Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 3: The First Enhancement

Zhao Wuji lay there for most of the day. During that time, several staff members came to claim the bodies; after all, these criminals were no ordinary people. Upon their deaths, the prison would notify the relevant authorities in their respective countries, and once the necessary procedures were completed, officials from those nations could take the bodies back to their home countries for disposal. As Zhao Wuji lay on the metal bed with his eyes closed, resting, he heard someone enter the morgue again. The iron door clicked open, and several people walked in, then seemed to push another metal bed inside. “James, here’s another unlucky guy who got beaten to death.” ““You’re telling me. A nail was driven right into his Temple of the Sun—he died on the spot.” The metal bed was pushed next to Zhao Wuji, and he sensed someone watching him. “Looks like he died today, too?” A man rested his hand on Zhao Wuji’s metal bed. “That’s right. A damn yellow-skinned pig. You know I hate Asians.” The man’s tone was full of contempt. The group walked around the morgue, found nothing amiss, and left. As soon as they stepped out, Zhao Wuji sat up and turned his gaze to the corpse beside him—a white man’s body. His sturdy frame and bulging muscles were clear evidence of his strength. “With this corpse, I can perform my first enhancement.” ” Zhao Wuji approached the corpse and began absorbing its living soul. After an unknown amount of time, he closed his eyes and began to tremble all over. If one were to get close enough to observe him closely, they would notice his muscles quivering at an extremely rapid frequency, while a liquid resembling ink continuously seeped from his pores. Before long, his prison garb was stained black and gave off a foul odor. The process of enhancing his body was undoubtedly painful,but he paid no heed to this pain. The strengthening process lasted a total of two hours. During that time, no one came in to check on him. After two hours, Zhao Wuji stopped trembling, bringing this first round of strengthening to an end. Although it was only his first time, he felt his entire body brimming with power—a single punch from him could send a burly man flying. After the enhancement, Zhao Wuji faced a problem: how to explain his resurrection. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was around, he slipped silently out of the morgue, knocked out a passing prisoner with a single punch, stripped him of his prison uniform, put it on himself, and then returned to the morgue to lie down and wait. When he sensed several people entering the morgue, his body began to feign erratic convulsions, causing the iron bed beneath him to creak. The people who entered were startled. “My God, what is that?” Their voices betrayed unmistakable fear and panic. “How can a dead person move? Is he possessed by a demon?” Instantly, everyone in the morgue rushed out in a panic, shouting and screaming as they prepared to call for medical staff. Just a moment later, a complaining voice drifted in: “Are you kidding me? Everyone in the morgue is confirmed dead. Are you trying to tell me the dead have come back to life?” The doctor who had entered the morgue was about to voice a few more complaints when he suddenly felt as if his throat had been clamped shut—he could no longer make a sound. He couldn’t believe his eyes. What was that? A body that had already been confirmed dead was twitching erratically. Although he still refused to believe it, the scene before him could not deceive him. “Quick! Carry him out.” The doctor clearly believed this was a case of apparent death; after all, such instances are not uncommon in medical history. If the person before him were truly dead, he would never have come back to life—unless the doctor had wasted over a decade studying medicine. The group nervously carried Zhao Wuji into the medical center, hooked him up to the machines, and began the examination. By this point, Zhao Wuji had stopped twitching—after all, he’d achieved his goal. As long as everyone believed he’d been mistaken for a corpse due to a case of apparent death, his resurrection would be easy to explain. “Unbelievable,” the doctor said, staring at the readings on the monitor. “This is yet another miracle.” Every reading on the monitor proved that the person before them was very much alive—not a corpse that should be lying in the morgue. His vital signs were even higher than those of an average person, indicating that his vitality had been reawakened. “All right, it’s been proven that he’s alive,” the doctor declared. Everyone around him breathed a sigh of relief. “So this was a case of apparent death after all.” A moment later, Zhao Wuji opened his eyes, feigning confusion. “What happened to me? Where am I?” “All right, you’re fine now. But do you really not remember what happened—like who attacked you?” a prison guard asked. Zhao Wuji, of course, wouldn’t reveal who it was; he intended to handle this matter himself. “Looks like he really doesn’t know,” the guard nodded. “So, doctor, when can he leave here?” “Anytime.” Hearing the doctor’s reply, the guard turned to Zhao Wuji. “Let’s go! Back to where you belong.” Zhao Wuji nodded, stepped down from the hospital bed, and followed the guard as he led him toward Zone B Prison. Along the way, the inmates all shot him defiant glances, as if they were just waiting for trouble to break out. Zhao Wuji watched it all with a cold stare; from now on, he would use his fists to show them what the truth really was. The group passed through layer upon layer of security checkpoints and entered Block B. Block B housed the largest number of inmates in the prison, and its inmate population was particularly diverse, resulting in numerous brawls every day. Seeing Zhao Wuji being led into Block B by the guard, many inmates shot him hostile glances. The guard held no authority here; the inmates gave him the middle finger, and boos rang out continuously. After passing through the long, dim prison corridor, they finally stopped beside Zhao Wuji’s cell. The guard opened the heavy alloy door and jutted out his chin. “Go on in. I don’t suppose I need to tell you how this works, do I?” ” A cold gleam flashed in Zhao Wuji’s eyes as he shot the guard a frosty glance. Without saying a word, he walked into the cell on his own. The guard felt a chill rise from within; his intuition told him this man from the East was not to be messed with. After all, he’d been a prison guard for many years and had seen countless criminals, yet no one had ever given him this kind of feeling. Realizing just how dangerous this man was, the guard didn’t want to linger there a moment longer and left Zhao Wuji’s cell as quickly as possible. Zhao Wuji wasn’t alone in his cell; there was also a bank robber, a Black man. The cell’s furnishings were sparse—just a makeshift toilet and two heavy iron bunk beds stacked one above the other. The Black man was lying on the top bunk, resting his eyes. Hearing the commotion, he opened his eyes and grinned. “Isn’t this our little Asian guy?” No one had paid any attention to the previous reports of Zhao Wuji’s death, as such incidents were a daily occurrence in this place. Consequently, even his cellmate was unaware of what had happened to him and assumed the prison authorities had taken him away for some reason. This Black man was no saint—otherwise, he wouldn’t have committed a robbery—though, to be fair, there weren’t many good people in the entire prison. This black man had beaten Zhao Wuji numerous times, simply because he was in a bad mood and needed to let off some steam. After Zhao Wuji walked in, he said nothing and sat down directly on his bunk. “You yellow-skinned pig, are you itching for a beating today? Want me to loosen up your joints a bit?” The black man rolled off the bed, glaring viciously at Zhao Wuji, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked. “Get lost.” Zhao Wuji’s cold, single word only made the Black man laugh in fury—had this “yellow-skinned pig” lost his mind? “What did you say?” The Black man could hardly believe his ears. “I told you to get lost. Is your laughable IQ too low to understand me, or did I fail to make myself clear?” The black man’s rage finally erupted. He felt as if he were back at the bank robbery, when he’d blown someone’s head off with a single shot. “I’m going to tear you to pieces, you damn yellow-skinned pig!” He lunged at Zhao Wuji with a punch. There was a loud “BOOM,” and silence fell over the cell. A man lay on the floor, trembling all over. It was the Black man.