The sheer scale of Glacier Central Academy was immense. It boasted over twenty separate colleges, boasting hundreds of research directions and tens of thousands of students. If Yang Ying wanted to obtain the top-tier gene activation serum, his gaze naturally fell upon the Pharmacy Division of the Medical College.

Yang Ying flipped the enrollment guide to the section concerning the College of Pharmacy. Before him lay a dazzling list detailing one hundred and thirty-three course titles. These were not the courses offered by the college, but those required for applicants to study and pass.

The list included titles such as Seventh-Level Biology, Seventh-Level Chemistry, Sixth-Level Mathematics, Sixth-Level Physics, Advanced Pharmacology, Advanced Human Anatomy, Advanced Plant Identification, Advanced Mineral Identification, and the History of Pharmacy. Among these, thirty-three were mandatory courses, and one hundred were electives.

Yang Ying scanned the list, noting that all these courses were accessible as public courses through the educational software. The end of the course list specified that the thirty-three required courses must all be completed without exception, or the application would be summarily rejected, forfeiting the right to enroll.

As for the elective courses, passing grades were not strictly necessary, but applicants had to submit results for at least seventeen, bringing the total courses submitted to fifty, alongside the thirty-three mandatory ones.

Applicants needed to visit the Examination Hall within the virtual world to obtain transcripts for these fifty courses. These transcripts, along with the application form, were to be submitted on the registration day. Glacier Central Academy would then assess their scores to decide whether to grant them qualification for the entrance examination.

Naturally, the more elective courses submitted, and the better the grades achieved, the higher the probability of securing eligibility for the entrance exam.

This was the epitome of the Empire’s educational policy: allowing citizens to freely select primary and intermediate educational courses on the public platform, while higher learning institutions recruited students in specialized fields by setting stringent course prerequisites. This structure afforded greater freedom of choice to both the schools and the students.

After reviewing the list of one hundred and thirty-three courses, Yang Ying began calculating. Based on this schedule, time was critically short. With only six days remaining until registration opened, compiling fifty course transcripts in six days would not be easy.

Courses like Advanced Pharmacology and Advanced Human Anatomy were Seventh-Level courses, demanding a colossal volume of knowledge. Advanced Plant Identification, Advanced Mineral Identification, and the History of Pharmacy were all Sixth-Level courses. Scarcely a single one of the thirty-three mandatory courses was below the Sixth-Level.

This was to be expected. As one of the foremost institutions of higher learning in this star sector, how could Glacier Central Academy’s standards for its students be low?

Some ordinary higher learning institutions required students only to master a few Sixth-Level courses, with mere competency being sufficient rather than excellence. But how could such institutions satisfy Yang Ying’s requirements?

Yang Ying quickly calculated that studying the thirty-three mandatory courses alone would consume two full days and nights. Moreover, mastering just these thirty-three was insufficient; to study advanced courses, one had to first complete the lower-level prerequisites—for instance, mastering Seventh-Level Biology required prior completion of Biology Levels One through Six.

Furthermore, simply completing a course wasn't enough for the Academy’s recognition; the corresponding examinations had to be passed at the Examination Hall. This testing time also needed to be factored in. Considering the additional seventeen electives, the more Yang Ying thought about it, the less time he felt he had.

Adding up all these necessary time sinks, it appeared impossible to generate the transcripts before the registration day arrived.

However, the entire registration period spanned three days. If he worked diligently, there was still time to secure the transcripts before the final cutoff.

Having worked out the schedule, Yang Ying felt a wave of relief. He thought, "It was fortunate I came to the consultation office. If I had delayed another day or half a day, things might have become dangerous."

Due to the tight schedule, Yang Ying only posed a few essential questions to the reception robot before exiting the virtual world and returning to his hotel room.

The following days were spent by Yang Ying in intense study. Numerous colored orbs floated before him. Following the course list, he selected the orbs one by one. Each selected orb transformed into a ribbon of rainbow light and was absorbed into his brain.

In just one day, Yang Ying mastered all thirty-three mandatory courses up to the Fifth-Level. He then spent another full day passing all the examinations for these courses.

Taking over one hundred and fifty examinations in a single day meant Yang Ying spent an average of about ten minutes per test—a feat that could be called miraculous, likely rare throughout the entire Empire.

But over the next few days, he inevitably had to slow down. As the course levels increased, so did the volume of knowledge contained within them. The study and testing for all the Sixth-Level courses consumed an entire day and a half. Though Yang Ying wished to move faster, he could not. Yet, if this pace were known, the vast majority of Imperial citizens, including the aristocracy, would likely choke on their own astonishment.

Even an ordinary peak Third-Level cultivator could not absorb knowledge this rapidly. For anyone, such a massive infusion of data was overwhelming, potentially causing mental confusion. While the mental fortitude of a peak Second-Level entity was formidable, it still had limits; this torrent of knowledge input bordered on a form of mental assault.

However, Yang Ying’s tolerance far surpassed that of other peak Third-Level individuals. Though it was taxing, he had not yet reached his breaking point, enduring it through sheer force of will.

There were two reasons for this performance. First, he was already well-versed in the technology of the Terran race, which allowed him to rapidly comprehend the knowledge being channeled into him. Second, he possessed nineteen clones, which shared the burden, effectively granting him twenty times the mental resilience of a standard peak Third-Level cultivator.

With these two advantages combined, Yang Ying’s performance was perhaps less surprising than it seemed.

He spent another day and a half finalizing the last ten or so Seventh-Level courses. At this point, only one day remained until the registration start date. Yang Ying had completed all thirty-three mandatory courses, achieving excellent scores in the Examination Hall for all of them.

Next was the intensive study of electives; he needed to select a minimum of seventeen from the one hundred available.

Some electives had little relevance to pharmacy, and some had none at all, such as Imperial History, Literature, Swordsmanship, and Art Appreciation.

Yang Ying observed that the required level for these electives was generally one tier lower than the mandatory courses, mostly being Fifth-Level courses, with a few, like Literature, requiring only Fourth-Level mastery. This was likely intended to enable students to express their intent more clearly when writing lab reports.

Although Yang Ying spent significantly less time on the electives than the prerequisites, by the time he completed the examination for the seventeenth elective course in the Examination Hall, it was already the second day of registration. His scores for all seventeen electives were, as usual, excellent.

Checking the time, he saw he had over forty hours left before the deadline. After a moment’s thought, he decided to continue studying, reasoning that the more electives submitted, the greater the chance of acceptance.

Perhaps driven by interest, Yang Ying specifically studied the Swordsmanship curriculum publicly available on the Imperial educational platform up to the highest Seventh-Level.

Imperial swordsmanship, having withstood hundreds of thousands of years of refinement and countless contributions from supreme geniuses, had reached an apex of maturity. While the curriculum on the public platform was foundational, many of the most profound and subtle principles were embedded within these most basic movements.

Yang Ying unconsciously compared it to the basic sword forms of the Nian Neng Temple. His perspective had matured beyond simplistic comparisons. He realized that the Nian Neng Temple’s foundational swordplay lacked refinement in certain minuscule aspects and still offered room for improvement—flaws that would be entirely invisible without direct comparison.

As for the Protoss sword techniques, they utilized dual blades, making them vastly different and incomparable to the single-blade focus of the public education platform’s curriculum.

Immersed completely in his studies, time flew quickly until the third and final day of the registration period. Yang Ying emerged from the Examination Hall in the virtual world half an hour before the final deadline.

In his hand, he held the completed application form and the freshly acquired transcripts. Though these were virtual items, holding them provided sensations and tactile feedback indistinguishable from reality, and their validity was protected by Imperial law.

The transcript recorded Yang Ying’s learning journey over the past few days: thirty-three mandatory courses and twenty-five electives, totaling fifty-eight courses, all bearing excellent evaluations.

Yang Ying silently recited the name of the Glacier Central Academy Admissions Office, then tossed the documents into the air. Strangely, the files did not scatter but automatically folded into paper airplanes and soared toward the Academy’s direction. After flying only a few meters, the surface of the paper airplanes flashed with light and vanished.

This visual effect was akin to a starship executing a spatial jump, plunging into hyperspace. Yet, in this virtual world, it was accomplished by a paper airplane.

In the virtual world, anything was possible.

Yang Ying had a sufficient grasp of the virtual world’s mechanisms to know that after the letter disappeared, it had reached its destination—the Admissions Office of Glacier Central Academy. According to the procedure described in the enrollment guide obtained two days prior, the office should issue an immediate response after confirming the validity of the application.

Yang Ying strolled about, waiting. Sure enough, after a short while, another paper airplane materialized in the air and flew directly to him. Yang Ying caught it, unfolded it, and saw that the paper was entirely without creases.

It bore only a single line of small text: “Applicant Igor, your application has been received and confirmed as valid for this session. Our school will assess your academic performance to determine whether to grant you qualification for the entrance examination. Further information will be provided in three days. Please wait. —Glacier Central Academy Admissions Office. Today's chapter; tomorrow's supplement.”