After returning home, Ken reviewed his recent training regimen and made several adjustments. For the time being, he decided to stop spending entire nights roaming the streets on so-called "patrols." There were, after all, many other ways to hone his hearing and sense of smell.
Moreover, after this most recent blood-drinking, both senses had improved dramatically. Even though they were somewhat suppressed during the daytime, they remained exceptionally sharp. In the midst of a bustling city, he was no longer disturbed by clamor or the mingling chaos of countless odors.
Just like earlier that day—he had tracked down a suspect who had gone to some lengths to disguise himself, relying solely on scent, right in the heart of a crowded district.
Ken then turned his attention to the documents on his computer that recorded various data on his bodily mutations, and reinforced their disguise and encryption. In truth, he had already taken precautions before; an ordinary person opening his computer would find it far from easy to locate those files. They did not appear in quick-access lists, nor in browser histories.
At the same time, traces of his online activity were automatically erased each time he closed the browser.
However, such measures were little more than cosmetic in the face of a skilled computer expert who already suspected something was amiss. With intent and expertise, those documents could still be unearthed with ease.
After what had happened today—especially once his nocturnal "patrols" had drawn attention—Ken felt it imperative to become even more cautious.
He further packaged, disguised, and encrypted the folder containing the records of his physical changes. It now appeared indistinguishable from a directory of DLL files belonging to some application. Opening it required a password; although the password was only six digits, two incorrect attempts would trigger a script Ken had embedded, rewriting the contents of the documents into meaningless gibberish.
Ken often pondered what might happen if his mutations were exposed. The possibilities were endless, and there were no precedents to serve as reference.
In the end, he concluded that until other "cases" like his surfaced, he had no choice but to conceal everything with utmost care and avoid discovery at all costs.
He then picked up a knife, made a small cut on the pad of his finger, and began timing.
The wound was only a few millimeters long. Blood welled up and hung there, like a tiny crimson fruit suspended at the edge of the cut.
After wiping the blood away, Ken observed the injury, photographing it at regular intervals, just as he had done before.
Prior to his last blood-drinking, he had discovered that his wounds healed far faster than those of ordinary people. Acting on the idea of "targeted training," he had spent an entire night deliberately injuring himself.
Later, however, he shifted his focus to training his hearing and smell, and discontinued those specific exercises.
Since awakening from the deep sleep following his last blood-drinking, he had not yet tested whether his regenerative ability had changed.
Thirteen minutes passed. The cut on his finger had all but vanished.
He then moved on to several other areas, slicing wounds of varying depth and length on his other arm and his thigh. Each one healed in exactly thirteen minutes as well, with deviations of no more than five seconds.
It was now certain: his regenerative capacity had improved. Before the last blood-drinking, tests conducted after sunset had consistently shown a recovery time of about fifteen minutes.
What Ken could not be sure of was whether those earlier bouts of targeted "self-harm training" had contributed in any meaningful way to this improvement.
After some thought, he decided to incorporate such "self-harm training" back into his regimen over the coming days.
Since he would no longer be roaming the streets at night, he could conduct this training safely at home.
This time, he planned to adopt a more aggressive approach, further probing and strengthening his regenerative abilities.
As for his daytime training, he hesitated over whether to learn combat skills. Captain Zhao believed Ken had practiced martial arts since childhood and possessed a solid foundation in fighting, but in truth, Ken had never trained in any discipline of combat whatsoever.
Whether it was the time he had subdued the assailant attacking a young couple downstairs with a single kick and punch, or earlier that day when he incapacitated the knife-wielding blond suspect almost instantly, Ken had relied almost entirely on instinct—on spontaneous, unthinking reactions.
Both men had been armed with knives, yet when facing them, Ken had felt no sense of threat at all. There was no fear, no tension. Their movements, under his enhanced dynamic vision, were laughably easy to anticipate. Coupled with his overwhelming physical strength, no refined combat techniques were necessary.
In terms of power, reflexes, and speed, he had clearly reached the upper limits of what a human body could achieve. Factoring in his heightened senses, he had likely surpassed ordinary humanity altogether.
If he were to add proper combat techniques on top of this, would he be able to leverage his physical advantages even more effectively?
After a moment's reflection, he decided to visit the boxing gym beneath the fitness center the next day. He recalled hearing that a coach there—a veteran who had once placed among the top three in a provincial Sanda tournament—was currently teaching. It might be worth checking out, to see whether he could enroll in a short-term course.
Once he finished drafting his training plan, Ken could not help feeling pressed for time. Although he no longer needed sleep as long as he abstained from blood-drinking—effectively granting him twenty-four usable hours each day—the time he truly controlled between two blood-drinking cycles amounted to only five days.
By his calculations, the next onset of hunger would arrive in two days' time, on August 5th.
And on August 4th, he had already agreed to go hiking with Zhu Ke'er and the others. According to Zhu Ke'er, the trip would almost certainly consume an entire day.
That meant the window in which he could use targeted training to "guide" his mutations during this interval was already exceedingly narrow.
…
August 4th, Sunday, 6:30 a.m.
Yang Rui drove her Mini, with Zhu Ke'er in the passenger seat, to pick Ken up.
After the "misunderstanding" on the street the day before yesterday—and after personally witnessing Ken effortlessly subdue a knife-wielding wanted criminal with his bare hands, confirming that he was the bald "expert" from that viral video—Yang Rui's attitude toward him had changed noticeably.
The identity of a middle-aged, unemployed programmer had suddenly acquired a layer of mystery.
Still, when she saw Ken come downstairs wearing athletic shorts, white skate shoes, and a multifunctional laptop backpack, Yang Rui could not help rolling her eyes.
"Why are you dressed like that?" she asked after he got into the car and they exchanged greetings.
Ken blinked in surprise. "Didn't you say we were going hiking? I thought something loose would be more comfortable."
Zhu Ke'er said, "It's fine. We're not planning to stay overnight in the mountains, and that trail isn't particularly difficult."
Yang Rui dropped the subject as she turned the car around, then asked casually, "Mr. Ken, didn't you buy a house? Why are you living here?"
The building Ken had just emerged from was clearly a self-built structure, obviously a rental.
"My place isn't here," Ken replied offhandedly. "It's out near the outer ring road. I rent this place because it's closer to the company I used to work for." He was not surprised that she knew he owned a house. From his previous conversation with Zhu Ke'er, he already knew Yang Rui was her close friend and current roommate; it was only natural that she would be aware of those "matchmaking credentials" that Wang Han had passed along.
"Is your house still under construction?"
"No, it was handed over a long time ago. I've already rented it out."
"Why would you buy a place, rent it out, and then rent somewhere else for yourself?" Yang Rui asked, puzzled. "The environment here isn't exactly great."