A normal human body maintains a temperature of roughly 36 to 37 degrees Celsius. Any deviation—whether higher or lower—inevitably causes harm.
A fever of forty degrees might still be endured for a while.
But a body temperature dropping below thirty? Ken felt that would already be skirting the boundary of death.
And yet his own body temperature was now a constant twenty-eight degrees.
What was more, ever since the mutation, he had begun to notice that he was no longer particularly sensitive to changes in ambient temperature.
His other senses had been markedly enhanced, yet his perception of temperature had dulled—or perhaps it was more accurate to say that his adaptability had increased.
Although his bodily functions were somewhat suppressed after sunrise and under direct sunlight, he felt almost nothing of the heat itself. In fact, he seemed even more heat-resistant than before.
Just like during the recent hike with Zhu Ke'er and the others: everyone else had been drenched in sweat, while he remained cool and dry, barely perspiring, scarcely feeling the oppressive heat at all.
Perhaps this suggested that the post-sunrise suppression of his body had nothing to do with rising temperatures?
Ken quickly dismissed the notion. Not feeling hot did not mean that the increase in ambient temperature was unrelated to the suppression of his physical functions.
He understood well enough why the human body normally maintained a temperature within the 36–37 degree range.
On the one hand, more than two-thirds of naturally occurring fungi cannot survive in environments above 37 degrees, which reduces the likelihood of illness. On the other, once body temperature exceeds that threshold, the body must expend more energy and consume more food—an equally disadvantageous condition for survival.
Clearly, after his mutation, his body no longer relied on elevated temperature to kill off fungi and reduce the risk of disease. His immune system must already be fundamentally different from that of an ordinary human.
At the same time, this body temperature might also be connected to the fact that, aside from fresh blood, he no longer needed to consume other forms of food.
Ken did not continue to probe the issue. He knew he was unlikely to arrive at any definitive conclusions for now. Instead, he simply recorded his body temperature in his document and resolved to measure it regularly in the future, adding it to the list of data points that required periodic tracking.
The next evening, August 5th, at 7:35 p.m.—right on schedule—the familiar hunger returned.
Ken walked over to the rabbit he had prepared in advance, bled it, drank the blood, disposed of the carcass, his movements clean and efficient.
But this time, after killing a rabbit and drinking 170 milliliters of blood, he felt the hunger remain stubbornly unresolved. It was unmistakable—he had not had enough.
He stared for a while at the remaining rabbit. After a brief hesitation, he ultimately chose not to kill it.
Before drowsiness overtook him and he fell into sleep, he sent messages to his parents and to his tenant, explaining that he would be busy during the day tomorrow and might be unreachable by phone, and that he would get back to them the following evening. He wanted to avoid any chance of them being unable to contact him and showing up at his door—or worse.
…
After returning from the hospital, Zhu Ke'er reclined on the sofa, her sprained ankle propped up high.
Yang Rui was unpacking the takeout that had just arrived, arranging the food on the table.
"Well? Feeling any better?" she asked. "Need me to feed you, Miss Zhu?"
Zhu Ke'er shot her a glare, struggled upright, and swung her leg onto the table.
"Hey, hey! There's food on that table!" Yang Rui quickly dragged over a low ottoman for her foot. "Your foot smells awful!"
Zhu Ke'er widened her eyes. "What did you just say? Who has smelly feet?"
Yang Rui shrank back. "I didn't say you have smelly feet—I said the smell! Your foot's all wrapped up, of course it smells!"
After plating the food and handing it to her friend, Yang Rui asked, "Do you want to call your family and go stay with them for a while? I'm starting work again tomorrow—I won't be able to take care of you."
Zhu Ke'er huffed. "Seriously? I just got injured and you're already sick of me?"
"How would I dare?" Yang Rui said quickly. "I'm just worried it'll be inconvenient for you on your own. I mean… how are you even supposed to get to the bathroom by yourself?"
"I—"
After a bout of laughter and teasing, the conversation inevitably drifted to Ken.
"You know," Yang Rui said, "that 'Teacher Saitama'—he's obviously trained. Even Coach Zhang from the boxing gym said he couldn't beat him. So why does he keep denying it whenever we ask? What's there to hide? And the way he carried you all the way back so effortlessly—his physical conditioning is insane. I doubt even professional athletes could match it. Are you sure he used to be a programmer pulling all-nighters?"
Zhu Ke'er found it puzzling as well. Being carried on Ken's back, she had felt a steady coolness radiating from him the entire way, like a living air conditioner dispersing the heat around her. Ken had said he had an unusual constitution—afraid of cold but not heat—but even so, it felt hard to explain.
Yang Rui continued, "And earlier at lunch, when we were all eating together, he said he'd already had two energy bars and wasn't going to eat? Who eats in secret like that? It's weird."
"He told me before that he has strange eating habits," Zhu Ke'er explained. "He's picky, so he doesn't like eating with other people."
Yang Rui nodded. "No wonder he wouldn't stay for dinner. Still, strange as he is, at least he's not pretentious. He basically tells you everything straight up. Not like that overseas returnee you went on a blind date with last time—after five minutes he was already bragging about who he knew in the UK, where he'd been, how his company was going to list on Nasdaq, blah blah blah…"
In fact, Yang Rui had deliberately asked those worldly, vaguely tone-deaf questions in the car precisely to provoke Ken. What she hadn't expected was that he wouldn't care in the slightest—poor meant poor, unemployed meant unemployed, hair loss meant hair loss. He made no effort to gloss over or avoid anything.
And yet it was precisely because of that blunt honesty that Yang Rui couldn't understand why, of all things, the question of martial arts—something that would have made him look good—was the one thing he insisted on denying.
"Nana," Yang Rui suggested, scooting closer, "why don't we get Lao Qiu involved? Let her take a look and see whether you and 'Teacher Saitama' actually have a chance."
"No!" Zhu Ke'er said immediately. "I've told you already—we're just ordinary friends. We might not even stay in touch after this."
"Come on. He carried you all that way today and got you home safe and sound, and now it's 'might not even stay in touch'? That's a bit ungrateful, don't you think?"
"Hey!" Zhu Ke'er glared and reached out to pinch her.
Yang Rui quickly raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay—just ordinary friends, fine? But don't you think he's a bit mysterious?"
"What's so mysterious about him? Other than the martial arts question, hasn't he answered everything you asked? And maybe he really hasn't trained—maybe he's just naturally fit."
"Everything seems normal, but I still feel like there's something about him you can't quite see through. I can't say exactly what it is—but don't tell me you haven't felt it too. Introduce Lao Qiu to him. She specializes in psychology, and her instincts are razor-sharp. She'll definitely notice something."
"Then you ask him. You added him on WeChat, didn't you?"
"What business is it of mine? He's not my blind date… Fine, fine—ordinary friend. You ask him. You have a better excuse anyway. Say you want to thank him for carrying you back and treat him."
"He doesn't like eating with people."
"Then invite him to play cards! Tomorrow night—at home!"
Left with no choice, Zhu Ke'er hesitantly sent a message. A moment later, she received a reply. Without expression, she handed her phone to Yang Rui.
Looking at Ken's eight-word response—"Sorry, I have something tomorrow."—Yang Rui froze.
After a moment, she murmured softly, "Nana… it really looks like he's not interested in you at all."