Chapter 19: Young People Should Believe in Science!

Zheng Fa looked again and again, but still couldn’t make any sense of it.

The Jizhangzhishang are messy, irregular, as if drawn at random.

If Gao Yuan hadn’t said this thing was connected to the Immortal Sect, Zheng Fa would’ve believed it was his sister’s doodling.

“Where did you get this?”

He put down the drawing and asked Gao Yuan.

“My father gave it to me,” Gao Yuan gazed blankly at the ceiling, looking utterly defeated.

“Your father said this is a talisman?”

“Not my father—he told me, didn’t he? The Seventh Young Master once had five attendants?” Gao Yuan explained to Zheng Fa: “This was drawn by the very first attendant.”

“How did he know?”

“My father said it’s not exactly a secret in the Zhao household—rumor has it the Seventh Young Master, despite having the talent for cultivation, cannot practice.”

Even though only two people were in the room, Gao Yuan instinctively lowered his voice.

Zheng Fa remembered how Xu the instructor had also casually mentioned something similar.

“But the Seventh Young Master never gave up—he spent every day poring over books on talismans and spells.”

Zheng Fa pointed at the patterns on the white paper: “These?”

“Exactly! This was secretly copied by one of the attendants—I heard he was thrown out of the household by the Lady for this very thing,” Gao Yuan frowned. “To me, copying this is useless! Who can even understand it?”

Zheng Fa fully agreed with Gao Yuan.

Even though he already believed these scribbles were truly connected to those so-called talismans.

But no matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t see anything special about these patterns.

“Even your father managed to get these?”

“How many people in the Zhao household want to curry favor with the Seventh Young Master? Everyone has their own way—rats have rat paths. This isn’t some big secret, but nobody can understand it anyway!”

Zheng Fa couldn’t help but sigh again—the Zhao household truly had Immortal Sect roots. Even though Gao Yuan spoke casually, outside the Zhao estate, these few sheets of paper might be things ordinary people could never touch in a lifetime.

He glanced at the patterns a few more times, silently memorizing them in his mind.

That night, he saw Gao Yuan again staring at the papers, lost in thought.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t looking anymore?”

“I’m not looking—there’s no chance I’ll get that attendant position now!”

Gao Yuan gritted his teeth. Zheng Fa nodded, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep in the lamplight.

…

When he woke again, he was back in the modern world.

Outside, the sky wasn’t fully light yet—only just past five.

Zheng Fa quickly ate his fill, didn’t grab his backpack, and walked out toward school.

The streets were nearly empty; only sanitation workers in orange vests swept fallen leaves.

Five hundred meters from Qing Shui Middle School was a small park.

Zheng Fa entered the park and found many people already doing morning exercises.

Mostly elderly men and women—his presence as a teenage boy drew curious glances from several of them.

He found an open patch of ground and assumed the posture of the Song Crane Stance.

With each breath, a familiar warmth stirred within him.

It worked!

Zheng Fa cheered inwardly, nearly breaking his breathing rhythm.

He had long wanted to practice the Song Crane Stance in the modern world to make up for his late start.

But he’d also worried the rules of this world might differ, making cultivation impossible here.

That’s why he’d rushed to the park at dawn to test it—and it had worked so smoothly.

Suppressing his excitement, he gradually sank into guiding the warmth within his body.

When he finished his daily stance, his stomach growled loudly—he finally exhaled slowly, and a clear, crane-like cry escaped his lips.

When he opened his eyes, a wrinkled face was inches from his own, filled with curiosity.

The man looked over sixty, his tiny curls completely white, wearing an old man’s sweatshirt, hands behind his back, standing before Zheng Fa.

Seeing Zheng Fa awake, the old man smiled apologetically and stepped back.

“Are you… warming up your voice? Studying singing?”

He asked curiously, clearly puzzled by Zheng Fa’s final strange breath.

“Uh, exercising.”

“Exercising?” The old man chuckled, twisting his body into Zheng Fa’s previous posture: “This is how you exercise?”

“I don’t know—I just learned it randomly.”

Zheng Fa couldn’t explain the true purpose of the Song Crane Stance.

Talking about another world was nonsense.

If he mentioned Immortal Sect heritage, this old man would send him straight to a mental hospital.

“I tell you, you’ve watched too many short videos—those ancient martial arts, brick-breaking, internal vs. external fist styles—all scams. For exercise, running is better than anything! Only these past few years haven’t been cracked down on hard enough—if they had, I bet every one of those masters would be behind bars!” The old man declared authoritatively, then looked at Zheng Fa’s face again: “You live nearby? Qing Shui Middle School?”

Zheng Fa felt something was off—this old man sounded like he was from the school.

“Which class are you in?”

Zheng Fa quickly replied: “I’m from another city—I’m just visiting!”

Shuowan he turned and walked out of the park.

“Exercising is good, but don’t learn everything!” the old man called after him: “Young people should believe in science!”

Only after leaving the park did Zheng Fa wipe the sweat from his brow, vowing never to return.

…

After morning self-study, Zheng Fa held a meat bun from the cafeteria in one hand and scribbled on scrap paper with the other.

Soon, several patterns resembling tangled yarn appeared under his pen.

They were unmistakably the same “talisman” patterns Gao Yuan had been studying.

Zheng Fa hadn’t studied them deeply at first because he noticed Gao Yuan’s tension: these past days, Zheng Fa’s martial progress had been slightly faster than Gao Yuan’s, and the boy, lacking subtlety, had begun subtly distancing himself.

On the other hand, he felt wary even toward Zhao household members—including Gao Yuan.

Immortal Sect talismans sounded enticing, but clearly not everyone was meant to see them.

Otherwise, why had Gao Yuan’s father hidden these sheets inside a food box?

Zheng Fa knew he didn’t have Gao Yuan’s powerful steward for a father; Gao Yuan might openly study these papers, but Zheng Fa wasn’t sure what consequences he’d face if he showed too much interest.

So he brought them here—to this world—to study.

His memory was decent; after just a few glances, the patterns were etched into his mind.

But as he stared, he began to understand Gao Yuan’s despair—

No matter how hard he looked, these things made no sense.

“What are you looking at?”

Wang Chen suddenly leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the scrap paper: “What’s this? Are you preparing for a math competition?”

“Math competition?”

“Yeah, if not math, why are you staring at these geometric shapes?”

Zheng Fa perked up: “You think these shapes are related to math competitions?”

“I don’t know—I never went to competition training—but I’ve seen the problem sets from competitors…” Wang Chen rubbed his chin, studying the patterns again: “Yeah, that exact feeling—seeing them makes you want to vomit, like your brainstem’s missing.”