Chapter Fifteen: The Experiment

Li Daoran lay on a massage table while a professional ophthalmologist performed the first stage of his treatment. Although the various examinations had shown nothing worrisome, a skilled masseur had been arranged for him regardless, and he was also being taught how to care for his eyes himself.

Chen Ming had already gone to rest. As he’d said, tens of thousands of people had gone without sleep for a day and a night, and a new group had taken over.

Standing beside Li Daoran now was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Liu Meng—about seventy percent similar. Her name was Ye Qing, a linguistic prodigy. When Li Daoran first saw her, he was startled, thinking Liu Meng from his own world had somehow appeared here. The misunderstanding was soon cleared up, though; there were still differences, and Ye Qing’s soft, gentle voice was nothing like Liu Meng’s.

On Aquamarine, over ten thousand research groups had been formed to study Daoranese, each led by a top linguist and comprising more than a dozen students. Across all countries, more than two hundred thousand people were involved. Each group was responsible for translating different passages, with cross-checking and reviews. By the time the results reached Li Daoran, only a few ambiguities—mostly involving specialized terms—remained for him to clarify.

Ye Qing was responsible for collecting all points of ambiguity from the translations and confirming them with Li Daoran.

“The characters used in Daoranese are also pictographs, like those in Chinese. There are remarkable similarities, especially with the teaching materials you discovered, Mr. Daoran, which have given us a clear trail to follow. Our speed has increased dramatically. We’ve already completed the basic teaching manuals. Please have a look at this essay and compare it to see if there are any mistakes,” Ye Qing’s soft voice gave Li Daoran a shiver, making his ears tingle.

His head fixed in place, he could only glance with his eyes and saw Ye Qing swiftly write an essay in Daoranese, then provide a Chinese translation for comparison.

She held it before his eyes so he could see it clearly.

After reading, Li Daoran found not a single error. Though the characters differed, the meaning resonated exactly the same in his mind.

He couldn’t help but praise them: “You’ve worked hard. It’s perfect.”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Daoran. You’re the one who’s worked hard. We’re now translating the section on international affairs, and we estimate it’ll be done in two more hours. We’ll still need your assistance and confirmation,” Ye Qing replied, her spirits lifted by this affirmation. The efforts of hundreds of thousands had not been in vain; they had mastered the basics of Daoranese—a tremendous breakthrough.

For the next four hours, Li Daoran lay there enjoying a full-body massage, manicures, and haircuts, occasionally answering questions Ye Qing posed. This was also an opportunity to further test the boundaries of bodily synchronization. The staff performed their tasks with trembling nerves—cutting his hair strand by strand, hands shaking. Results showed that hair, body hair, nails, and other connective tissues, as long as they didn’t affect the body internally, had no impact on the rest of humanity.

When a hair was yanked out forcefully, grazing the scalp, three seconds later the entire human race felt a sudden stab of pain on their scalps. Fortunately, everyone had been forewarned, so no one was alarmed.

Normal massage—even if it involved pain or tickling—was not synchronized. But if the force was excessive, causing redness or bruising, that sensation would be shared by all.

This boundary testing left more than twenty masseurs exhausted or hesitant; some were too timid to apply pressure, others’ hands trembled too much to be effective. Ultimately, though, they gathered useful data and results.

This sparked waves of debate in the medical community: Did connective tissue count as part of the body? Why did skin redness and bruising synchronize, but simple circulation-boosting didn’t? In the end, the consensus was: none of it made scientific sense.

The turmoil in the medical world had little to do with Li Daoran. When it was over, he felt an incredible lightness, as if a weight had been lifted; freed from being a test subject, even his breathing seemed easier.

With the global broadcast concluded, he now had an hour of free time, so he decided to return to his room and play a few games.

He logged into League of Legends, planning to play a match in the top lane, but found all his friends offline. Even after waiting ten minutes in the ranked queue, no game started. With his hour slipping away, he tried Teamfight Tactics, only to find every opponent was a bot. Resigned, he simply used Alt+F4 to exit.

Unable to game, he browsed trending topics and forums, only to see his name everywhere.

Analyses of whether Li Daoran’s techniques counted as ancient martial arts, and how he managed one-hit victories.

Speculation about Li Daoran’s true identity.

Liu Meng’s hidden secrets.

Is Liu Meng really that well-endowed? An in-depth, all-angles analysis for hardcore fans.

Did Li Daoran really do 700 push-ups in an hour, exceeding human limits, or as the “war god” says, is it just a matter of having arms?

If having arms is enough, or legs, why am I considered severely disabled?

Every refresh brought new threads and analyses, and amidst the professional discussions, something bizarre seemed to have slipped in.

Unable to resist, he clicked on the thread about Liu Meng’s measurements. The original poster, clearly an expert, provided all sorts of arguments and hand-drawn diagrams, concluding with “35D” as the answer—a conclusion that stunned Li Daoran. Though he had no idea what it meant, it certainly seemed both impressive and convincing.

As for whether it was true, he supposed there might be something to it; after all, he’d only ever looked, never touched.

He idly clicked into a few other intriguing threads, but they were all clickbait—no substance, just wild guessing, with no reference value at all.

Happy moments are always fleeting. An hour passed.

Li Daoran’s two-hour martial arts class began again. This time, there was no pressing need, so the session was less brutal, focusing instead on hands-on instruction about key points and movements.

Before the two hours were up, Chen Ming had woken from his nap, still with droplets of water on his cropped hair.

“How’s the learning going? Feeling alright?” Chen Ming asked.

Li Daoran hadn’t even broken a sweat; since injuries sustained on Aquamarine would be felt by everyone three seconds later, he hadn’t dared engage in any strenuous activity—just watched and listened. He nodded and sipped his juice.

“You sure have it easy. Meanwhile, there’s an uproar outside,” Chen Ming said with a laugh.

Li Daoran gave him a puzzled look.

“All the translations of the international affairs section are done. The situation is not looking good,” Chen Ming said, his expression growing somber.

“Oh,” Li Daoran replied, unfazed. He’d long since learned to take things as they came; what else could he do?

Seeing Li Daoran’s nonchalance, Chen Ming shrugged. He too found the crowd outside rather ridiculous.

“Come on, let me fill you in. The outlook really isn’t good. And it’s about time you got some sleep.”

“Alright, wait a moment.” Li Daoran handed his juice to Chen Ming and bowed to the instructors, saying, “Thank you for your hard work.”

The two returned to Li Daoran’s room on the third floor.

Chen Ming handed him a thick file folder, explaining that these were the research and analysis results compiled by the various teams.

Li Daoran opened it and saw a stack of papers ten centimeters thick. “How long will it take me to read all this?” he asked.

Chen Ming patted his shoulder, a hint of mockery in his tone. “Don’t bother if you don’t want to. It’s pointless. I’ve read it all—useless. That bunch acts as if they can control everything.”

Hearing this, Li Daoran tossed the file aside, leaned back on the sofa, and said, “So what’s going on? I won’t bother reading it—just tell me.”