Chapter 24: Do Words Speak? (Bonus Update)

As the strongest elite science class, Class Five had its own management requirements. Take morning reading and evening self-study, for instance—the class had to be in the classroom a full fifteen minutes earlier than the school’s official schedule.

Chen Shi’an left home at 6:10 and arrived at the classroom at precisely 6:27, three minutes ahead of the required time.

That was cutting it close—most of his classmates were already there by then.

But since it wasn’t yet the official time for morning reading, the classroom was noisy and lively: some chatting, some having breakfast, some fetching water, some frantically working on assignments, and some wandering around for who-knows-what reason…

This chaos, however, abruptly stilled as soon as Chen Shi’an “barged” into the classroom.

The first student to spot him flashed a look of surprise and suspicion, and that expression rippled through the room like a wave, sweeping across the faces of every student in moments.

Wait, who the heck are you?

Are you even in our class?!

Do you even know where you are?!

Is class-hopping this blatant now?!

Where’s Old Liang? Old Liang, get over here and explain!

Hold on! Wait a sec… why does he look so familiar? Have we met in a past life or something? What’s your name?

“Dao Master!”

“Holy crap, it’s the Dao Master!”

As this person, both strange and familiar, walked past the podium and headed straight for the empty seat beside Lin Mengqiu, everyone finally realized—wasn’t this the transfer student from yesterday, Chen Shi’an? The one from Jingchen Temple, who had studied Daoist arts since childhood, styled as Chen An—the “Dao Master”!

Good heavens! The Dao Master put on clothes—no, changed clothes—and nearly became unrecognizable!

Who could have guessed that after donning the school uniform and cutting his hair short, Chen Shi’an’s appearance would change so dramatically? He’d only been with them for a brief self-introduction yesterday, and after just one night, he seemed like a totally different person. No wonder everyone was so shocked.

“Did the Daoist friend master a disguise technique?!”

“Damn, my status as the best-looking guy in class is in danger.”

“Now I finally understand why there are no ugly people in xianxia novels.”

“You guys don’t get it, I actually think the Dao Master’s previous look was more charismatic…”

“Alright, alright, we know you’re obsessed with Daoist robes.”

“Taste is subjective, okay?”

“That’s just self-comfort! If there’s no consensus, why does everyone think the class rep’s good-looking, while Zou Xiaokun looks as sleazy as a paparazzo?”

“Screw you, I’m a serious journalist!”

After a brief silence, the class burst into quiet chatter again once Chen Shi’an’s identity was revealed.

But no one approached him to chat.

It wasn’t that they feared the Dao Master’s wrath; they were more cautious about provoking his seatmate—Lin Mengqiu. All she needed to do was sit there, and the area around her would automatically fall silent without her saying a word…

Beautiful and cold, stern and unsmiling, not only the class monitor but also the principal’s own daughter, rumored to keep a little notebook for docking points—who dared mess with her?

Her mere presence was like a signal jammer. No matter how noisy the rest of the class got, her corner remained tranquil.

Chen Shi’an noticed his seatmate’s “passive skill” and was quite pleased with the peace.

Unlike him, who just made it in time, Lin Mengqiu had been at her seat long before. Who knew when she’d arrived? She was quietly working through problems.

She wore the same blue-and-white uniform, her silky black hair cascading down her back, her expression unchanged from when he first saw her—emotionless, even her posture and the way she held her pen were exactly as before Chen Shi’an had left yesterday.

If not for the fact that he glimpsed the edge of her socks at her delicate ankle—different in color from yesterday—he might have wondered if Lin Mengqiu had sat there all night.

Not bad—she had patience and could keep still. Chen Shi’an nodded to himself, thinking that if she ever wished to pursue the Dao, he wouldn’t mind taking her as a disciple.

He heard the chair beside him being quietly pulled out. Though Lin Mengqiu didn’t lift her head, she couldn’t help but glance sidelong at him.

Her eyes fell upon a pair of brand-new uniform trousers, not the Daoist robes from yesterday; his shoes had also changed from the Ten Directions Shoes to plain black canvas sneakers.

Yesterday, she’d thought Chen Shi’an wore Daoist robes just to attract attention. Today, he’d changed his look entirely.

After studying his lower half, her gaze slowly lifted to his crisp short-sleeved uniform shirt, and finally settled on his face.

Her expression remained unchanged, but her eyes seemed a shade brighter.

Just then, Chen Shi’an looked over and greeted her with an easy smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

Lin Mengqiu replied in a flat tone, so softly she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.

By the time Chen Shi’an hung up his backpack and looked back, she was already quietly working on her problems again.

She didn’t marvel at his transformation, nor was she curious or gossipy. Her perpetually cool expression revealed nothing of her thoughts, as if she might as well have a “Do Not Disturb—Studying” sign hanging around her neck.

Chen Shi’an wasn’t one to force conversation for the sake of it. Seeing her so quiet, he left her undisturbed.

He took out the class schedule Teacher Liang had given him the previous day.

Compared to the few days he’d spent at a rural elementary school years ago, the schedule at Yunxi No.1 High was extremely tight.

In summary, from 6:30 a.m. until 9:45 p.m., students were required to stay at school the entire time.

Chen Shi’an frowned slightly.

No wonder people always said online that high school life was tough. Excluding brief breaks, there were at least ten hours spent in the classroom every day.

Even more grueling than cultivating on the mountain! Back there, only the mornings were busy; after lunch and a nap, he’d wake up around three or four in the afternoon, then go catch fish in the stream, pick mushrooms, tend the garden, and think about what to eat for dinner…

Is studying really worth so much time? …Enough, enough—stay humble.

No matter what, he was a student now and had to abide by the school rules.

Besides, he had a lot of catching up to do. Even if he didn’t find studying difficult, he’d have to spend extra time to fill the gaps.

The morning reading period began, and the idle chatter in the classroom was gradually replaced by the sound of recitation.

Unlike elementary school, where everyone recited together, here each student read and memorized on their own.

But the subject was specified—today’s morning reading was Chinese.

Chen Shi’an pulled out the first-year Chinese textbook from his desk.

Lin Mengqiu glanced at his book but said nothing.

Her father had called her last night and briefly explained Chen Shi’an’s situation. When she heard he’d never attended school, she was so shocked that she was speechless for a long time…

As for her father’s request to help Chen Shi’an, Lin Mengqiu didn’t think she was up to the task… How could she teach someone who’d never been to school?

But now…he seemed to be literate, at least.

Still, this was high school. Was simply being literate enough? She couldn’t understand where her father’s faith in him came from. Even she thought the whole thing was absurd.

Maybe he was just here to experience life? Well, as long as he and her father were happy.

Chen Shi’an had no idea what Lin Mengqiu was thinking. He’d already started reading the sixth text—he’d reviewed the first six at home earlier, and though he couldn’t claim perfect recall, he remembered most of it. A second reading would lock it in his mind.

Most students read aloud, but Chen Shi’an did not. He memorized silently—in fact, reading out loud would slow him down. For him, reading and memorizing silently was most efficient.

Lin Mengqiu also read silently, but instead of a textbook, she held a thick packet of printed and stapled material—key passages for the high school Chinese exams.

Chen Shi’an noticed that most students around them also had such packets; almost no one was directly reciting from the textbook like he was.

“Are there some texts in the book that don’t need to be memorized?” Chen Shi’an asked his seatmate.

“Yes,” Lin Mengqiu replied quickly.

“Which ones need to be memorized and which don’t?”

This time, her answer was slower—not out of reluctance, but because it couldn’t be summed up in a word.

Efficiency-minded as she was, Lin Mengqiu countered, “Didn’t Teacher Liang give you the Chinese memorization packet?”

“Is it the one you have?”

“Mm.”

“I don’t have it.”

“…I’ll make a copy for you later. For now, use mine.”

Without waiting for his reply, she placed her own memorization packet on his desk.

Chen Shi’an blinked. Uncle Lin was right—Mengqiu might act cold, but her actions were warm.

He picked up the packet. Many key phrases were marked in red, and there were concise notes in neat handwriting—delicate yet sharp, just like her.

Glancing through, he saw that many of the phrases came from the texts he’d already memorized. He turned to her, curious.

“Are all these passages taken from the textbook?”

“Yes.” Lin Mengqiu handed him the Chinese packet and took out her English one. For a top student like her, it didn’t matter if she read English during Chinese morning reading—even if she pondered math problems, the teachers wouldn’t mind.

“I thought some of them might be extras…”

Chen Shi’an smiled, and under her puzzled gaze, he returned the packet.

“Thanks. Since all the passages are in the textbook, I’ll just memorize the entire texts. Otherwise, you won’t have your packet to use yourself.”

“…”

Since he’d returned the packet, Lin Mengqiu said nothing more. She couldn’t understand—he was already so far behind, time was short, and memorizing only the required passages would be much more efficient. Why go to the trouble of memorizing entire texts?

Was it just pride, showing off?

But that wasn’t it.

Chen Shi’an’s attitude toward learning was fundamentally different from most students.

He didn’t study just for exams. Even in a class steeped in exam-oriented culture, he approached study as he did Daoist practice: if he was going to learn, he wanted to truly understand, to gain real insight.

Certainly, memorizing just the key passages was more efficient for tests. But these isolated sentences, stripped from context, couldn’t give him the same understanding as reading the full text.

He wanted to know the whole picture, to feel the author’s state of mind—not just “I have to memorize this for the test.”

At most…it just meant reading the text a few more times. Memorizing it all wasn’t so hard.

That really wasn’t something most people could say.

…

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