No Money to Cultivate Immortality?
Chapter 12: The Gap Between People

On the bus.

After obtaining the Feathered Tome, Zhang Yu had imagined his future would be like: “Feathered Tome! Let me see your limits!”

But in the blink of an eye, it became… the Ritual: “Zhang Yu! Let me see your limits!”

But it was too late to back out now. If Zhang Yu wanted to dispel the power of the Ritual, the only way forward was to grow stronger.

And so, all he could do now was cultivate with everything he had.

With each breath he took, strands of ambient spiritual energy surged into his body, gathering in his dantian and qi sea, slowly refining into mana and laying the foundation for his immortal path.

Thinking back to practicing the Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms the previous night, Zhang Yu wanted to replicate the method and see if he could rapidly upgrade his basic breathing technique as well.

With a thought, the Feathered Tome unfolded before him. Zhang Yu focused slightly on the words “Breathing Technique Lv. 1” written on the page. Immediately, the skill seemed to be drawn into motion.

Just as he tried to drag “Breathing Technique Lv. 1” onto his character portrait, a flash of insight surged from the Feathered Tome.

“Switching focus requires a one-day cooldown before switching again.”

Zhang Yu silently dubbed this feature of the Feathered Tome “Specialization.”

At that moment, he suddenly understood—skills marked for Specialization could be rapidly improved, but only one at a time. Switching focus meant waiting a full day before choosing another.

“So if I switch from Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms to Breathing Technique now, I’ll be able to rapidly improve the breathing technique. But the Thirty-Six Forms will go back to leveling up at a normal pace.”

“Unless I switch back to it tomorrow…”

Recalling what happened in P.E. class, Zhang Yu decided not to switch for now. He’d focus on upgrading the Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms.

Time passed quickly, and he kept up his basic breathing technique right up until the moment he got off the bus.

…

In the school cafeteria.

Bai Zhenzhen sat down across from Zhang Yu, who looked half-dead, like a zombie. She glanced at him curiously and said in her usual flat tone, “Pulled an all-nighter again?”

Zhang Yu shoved a giant meat bun into his mouth and grumbled, “I was grinding hard till midnight, okay?”

Expressionless, Bai Zhenzhen shot back without missing a beat, “Tch, you’re the only one in the entire school who hasn’t gotten sterilized. I told you not to skimp on that twenty grand. Just look at all the time, energy, and protein you’ve wasted.”

Zhang Yu gulped down a boiled egg and flashed a confident grin. “Bai Zhenzhen, let me tell you something. I’ve gotten so disciplined and full of potential that even I’m starting to scare myself. That top-of-the-grade throne of yours? I’m coming for it.”

She rolled her eyes so fast it was almost a reflex. Her delicate lips spat words with surgical precision. “Yuzi, it’s fine to talk big in front of me, but say that to someone else and they’ll laugh so hard they’ll piss themselves.”

“You’re aiming for the highest overall score in the grade, not the highest sperm count. That ‘intact’ advantage of yours? Useless here.”

Zhang Yu could only shake his head helplessly, muttering internally, “So Zhenzhen talks like this when nobody’s around, huh? Cold on the outside, savage on the inside.”

The fact that he was the only student who hadn’t undergone sterilization didn’t even surprise him anymore. He was slowly getting used to the madness of this world and this messed-up school.

Still, not getting sterilized remained a little secret of his. Bai Zhenzhen was the only classmate he had confided in.

But at this moment, a strange doubt suddenly arose in his mind: “Why was I even allowed to enroll without the sterilization procedure?”

Just then, Zhou Tianyi arrived with his lunch tray and sat down too, glancing curiously at Zhang Yu. “You look beat. Pulled an all-nighter studying?”

Zhang Yu shook his head. “Just practiced the Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms for a bit. Got some new insights.”

As they chatted over breakfast, Zhang Yu noticed something—ever since Zhou Tianyi sat down, Bai Zhenzhen had gone noticeably quieter. She seemed to revert to that cold, aloof top student persona again.

After breakfast, the three of them walked across the sports field toward the classrooms.

Zhang Yu occasionally opened his palm to watch the Feathered Tome appear and vanish.

“So no one else can see the Feathered Tome?”

Just then, a loud bang echoed from the direction of the teaching building, followed by shouts and commotion.

A crowd had already gathered at the front entrance.

People around them were gossiping.

Someone familiar with the story said, “That’s Lu Chao from Class 3, Grade 12. Used to be in the advanced track. His grades dropped, and now he’s about to be demoted.”

“Lu Chao? He was top ten back in Grade 11.”

Then came the sneering discrimination of the poor.

“So what if you did well in Grade 11? A poor kid’s still a poor kid. How many poor students do you see left in the advanced class by Grade 12? They’re just not cut out for cultivation.”

And then the score supremacists chimed in.

“Tch, he jumped from the sixth floor? Lame. If it were one of the top students from the advanced class, they’d at least go for ten stories.”

Passing by, Bai Zhenzhen sighed, “Another Grade 12 student?”

Zhou Tianyi said, “That’s the third one this year. Grade 12’s really feeling the pressure.”

Zhang Yu suddenly asked, “Was he poor?”

Bai Zhenzhen gave him a sidelong glance, unsure if she was cautioning him or simply reflecting. “Probably had a bunch of loans. If you need loans just to attend school, then yeah—definitely not rich.”

“These kinds of students usually do well at first after entering Songyang High.”

“But by Grade 12, they can’t keep up with the rich kids in their class. Most of them end up in second- or third-rate universities.”

“As for the Top Ten… I don’t think any regular student from Songyang High has gotten into one in the past decade or so.”

Zhang Yu was stunned. He knew the so-called “Top Ten” referred to the elite universities run directly by the Major Sects of the Immortal Dao—the ultimate dream for all students.

What he didn’t know was that Songyang High hadn’t produced a single non-wealthy Top Ten entrant in over ten years.

He thought to himself, “Is it just a lack of resources? Not enough money?”

Zhang Yu recalled stories he’d heard about the rich students—rumors of elite tutors, secret study manuals, advanced techniques, and experimental elixirs—all circulated within exclusive circles and never made it to the poor.

“If my potential hadn’t been triggered… maybe I’d have ended up just like that too.”

The incident caused a brief stir, but for students buried under piles of homework and cultivation drills, it was just more cafeteria gossip.

Soon enough, no one paid it any mind. Everyone went back to grinding through the daily slog of immortal studies, all for the sake of their futures.

Though they had only recently become adults, each of them already understood a brutal truth:

Your university depends on your scores.

Your sect depends on your university.

And your life depends on your sect.

No matter how close students might be, different grades meant different paths—and eventually, total separation.

…

Time flew, and it was now time for three back-to-back P.E. classes.

Once again rejecting P.E. teacher Wang Hai’s sales pitch, Zhang Yu couldn’t shake the feeling that the man’s glare had taken a colder turn.

But he had no choice. Between his wallet and his health, there was no way he could go back to taking injections.

So Zhang Yu simply pretended not to notice and resumed his training.

Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms Lv. 2 (1/20)

Counting his practice session before class, he now needed just 19 more rounds to level up again.

That thought alone gave him a huge motivational boost. He pushed his muscles over and over again, draining every drop of mana from his body.

Even when he wanted to slow down and rest, the Ritual’s relentless pressure would snap him back into action.

Through agony that felt like his body was being torn apart, he broke through his limits again and again. It was a painful, yet strangely exhilarating process.

After two full class periods, Zhang Yu finally collapsed on the ground, unable to move a finger.

Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms Lv. 2 (17/20)

“I’ve hit my limit.”

Even the Ritual no longer pressed him, apparently agreeing he’d reached his breaking point.

But Zhang Yu wasn’t disappointed in the slightest. In just two days, he had nearly raised a basic martial technique from Level 1 to Level 3—something the old Zhang Yu couldn’t even have imagined.

“If I hadn’t done those extra rounds last night, I probably could’ve maxed out during today’s classes.”

“But now, with this damn Ritual breathing down my neck, every second counts. Extra training at night might just leave me too drained to do anything during P.E… guess that’s gonna be my new normal.”

It reminded him of people in his past life who crammed through the night only to sleep through class. Hardly a sustainable lifestyle.

“Stupid Ritual doesn’t even understand timing or context.”

Just then, as Zhang Yu lay flat on the ground, he suddenly felt a shadow looming over him—like a mountain blocking the sky.

Wang Hai stared down at him coldly. “It’s P.E. class. What are you doing?”

Zhang Yu quickly replied, “Sir, I trained late last night. I’m a bit too drained to keep going right now.”

Sensing the dark look on Wang Hai’s face, he added, “My Body-Refining Thirty-Six Forms broke through last night. It’s at Level 2 now.”

He offered that explanation because he knew how this score-obsessed school worked. Most teachers wouldn’t hassle students with good results.

He figured that if Wang Hai saw he’d made significant progress, he’d let it slide.

But Zhang Yu had miscalculated.

There are all kinds of teachers in this world.

At Songyang High, most core subject teachers favored high-performing students—they were easier to teach, gave them a sense of accomplishment, and their mistakes were more easily forgiven.

Some teachers invested more in weaker students, hoping to bring their scores up.

Others didn’t care at all—just clock in, clock out, and heaven forbid they spend an extra second teaching.

And then there’s a special breed of teacher: the kind who values obedience over results. Who takes any defiance as a personal affront. Who lashes out even if a student finds their own way to succeed, just because it wasn’t their way.

And Wang Hai—who loved hawking medicine and punishing students—was exactly that kind.

Songyang High’s P.E. classes were his personal kingdom, and the students? His captive market.

Zhang Yu refusing to buy his potions had already made him unhappy.

Seeing Zhang Yu now “slacking off” in class only deepened his resentment. He wanted to use this moment to make an example of him—shame him in front of everyone, and warn others not to follow his path of Natural Body Forging.

But Zhang Yu’s line about reaching Level 2 had caught him off guard and stuck in his throat.

To Wang Hai, that was a direct challenge to his authority.

“Think getting to Level 2 makes you hot shit?”

He jabbed a finger at Bai Zhenzhen. “You see her slacking off just because she’s at Level 2? You see her skipping the injections?”

Zhang Yu tried to explain. “Sir, I didn’t mean it like that…”

But Wang Hai’s voice went cold. “Zhang Yu, I’ve seen your type before. A little talent and suddenly you stop listening to your teachers, ignore school instruction.”

“You think you made that breakthrough on your own? It’s because you’ve been coming to class regularly, taking injections, following my guidance—that’s what built your solid foundation.”

“As for your self-study or tutoring outside school? That’s dessert at best.”

“The real meat and potatoes is what we teach here.”

“I’ll be reporting this to your homeroom teacher. Watch yourself.”