Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Lu Yan was unaware that he had become something of an urban legend at K City's First People's Hospital. His reputation was built on a foundation of generous paid leave and a peculiar habit: whenever he did deign to show up for work, at least three assistant doctors would inevitably collapse from exhaustion.

Even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared.

Only half a year had passed, yet the world of ordinary people already felt distant, foreign.

He let out a soft, noncommittal hum into the phone, a measured response to keep the chaotic whispers within him in check, then ended the call.

On the other end, Director Li of the Prevention and Treatment Center sighed, worry etching his features. "Why does it feel like Lu Yan is becoming more and more withdrawn?"

Days ago, Li had received the news: Lu Yan had soared to the top of the Intermediate Employee rankings. Headquarters had issued a directive, instructing him to pay special attention to Lu Yan's mental and physical well-being.

Li would have loved to offer some care and concern. Lu Yan simply never gave him the chance.

Six months. The registered user count on the Revelation Forum had climbed to 70,000.

A significant number, yet when scattered across every inch of land, it felt desperately small. On average, each Revelation was responsible for the safety of roughly 2,127 square kilometers.

The only small mercy was that not every inch of that land was inhabited.

K City now had seven resident Revelations, Lu Yan included, tasked with its protection. Four of them had awakened during the Parasitic Fish incident half a year ago.

That catastrophe had brought endless suffering to the city. From millions, only ten had awakened as Revelations and survived. Four joined the relevant departments. Four, their abilities deemed ordinary, chose to have their files destroyed and returned to civilian life. The remaining two were still in limbo, unable to accept the mutations they now carried.

The fifth of every month saw a routine meeting convened at the Prevention and Treatment Center. The agenda: work allocation and dissemination of important documents from higher-ups.

Since joining the Special Operations Department, Lu Yan's schedule had conspired against attendance—trapped in dreams, stranded on islands, or stuck in mandatory training at headquarters. This was his first time.

The perpetually absent Dr. Lu was another minor legend within the K City Center.

The meeting was held in the large conference room on the first floor. Attendees included Special Operations members, Center staff, and representatives from the nearby Seventh Research Institute—about a hundred people in total. Thankfully, each seat bore a nameplate, so Lu Yan found his without issue.

As he sat down, curious glances drifted his way from around the room.

By all accounts, Lu Yan's appearance and demeanor were far from sinister. Yet, the Revelations who had awakened during the fish incident couldn't help but subtly shift away from him.

A few small fish shivered on the sidelines. "Hard to explain... he just feels... terrifying."

Bloodline suppression. Nothing to be done.

K City's overall director was a woman surnamed Wang, a mild-mannered middle-aged Revelation from Special Operations Group 2 with a spiritual power threshold of 4,300. She had worked in K City for over thirty years. Her frequent regret was being away on business during the last Pollution Disease event, unable to respond in time.

Director Wang was deeply dissatisfied with headquarters' practice of prioritizing incidents based solely on a pollution source's danger level. She argued that a source's infectiousness was far more critical than its lethality. For an ordinary person, even a pollutant with a mere 100 pollution value was a death sentence.

During K City's Parasitic Fish incident, the strongest pollutant had been an office-worker algae-human with a threshold of 2,300, leading to a C-Class designation. In reality, tens of thousands in the city had died from the ensuing contagion—more than some B and A-Class incidents combined.

"First, several important documents from headquarters," Director Wang began. "Gong Weibin, former director of the First Research Institute, has resigned. Prior to his departure, he illegally removed important experimental subject 01, codename 'Hound.' Last known location: H City. Gong Weibin is now on the wanted list. Any intelligence is to be relayed to headquarters immediately."

Gong Weibin, over 140 years old, had outlived his parents, wife, and children. His social connections were limited to research institute colleagues and a few students. Shedding his old life carried little psychological weight.

"Satellite imagery indicates a new high-level pollutant in the coastal waters near S City. Preliminary analysis suggests a mutation direction toward tentaculation and gigantism. Morphology resembles an octopus. Estimated pollution value around 7,000. Due to the blue coloration of the eyes on its tentacles, it has been assigned the temporary codename 'Blue-Eyed Octopus.' Toxicity unknown."

Lu Yan looked up at the screen.

The image showed massive tentacles wrapped around a ship's hull. The tentacle surfaces were studded with countless blue eyes.

You know this octopus, the System stated.

Lu Yan thought for a moment. "Shen Qingyang?"

The last time they'd met, Shen Qingyang was in a cage, his lower body mutated into black octopus arms. Back then, the eyes on those arms hadn't turned blue.

Satellite surveillance couldn't monitor every inch of ocean in real-time; this blurry image was a lucky capture. Shen Qingyang's humanoid upper half had been submerged, escaping the frame. Most at headquarters still believed they were dealing with a giant deep-sea octopus.

Lu Yan rested his chin on his hand, quietly reviewing the data. "The only patient in my medical career I failed to cure," he murmured, almost to himself.

The hospital operated on a first-contact physician responsibility system. In the emergency department, Lu Yan's patients had always walked out whole.

Not your fault, the System offered. Just the inevitable result of evolution. He ceased being human long ago.

The meeting lasted an hour—brief, by bureaucratic standards. In the latter half, Lu Yan received an official commendation from headquarters. As a new employee, he had "successfully left his peers three blocks behind on the path of pollution eradication," meriting a bonus and an honorary medal.

Thunderous applause filled the room. Director Li looked upon him with a gaze verging on maternal pride.

Lu Yan hadn't expected this kind of ceremony. A flicker of surprise passed through him. Fortunately, his student days had been punctuated by inexplicable accolades like "Municipal Outstanding Triple-A Student" and "National First-Class Scholarship Winner." The stage was familiar territory.

Monthly meetings cultivate discipline, the System noted. Commendations foster a sense of belonging. If Revelations feel ostracized by human society, or believe they no longer belong to the human category, social stability is jeopardized.

After the meeting, Lu Yan found himself in a report hall that resembled an examination room, tasked with writing up his mission report for the Mermaid Island operation.

Unable to reveal the System, his account was sparse. He attributed most of the credit to Talent #915: Cross-Species Communication.

The staff member reviewing his report grew increasingly perplexed. "So, all this intelligence... was provided to you by the merpeople? Is that correct?"

Lu Yan nodded, his expression calm and assured.

"In that case, perhaps the Research Institute should consider moving 'Cross-Species Communication' up a few spots the next time they update the talent ranking list," the staffer mused.

The original talent list had only contained a few hundred entries. As more Revelations awakened, it had expanded. Updated every few years, Lu Yan had single-handedly nudged Talent #914 forward.

The staffer made a note, then pressed on. "You're certain you haven't awakened any other combat-oriented talents?"

At the Revelation Special Prison, Lone Wolf had given a full confession, stating bluntly that Lu Yan had defeated him. Fortunately, Lone Wolf didn't know the specifics of Lu Yan's talents, and the mission file contained no details of the fight.

As Lu Yan considered fabricating another talent, the System chimed in. Don't worry. Someone covered for you.

"Who?"

Doggy Dragon.

"No, I haven't," Lu Yan answered.

His current registered talents were: Omniscience, Delirious Speech, and Regeneration. All were special, none directly applicable to combat.

As for Talent #25, Devour...

Back when the System had advised him to pose as a healer, it suggested using King Fish to devour pollution sources. After several "treatments," Lu Yan had observed that following such devouring, the mutated individuals did gradually return to normal. The effect was indistinguishable from a genuine healing talent.

He suspected he could indeed utilize the Devour ability. But the talent's owner wasn't him—it was the King Fish inside him. Other fish he consumed yielded skill books; the first one never had. A logical deduction: the skill remained with his "firstborn."

The staffer didn't press further.

Next came the mental health assessment.

The testing apparatus was a full-immersion gaming pod, a joint product of the Tenth and Thirteenth Research Institutes. Rumor had it the central AI, dubbed "Brain in a Vat," originated from a unique psychic pollutant. Under bioelectric stimulation, the tester would briefly accept the virtual world as reality.

Lu Yan didn't know about others' experiences, but he remained acutely aware he was undergoing a test. The game's title flashed in his mind: Emperor Cultivation Plan.

The data indicated Lu Yan’s mental state was excellent. Even among ordinary people, he would rank among those with the strongest moral compass and sense of justice.

When he was forced to exit the game, he felt a pang of regret. With just a few more hours, he could have ushered that feudal society straight into communism.

…

…

Inside the office.

Director Li knew Lu Yan had an appreciation for aesthetically pleasing things and understood he himself had no chance of reversing the aging process. His only recourse was to invest in a higher-end wig, which now sat atop his head.

To soften the atmosphere, he’d remodeled his office to resemble an afternoon tea café.

He’d even adopted an adorable, affectionate kitten.

An assortment of pastries and desserts were arranged on the table, alongside iced coffee—flavors reportedly favored by Dr. Lu.

Lu Yan settled into the plush sofa. After several days of rest, the injuries from his last fight had fully healed. His newly regenerated body parts had finally synced up, eliminating the risk of raising his left leg when he meant to lift his right arm.

He wasn’t in a talkative mood. A glance at Director Li conveyed the message: Get to the point.

For some reason, that glance alone made Li feel the pressure. "It's like this, Mr. Lu. Normally, you've just returned from a mission and are still on leave. We really shouldn't be making such a request… but our other personnel either lack the necessary skill level, are already assigned to other tasks, or have infection mutation readings too high for safe deployment. So, I'm swallowing my pride to come to you… I was wondering if you might have time to take on a mission soon?"

Lu Yan considered for a moment. "What kind of mission?"

His voice was pleasant to hear.

Director Li’s mind drifted for a second before he snapped back to attention. "It's not particularly difficult… It's precisely because you're a healing-type Revelation that headquarters thought of you."

"During the Luo River Botanical Garden incident, headquarters borrowed Experimental Subject 07 from the Research Institute. However, 07 defected and escaped.

"Recently, we located him near X City. But 07's mutation level is now dangerously high, making containment risky. Headquarters hopes you can go to X City and use your healing ability on him."

Lu Yan had never met 07 in person, but he had worked at the First Research Institute for three months.

07 wasn't his original name. He’d lived in dormitory room 07 on the 9th floor. A student from the National Defense University, he played the guitar.

Lu Yan thought back.

He remembered the volunteer from room 7 on the 9th floor. His name was Zong Yan.