No Money to Cultivate Immortality?
Chapter 88: Song Hailong Wants Me as His Coach

Lei Jun was surging with emotion. He felt a swell of satisfaction at the thought of the bonuses, salary raise, and academic prestige about to come his way—but even more than that, he was overwhelmed by memories of his own past.

Once upon a time, Lei Jun had also been a brash and spirited high schooler. He, too, had dreamed of someday using his iron fists to crush every opponent beneath him, trampling over top students and trust-fund heirs alike to stand at the peak of every high school in Songyang.

"One punch to shatter a hundred million! That’s the ultimate realm every martial artist chases!"

But reality had slapped him in the face not long after.

The results of the monthly exams made him realize he simply couldn’t keep up.

The brutal over-the-syllabus competition scene made it even clearer: compared to the wealthy top scorers, he wasn’t even in the same dimension. Like a mayfly gazing up at the heavens, he was faced with a soul-crushing disparity.

That was when he finally understood—Fist School, Sword School, Qi School… none of them held a candle to the true master of the modern age: the Money School. Only a hundred million punches could shatter all techniques—that was the real world.

He also came to understand a simple truth: fists are hard only when your bank account is full. The more savings you had, the stronger your punches became.

But today, his student had defeated a slew of powerful opponents with nothing but a frail body. With unmatched talent and refined skill, he’d made up for every gap in physical strength, healthcare coverage, and net worth—crushing elite students from top schools.

He had done what Lei Jun once dreamed of but had long since stopped daring to even imagine.

In his heart, Lei Jun thought: “Sigh, using one’s own fists to overcome money… That’s the realm every martial artist should pursue. Even if it’s just a freshman-level tournament, it’s something worth remembering for a lifetime.”

Just then, the emergency medic said blandly, “Nothing major—just blood loss leading to Qi deficiency. A bit of replenishment and he’ll be fine.”

“I’ll prescribe some medicine to restore stamina, mana, and spirit…”

Lei Jun pulled out a few boxes of pills from his coat. “No need for a prescription. Use mine—they should do the job, right?” He figured it might help reduce next time’s insurance premium hike.

The medic curled his lip. Damn, squeezing even a drop more out of these three broke kids is impossible.

Moments later, the referee walked over. After checking on Zhang Yu’s condition, he turned to Bai Zhenzhen and asked whether she wanted to compete against Song Hailong for third place.

Bai Zhenzhen, of course, refused. Song Hailong’s muscle-tank, super-defense style was a hard counter to her.

And so, the top four rankings for the Martial Arts Tournament were finally set. From first to fourth: Zhang Yu, Le Mulan, Song Hailong, and Bai Zhenzhen.

Meanwhile, Le Mulan had recovered enough to walk on her own.

After a short rest, Zhang Yu joined Le Mulan and Song Hailong on the podium to receive their medals: champion, runner-up, and second runner-up.

But while Zhang Yu beamed with pride, Le Mulan and Song Hailong looked sour—like they were battling constipation.

From the stands came shouts and curses alike.

Someone from Red Pagoda High shouted in envy, “That Zhang Yu’s talent is insane! He learns martial arts just by watching others train! In that case, he should be paying when he watches—otherwise he’s a martial arts thief!”

Someone from Purple Cloud High sobbed, “Zhang Yu actually rode on top of our sacred number one! I wouldn’t even dare to dream of that! Damn it, this hurts more than death!”

Someone from White Dragon High muttered, “The winner stands, the loser kneels… Never thought Songyang High had a top scorer worthy of kneeling to.”

In White Dragon High, being “worthy of kneeling to” was the highest possible praise for a high-achieving student.

In front of the podium, Lei Jun smiled ear to ear as he raised his phone to take pictures.

Next to him, Bai Zhenzhen snapped a few photos and started recording videos. In her mind, she was already thinking of how to spin the Martial Arts Tournament title into endorsement deals.

As she took her shots, she called out to the three on the podium, “Come on, smile! Don’t look so miserable! Zhang Yu, I’m talking to you—tone it down, don’t grin so smugly.”

Lei Jun chimed in, “After the match, I’ll treat you all to dinner. Go ask Qian Shen and the others if they’re coming. Let’s figure out what to eat.”

…

In the Purple Cloud High rest area—

Le Mulan walked in slowly, holding her runner-up medal.

The school uniform that had been stained with blood during the fight with Zhang Yu had already been changed.

Her earlier expression—twisted with rage, frustration, and unwillingness—was now gone. She looked calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

But when she saw Lian Tianji kneeling on the ground, her brow twitched slightly. “Get up. I’m rescinding the chair punishment.”

Lian Tianji looked up in surprise. This was the first time Le Mulan had taken back something she’d said.

She said coolly, “I’ve already lost. What right do I have to punish you?”

“If you’re supposed to be my chair, and I also lost… then should I become your chair? Or go kneel in front of Zhang Yu?”

Turning her head slightly toward Zhang Yu’s direction, she added in a complicated tone, “Your loss this time wasn’t really a mistake. Zhang Yu is… honestly quite strong.”

“I still don’t understand why he’s not more interested in making money, but he’s definitely made me realize where my own weaknesses lie.”

Already, Le Mulan was planning her future close-combat training in her mind.

At first, when reviewing the match, she’d assumed it was her overconfidence and carelessness—she’d thought dodging a few hits would be enough to win easily. She hadn’t expected such a tiny flaw to be exploited.

But the more she reviewed, the more she realized: her opponent had come fully prepared. Not only had he spotted her tiny weaknesses, he had the insight and ability to tear them wide open.

She also couldn’t stop thinking about how disgusted she’d felt about Zhang Yu’s blood splashing on her.

“A bit of exposure to the poor…”

Le Mulan frowned again at the thought. It was deeply, spiritually uncomfortable.

“It really goes against my cultivation method. Changing my mindset won’t be easy.”

Then she remembered—she had already added Zhang Yu as a friend. Le Mulan murmured inwardly, “Maybe I should start by checking out the poor kid’s Moments…”

Lian Tianji stood up with a grin. “This loss will make us stronger. Next time we meet him in a competition, we’ll win.”

“Next time?” Le Mulan said. “You mean the Physical Tournament? Even if we beat him there, it won’t be much of an achievement.”

Lian Tianji froze briefly, then nodded with a sigh. “True. His physical stats are already behind ours, and two months from now he’ll probably lag even further.”

“Unless he joins Songyang’s competition team and gets accepted into that so-called special training program…”

…

In the White Dragon High rest area—

Now fully awake, Chu Qiuhe sighed as he addressed the surrounding students. “It was only after I came to and reviewed the match in detail that I realized just how terrifying Zhang Yu is. Among all the freshmen in Songyang City, I doubt there’s anyone who can beat him in actual combat technique.”

A White Dragon student objected, “Isn’t that a bit much? I think Brother Hailong only lost because he was sweating too much and slipped off the ring. A little antiperspirant would’ve solved that.”

Chu Qiuhe pointed straight at him. “What’s your score? What’s your rank? Kneel before you talk to me.”

Only after the student knelt down did Chu Qiuhe continue, “You’ll never truly grasp how scary Zhang Yu is unless you’ve fought him yourself…”

Just then, the room fell silent as Song Hailong walked in.

Without a word, Song Hailong casually tossed his third-place medal into his bag and ignored it entirely.

He understood perfectly—third place in the Martial Arts Tournament might be an honor to others, but to him, it was a disgrace.

At that moment, his phone rang. A mature male voice came through the receiver: “I watched your match. The two people ranked above you aren’t stronger than you.”

“You lost to someone weaker.”

“Father is very disappointed in you…”

Song Hailong froze in panic. “Brother, I was careless…”

“No excuses,” came the cold reply. “You know how much Father hates people who make excuses for failure.”

Song Hailong took a deep breath and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The two-meter-five giant looked like a scolded elementary schooler, his face full of guilt and anxiety under his brother’s stern voice.

After hanging up, he turned angrily toward the direction where Zhang Yu was.

If he’d lost today, then he would reclaim that loss the only way the rich knew how.

He marched straight to Songyang High’s rest area, his massive figure casting a long shadow that fell directly over Zhang Yu.

Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen both looked at him warily.

Song Hailong said coldly, “How much?”

“If I hire you as a sparring coach—what’s your rate?”

For someone truly wealthy, losing to someone meant one thing: pay that person to spar with you until you beat the hell out of them in return.

Lose to someone? Then throw money at them until you’ve learned everything they know.

Upon hearing this, both Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen’s eyes lit up. Somehow, Song Hailong looked even more magnificent now.

Zhang Yu cleared his throat and said, “I’m very expensive. And very busy. I’d have to check my schedule first.”

Bai Zhenzhen quickly chimed in, nodding vigorously. “Come, come! I’m Zhang Yu’s manager. Talk to me about the money!”

“Also, I placed top four in the tournament too, and I’m Zhang Yu’s combat coach. That last match with Le Mulan? I coached him through it. Want to hire me too?”

After adding both Zhang Yu and Bai Zhenzhen as friends, Song Hailong said, “Work out the price between you and let me know.”

“But one thing…”

He looked Zhang Yu up and down, clearly dissatisfied. “You’d better work on your physical stats.”

“I’m only going to get stronger and faster. I’m not going to wait for you.”

“If your numbers are too low and I crush you with raw power, then what’s the point of hiring you to spar?”

Watching him walk away, Zhang Yu knew he was right.

Whether it was for the coaching money, the Physical Tournament two months from now, or even the future college entrance exams, he needed to level up his physical strength—and fast.

“I’ve got to catch up to Song Hailong and Le Mulan.”

Moments later, Zhao Tianxing, Qian Shen, and He Dayou came down from the stands to visit Zhang Yu.

Zhao Tianxing shouted excitedly, “That was badass, Yuzi! I got some amazing shots of you in the ring—check these out!”

Qian Shen sighed, “The competition really is beyond the syllabus. It’s a whole different dimension of exams. A hundred points in combat just isn’t enough to express how good you are.”

Bai Zhenzhen asked, “Old Lei’s treating us to dinner. You guys coming? Any thoughts?”

Zhao Tianxing said, “I’m good with anything. Maybe boiled chicken? Gotta keep it healthy.”

Bai Zhenzhen nodded and noted on her phone: “Zhao Tianxing: flexible.”

He Dayou said indifferently, “I don’t eat poor people food. If the place isn’t expensive enough, I’m not going.”

Bai Zhenzhen nodded again: “He Dayou: not coming.”

Qian Shen said, “I know a decent place. I’ll cover the drinks.”

Bai Zhenzhen typed: “Qian Shen: treating.”

…

In a downtown restaurant—

As soon as Zhang Yu walked in, he said, “You got king crab? Give me ten.”

Lei Jun’s face darkened. What, you trying to bankrupt me?

Qian Shen quickly stepped in. “This place doesn’t serve seafood. And seafood isn’t even that nutritious—it’s not good for high schoolers.”

“This restaurant specializes in authentic pre-cooked dishes. No added flavoring—it’s all about the pure taste of the precook.”

“The food is super nutritious too. Every dish has over ten thousand clean calories. I come here often after workouts.”

Lei Jun nodded quietly. At least someone here’s sensible and understands a teacher’s financial pain.

Then Qian Shen turned to the waiter. “Do you have any precooked dishes made from demon beast meat? These are Songyang High’s top students—got anything with medicinal benefits?”

Lei Jun sighed. Qian Shen wasn’t that sensible after all. He wasn’t a Daoist arts teacher—couldn’t they understand a martial arts teacher’s salary was limited?

Not letting the students order freely, Lei Jun spoke up. “I only brought six thousand. If we go over, we’ll all be washing dishes.”

Soon, they were all seated, each raising a glass of beast-protein milk.

After all, they were healthy high schoolers and a high school teacher—only a healthy, nutritious toast would do.

And besides, once the meal ended, it’d be nearly time for class. Obviously, no one was drinking anything that might mess with their study state.