On the eve of the gaokao, I was the worst student in Chinese class when I awakened a cultivation System for the humanities.
Staring at the prompts in my mind, I was stunned. Memorizing the "Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng" could help me break through to the Qi Refining stage? Understanding the true meaning of "Carefree Wandering" could let me fly on the wind?
The next day, in the Chinese exam, when the top student mocked me, saying, "You'll definitely get zero on the classical Chinese recitation," literary energy surged from my pen, and every character shone. The proctor stared at the glowing exam paper, and the thermos in his hand clattered to the floor.
Later, the Netherworld Sect offered Mount Tai in a blood sacrifice, unleashing ten thousand ghosts. I wrote the "Song of Righteousness" in midair, and nine bolts of heavenly lightning shattered the altar.
When outer gods invaded and the world fell into panic, I splashed ink and wielded my brush at the United Nations headquarters. A single piece, "Ode to Earth," awakened the slumbering will of civilization.
A century later, standing amid the ruins of the Immortal Realm and facing the gods and demons of the heavens as they surrounded me, I simply opened my Chinese textbook.
"Don't rush. Let me finish reciting this 'Memorial on Sending Out the Troops' first..."
"Then I'll teach you what the power of civilization means."
This book is also known as: "Get Stronger Just by Memorizing Lessons," "My Immortal Arts Come from a Chinese Textbook," and "A Plan to Raise a Sage of Letters."
