Corpse Retriever

The better a student performed, the more they understood just how effective grinding problems could be—especially now, in an era where decent study materials were rare.

Tan Wenbin’s rapid improvement was the best proof of just how valuable these practice questions were.

Tan Wenbin frowned.

“Uh… is that not allowed?”

Zhou Yunyun asked nervously. As class monitor, she usually wore a stoic expression and rarely looked so hesitant.

“That, I’ll have to ask my Little Yuan Bro. But I don’t think he’ll mind. I can lend them to you, but you’ve got to promise me one thing…”

“What is it?” Zhou Yunyun took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something, her eyes full of resolve.

The sight of her like that actually threw Tan Wenbin off a bit.

“Uh, it’s nothing major. Just that you’re the only one allowed to read them. You can’t lend them out or spread them around.”

“Of course, that’s fine. Anything else?”“Nope, that’s it.”

“Oh, okay. I promise.” Zhou Yunyun’s tone held a trace of disappointment.

No matter how academically driven a teen boy or girl was, at this age, it was hard not to entertain a few beautiful fantasies.

Especially someone like Tan Wenbin, who was outgoing and liked to show off—traits that naturally drew attention.

Add to that his good looks, that rakish charm straight out of a Hong Kong film, and a family background that was considered quite decent for a small town.

As for his mediocre grades, that wasn’t really a deal-breaker. After all, guys who were both top students and handsome mostly only existed in dime-store romance novels.

In real life, most high-achieving boys were hard to stomach.

It was just a shame that under his father’s strict discipline, the wildest thing Tan Wenbin had ever done was get into a fight to protect a classmate or sneak money from his mom to buy a Tetris game console.

He had all the makings of a bully, but none of the inclination.

And now, unknowingly, someone had already led him astray. These days, the idea of puppy love seemed utterly dull to him—how could a girl ever be more interesting than a Dead Sinker?

“I’ve organized the practice problems. I’ll bring them to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks.”

The two walked back to the classroom together.

As soon as they stepped in, the class erupted in unison: “Oooh~”

Zhou Yunyun’s cheeks flushed slightly red. She hurried to her seat, picked up her pen, and started doing homework.

Tan Wenbin, meanwhile, gave the room a lofty scan, then pointed at Li Zhuiyuan, who was napping with his head on the desk, signaling everyone to quiet down.

Then, with one hand bracing the desk, he vaulted smoothly back into his seat.

He knew exactly how much allowance he got from home—not nearly enough. And he also knew those tools Little Yuan Bro made didn’t come cheap. Just now, he’d had a stroke of inspiration. He’d even thought up the ad copy:

“Want to skyrocket your test scores like me?

Want the genius’s exclusive study secrets?

Want to change your fate in one bold move?

Then come buy a workbook from me!”

Next period, Li Zhuiyuan kept on sleeping.

For once, Tan Wenbin zoned out too, doodling a business plan on a blank sheet of paper. How much should he sell the books for? Should he do full sets or break them into parts?

Better to break them into parts—Little Yuan Bro would keep supplying him with new questions anyway.

He wouldn’t charge the poor kids in class. They’d get free copies.

And they could even earn a cut if they helped sell to other classes.

Hmm… could they sell to other schools?

Might be tough now, but in the future? Who knows.

Tan Wenbin turned to glance at the sleeping Li Zhuiyuan and silently cheered him on:

“Bro, you’ve got this. Win some Olympiad prizes and get our brand name out there!”

…

That night, Tan Wenbin didn’t go back to Zhuangzhuang’s place.

But the next day, at school, Li Zhuiyuan noticed that Tan Wenbin kept disappearing between classes, huddled in corners with groups of students like they were holding secret meetings.

During class, he passed notes, apparently still negotiating something.

After school, Tan Wenbin followed Li Sanjiang home and explained the entire plan to Li Zhuiyuan in the workshop.

“Will it make money?”

“Of course! I did market research. Everyone in our class wants one—even those slackers in the back row!”

“Alright then.”

“You agree, Little Yuan Bro?”

“Yeah.”

Li Zhuiyuan picked up a spiked whip from the table.

It was called a Demon-Suppressing Whip in the Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts.

Li Zhuiyuan had a sneaking suspicion Wei Zhengdao had just made up the name.

But first, the materials were expensive and many were impossible to find in regular markets. Second, the crafting instructions were incredibly vague.

Maybe Wei Zhengdao assumed anyone reading the book had a master.

With something like the Yellow River Spade, Li Zhuiyuan could reverse-engineer the design from the illustrations. But this whip? All he had to go on was a rough sketch of something black and ropey.

Luckily, by dissecting a dwarf’s artifacts, he’d figured out the process. He could make it now.

Essentially a whip-shaped black canvas—far more practical. He could make one for himself and Runsheng. Hmm… he could even make one for Binbin if he earned enough.

“Binbin Bro, got start-up capital? For the printing costs, I mean.”

“Sure.” Tan Wenbin pulled out a black plastic bag full of coins. “I already collected the first batch of preorders. Didn’t you notice?”

“I saw it.”

“Wait—Bro, you didn’t think I was collecting protection fees, did you?!”

The next morning, Tan Wenbin skipped breakfast and biked straight to the print shop outside school. After haggling with the owner, he locked down a printing price.

The first batch was bound into booklets and returned just as morning self-study ended. Technically, he hadn’t skipped class.

He didn’t hand them out right away. Instead, he stacked them under his desk and, when the teacher wasn’t looking, opened one up and slipped in a talisman.

Li Zhuiyuan recognized it—it was one of his own.

Besides its detection effect, it was basically useless. He’d thought he was just bad at drawing them and had practiced a lot.

“Bro, when you give me more questions, space them out by topic. Don’t go too broad. Do them by concept, or by difficulty—like beginner, intermediate, advanced. That way we can mix and match.

You know how it is—once these get out, someone’s going to hand-copy them or make unauthorized copies. We’ve got to keep churning out new volumes to stay profitable.”

“Then why the talisman?”

“That’s your hand-drawn good-luck charm—guaranteed to ace any test. Only our official editions include one.”

“Binbin Bro, you really thought this through.”

“Of course. No way I’d let you work for nothing.”

The first batch sold out fast within their class. By the afternoon, he’d unloaded another class’s worth too—but through student “dealers,” not directly.

After school, he returned to the print shop to resupply, then handed off the goods to his “distributors” before heading home with Li Zhuiyuan.