Chapter 9: Vital Pulse Hands, Hidden Benefits of Skills!

[Dear Happiness City residents, good morning!][This is Happiness City’s Morning Radio, joining you at 6 a.m. sharp. I’m your host, Little Sun, hoping to pack warmth and joy into these airwaves for you!]

[First, let’s check the weather. Look outside, a playful storm is gently blanketing Shi Province, including Yun City, Yang City, and our own Chuan City’s Happiness City, all embraced by this “sweet rain.” But this mischievous downpour might be having too much fun, and flash floods, like hide-and-seek infected, could pop up anytime. Travelers, keep your eyes peeled, don’t let the flood sweep you to another province!]

[Speaking of our neighbor Yun City, good news! Their infected tide has finally subsided. Sadly, Yueye Sanctuary wasn’t so lucky, taking heavy losses and now cowering in underground facilities. Little Sun sends them cheers and hopes the gloom lifts soon!]

[Oh, and an important reminder! Some water-loving infected may be stirred by the rain for an impromptu “trip.” Happiness City’s brave warriors heading out, stay on guard, don’t let these savage creatures spook you!]

[Next, regional updates: Sha Province has seen strange thick fog lately. People stepping in vanish like they’re lost in cotton candy—hidden by clouds, perhaps?]

[Hai Province reports a new tentacle infection source, a whopping thirty meters long, a distant cousin of the Deathwhisper Tentacle. Ew, so gross!]

[…]

The cheery female voice from the battered radio clashed with the wasteland’s grim tone.

Amid the rain’s patter, “Uncle Dong” lounged in a wicker chair, one leg crossed, fanning himself with a palm leaf, grumbling curses, gasps, or curious murmurs at the broadcast.

The morning radio, airing every three days, was one of the buffer zone’s few entertainments for the masses.

Unlike the nightly broadcasts, always stern and laced with deathly warnings, as if ignoring them meant being torn apart by infected, Little Sun’s reports felt comforting, turning infected into friendly neighbors.

But joy was fleeting. In a blink, the half-hour news ended, wrapping up tidbits from across the wasteland.

The closing tune drifted from the radio’s speaker:

[Alright, the director’s rushing me, so that’s it for today~]

[But before we go, a quick word for our Happiness City family: don’t fear the changes. Our dedicated guards patrol 24/7 to minimize infected threats, and our real-time info-sharing network with over twenty nearby sanctuaries keeps us ahead of every shift.]

[And of course, our top-notch inspectors block all infected at the checkpoint, ensuring every resident’s safety from the source!]

[Get up, carry Little Sun’s energy, and make today vibrant~]

“That’s it?”

The sweet, cutesy voice faded into static.

Uncle Dong cursed, dissatisfied, pulling his hand from his pocket.

Damn rain, cutting Little Sun’s broadcast two minutes short, skipping the final sweet song.

Glancing at the wall’s electronic clock, its hands just past 6:31, Uncle Dong smacked his lips. His injured right arm ached in the damp weather.

“Gotta make more money for surgery…”

Damn rainy days, probably no business today.

But thinking of the costly surgery, he dragged himself up, slowly raising the shop’s shutter.

The rusty chain clinked, the old gears screeched, and as the shutter rose halfway, a pair of blood-red eyes appeared.

“Holy crap!”

Uncle Dong jumped, his retired warrior’s courage faded, stumbling back two steps.

The shutter was caught by hands, lifted from outside, revealing a young man’s sharp jawline beneath the red eyes.

“Little Cheng?”

Recognizing Cheng Ye, Uncle Dong sighed in relief, though his heart still pounded.

“Why’re you here so early—”

His words caught, memory jumbling. Just one day apart, Cheng Ye’s state was startling.

His skin was paler, veins visible like rain-soaked vines.

His once flat physique now showed muscle definition, his chest hinting at an inverted triangle.

With years as a veteran warrior, Uncle Dong noticed Cheng Ye’s hands seemed larger, a sign of martial training, indicating opened vital pulses, enhancing weapon grip or bare-handed power!

“Uncle Dong, how much nutrient paste you got? I’ll take it all!”

Cheng Ye’s voice rasped like sandpaper on rust, unsettlingly hoarse.

Uncle Dong frowned but didn’t ask, soon returning with a box of nutrient paste.

“Thirty-five bags. How much can you drink? It’s on me today!”

No answer.

Cheng Ye grabbed two bags, squeezing them into his mouth.

Milky liquid dribbled down, his throat bobbing with loud gulps.

Truth be told, Happiness City’s nutrient paste wasn’t bad.

Like bean milk diluted tenfold, it had a faint sweetness and grassy note.

This was Cheng Ye’s only relief since transmigrating.

Unlike many wasteland novels where researchers made awful food for the masses, sparking class revolts, Happiness City’s nutrient paste, while bland and life-draining, was healthier than modern junk food.

“Six bags… eight… ten!”

Uncle Dong squinted, noting Cheng Ye’s frantic eating. His pallor faded, a flush returning.

His exposed skin, no longer waterlogged and pale, regained a healthy hue and sheen.

Especially his hands, Uncle Dong stared, envy and a touch of jealousy flickering.

Vital pulse hands, a martial artist’s coveted trait.

Old-era martial arts’ mystique, limited by human gene shifts, only resurged in the wasteland as genes reverted to primal savagery.

Uncle Dong, despite a lifetime of training, never touched the threshold, yet young Cheng Ye was already close.

People really do make you mad!

After the eighteenth bag, Cheng Ye stopped, the gnawing hunger in his gut finally bearable.

“Uncle Dong…”

He’d prepared an excuse, but Uncle Dong waved it off. “No need to explain. Your dad left you a gene-purifying serum, and you held off using it until now to maximize its effect.”

Gene-purifying serum?

What’s that? Captain America stuff?

His predecessor, obsessed with inner-city romance and poetry, knew nothing of such elite tech, leaving Cheng Ye thinking he was set to be a wasteland idol.

Since Uncle Dong offered an excuse, Cheng Ye shelved his prepared story about taking special drugs.

But he stayed cautious, wary Uncle Dong was testing him with a fabricated tale.

So, he didn’t admit it, laughing, “Uncle Dong, joking? Never heard of a serum. I was too busy at work yesterday to eat, I'm starving!”

“Never heard of it? Good. Eat on time from now on.”

Uncle Dong chuckled, pushing the box over. “These expire in two days. Take ‘em all.”

“How much?”

“I said it’s on me. You denying me face?”

“Thanks, Uncle Dong. Any trouble, come to me.”

Cheng Ye thumped his chest, making a bold promise, and left with the box.

Uncle Dong, surviving twenty years on the battlefield and retiring to open a shop, wasn’t just clever, he was a tough operator.

“Investing a box of nutrient paste to earn my favor? Fine, I need him to keep quiet. Our goals align.”

Back in his room, door shut, Cheng Ye downed ten more of the seventeen remaining bags, finally feeling full, banishing the hunger clouding his mind.

In the public bathroom, shirt off, the mirror showed a body no longer frail. Overnight, a layer of lean muscle had formed, not exaggerated but radiating strength.

Staring at himself, Cheng Ye was stunned.

“Too terrifying. The skill’s benefits far exceed my imagination!”

Science couldn’t explain it.

Lv.1 Basic Power didn’t just bring technique and muscle memory, it gave him this muscular transformation overnight, saving months of training.

“Is it because the muscle memory for power needs sufficient muscle to support it?”

“If I find a physique-boosting skill, will I get another massive leap?”

Back in his room, Cheng Ye was caught in a delightful dilemma.

The sudden strength surge boosted his confidence for surviving the external duty.

But such obvious overnight changes made staying low-key harder.

A call request flashed on his desk’s defense comm.

Who’s calling this early?

Curious, Cheng Ye glanced at the screen and froze.

Not Liu Bi, but a name he’d never expected.