Chapter Sixteen: A Request

It was rare to hear such weighty words from this venerable elder; everyone in the assembly was somewhat startled and unconsciously sat up a little straighter.

“The first point,” Deputy Dean Liu began solemnly, “is to withdraw all surveillance and monitoring of Ji Cheng. No one is permitted to act privately, and all previous surveillance materials are to be sealed.”

Minister Zeng immediately stood to object. “That’s not acceptable. Our City Defense Command needs to keep track of his movements at all times.”

“That’s right. We still aren’t sure whether we can trust him or not,” someone else chimed in.

Deputy Dean Liu grew visibly agitated. “Don’t you understand? Watching him, guarding against him, provoking him—none of this benefits us. On the contrary, it might drive away a genius who could have belonged to us!”

“So, you mean to trust him?” Zhou Ze asked directly.

“Yes,” Dean Liu took a deep breath. “His records are clean; I can’t think of any reason to doubt him. As for his talent, that shouldn’t be our headache—it should be our adversaries’.”

“I agree,” Professor Chen, the bald man, echoed.

Zhou Ze pondered for a while, recalling the ‘template’ and Lu Shangbai’s words, and finally gave a slow nod.

“All surveillance on Ji Cheng is to be withdrawn, and all previous records are to be not just sealed, but destroyed.”

As a councilman, Zhou Ze had the authority to make a final decision on matters of this level. His command instantly silenced the room.

“The second suggestion,” the spirited old man rose to his feet, “is to increase the confidentiality level of Ji Cheng’s information, especially the assimilation degree of his genetic prototype.”

At these words, most people in the room nodded silently; it was clearly a shared consensus.

Having made up his mind, Zhou Ze no longer hesitated. “All of Ji Cheng’s files are to be classified as top secret and incorporated into the Ability User Database.”

“Boss, he’s not even an ability user yet,” Lu Shangbai said in surprise.

Zhou Ze smiled. “He soon will be. I believe it.”

“I have one more request,” Deputy Dean Liu said, glancing around with a soft yet exceedingly earnest tone. “Prepare a second-tier genetic prototype for him.”

With that simple sentence, a storm of emotion was stirred in every heart. Lu Shangbai’s teacup slipped from his hand and clattered onto the table, spilling tea everywhere.

“Are you out of your mind?”

The rest of the assembly was silent, exchanging glances; all were without exception caught off guard.

A few frowned, clearly thinking this was reckless, while others pondered gravely before nodding ever so slightly.

They all knew just how momentous this simple request was.

It could, to some extent, alter the very structure of Southport.

Did Elder Liu really think so highly of him? That was the question on most minds.

“This is too reckless,” an ability user spoke up, his voice already somewhat hoarse.

Deputy Dean Liu explained, “I understand your feelings, sir, but all of this is for Southport.”

He knew why the ability user was so unsettled—the second-tier genetic prototype was simply too precious.

Unlike the first-tier prototype, which was relatively simple to manufacture and available from several research institutes on Mount Baishan—albeit inferior in quality to the Empire’s originals—the second-tier could not be produced on Mount Baishan at all.

In other words, only the stockpiles from before the Empire’s communications were cut off remained. Every use meant one less forever, with no replacements, only depletion.

Moreover, the second-tier prototype not only enhanced physical attributes but also imparted unique traits, making it all the more invaluable.

The simplest example: nine out of ten ability users on Mount Baishan had only ever injected the first-tier type.

Among those present, only one had received the second-tier genetic prototype—the formidable councilman at the head of the table, known as “Blade Willow” Zhou Ze.

“This is too significant a matter,” Zhou Ze said, weighing his words. “Even I don’t have the authority to decide. We’ll have to wait for Chairman Zhang Sheng to return to the city and raise it at the next council meeting.”

…

Ji Cheng exited the council building, hesitated for a moment, then steeled himself and spent his last savings on a ride on the public transit.

He was in a good mood today—a little indulgence felt warranted.

“One yuan fare, please. Thank you.”

He chose the center seat in the last row, which gave him the feeling of holding court in the emperor’s chair at a morning assembly.

Society on Mount Baishan had become highly stratified. Those with power and influence even enjoyed legal privileges.

The most telling example was transportation: in the city, buses actually had lower road priority than private cars. After all, owning a private car implied higher social status, while bus riders were usually the likes of Ji Cheng—the poor.

The bus was constantly cut off and forced to yield. What had taken just over an hour on the way out now took nearly eight hours on the return.

Ji Cheng’s home was in the Gray Zone, one of Southport’s poorer districts. The buildings there were generally low and dilapidated, the roads narrower and more constricted, and the bus crawled along ever more sluggishly.

The sun gradually set, and the city was sliced in two by a yellowing dividing line—on one side, the towering buildings gleamed gold in the sunset, while the other seemed like a parasitic growth lurking in shadow.

That was how the Gray Zone got its name—both the living conditions and the faces of its people were shrouded in gray.

The lulling sway of the bus nearly put him to sleep, but finally, it pulled up at the Fourth Shelter stop.

He crossed a street awash with sewage, slipped into an alley tinged with a faint scent of rot, and hurried home with a spring in his step.

“Sis, I’m home!” he called out before even entering.

No response.

Where was she? He was puzzled. Luo Rao was habitually absent from school, so she should have been home.

He twisted the bolt and pushed open the door. The room was tidy, and on the table lay a note. He glanced at it—without a doubt, it was Luo Rao’s handwriting, which immediately reassured him.

She didn’t own a phone, so leaving a note made sense.

But what business did she have outside? He was a bit baffled, curiosity piqued; he sat down and read the note carefully.

When he finished, Ji Cheng’s brows knotted into a deep frown.

He’d have to make dinner himself tonight.

As it turned out, Su Yi had come by and invited her to dinner, especially emphasizing that it was at a very fancy restaurant.

Fresh from her grueling hunger training, Luo Rao had been unable to resist the temptation and left this message for her brother to handle dinner on his own, then went off with Su Yi.

“Alas, who’d have thought that even Luo Rao would abandon me in the face of food?” Ji Cheng let out a long sigh.

He turned on the computer and looked up a recipe for tomato scrambled eggs.

“Yes, this is simple. I’ll make this tonight.”

Just as he was about to start cooking, a sudden thought flashed through his mind.

“Something’s wrong!”