Chapter 26: A Beauty Beyond the Classroom

Wang Yao’s life was like a stagnant pool, each day repeating the same monotonous experiences. Dull and uneventful. If you pictured it as a movie, it would be an utter flop.

Yet Lin Ze felt no real stirrings within. This, after all, was the truest portrait of an ordinary person—no sweeping passions, no beautiful female cultivators to indulge in romantic games, not even a single bully to make life interesting. Just a plain existence, utterly devoid of ripples.

The hope that sustained him on his path of cultivation was equally simple: to be accepted by a sect, achieve a respectable ranking in the upcoming competition for outer disciples, and attract the notice of a steward who might make the journey toward immortality a little less arduous.

After several days of observation, Lin Ze discovered the problem: Wang Yao was stuck at the very first threshold. Most novices, by diligently attending lectures, would eventually find a technique suited to their aptitude, practice it until it took shape, and then seek further instruction from their chosen mountains.

But Wang Yao had stubbornly fixated on the Crumbling Mountain Palm. He cultivated tirelessly, night and day, circulating spiritual energy with perfect precision; his form was correct, his strikes neat. Yet he simply could not unleash the true power of the palm technique.

Even when Lin Ze switched to a first-person perspective, he could find nothing amiss. With someone like Su Bailu and the Four Seasons Cycle Palm, deficiencies in vitality only became apparent upon reaching the second layer of mastery; once the problem was identified, she could devise her own solutions. Lin Ze’s advantage, powered by the simulator, was to save time by pointing out the issue immediately.

But Wang Yao’s struggle was different—there was no discernible problem. He realized his palm strike was feeble, unable to unleash even a tenth of its potential. At the critical moment, the spiritual energy in his palm lost its force, most of it seemingly dissipating into the air. Yet, for all his practice over the years, he was able to execute the technique smoothly and accurately, just as recorded in the manuals. If not for the lack of power, he would have believed himself to have mastered the art.

This mental block even stalled his cultivation; he lingered a mere half-step from the mid-stage of Qi Refining for years, unable to progress.

Lin Ze felt a touch of helplessness. Even the mighty Eightfold Sword Array of the Golden Core Sword Immortal Qin Hongxiu was no match for the simulator, yet here he was stymied by a mere Qi Refining novice. The solution was simple enough: he had two decent skill cards, either Frost Sword or the Cycle Palm, both equal to the Crumbling Mountain Palm. Passing one on to Wang Yao would earn endless gratitude.

But with just over two months until the competition, and Wang Yao’s aptitude being merely average, there was little hope of a rapid breakthrough.

This meant he would miss the tournament and have to wait another five years. By then, his value in the eyes of the various stewards would have diminished greatly.

Lin Ze clicked his tongue and, after a moment’s thought, switched to a first-person view, curious to see what Wang Yao was thinking.

The young man stood in the archive room, carefully organizing ancient texts chronicling the lives and anecdotes of sect elders. With no family to support him, he could only earn sect resources through such menial tasks. When he finished, Wang Yao wiped the sweat from his brow and drew from his robe a schedule he’d obtained from the southern hall, detailing the lectures given by the various mountain stewards. He spent some time locating Huayang Peak on the list.

“Just a month and a half left,” he murmured, carefully returning the schedule to his pocket, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face.

Lin Ze slapped his forehead. Of course—why go searching for the problem yourself? The techniques taught openly to outer disciples were never going to be esoteric or arcane. He could simply wait and note whatever was explained by the Huayang Peak steward.

With that thought, Lin Ze decided to remain within Wang Yao for the time being, using the opportunity to experience firsthand the life of an ordinary disciple.

Time slipped by. In a little over a month, Lin Ze learned how to tend spiritual plants, polish the southern hall’s floors to a mirror shine, and even mastered the art of cooking noodles to perfect chewiness. None of it seemed particularly useful.

Now, as Wang Yao’s gaze turned toward the lecture hall, Lin Ze could feel the young man’s excitement, his hand trembling as he gripped his book bag. Even though Lin Ze had crossed over from another life, he realized this feeling was much like the anticipation he’d felt in his previous world, sitting in a café with a contract in hand, waiting for a client’s signature. It was a hard life, but at least there was some reward at the end.

“At last, I can get out of here,” Lin Ze sighed, disengaging from Wang Yao’s body. If he could help it, he would never again choose such a featureless character card. It was self-inflicted misery. The answers that inner disciples received so easily from their teachers, this poor fellow had waited a month just to hear. And he could still smile.

Such perseverance was truly admirable.

“Oh, it’s Steward Zhang Jialin again,” Wang Yao muttered, a trace of anxiety flickering across his face. Still, he said nothing more and sat quietly, waiting for the lecture to begin.

At the front, a young cultivator at the Foundation Establishment stage looked out at the crowd of ordinary disciples with thinly veiled impatience. He cleared his throat and, without much concern for whether anyone understood, began to explain a sword technique.

Lin Ze’s brow furrowed. The man’s expression was all too familiar—just like his former colleagues half an hour before the end of a workday, restlessly glancing at their phones or fixing their makeup. It didn’t bother Lin Ze much; after all, such attitudes only affected their wages, not his own life.

But this was a matter of passing on the Dao—teaching and dispelling confusion. Looking around at the perplexed faces of the disciples, Lin Ze felt a wave of dissatisfaction. If you’re going to be this careless, why bother teaching at all? Cultivation techniques, if misunderstood, could have fatal consequences. How could one be so cavalier?

He endured the lecture a while longer and soon noticed that Steward Zhang Jialin kept glancing out the window, where a rather attractive female cultivator was flirting with him.

Lin Ze withdrew his gaze and looked at Wang Yao, a shadow of gloom flickering in his eyes. It seemed there would be no way out today.

Just as he’d predicted, with a stick of incense’s time left before the end, Zhang Jialin’s irritation was barely concealed, his explanations growing more perfunctory, often glossing over entire passages in a single sentence.

“That’s it, class dismissed,” he called out, waving his hand and striding hastily toward the door.

Wang Yao leapt up at once, chasing after him anxiously, “Steward Zhang, I…”