Chapter 26: Still Too Frail, Recuperation Once Again (Part 2)

A rumor swept through the ranks of the so-called “trash class” like a violent storm. The Black-Handed Hungry Tiger, Teng Chaoguo, had been defeated by an overwhelmingly powerful boss. This boss was not only loyal and protective of his class, but also fiercely intolerant of evil—a true hardliner. Not only did he single-handedly and unscathed take down Teng Chaoguo’s entire small gang in a matter of moments, but, after leaving the filthy restroom, he decided that a mere beating wasn’t enough to satisfy the outrage of his peers. So he turned back and shoved Teng Chaoguo’s head into the urinal.

Into the urinal, everyone! That’s as hardcore as it gets!

But someone immediately objected, “No, no, you’re just repeating hearsay. I have firsthand information. It wasn’t shoving his head into the urinal—it was that he actually peed on Teng Chaoguo. Yes, he whipped it out—rumor has it, it’s enormous—and let loose a stream right there.”

Just imagining it was intense enough to make one shudder!

Then a third person contradicted both accounts. “You’re both wrong, I was the first to rush in. I saw the whole thing—it wasn’t about shoving or peeing on his face, but making Teng Chaoguo actually drink it! The boss just stood there relieving himself, and Teng Chaoguo knelt on the ground, mouth open to catch every drop.”

Plentiful in volume, rich in flavor—Black-Handed Hungry Tiger seemed quite satisfied with his drink.

Ahem… That scene was beginning to sound a little off, but never mind, details aside. The rumors multiplied, growing ever more outrageous with each retelling. Still, no matter which version one believed, Shi Tiexin’s reputation only grew harder and more unyielding—a true iron-blooded man, harder than steel itself.

When the third period ended, a mass of students surged toward Class Twenty-Eight’s door, eager to catch a glimpse of this legendary tough guy.

They were all disappointed.

Where was the iron-blooded man, Shi Tiexin? He was in the dormitory area, busy scrubbing his laundry with a rhythmic swishing. There was no helping it; the restroom stank to high heaven to begin with, and after Teng Chaoguo’s wild flailing, the ammonia levels were enough to make anyone faint. The smell had clung to Shi Tiexin’s clothes, so he decided it was best to wash them thoroughly.

Besides, the third period was geography—a subject he understood not at all. Skipping class didn’t bother Shi Tiexin in the least, so he strolled leisurely back to the dormitory.

It was a good opportunity to sort out his possessions and see if he’d overlooked any hidden treasures.

The outcome was bittersweet.

The pleasant surprise needed no elaboration—all sorts of heart technique manuals were present and accounted for. Even the geography and history textbooks, which he had thought useless, turned out to be foundational natural history manuals.

Natural history, after all, was the study of broad knowledge and sharp memory—knowing everything from astronomy to geography, ancient times to the present. In other words, it was a course in common knowledge. That the system recognized geography and history books as natural history manuals was hardly surprising.

There was also a subject called “politics.” Its textbook was classified by the system as a manual in the art of rhetoric, though it played a much smaller role in foundational rhetoric than the language textbook. Shi Tiexin flipped through it and nodded—indeed, it was a primer on how to speak persuasively, but he saw no need to dwell on it.

Far more supplementary manuals than expected were piled up in his luggage, nearly dazzling him with their abundance. Picking one up after another, Shi Tiexin was delighted.

But as always, most of these contained higher-level heart techniques that he couldn’t yet use. Clearly, acquiring primary school textbooks and workbooks was an urgent matter—he would have to find a way to get his hands on them soon.

After finishing his laundry and organizing his books, Shi Tiexin freshened up and left, heading back to class.

But when he reached the dorms for the elite classes, an idea struck him, and he changed direction, heading straight for his old dormitory building. He had learned from fragments of dissolved memories that there was something there he needed.

Soon enough, Shi Tiexin arrived at the first-floor lobby, where the object stood, available for anyone to use. It had a square base, topped with a dark anti-slip cover. One side featured a cylindrical column over a meter tall, with a dial the size of a small plate.

It was, unmistakably, a very, very old-fashioned scale for measuring height and weight.

Shi Tiexin had never seen such an antique, but this was no time to be picky. Another awareness told him how to use it. He took off his shoes and stepped onto the platform.

The old scale creaked under his weight, the needle trembling wildly, refusing to settle. While waiting, Shi Tiexin fiddled with a black rod next to the platform.

With a series of clicks, he extended a three-section measuring stick. Its top ended in a duckbill-shaped piece, theoretically meant to rest level atop the head. But the stick wobbled so much that its accuracy was questionable, fluctuating by two or three centimeters.

Shi Tiexin, both amused and curious, spent some time figuring out this ancient contraption. Standing straight, he brought the duckbill to the crown of his head, then looked down to read the result:

Height: 1.93 meters.

One point nine-three meters… Even accounting for the stick’s inaccuracy, at most it was 1.95. Shi Tiexin mused aloud, “A bit short, isn’t it…”

The janitor, sweeping nearby, couldn’t help but glance over and size him up—this guy was nearly two heads taller than himself, and still thought he was short?

Then Shi Tiexin checked the scale. The needle, after quivering for a long moment, finally steadied on a number.

Weight: eighty-five kilograms.

“Too light!”

The janitor rolled his eyes and walked away.

Shi Tiexin paid him no mind, lost in thought. A height of 1.93 meters was barely acceptable, but a mere eighty-five kilograms was intolerable—he was as thin as a bean sprout! This body was clearly malnourished.

No wonder, during the recent fight, his left fist had felt so much weaker than expected. Normally, one punch should have sent that oversized thug flying two meters, ending the fight on the spot. Instead, the guy only toppled over and immediately got back up—the problem lay here!

When Shi Tiexin muttered “So weak” earlier, he hadn’t been referring to Teng Chaoguo, but to himself.

Had he still possessed his original physique, dispatching those five amateurs would have been effortless—one blow each, and the place would be littered with the defeated. Only because his punch was unexpectedly feeble did Shi Tiexin switch tactics: intimidating with sheer presence, leaping through the air, and finally subduing the fat one.

Had that fatty withstood his punch and blocked the door, the others could have swarmed him—and then there would have been no “Teng drinks urine” incident.

This wouldn’t do. The body was too weak; even his excellent foundational boxing skills couldn’t be brought to bear.

He would have to cultivate his essence anew, reconstruct his body’s foundation of strength!

After all, he had mastered the art of nourishing essence at an excellent level!