Chapter Fifteen: Energy

“In fact, there is something,” one of the researchers said after a moment’s thought. “I wonder if anyone has noticed that every two or three minutes, there’s a deep, rumbling sound from inside Mr. Huang’s abdomen.”

“At first, we all assumed it was coming from his digestive tract, but now it seems that’s not the case. It’s actually the sound of his heartbeat.”

“That’s impossible. What kind of animal’s heart beats only once every two or three minutes?” someone objected, shaking his head. “The slower the heartbeat, the lower the energy output. The heart is the engine of any animal, and if it only beats once every couple of minutes, how could it possibly sustain such a massive body?”

“It’s not entirely impossible,” the researcher replied. “Don’t forget, dragons are supernatural creatures. Here in our territory, Mr. Huang’s bodily functions are being heavily suppressed by the world’s laws. In self-preservation, the dragon’s protective mechanisms would lower the heartbeat to the absolute minimum to reduce energy consumption… From a logical perspective, this makes perfect sense.”

“I don’t know if any of you have seen the anime ‘Saint Seiya.’ There’s a Golden Saint named Libra Dohko who slows his heartbeat to delay aging. He lives far longer than others and is able to maintain his peak fighting ability for much longer…”

“I suspect dragons work the same way. The more powerful the being, the slower its metabolism under normal circumstances. Their control and utilization of energy, their responsiveness to danger, all become ever more refined.”

“Mr. Huang is a fully grown black dragon—a true supernatural entity. It’s entirely plausible that, under stress, his heartbeat slows to once every two or three minutes.”

“What Xiaoyu said… isn’t without reason,” Ding Xuewen mused after a pause. “Let’s do this: let’s stop for a while and listen for that sound a few more times. Then we’ll know if it’s really a heartbeat.”

At his suggestion, all the researchers held their breath and listened intently for the sound.

Twenty minutes later.

“It really is…”

Everyone was dumbfounded; just as Researcher Xiaoyu had said, the sound was indeed the dragon’s heartbeat. Over twenty minutes, it had sounded seven times, each interval around two minutes and fifty seconds.

Meanwhile, the robot inside the dragon’s body clearly recorded a pronounced pulsing in a certain area ahead.

…

“It’s incredible… truly incredible…”

As their research continued, cries of astonishment echoed from the researchers, each new discovery more shocking than the last.

They were amazed to find that the dragon’s physiological functions were far from fully activated; the vast majority of its organs weren’t even at work.

For instance, its lungs had shown no movement whatsoever from the start. Clearly, dragons as supernatural beings did not rely on aerobic respiration for energy; they had a far more advanced method.

“Actually, it makes sense,” Ding Xuewen remarked. “The energy conversion rate of aerobic respiration is too low. Carbohydrates, proteins, fats—they’re not ideal energy sources and could never meet the everyday needs of a being as extraordinary as a dragon.”

“There must be a more advanced, more efficient energy system at work inside their bodies.”

And at the heart of that system, without a doubt, was magic.

…

“Academician Ding, my Little Bai is about to reach Mr. Huang’s stomach. Should we proceed?” the researcher operating the robot asked.

“How is Little Bai holding up?”

“Still in good shape,” the operator replied. “It has sixty percent battery left, and all systems are functioning normally.”

It was fortunate that they were inside the territory; the world’s laws here greatly restricted the dragon’s body. Were they outside, the complexity and danger inside the dragon might increase tenfold, and Little Bai would never have made it this far.

“All right, keep going,” Ding Xuewen nodded. “Mr. Huang’s digestive system is a key focus for our future research. If we can figure out how reactions occur inside, what substances are produced… we might even uncover how magic is generated.”

“Understood.”

With that, the operator guided Little Bai into the dragon’s stomach.

The dragon was still fasting; there was little gastric fluid in the stomach, just a thin layer. Yet its corrosiveness was extreme—almost instantly, the bottom of the robot began to dissolve rapidly.

“This is bad! The corrosiveness is too strong—Little Bai can’t take it!”

The operator panicked, frantically trying to maneuver the controls, but it was too late. The robot was caught by the gastric fluid, lost all mobility, and became stuck.

Sweat broke out on the operator’s brow. He had spent a tremendous amount of time and effort building Little Bai—he treated it like his own child. To lose it in the dragon’s stomach was unthinkable.

He quickly rushed to the dragon’s ear and called out anxiously, “Mr. Huang, I’m sorry, but my robot seems to be stuck in your stomach. Could you please help by spitting it out?”

The dragon: “…”

Huang Ze was completely bewildered. Ever since he’d returned to the territory, his head had been clouded. He’d been dozing off, completely unaware of what had happened.

After the operator repeated himself a few times, Huang Ze finally understood. He got up and said, “All right, I’ll give it a try.”

He gathered his strength at his core to try and expel the contents of his stomach. As a supernatural creature, dragons had superb control over their internal organs; spitting out a small object was usually effortless.

Some experienced dragons could even partition their abdominal cavity and stomach to create storage spaces for items.

Unfortunately, Huang Ze was still a rookie, utterly clueless about such skills. Even a simple task like vomiting up an object went awry.

The dragon, once it moved, used too much force; with a clumsy maneuver, a wave of gastric fluid completely engulfed Little Bai.

Oh dear… It was over.

Huang Ze was embarrassed and quickly apologized, “Sorry… the target was too small. I didn’t manage to spit it out.”

“No worries,” the operator said, holding back tears. “It was our own operational error. Asking you to help was already a big imposition—how could we blame you?”

“That’s right,” Ding Xuewen added. “In experiments, accidents are inevitable, Mr. Huang. Please don’t give it another thought. Our team is a key national project with ample funding. Losing one robot—or even hundreds—wouldn’t be a problem for us.”