Chapter 73 Progress of Assimilation

Chen Meng realized that, aside from losing consciousness, he had experienced nearly every symptom Han Hao had described about the promotion process. His heart raced, his head spun, nausea churned his stomach to the point he wanted to vomit up all his organs. Sweat soaked his palms, his hair felt like it was on fire, and every bone in his body seemed to have been dismantled piece by piece. His blood boiled as if it were truly simmering; he could sense the very course of his veins, each one threatening to burst at any moment.

It didn’t feel like an ascension—it felt like a mutation.

They said losing consciousness was common; he almost wished he had fainted, so he could wake up transformed, just as Mouse Beibei had, already a divine physique. Instead, these symptoms dragged on for half an hour, during which he teetered on the edge of losing consciousness again and again.

“It’s not that the effects of the drug have worn off; my body has simply adapted to the discomfort,” he murmured inwardly. Propping himself up with both hands, he imitated the meditative posture of martial arts masters from TV dramas and slowly sat up.

His breathing steadied, the sweat lessened, and his heartbeat gradually slowed.

Sensing the change, Han Hao smiled faintly. “This kid adapts quickly. He really does have talent for divine body cultivation.”

Time crept forward. Chen Meng remained in a half-dreaming, half-waking state until, at last, the clock read 2:10 in the afternoon.

“Is it over?” he rasped, his throat dry and aching from the ordeal, his body’s fluids depleted.

The door opened.

Han Hao approached, holding a bottle of mineral water. “Congratulations. You are now a divine physique.”

He tossed the water to Chen Meng, who caught it reflexively. The newfound strength in his body made the bottle cap shoot off with a crack, sending a spray of water with it.

“After becoming a divine physique, your strength, speed, defense, reflexes, and perception will all improve. Some enhancements are manageable, but you’ll need to learn to control your strength and speed. Drink up—your lips are cracked,” Han Hao said coolly.

Chen Meng, throat burning, wasted no time in guzzling down the water.

“There’s a four-hour observation period, but it won’t affect your meals or rest,” Han Hao said after a moment’s thought. “You must be hungry. I’ll take you to eat—my treat today.”

“Okay.” Chen Meng stood up, but with a bit too much force, launching himself over a meter into the air. Startled, he steadied himself.

“Learn to control your speed and strength. It’s not difficult,” Han Hao reminded him.

He led Chen Meng up to the second floor, where the Enforcement Bureau’s cafeteria was. The food here looked far superior to what they had at school.

“I’m starving,” Chen Meng said, eyeing the braised pork knuckles. “I think I could eat ten of those.”

Han Hao nodded. “After the promotion, your divine physique puts a heavy burden on your body, and your food requirements multiply. Ordinary food can’t provide enough energy, so most divine physiques choose high-energy meats—like beast meat.”

Chen Meng was taken aback. Beast meat?

“Yes,” Han Hao confirmed. “All the meat you see here is beast meat. We raise them ourselves—their meat isn’t as flavorful as wild ones, but it’s much better than market livestock.”

He turned to the server. “Three braised knuckles for him.”

“Only three?”

“That’s beast meat. You’ll be doing well to finish three.”

Han Hao took a meal for himself as well—he hadn’t eaten lunch either.

They sat down. Chen Meng filled a large cup at the water dispenser and gulped it down before tearing into the knuckles.

After devouring three, he looked at Han Hao helplessly. “Uncle, it’s not enough!”

Han Hao was resigned. Each knuckle cost over a hundred, and three would take up most of his day’s wage. But he had said it was his treat, so he couldn’t back out now. Luckily, Chen Meng only ate two more, to Han Hao’s relief.

By seven in the evening, the four-hour observation period had ended. Han Hao brought Chen Meng to the training room.

“Let’s test your post-promotion physical abilities,” Han Hao said, leading him to a punch strength tester. “Put on the gloves and give it your all.”

“Alright!” Chen Meng nodded, knowing this would show how well his body had digested the agent.

He gathered all his strength, bent his body like a bow, and punched the machine like a cannonball. The huge rebound made him stagger backward several steps. He glanced at the display.

366 kilograms!

Chen Meng stared at the number, unsure whether it was high or low.

Han Hao said calmly, “Generally, newly promoted divine physiques—unless they took the Scarlet Agent—have punch strength below 400 kilograms.”

“Oh.” Chen Meng exhaled in relief. Good. For a moment, he’d thought he was some kind of prodigy, which had scared him.

“Now, let’s test your speed.” Han Hao led him to the speed testing area. The process was simple, and the result was quickly out: 13.9 meters per second.

“Many who ascend with the Azure Agent can exceed 15 meters per second,” Han Hao remarked. “Your speed is average—after all, you took the Pale Agent. But if we tested your perception, you might surpass most others. Unfortunately, perception is hard to quantify, so we’ll leave it at that.”

“How much of the agent have I digested?” Chen Meng asked.

“About 10%. We have special test strips to check digestion progress,” Han Hao reflected. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” Chen Meng muttered.

Back in the testing room, Liu Xue saw Chen Meng and guessed his purpose. “Digestion progress test kit—five hundred per box, five strips inside.”

“I’ll take one,” Han Hao said, then turned to Chen Meng. “You pay. Your uncle’s out of cash. I paid for your health test this morning.”

“Fine, I’ll pay. Don’t try to take advantage of me. And that health test was only five bucks—they’re just not available outside. Otherwise, I’d have bought one myself.” Chen Meng scanned the QR code Liu Xue handed over and paid.

“Here you go. Instructions are included,” Liu Xue said.

Chen Meng skimmed the instructions. It was simple—prick your finger, drop blood on the strip, and like a pregnancy test, see how far the bar goes.

He looked at his finger, barely healed since the morning, and sighed before pricking it again.

The ten-centimeter strip took a drop of blood at its base. A red line climbed up and stopped at 12%.

“So I’ve digested 12%?” Chen Meng asked Han Hao. “Uncle, is this fast or slow?”

Han Hao was speechless—calling him “uncle” again, how pragmatic.

“Neither fast nor slow—just average,” Liu Xue answered for Han Hao. “Most are around 10%, and the exceptional might exceed 15%.”

“That’s a relief,” Chen Meng said with a long exhale.

“Come on, I’ll take you out,” Han Hao said, handing Chen Meng a booklet outlining ways to accelerate digestion.

…

Outside the Enforcement Bureau.

“They won’t even give me a ride home?” Chen Meng muttered. “So heartless!”

“You want Captain Han to drive you home? Actually, you should be calling him Deputy Director Han now,” Jiang Feiyu said, stepping out from the side. “How about I take you? I’m free tonight.”

“No need. What are you doing here?” Chen Meng shook his head. He could easily hail a ride; he was just grumbling.

“I did my part too. If not for you, an ordinary person might have died—and then I’d be in trouble, not to mention any merit. So, thanks. If you haven’t eaten, let me treat you,” Jiang Feiyu offered.

“Alright,” Chen Meng replied after a pause—truth be told, he was getting hungry again.