I want to leave Langlang Mountain.

Most likely, it was the continuous increase of 0.02 in his mental attribute, combined with the memories stirred by the sudden death of the chubby man, that caused Chen Jue to lie in bed thinking deeply that night. From his thirty years of life experience to childhood dreams, and then to the dissatisfaction and longing in adulthood, he gradually drifted into a profound slumber.

By the time his biological clock resumed its normal rhythm the next morning and his consciousness awoke once more, the world outside his window was already brushed with a faint golden hue. The sun still rose from the city skyline. The earth did not stop turning for the passing of a single insignificant human being.

Yet as Chen Jue gazed at that first orange-red ray of sunlight piercing his eyes, he knew it was time to make a drastic change.

...

He donned his sportswear and, as usual, went upstairs to begin his morning eye exercises facing the rising sun. Having finally understood his innermost desires, Chen Jue felt a newfound calm within; the clutter in his mind faded away. All the worries about attendance, work, rent, and expenses were cast aside.

In this marvelous state, even the thirty minutes of red light therapy and eye exercises felt exceptionally comfortable. When he opened his eyes, the familiar blue-green tinge gradually faded, and his eyes, sparkling under the sunlight, became clear and bright; his vision had improved again.

More importantly, the confusion, weariness, and world-weariness that had once lingered in his gaze were gone. In their place was a rare clarity—what the ancients might have called "eyes clear, heart bright."

Descending to the park, as he passed the open area near the chess tables, he spotted Wu Fang and her grandfather, Mr. Wu, practicing their morning exercises. He did not disturb them, only offering a distant smile before disappearing into the deeper woods of the park.

This scene made Mr. Wu mutter, “Fangfang, what’s gotten into young Chen? He used to sneak a look at you every day when passing by! Did you two have a falling out?”

“Grandpa! What are you saying!” Wu Fang protested, her face flushing with embarrassment as she set down her rope dart, curiosity compelling her to glance back. Yet all she saw was a familiar retreating figure, and she wondered silently, “What’s with him?”

...

Deeper in the park, Chen Jue found the amateur Tai Chi class and quietly joined the back row. Standing postures, Tai Chi forms, the thirteen stances, the forty-eight moves—he practiced them all.

Zhao Jianguo, who always wore a gentle expression, was momentarily taken aback. After missing a few classes due to rain, he now saw how Chen Jue’s movements had become even more skillful and precise! But beyond that, Zhao sensed an extraordinary tranquility in Chen Jue’s clear eyes.

“Good heavens! Is it possible?” he thought. “He’s so gifted at the stances and forms, and even his mental state is so advanced? He’s not even thirty yet!” Zhao Jianguo drew in a chilly breath.

A lay Daoist who had studied early on at Wudang and later with a master from the Longmen School, Zhao understood that Tai Chi values intent over form. Among all his students, he had never seen such talent as Chen Jue’s. Not only did he master the moves and stances quickly, but he was also close to grasping Tai Chi’s most subtle essence.

His execution of the forms was almost on par with Zhao himself! Were it not for his limited understanding of Chen Jue’s character, Zhao would have recommended him to Wudang or Longmen for formal Daoist training—such talent would surely yield great achievement after just a few years.

Yet, it wasn’t only Zhao who noticed the change; Chen Jue himself sensed something unusual. The awkwardness he once felt in certain Tai Chi movements and stances was gone; everything flowed smoothly today. Whether it was the twelve, twenty-four, or forty-eight Tai Chi forms, or Wudang’s thirteen, he could now perform them naturally, unconstrained by form.

His body moved in harmony with his shifting center of gravity and breath, his limbs connecting seamlessly. In modern parlance, he had achieved a kind of “silky smoothness.”

This sensation was familiar: when he had first spent 0.10 of his free attribute points to merge “Skipping Stones” and “Darts,” his hands had gained the same easy control over all manner of throwing weapons.

...

Even the proficiency of several skills on his panel soared during those two hours of alternating movement and stillness, gaining four or five points at a time. He even earned 0.02 free attribute points.

Once he finished and his breath returned to normal, as the tension in his limbs eased, sweat poured from his body like air from a deflated ball, soaking his sportswear in moments.

His Tai Chi thirteen stances and three Tai Chi forms had all reached Level 2, an astonishing rate of progress that even amazed Chen Jue himself.

“So this is what enlightenment feels like?” he mused, seizing the moment before class ended to ask Zhao Jianguo some questions about tensing the pelvic floor, raising goosebumps, and the sensation of heat moving within.

Zhao, hearing this, grew even more frustrated. “I spent half a year in the mountains before I got the knack of this, and this kid masters it in less than a week?”

But seeing Chen Jue’s sincere, clear eyes, Zhao still explained, “That heat you feel is actually your blood circulating faster. Have you ever seen a cat pounce on a mouse? Right before it leaps, its tail lowers, its fur stands on end, and in that instant it unleashes its peak strength and explosiveness.

“If you can strike just as this heat spreads, you’ll maximize your body’s power. Really, whether it’s Tai Chi or any other martial art, these were originally meant for fighting. Nowadays, in peaceful times, the real fighting techniques are mostly lost—what’s left is all show. If you’re interested in fighting methods, I could find an old master to teach you.”

“Fighting techniques?” Chen Jue thought. “For self-defense?” He remembered his own mastery in “Thrown Weapons.” Within seven steps, or even beyond, no boxing or martial art could match his darts for speed.

Besides, public safety was excellent here; there was no need to learn such things for self-defense. Better to focus on perfecting his panel skills first.

So he politely replied, “Thank you, Teacher Zhao! I’ll think about it,” and left the Tai Chi class in the woods.

Passing the park gate, Wu Fang was already gone, likely off to teach her classes. Only Mr. Wu remained, happily watching a group of old men play chess with his thermos in hand.

“Sir, may I ask you something?” Chen Jue approached.

“What is it?” Mr. Wu glanced at him, now finding this formerly chubby young man harder to read.

Chen Jue’s temperament, speech, and even his physique had changed dramatically since their first meeting.

“Sir, weren’t you a university professor?”

“I wanted to ask, is there a way to return to school after graduation?” Chen Jue voiced his thoughts.

After witnessing the sudden death of the chubby man, Chen Jue felt more than ever the fragility of life and his own ignorance. Although there was plenty of health and fitness information online, the chaotic nature of searching for it could not compare to systematic learning.

And where was knowledge most concentrated? Naturally, in schools.

“You want to go back to school?” Mr. Wu’s eyes lit up, putting down his thermos. The old saying goes: live and learn. As a retired professor, he had seen many restless youths but seldom met someone like Chen Jue, who, after entering society, wished to return to study.

Enthusiastically, Mr. Wu offered advice, slyly inquiring about Chen Jue’s educational background and employment. Upon learning that Chen Jue only held a college diploma, he was taken aback—such a degree hardly matched his family of academic achievers. And at nearly thirty, it was too late for retaking college entrance exams. He suggested adult education, correspondence courses, or auditing classes.

Chen Jue knew those options well—paying fees, attending classes, and taking exams for a diploma. He had considered this route when job-hunting, thinking to upgrade his credentials as a stepping stone into larger companies.

...

But now, his ambitions had changed; he no longer cared for formal qualifications. He wanted the precious knowledge of the human body and thus asked about requirements for auditing.

“That’s easy. Get a work certificate from your employer,” Mr. Wu replied. “I’ll write a recommendation and ask an old friend at Jiangnan University to let you audit classes.”

Hearing Chen Jue wasn’t after a diploma, Mr. Wu’s opinion of him rose further. Before leaving, he asked which field Chen Jue wanted to study.

Unfamiliar with Jiangnan University’s programs, Chen Jue simply replied that anything related to the human body would do.

“Related to the human body? That covers a lot! Biology, basic medicine, clinical medicine, pharmacy... Well, you’re only auditing anyway, so the more the merrier. You can keep my grandson company.” Mr. Wu muttered to himself as he watched Chen Jue’s departing figure. “This young man is interesting indeed.”

...

After leaving the park and grabbing breakfast, Chen Jue drove to Hengtong Tower. The news of the chubby man’s sudden death was still circulating, and as soon as he entered, he heard the receptionists, security guards, and even people in the elevator whispering about it.

He made a round of the 17th-floor risk control department, finding many empty workstations. Upon inquiry, he learned that many, fearing they’d end up like Shen Shikun, had taken leave to get health checkups at the hospital.

“Without this system panel, I’d probably be just like them, drifting along with the current,” Chen Jue reflected.

At his desk, he found Li Mo, dark circles under his eyes, busy with yesterday’s files. Chen Jue approached to ask about Shen Shikun’s aftermath.

He learned that the incident had reached upper management, who had sent representatives to comfort the family overnight, negotiating three million yuan in compensation and hush money. Although this amount far exceeded standard compensation, the idea that a human life could be reduced to a number left Chen Jue feeling stifled.

Perhaps, in the eyes of a financial giant like Hengtong, a single life was far less valuable than the company’s reputation.

As for the funeral, it would likely be held in a week or two, with everyone from Team Five attending to pay their respects to the chubby man. As his neighbor, Chen Jue would certainly go as well.

Yet, he hadn’t come to Li Mo just to ask about these matters.

“Team leader, I’d like to request a work certificate and, if possible, take a leave of absence without pay,” Chen Jue said, settling into the chair beside Li Mo.

“Leave of absence?” Li Mo was stunned, his dark-ringed eyes wide.

He knew the incident would impact their team, with several members already taking annual leave to get checked at major hospitals. Yet this company’s entry requirements and benefits were so attractive that even open positions were fiercely competed for.

Now, someone actually wanted to leave. How odd!

“Team leader, I’m nearly thirty. I don’t want to keep grinding,” Chen Jue said calmly. “If I can’t keep up, I’d rather take a break and recharge—use this as a long vacation.”

To use a popular phrase, he’d stayed too long in the “Wolf Mountain” and wanted to venture out.

All his previous hesitations about risk control came from his outdated, conservative thinking. Now that someone had died at the next desk, how could he focus on work?

It was better to leave the nine-to-five behind, reclaim a freer, more relaxed life, and devote more energy and time to pursuing what he truly sought.