Boxing Club

Monday's flag-raising ceremony speech turned into a public criticism session.

Zhou Ming and Wang Zhenji were publicly reprimanded by the entire school, both receiving probationary status.

This incident was finally put to rest, though most people didn’t know the details. But whenever someone gossiped about it, the conversation inevitably circled back to Lin Mo.

Many classmates in Lin Mo’s class had old friends in other classes, so word quickly spread about his off-campus brawl with local troublemakers.

Once again, he gained notoriety—though it was mostly empty fame. People treated it as entertainment, but reputation, like the shadow of a tree, carried weight. At the very least, no one dared to provoke Lin Mo anymore.

But as always, the key focus in this elite high school was academics.

Especially with the monthly exams looming.

Everyone was scrambling to prepare. A poor performance could mean losing face in front of the new class.

Take Ying Wenshen, for example—after bombing a surprise math quiz, he became Chen Xiaoya’s favorite target for impromptu questioning.

A brutal form of desensitization training.

...

The monthly exams arrived.

First up, as always, was Chinese.

After the initial randomized seating, subsequent exams assigned positions based on grades.

The school didn’t force students to compete—but they engineered every aspect to make it inevitable.

Here, everything boiled down to academic performance. Even student-athletes had to excel—either in competitions or in their grades.

Lin Mo checked the seating chart by the door and found his assigned spot.

As soon as he sat down, the girl beside him spoke up.

"You’re Lin Mo, right?"

Lin Mo glanced over. A short-haired girl leaned toward him, radiating cheerful energy.

"Yeah. Hi." Lin Mo was nothing if not polite.

"I’m Lu Xiaochen from Class Fifteen."

Class Fifteen again?

Was this some kind of Class Fifteen invasion?

Lu Xiaochen had that spirited, athletic charm—the kind plenty of people would crush on.

"Class Eight, Lin Mo."

Politeness, part two.

"I know—the guy who arm-wrestled the drill instructor. But tell me, did you really send those thugs to the hospital?"

Lin Mo didn’t answer, just gave a slight nod.

Lu Xiaochen’s eyes lit up. She lunged to grab his hand—

But Lin Mo’s noble appendages were not so easily seized.

He deftly evaded her grasp.

"Fighting isn’t a good thing. We’re students—studying should come first."

"It’s not about fighting! I want you to join our boxing club! Represent the school in competitions!"

Wait—a high school boxing club?

No one stopped this?

Then again, elite schools prided themselves on well-rounded development. A boxing club wasn’t entirely out of place.

"Sorry, I’m already in the Olympiad math training program. Can’t join any other clubs."

Lu Xiaochen waved it off. "No worries! We just need a ringer. With your skills, you’d only need to learn the rules before competing."

A ringer, huh?

"What’s in it for me?" Lin Mo got straight to the point.

"Our boxing club has evening self-study exemptions! Skip it if you want. Plus, on competition days, you can travel with the team—but you can dip out anytime. We’d only call you in for matches we’re unsure about."

In his past life, Lin Mo would’ve jumped at this.

No classes? No evening self-study? Pure profit.

But the current Lin Mo didn’t really need those perks.

"Let me think about it. Can you actually speak for the club?"

Lin Mo studied her seriously.

Lu Xiaochen nodded emphatically.

"If we recruit you, it’d be a huge win for the club. The president would be thrilled."

The boxing club president was probably some hulking musclehead—skipping straight past lightweight divisions.

"After the exams. I need to see how my studies pan out first."

Soon, the teacher arrived with the Chinese exam papers.

Lin Mo didn’t recognize them—probably from another subject or class.

Chinese teachers were scarce; proctors were usually pulled from other disciplines.

The test papers and answer sheets were distributed.

Lin Mo wasn’t a Chinese prodigy—the subject demanded a very specific way of thinking.

Or rather, the ability to mimic the "correct" thought process.

For example: If the author described curtains as black, they might literally be black. But in reading comprehension, you had to argue the curtains symbolized the darkness of society at the time.

Always expose societal ills.

So Lin Mo’s grasp of Chinese wasn’t stellar.

It was a subject where low scores were rare, but high scores were equally elusive.

That said, Lin Mo aced poetry recitation and fill-in-the-blanks.

Then came the essay.

Prompt: The Pros and Cons of Video Games.

Oh boy. This was asking for trouble.

As technology advanced, games grew more sophisticated, even spawning entire industries.

But parents loved scapegoating. Any flaw in their child? Blame the games.

When smartphones took off, they blamed phones.

The previous generation blamed TV.

Somewhere in between, novels got the blame.

Education’s ultimate non-stick pan.

But Lin Mo couldn’t write that. Essays were like the eight-legged exam essays of imperial China—multiple formats existed (practical, narrative, argumentative, expository), but narrative was the weakest. Since middle school, teachers pushed argumentative essays.

The beauty of argumentation? If you made sense, you scored.

Narrative essays risked straying off-topic, and if the emotional beats fell flat, they’d land like stale crackers.

So Lin Mo went straight for argumentative.

Points were points.

As for content? Play the moderate. The Chinese specialty was muddling through.

Opening paragraph: State a conclusion. Closing: Split the difference. Middle: Slot in a parable that ties back to the thesis. Guaranteed 45/50.

Lin Mo would be an expert plasterer.

Here’s hoping the grader agreed.

Of course, anyone who outright criticized parenting would earn the teacher’s wrath.

Abstract was the name of the game.

As for writing fiction?

Don’t even think about it. Suicide.

Did you want the teacher reading your "masterpiece" aloud in class?

(Younger, dumber versions of us had tried. Eight hundred words? Too short to even call it fiction.)

Early submission wasn’t allowed for monthly exams.

After finishing, Lin Mo skimmed his answers with spiritual sense, then closed his eyes to cultivate.

He could feel Lu Xiaochen sneaking glances at him.

The proctor occasionally looked his way too, but no one intervened.

Lin Mo didn’t care.

When the bell rang, the teacher called for papers.

Tests and answer sheets were collected row by row.