No Money to Cultivate Immortality?
Chapter 4: School

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The sound of the clock echoed endlessly as Zhang Yu sat in the classroom, his face solemn, dutifully scribbling answers on the test paper in front of him.

But the paper felt infinite. No matter how much he wrote or how many blanks he filled, there was never an end in sight.

His desk drifted farther and farther away from his classmates. Soon, their silhouettes blurred and vanished, as if darkness were swallowing him inch by inch from behind.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Panic welled up in his chest. His writing hand began to tremble and lose strength.

It wasn’t until he plunged, along with piles of textbooks and papers, into a bottomless void that Zhang Yu jolted awake in bed.

“Was that a dream?”

“Seems like fragments of Zhang Yu’s past.”

He rubbed his temples. Countless shards of the original Zhang Yu’s memories floated through his mind—chaotic and shifting.

While Zhang Yu now had full control of the body, the memories hadn’t completely fused. Many details required deliberate effort to recall.

Especially the memory of that bizarre ritual yesterday—just thinking about it made his head spin. He couldn’t remember a thing.

He glanced at his phone. It was only five in the morning. He thought about lying back down but found himself wide awake.

Like waking up at five for school had become ingrained in this body’s very instincts.

“Why do I feel guilty just thinking about going back to sleep?”

Zhang Yu sat up, suspecting this was the influence of the original’s habits.

Stomach growling, he stood and muttered to himself, “Forget it, might as well head to school. At least I can score a free meal.”

He remembered that Songyang High provided three meals a day, and his meal card had already been topped up this month.

With seventy thousand in soul-devouring debt and just over fifty yuan to his name, eating out wasn’t an option.

He left the stuffy apartment, squeezed through sewage-filled alleys, and boarded a crowded bus with the morning rush.

Wedged in among the sour tang of sweat and the greasy scent of leftover food, even with the air conditioner running, it felt like a joke. Zhang Yu imagined himself as a squashed takeout order, jostling his way toward the city center.

After ninety minutes and two transfers, soaked in sweat, he finally stepped off the bus.

Wiping his forehead, Zhang Yu thought, “Why am I even commuting?”

“Oh, right—because I couldn’t afford the dorms.”

Unlike the dingy outskirts he lived in, this area near the school was all skyscrapers, broad clean roads, and fresh air.

Men and women on the street wore sleek outfits and professional expressions—textbook urban elites.

After a slow walk, he finally arrived at the school gates. From afar, he could see the bold characters reading: “Songyang Advanced Immortal Arts High School.”

Displayed on the electronic billboard above the gate was a long list of names—the top ten scorers from all three grade levels from the previous month.

It was clear from this alone how much Songyang High valued academic performance.

If Zhang Yu had to sum it all up from memory, he’d say: At Songyang High, grades reign supreme. This was a world where everything revolved around scores.

Studying and testing were as natural as breathing here. Everyone discriminated based on academic ranking—without a shred of irony.

Oh, your scores are that low? No wonder you wait so long in the cafeteria line. With scores like that, you don’t deserve to sit with us. And of course, top scorers mocking slackers? That’s just campus spirit.

“This place is a GPA dictatorship. A straight-up hell for underachievers.”

Zhang Yu glanced at the screen—there it was: “Grade 10, Total Score Rank #10: Zhang Yu.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “At least I’m one of the high scorers.”

“Even if the ranking’s a bit of a fluke for now… As long as no one exposes me, I can still live decently at school, right?”

The school cafeteria served breakfast, so Zhang Yu made his way there by memory.

He noticed something odd on the way in: though the cafeteria line was long, it was eerily quiet. Everyone queued in silence, collected their food without a word, and ate like gears meshing in a machine—each step clockwork precise.

Some even held books as they ate, cramming in study time between bites.

Finding a random seat, Zhang Yu had just taken a bite of his meat bun when someone sat down across from him.

A girl with jet-black hair and porcelain skin.

The name popped into his head immediately.

“Bai Zhenzhen.”

“To be exact—Grade 10’s top scorer, the queen of the academic food chain.”

As he watched her quietly sip porridge, Zhang Yu wondered, “Are we… friends?”

“Because we’re both in the top ten? Is this what they call the academic elite circle?”

Bai Zhenzhen had the kind of face that looked like she was silently angry, even when she wasn’t. Anything she said came out with a chilly distance, like she was holding the world at arm’s length.

Just by sitting there without saying a word, she made Zhang Yu wonder if she had a problem with him.

While he was lost in thought, digging through memories about their relationship, she suddenly spoke:

“Meet me at the little garden after breakfast. I’ll wait there.”

As she walked away, Zhang Yu’s eyes narrowed slightly, lost in thought.

Once he’d finished eating, he made his way to the small garden behind the school.

Located behind the dorms, it was a peaceful spot. And with most students heading to class, it was practically deserted.

Bai Zhenzhen stood by a flowerbed. As soon as she heard his footsteps, she turned and strode over.

“Dad!”

With a loud thud, she dropped to her knees and clung to Zhang Yu’s leg.

“The cafeteria was too crowded earlier. I didn’t want to say it there.”

“Can you lend me some money? My microloan’s almost a month overdue! I’m begging you…”

Zhang Yu cursed inwardly, “What kind of messed-up school is this? The top ten are all just broke posers living off loans?”

And then it all came back. Their connection wasn’t some academic alliance—it was because she was his upstream contact, the one who’d introduced him to microloans.

Let me formally reintroduce her: Bai Zhenzhen, Zhang Yu’s classmate and Grade 10’s number one, was also his loan plug. A loyal partner in debt and insider trading of platform borrowing tips.

Thinking about how that ice-cold poker face at breakfast had been hiding the mental math of how to ask for money, Zhang Yu could only shake his head.

“Let go already. I don’t have any money to lend.”

Bai Zhenzhen shook her head. “You’re only ranked tenth. You probably haven’t spent as much as me, right?”

Then, with a stiff and slightly embarrassed look, she added, “If you help me pay off the debt… I’ll do whatever you want.”

Zhang Yu’s eyes lit up. Staring at the usually frosty Bai Zhenzhen, whose cheeks now glowed pink, he had to admit—there was a unique charm to it.

He gave her a once-over and asked, “Anything?”

Bai Zhenzhen bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah.”

Zhang Yu: “Then… can I use you as collateral?”

Bai Zhenzhen immediately let go and glared at him. “Yuzi, seriously, you’re really broke?”

Zhang Yu pulled out his phone and showed her his balance and overdue notices.

She stood, dusted off her pants, and looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “You owe seventy grand? Even after college graduation, it’d take years to pay that back.”

“You’re only a high school freshman—how the hell did you rack up that much?”

Zhang Yu scratched his head. “I forgot… give me a minute to think.”