2: Chapter 2 The Boss Who Crawled Through the Sewers in the Middle of the Night

Tony spent ten minutes organizing the equipment list. When he handed it to Chen Feng, his expression looked as if he were delivering a terminal illness notice.

Chen Feng glanced at it.

The list was quite long, but most of the equipment was marked with "malfunction," "aging," or "missing parts." The only things truly usable were a centrifuge, a set of basic glassware, a refrigerator that could barely cool, and a biosafety cabinet—Level 2, with hardened seals.

If it were his past self, he would have likely slammed the door and left after seeing this list.

But things were different now.

He had a cheat in his head.

Chen Feng pulled up the system interface and flipped through the blueprint library. There weren't many blueprints unlocked at the basic level; most were grayed out. But one was lit up—

[Revitacin]

[Category: Basic Biopharmaceutical]

[Description: A super analgesic and anti-inflammatory preparation based on special alkaloid extracts. Analgesic effect is 20 times that of top painkillers currently on the market, with a 15-fold increase in anti-inflammatory efficiency. Non-addictive and no drug resistance.]

[Required Equipment: Basic centrifuge, biosafety cabinet, standard glassware set...]

[Required Raw Materials: A bacterial strain unique to Blue Star—Streptomyces Obscura. Natural habitat: Warm and humid underground pipe network systems.]

Chen Feng cross-referenced the list with the blueprint.

Equipment—just enough. It was a bit dilapidated, but it would do.

Raw materials—

He looked at the collection site hint marked on the blueprint, and his mouth twitched.

The sewer.

The sewer right under the company building.

"Tony."

"Here!"

"That manhole cover under the company building, do you know how to open it?"

Tony blinked, thinking he had misheard.

"...What?"

"The sewer, the manhole cover, how do I open it?"

"Boss, what are you planning to do?"

"Pick up money."

Tony opened his mouth but decided not to press further. After following this boss for three months, he had learned one thing—don't ask; if you do, you won't understand anyway.

—

2:00 AM.

Chen Feng wore a pair of old rain boots he'd scrounged from the storage room, a plastic sampling bag slung over his back, and held a flashlight in his right hand. Half of his body was already inside the manhole.

The smell of rust, moisture, and an indescribable stench wafted into his nose together.

He suppressed the urge to retch and climbed down the iron ladder.

Above him, Tony squatted by the manhole, rubbing his hands together, his mouth never stopping.

"Boss, what on earth are you looking for down there? Can't you just tell me? If something happens to you, I won't even know how to describe it to the police—'Hello Officer, my boss went missing after crawling into the sewer in the middle of the night'? They'll haul me away as a mental patient."

Chen Feng's muffled voice drifted up from below: "Shut up, you talk too much."

"I'm just worried about you!" Tony lowered his voice. "The pipe network under this street connects to several blocks in the South District. There's everything in there—rats, cockroaches, needles, I've even heard there are crocodiles..."

"Crocodiles are in Florida, not Los Angeles."

"Well, there are snakes too!"

Chen Feng couldn't be bothered to reply further, focusing his eyes on the pipe walls swept by the flashlight beam.

The system projected a light blue grid over his field of vision, like a real-time scanner, popping up analytical data for every area it scanned.

[Scanning... Target strain not detected.]

[Scanning... Target strain not detected.]

He walked about fifty meters along the main pipe. The water at his feet rose above his ankles. Water entered his rain boots, and his socks were soaked through.

Just as he was about to turn a corner, a line of green text suddenly popped up from the system—

[Target strain detected: Streptomyces Obscura. Location: Right pipe wall, 1.2 meters from the ground. Match: 98.7%. Direct extraction possible.]

The flashlight beam hit the spot, revealing a patch of dark green downy substance on the pipe wall, about the size of a palm, with fine patterns along the edges.

To an untrained eye, it would look like ordinary mold at first glance.

Chen Feng stared at it for three seconds and broke into a smile.

"There you are."

He pulled a scraper and sterile sampling tubes from his bag, carefully scraping the bacterial mass off the wall. His hands were steady and his movements swift—soaking in the lab for three years in his past life wasn't for nothing.

He collected six tubes in total.

Enough.

—

It was already 3:00 AM by the time he returned to the lab.

Chen Feng washed himself three times and changed his clothes before walking to the workbench.

Tony leaned against the lab doorway, so tired his eyelids were fighting to stay open, yet he didn't dare leave. He watched Chen Feng put on a white coat and gloves, then place those tubes of "junk" fished from the sewer into the biosafety cabinet.

"Boss, do you really know what you're doing?"

Chen Feng didn't look back: "What do you think?"

"I think you've gone crazy."

"Then you can leave."

Tony thought about it, shrunk his neck, pulled up a chair, and sat down. "I'll stay and watch. In case you blow up the building, I can run."

Chen Feng ignored him.

The system blueprint expanded before his eyes, with every step clearly marked—bacterial grinding, solvent ratios, centrifuge speed, temperature gradients, extraction time...

He took a deep breath and began to work.

Step one: Bacterial pretreatment.

A problem arose.

The grinder's rotor was slightly off-center, and the vibration was absurdly large, nearly throwing the sample out. Chen Feng wrapped it with three layers of tape, barely stabilizing it.

Step two: Solvent extraction.

The blueprint required anhydrous ethanol with a concentration above 99.5%. The bottle he found in the cabinet was labeled 99%, but the cap wasn't tight and it had absorbed moisture; the system measured the actual concentration at only 96.8%.

It would have to do.

Step three: Centrifugal separation.

The old centrifuge emitted a tooth-aching screech and stopped on its own after forty seconds. Chen Feng gave it a slap, and it started spinning again.

With constant slapping and stopping, he spent twenty minutes and finally finished the set program.

Step four: Crystal precipitation.

Failure.

The solution was turbid, with no sign of crystallization. The system coldly popped up a prompt:

[Extraction failed. Reason: Insufficient solvent purity, centrifuge parameter offset. Suggestion: Adjust solvent ratio, extend centrifuge time.]

Chen Feng stared at the tube of turbid waste liquid and poured it into the waste bucket.

He loaded the second sample tube and started over.

This time, he increased the solvent ratio and extended the centrifuge time to 1.5 times the blueprint's requirement. During the process, he had to hold the centrifuge lid with his hand to prevent it from stopping again.

Twenty minutes later—

Still failure.

[Extraction failed. Reason: Decreased bacterial activity, excessive loss of active ingredients.]

Chen Feng closed his eyes for a moment.

Tony had fallen asleep slumped over his chair, a small puddle of drool forming.

Chen Feng opened the third sample tube.

This time he changed his strategy. He didn't follow the blueprint exactly, but instead combined his past experimental experience to perform a low-temperature pre-activation step—placing the bacterial mass in the refrigerator to cool to four degrees for fifteen minutes before taking it out to grind.

This step wasn't on the blueprint; he added it himself.

The bacterial strains on Blue Star might not be exactly the same as the standard strains used when the blueprint was designed; the first two failures had proven this. Blueprints are static, but people are flexible.

Grinding, extraction, centrifugation—this time he manually lowered the centrifuge speed by one notch and doubled the time.

The safety cabinet was quiet.

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

Chen Feng stared at the tube of liquid, motionless.

Then he saw it.

The solution turned from turbid to clear, and a very thin layer of light green precipitate formed at the bottom. Under the pale lab lights, that layer of precipitate gave off a slight fluorescence.

It was faint, but visible to the naked eye.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for successfully preparing the 'ruisu' stock solution. Purity: 87.3%. Reached usable standard.]

[Task 1 Progress Update: 1/30 days. Product R&D Phase—Stock solution preparation complete.]

Chen Feng gripped the test tube, his fingers tightening.

A purity of 87.3% wasn't high in the pharmaceutical industry, far from market standards. But as a stock solution, it was enough to verify the effects.

He held the tube up to the light to take a look.

The pale green liquid left a thin film on the glass wall, with good transparency.

It looks decent.

The problem now was—how to turn it into money.

Mass production would require more raw materials, purer reagents, and better equipment. All of these things pointed to one word—money.

And currently, he barely had enough change in his pocket for a cup of coffee.

—

8:00 AM the next morning.

Chen Feng hadn't slept all night, but he was in high spirits.

When he went downstairs to take out the trash, he saw that the homeless man at the company entrance was still there.

In the same posture as yesterday, curled up against the wall next to the trash can, clutching that tattered backpack. His eye sockets were sunken, cheekbones protruding, and lips parched. It looked like he hadn't eaten for several days.

Chen Feng stood on the steps and watched him for a few seconds.

Then he turned and went up to the second floor.

Tony was at the microwave heating his lunch bento—a char siu rice bowl bought from a Chinese supermarket. He brought it every morning, put it in the fridge, and heated it for lunch. This was his most important meal of the day.

Chen Feng walked over and picked up the bento box.

Tony: "?"

"Let me borrow this."

"That's my lunch!"

"I know."

"You—"

Chen Feng had already carried the bento downstairs.

Tony chased him to the window and looked down, just in time to see Chen Feng handing the bento to the homeless man.

"..."

Tony gripped the window frame with both hands, feeling absolutely devastated.

That was his char siu rice. His. He'd even paid two extra dollars to upgrade to the large portion.

Downstairs, Marcus Turner looked up at the lunch box being handed to him but didn't take it immediately.

"Eat up," Chen Feng said, squatting down.

Marcus's Adam's apple bobbed. He hesitated for a few seconds before reaching out and taking the lunch box.

The moment he opened the lid, steam rose, and the aroma of rice and char siu hit him. He lowered his head and took a mouthful, his hands shaking.

Chen Feng looked at the dog tags around his neck.

"Marcus Turner, Master Sergeant. Iraq or Afghanistan?"

Marcus's chewing paused for a moment.

"Both."

"How long since you were discharged?"

"Seven years."

"Family?"

Marcus didn't speak, lowering his head to continue eating.

Chen Feng didn't press further on that. "Want a job? Room and board included. Salary... none for now."

Marcus looked up at him, still chewing.

"You're not afraid of me?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Most people walk around me when they see me."

Chen Feng sized him up. Six-foot-three; even though he was gaunt, his skeletal frame was still broad. The calluses on his palms remained, and his knuckles were thick. This was a body that had undergone long-term high-intensity training; the foundation hadn't collapsed yet.

A message popped up on the right side of his vision—

[High-compatibility organism detected. Basic physical fitness assessment: Far exceeds average human mean. T-Virus modification compatibility: 92.3%. Strongly recommended for modification candidate list.]

92.3%.

Chen Feng withdrew his gaze and stood up.

"If you're willing, come up with me. There's a bed on the third floor; you can make do there for now."

Marcus stared at him for a long time.

His gaze was complex—there was testing, wariness, and a little bit of something else that Chen Feng couldn't ignore.

Like a person who had been submerged in water for too long suddenly touching a rope.

"...Fine."

—

1:00 PM that afternoon.

Chen Feng divided the ruisu stock solution into two tubes, carefully tucked them into his inner jacket pocket, and headed out.

Tony chased after him: "Where are you going?"

"To take care of some business."

"What business?"

"Money-making business."

Tony wanted to ask more, but Chen Feng had already walked out of the alley.

Destination—South District, 7th Street, Tom White's private clinic.

Out of ten clinics in the entire South District, nine were closed, and only Old Tom's remained open. The reason was simple: he wasn't picky about patients. Those without insurance, those with identity issues, those who didn't want to be registered at a hospital... anyone making a living in the South District would eventually have to report to Old Tom's.

Chen Feng needed someone who knew the trade to verify the effects of ruisu.

Old Tom was currently the only option he could find.

He turned off the main street and took a shortcut toward 7th Street.

After walking two blocks, his pace faltered slightly.

Not because he was on the wrong path.

But because he noticed two people behind him.

They were about forty or fifty meters away, neither too close nor too far. One wore a gray hoodie, the other a baseball cap. They stopped and started in perfect sync with his own pace.

Chen Feng didn't look back and continued walking.

As he turned a corner, he stole a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Hoodie and Baseball Cap—both had a snake tattooed on their right arms.

Men from the Iron Fist Gang.

Chen Feng reached into his pocket, his fingertips touching the two test tubes containing ruisu.

His heart skipped a couple of beats.

But he didn't stop, nor did he speed up.

Tom's clinic was just past the third intersection ahead.

He needed to walk a bit faster.