Chapter 122: Divine Dao

The human Dao’s ember still had 236 strands; Chen Yansen focused his will and discovered a new synthesis button beside him.

One hundred strands of human Dao’s ember can be smelted into one strand of divine Dao’s ember.

Fuck!

This really is a fucking pay-to-win system!

Chen Yansen cursed loudly—he’d guessed why his mental stat had gone silent after reaching 10; turns out he needed to feed it higher-tier materials.

After a moment’s thought, he didn’t synthesize the divine Dao’s ember; instead, he invested the ember into his physique.

A strand of white mist, two fingers thick, appeared out of nowhere and shot instantly into his third eye—the same familiar sensation, a bone-chilling cold sweeping from within outward, scouring every sinew, bone, and muscle.

His heart pounded violently, like a booming bronze bell.

Three minutes later, Chen Yansen slowly opened his eyes, exhaled deeply, and stretched his limbs.

His physique rose from 4.11 to 6.47—double the human limit.

A thick sense of power filled his entire body; perhaps due to the mental stat boost, he could swiftly master this surge of strength without shattering glass cups or snapping wooden floors.

After measuring his height and weight, Chen Yansen frowned slightly—he’d weighed 87 kilograms before, now he weighed 94.

He’d gained fourteen jin out of nowhere!

His body shape showed no obvious change, but the density of his sinews, bones, and flesh had increased.

Chen Yansen placed his hand on his kidneys and muttered: “Last life you suffered—I’ll make sure this life, you eat seafood feasts every meal.”

He put on a short-sleeved shirt, casual pants, and white sneakers, then stepped outside.

Tomorrow was Labor Day, but he had no intention of returning to his hometown.

He’d planned to take Meng Jie to Southeast Asia, but Meng Zhen Guo insisted she go to Chunshen to tutor his cousin—his motives were obvious: he feared Chen Yansen would sneakily seduce his little cabbage.

Too bad, Chen Yansen had already claimed Meng Jie.

Chen Yansen drove to the intersection of Xuelin Road and Xuehai Road, where Meng Jie waited with her suitcase.

Get in.

Chen Yansen rolled down his window and called to Meng Jie.

Meng Jie tossed her suitcase into the trunk, slid into the front passenger seat, and grumbled: “It’s all Dad’s fault—he says I’m good at math, so he made me tutor my second uncle’s cousin. So unfair.”

“Uncle Meng probably fears I’ll use the trip as an excuse to devour some little lamb whole.”

Chen Yansen drove straight to the city’s bus station, chuckling as he teased.

Meng Jie’s cheeks flushed red; she shot Chen Yansen a sharp glance. She had her own suspicions, but neither father nor daughter dared voice them—they all pretended ignorance.

Chen Yansen didn’t mind—he’d already eaten Meal A, and Meal B was still coming. That morning he’d sworn he’d never let himself go hungry.

Halfway there, the sky suddenly poured rain.

“The weather outside is just like your fickle expression.”

“It’s raining, the rain accompanies my tears—I can’t see clearly, and I don’t want to.”

Meng Jie kicked off her slippers, went barefoot, and hummed this fitting song.

The rain outside grew heavier, dense and relentless, reducing visibility to just seven or eight meters.

For safety, Chen Yansen pulled over at an intersection and turned onto a side road.

“The rain’s too heavy—we’ll rest a few minutes until it eases.”

Chen Yansen explained.

Meng Jie nodded; she wasn’t in a hurry—buses ran every thirty minutes until five p.m., so she wouldn’t miss hers.

She pulled out a pack of QQ candies, and the two of them held their phones, watching a drama as they waited for the rain to stop.

It was a Taiwan idol drama—no logic, no sense.

After forcing himself to watch for a few minutes, Chen Yansen shifted his attention to Meng Jie.

She wore a strapless top with a chiffon short blouse; her pale arms were faintly visible.

They sat extremely close; a faint scent of gardenia drifted into Chen Yansen’s nose.

*Snap!*

Meng Jie, engrossed in the drama, suddenly felt her top go slack—the strap had slipped onto her stomach. She put down her phone and said to Chen Yansen: “Stop it, I’m watching.”

“Relax, watch your show. I’ll play mine.”

With that, Chen Yansen lowered the seatback and pulled Meng Jie onto his lap.

“What if someone sees us? So embarrassing,” Meng Jie whispered, gripping his wandering hands.

“Don’t worry—I put on privacy film. No one can see inside from outside.”

Chen Yansen said confidently.

That privacy film would’ve been illegal and fined years later, but in 2011, nobody cared.

“Where’d you learn this from, some movie?” Meng Jie blushed, hugging Chen Yansen.

“I’m this smart—I don’t need to learn. Don’t bother me, keep watching.”

Chen Yansen found the lock with practiced ease, took a deep breath, and said to Meng Jie:

“You do this, how can I focus?” Meng Jie held her phone, saying that—but her fingers obediently tapped play.

The drama’s leads, speaking in Taiwan accents, argued tenderly.

Outside, rain pounded heavily; the BMW 750 sat parked on a side road, surrounded by endless golden-green wheat, nearly ripe.

The car rocked gently in the rain; droplets fell into a nearby stream, pattering softly.

After who knew how long, the rain gradually lessened; the road ahead grew clear.

Chen Yansen pulled up his pants and adjusted the seat back to its original position.

Meng Jie’s cheeks were flushed pink, her ears tinged red; she stared straight at Chen Yansen, eyes brimming with affection.

Let’s go.

Chen Yansen, sated, ruffled Meng Jie’s hair and smiled.

“When I come back, I’ll bring you beef soup and fried dough sticks wrapped in tofu skin,” Meng Jie giggled, tugging his sleeve softly.

Chen Yansen nodded slightly, started the car, and continued toward the bus station.

A dozen minutes later, they got out; Chen Yansen held an umbrella and saw Meng Jie onto the bus.

Back in his car, he was about to head back to school when Zhao Maolin called, inviting him and Wang Zihao to dine at Galaxy Star for seafood.

The implication: his promotion had succeeded, and he owed them both a proper thanks.

Without FoxTao’s help, Zhao Maolin’s promotion might still have happened—but not so smoothly.

Chen Yansen thought for a moment, then declined Zhao Maolin’s invitation.

It wasn’t a business meeting he had to attend; he wouldn’t dare touch those girls in the business K scene. Even though industry rules required monthly checks, what if he stumbled upon a bio-weapon? He didn’t know if his 6.47 physique could withstand it.

Zhao Maolin urged a few times; seeing Chen Yansen’s firm refusal, he laughed: “Fine, you’re at school—I’ll come to Xu Yuan tomorrow. At least let me treat you to a meal? Don’t I deserve a chance to thank you?”

With him saying that, Chen Yansen naturally smiled and agreed.

Zhao Maolin was being transferred at year-end, and his successor was someone he’d personally trained.

Zhao Maolin added: as long as Chen Yansen stayed in Xu City, he’d remain the Xu Yuan campus distributor.

Chen Yansen didn’t refuse; though he no longer cared about the meager profits from phone cards, finding someone to take over let him skim a commission—and earn dozens of human Dao’s ember strands.

It was little, but even a mosquito’s leg is meat—he’d never turn down scraps.

After handling Zhao Maolin, Chen Yansen drove back.

Back at school, it was exactly 11:50; he went alone to the cafeteria for lunch.

His two usual lunch partners had both returned to their hometowns—Chunshen and Qilu.

With the holiday, the cafeteria was empty; the few ladies serving food sat idle, chatting together.

Normally, over a dozen windows opened; today, only four were active.

As Chen Yansen entered, he saw Song Yuncheng hunched over a table, nibbling rice, a grain of rice stuck to her lip—unaware.

(End of chapter)