a key class here. It made sense—those with real ability, especially those skilled in heart arts, would surely find employment elsewhere. Why would they bother teaching a bunch of kids at a place like the Star Workers’ School?

It was rumored that the best schools in big cities had scholars for teachers—scholars, experts in the second stage of heart arts cultivation. With such masters guiding and resolving doubts, progress in cultivation would naturally be swift.

How enviable!

He wondered about the level of teachers in the so-called “garbage class.” It probably wasn’t anything remarkable—otherwise, why would it be called the “garbage class”? Still, he hoped it wouldn’t be too dreadful. May the Buddha protect him.

Finally, the most subjective, the most reliant on one’s own ability, the most effective way to accelerate cultivation: auxiliary secret records.

Auxiliary secret records were one of the most vital strategic resources in cultivating heart arts. Shi Tiexin had once been unaware of their existence, until someone came along and explained at length. Only then did he ask around, and what he learned nearly made him tremble in fear.

Legend had it that auxiliary secret records could speed up the cultivation of specific heart arts, with the best records increasing efficiency by as much as 20 percent!

You may think 20 percent isn’t much?

No—cultivation of heart arts is a race against time; even a single percent is crucial, let alone twenty. The difference is vast. Moreover, the acceleration becomes addictive; after a long and arduous journey, suddenly speeding up feels like galloping on horseback—utterly exhilarating. To be forced to slow down again would be enough to infuriate anyone.

Turning these thoughts over, Shi Tiexin made his way deeper into the academic zone. As with the dormitory area, the “garbage class” was hidden away at the very back of the school, far from any prominent location. The front buildings were grand and imposing, elegantly renovated. But the old teaching blocks at the rear… Shi Tiexin wrinkled his nose, catching a familiar whiff of stale air.

This really was the garbage class! Even the stench had followed him.

As he walked down the corridor, his glance swept over the surroundings. The atmosphere here was nothing like the bustling, studious energy of the key classes. Noisy chatter filled the halls, with students laughing and shouting. Boys and girls dashed about, seemingly excited for reasons unknown, ready to erupt into a wild sprint at any moment.

Strange characters abounded. For example, a boy walked toward him—tall, taller than most, just a little shorter than Shi Tiexin. His frame was sturdy, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, hinting at a faintly triangular build.

He looked decent enough, his face fresh and youthful, but he seemed deeply self-absorbed. He had removed his uniform jacket, wrapped the sleeves around his waist, and knotted them to resemble a short skirt.

In his left hand, he held a horn comb, meticulously brushing his hair upward with each step, while his right hand followed to fix the style, creating a spiky, lawn-like effect. If one looked closely, a flashing earring could be glimpsed at his earlobe—a silver skull, the epitome of adolescent rebellion. He wore a pair of dead-fish eyes, and his expression screamed arrogance and defiance.

He barreled down the corridor, shoving aside anyone in his way. The other boys dared not protest, while the girls cast him furtive glances and whispered, “Maple is so handsome!” in high-pitched voices.

Oh? Was this guy a martial artist?

Shi Tiexin instinctively watched him for a moment, noting the chest, waist, back, fingers, and gait—ha, weakling—then paid him no further attention, brushing past to find Class 28.

“Hm?”

The boy suddenly paused, turning to look at Shi Tiexin’s back. His lazy, dead-fish eyes seemed to sharpen.

“Was it just my imagination?” He half-turned, staring at Shi Tiexin, tilting his face thirty degrees to appear more rebellious. Then, in a low, self-satisfied voice that was barely audible, he muttered, “No, my senses don’t lie. That’s the aura of a seasoned warrior... Someone I’ve never seen before. Hmph, could it be someone aiming to seize the Four Heavenly Kings’ throne? A formidable rival.”

“But so what?” He raised both hands, brushing his hair so it stood on end: “No one can shake me—I am invincible Liu Chuanfeng…”

“Liu Shufeng!” Another boy came running, flustered. “Someone saw Big Fang headed this way!”

In a flash, Liu slapped down his hair, slipped the skirt-jacket on properly, tucked the skull earring into his pocket, zipped up his pants, and pulled out thick-rimmed glasses, placing them on his nose. His demeanor transformed in an instant; he now appeared the model of a well-behaved student.

Having tidied himself, he remembered something and smacked the other boy on the head: “How many times have I told you—don’t call me Liu Shufeng, it sounds so lame!”

Meanwhile, Shi Tiexin finally located the classroom for Class 28.

The differences were everywhere—even the classroom door was an old, battered wooden one. This Phoenix Song High School was remarkable! Entering, he found that only a handful of students had arrived, most chatting among themselves with no intention of studying.

Several people glanced at Shi Tiexin standing at the doorway, uncertain about the imposing newcomer. Shi Tiexin looked around, then raised his voice slightly: “Who is the class monitor of Class 28?”