No Money to Cultivate Immortality?

Detection patches were pressed one by one onto the students’ forearms.

Then, with a light touch, the judge pointed at each student’s arm, slowly channeling a stream of Specialized Mana into them.

Simultaneously, the number displayed on the patch’s panel fluctuated with the injection: from 0.5, to 1.3, then 2.4… until it finally stopped at 5.

That meant the judge had injected exactly 5 units of Specialized Mana into the student’s arm.

He performed the infusion with extreme care, fearing a mistake that might accidentally injure—or worse, kill—the participant.

After all, even if the student was from an ordinary high school, injuring or killing one came with compensation fees, which varied depending on the “model” of student.

If the student belonged to someone—contracted talent, so to speak—the penalty was exponentially worse.

There were actual cases where a stray shockwave from a Foundation Establishment powerhouse killed bystanders—only for it to be revealed that those ”bystanders” were heavily-invested senior students. When compensation was tallied, including training fees, food allowances, tuition, tutoring expenses, even sterilization costs… the final bill bankrupted the responsible party.

Within seconds of the injection, the student’s body tensed sharply, breathing growing ragged under the influence of the intrusive Specialized Mana.

No one had activated the mana offensively, yet just lingering in the body, it already wreaked havoc.Luckily, the student had taken a pain controller beforehand. Though visibly uncomfortable, it hadn’t yet crossed into the unbearable.

When the injection reached 5 units, the patch began timing how long the student would take to neutralize the Specialized Mana. The shorter the duration, the higher the score.

Since injection times varied per student, ranking couldn’t be based on order but on recorded resolution time.

The judge, done with his part, took a capsule from his assistant.

He swallowed it and beamed at the camera in front of him. “Need a quick mana recharge? Pick Purple Cloud. One of these Purple Cloud Mana Capsules, and I’m good to inject fifty more students.”

Thus, as the competition progressed, the judges moved down the line, injecting student after student with Specialized Mana.

One by one, more students shut their eyes and began circulating their techniques to eliminate the invading force. The venue quieted, leaving only the rhythmic sound of breathing and mana flow.

Zhang Yu felt it the moment that ball of Specialized Mana entered his right arm—like a small fire igniting under his skin. With each additional unit, the blaze grew more intense.

A stabbing pain traveled from his arm to his brain, instantly making him understand why so many competitors had taken painkillers.

He, for one, wanted to deck the wrinkly judge still pumping heat into his bloodstream.

“No wonder someone was hawking insurance earlier. This event’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

He hurriedly activated the Soul-Stabilizing Oxheart Technique. Gradually, the searing pain began to ease.

Then, he summoned his mana from the dantian, directing it toward his right arm.

“Heating-type Specialized Mana, huh?”

“That means I need to fight it with cold-type mana.”

Recalling Ms. Yan’s lecture on mana transformation paths, Zhang Yu manipulated the energy in his dantian, converting it to a cold-type force and channeling it into his arm.

As it spread through him, he felt the blissful coolness of a bucket of ice water pouring over smoldering flesh.

When his cold mana clashed with the intruding heat, he could feel the temperature in his arm start to drop.

But his own mana was consumed rapidly in the exchange—like dousing a fire with a single pail of water. The flames died down, but the water was gone too.

Zhang Yu focused, transforming more mana to keep the fire suppressed.

Thankfully, he had the Zhou Tian Qi-Gathering Technique continuously replenishing his reserves, the Soul-Stabilizing Oxheart Technique holding his mind steady, and his refined control letting him efficiently convert cold-type mana.

…

Moments earlier.

Before the judge even reached Songyang High’s section.

In the White Dragon High zone, Han Xingye glanced at Song Hailong, who was hard at work neutralizing his mana, then up at the giant screen. He muttered inwardly, “Almost time, huh?”

Inside Song Hailong’s body, his mana surged like the Yangtze River, relentlessly pushing against the ball of heat in his arm.

The Vitality Booster worked overtime to replenish him, and combined with his naturally massive mana reserves, he flooded his right arm with energy, surrounding the heat completely, trying to smother it in one go.

With painkillers nullifying any discomfort, Song Hailong barely felt a thing. All he had to do was focus.

“With my reserves and control? Who here can outpace me?”

Just then, a cry for help rang out from the arena.

One student groaned and collapsed. Others rushed over to feed him a Mana Dissolver Pill.

“He’s fine—just ran out of mana. We’ve administered the dissolver.”

Moments later, another student screamed, vomiting blood.

He’d mishandled the mana and dispersed it throughout his body, causing internal injuries.

Han Xingye gave them a glance.

Not worth mentioning. Not worth mentioning. Still not worth mentioning…

He knew that more students from ordinary high schools would start dropping out. Whether due to low reserves, poor control, or just subpar meds, they’d be eliminated one by one.

He didn’t care.

“Popping a few pills and thinking you’ve closed the gap?”

“Everyone’s medicated. All that does is make the divide between us and them more obvious…”

Just then, the leaderboard flickered. A new name appeared.

White Dragon High, Song Hailong, 1:29

Han Xingye smiled. “Oh? Even faster than back at school. Guess the crowd’s got him pumped.”

One by one, more names appeared on the screen until all ten slots were filled.

The leaderboard only displayed the top ten.

Names from rank two to ten kept shifting, changing hands rapidly—but Song Hailong’s stayed at number one, unmoving, dominating the field alone.

Eventually, even the rest of the list began to stabilize.

That’s when someone noticed the obvious.

“All ten… are from White Dragon High!”

Though White Dragon High wasn’t in the first wave of injections, once Song Hailong hit the top, his classmates followed, each completing their neutralization at different times—yet all fast enough to monopolize the rankings.

Ms. Yan looked at the frozen list of names. It felt like a mountain standing in Songyang High’s way.

“Sigh… The elite schools… In the end, this stage belongs to them.”

Then, ranks two through nine all dropped by one.

A new name surged into second place.

Red Tower High, Xiong Bufan, 1:35

Red Tower’s students were starting to complete their neutralizations.

After Xiong Bufan took second place, two more from Red Tower squeezed into the top ten.

Han Xingye glanced over to Red Tower’s area. Through the Heavenly Eye Sigil, one thing stood out.

Protected Zone | Pill Tank | High-Speed Mana

The “Protected Zone” was self-explanatory—probably a demon-kin from a conservation program.

“High-Speed Mana”… Han Xingye wasn’t sure what that meant yet.

But the Pill Tank? That he understood.

“How much did they drug that thing up?”

“Running trials on monsters now, huh?”

What? Our school’s doing it too? And on humans?

Never mind then.

Though Xiong Bufan’s results made Red Tower shine, he hadn’t dethroned number one. White Dragon High remained the clear dominator.

But moments later, ranks one through nine all dropped again.

Purple Cloud High, Le Mulan, 00:25

A collective gasp filled the air.

“Twenty-five seconds!”

While others were still battling their internal infernos, someone had purged the mana in less than half a minute.

Was she even human?

Everyone knew Le Mulan would get a perfect score for this round, but the cap might actually be holding her back—otherwise, the gap would be even wider.

Han Xingye was shocked for the third time today.

He frowned at the phrase “ice-jade body” floating above Le Mulan’s head. No doubt her insane performance was tied to a unique physique.

Nearby, Song Hailong didn’t look upset at all. He burst into laughter, staring at Purple Cloud’s area.

“Interesting. Looks like I’ve found my biggest rival for the next three years.”

Over a minute later, the rest of Purple Cloud High’s students finished up, with both Lian Tianji and another joining the top ten.

The final rankings: Le Mulan, Song Hailong, and Xiong Bufan holding first, second, and third.

The top ten was now entirely claimed—four from White Dragon High, three from Purple Cloud, and three from Red Tower.

Looking at the leaderboard, the ordinary students felt a suffocating weight settle on their chests.

This was the first time they’d experienced the true gap between them and the Three Great Academies.

The screen’s frozen names and scores hung over them like an immovable mountain, a harsh visual reminder of the insurmountable divide.

Then, the ranks shifted again.

Spots four through ten all dropped by one.

Someone had broken through the tri-school blockade—surging to fourth.

Songyang High, Zhang Yu, 1:38

When the system registered that Zhang Yu had successfully neutralized the mana, the timer gave a soft beep.

But to the nearby Songyang students, that beep struck their hearts like a heavy stone dropped in still water.

Even the elite-school students turned their heads toward Songyang’s section, surprised to see someone outside their ranks reach comparable levels.

Ms. Yan quickly pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the scoreboard.

This was, after all, valuable teaching material.