Chapter Sixty-Two: Stimulation

Li Daoran did not gloat, but spoke lightly, “Just a little trick, nothing worth mentioning. If you want to learn it, I’ll teach you later.”
The Wastrel replied cheerfully, “Great, it’s settled then. When shall we start?”
Li Daoran answered, “Anytime is fine. But, Brother Wastrel, could you teach me about exoskeleton armor?”
“That thing’s simple. Practice enough and you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll teach you,” the Wastrel said, waving his hand dismissively and generously.
Bear Mountain breathed a sigh of relief at the scene. He didn’t know how Li Daoran had sorted himself out, but as long as he had, that was enough.
“Brother Bear, I’m heading back to sleep. I’ll start training tomorrow,” Li Daoran said to Bear Mountain.
“Alright, go on. The young lady and the captain have their own plans. Things may not be as you imagine,” Bear Mountain replied.
Li Daoran nodded to show he understood, opened the door, and went back to his room to sleep.
After he left, the Wastrel habitually lit a cigarette, but before he could take a single puff, Bear Mountain snuffed it out and said, “The starship’s air purification system has to work three times harder just to clear your smoke. Smoke less. Look at you, you’re so thin you’re barely recognizable.”
The Wastrel smacked his lips but didn’t insist, saying, “Old Bear, tell me what’s going on. That kid’s got something to him.”
“He certainly does. Otherwise, how could he win Miss Liu’s favor? She values him highly, but today I really saw his prowess. If I told you, you might not believe it,” Bear Mountain said with heartfelt admiration.

“Oh? Don’t keep me guessing—spill it. What’s there to hide between us?” The Wastrel grew more interested, urging him on.
Bear Mountain recounted all of Li Daoran’s deductions, asking the Wastrel to weigh in. Despite his frail appearance, the Wastrel was secretly known as the “Specter” in the War Tiger unit—a nickname that revealed his sharp insight.
After hearing the tale, the Wastrel clapped with delight, instinctively picked up another cigarette, but this time didn’t light it. As Bear Mountain had said, air was a precious resource on a starship, especially when heading into battle. Saving a little might someday save the entire ship, and these veteran soldiers understood that well.
He chewed dryly on the cigarette for a while, until the filter was soaked, then remarked, “It sounds reasonable, but it’s full of youthful fantasy. He knows nothing about war. Those who live in times of peace can’t fathom what real war is like. Still, to reach such self-consistent conclusions with so little information—he’s a rare talent, truly. With some training, he might even make the Roster of Generals.”
Bear Mountain was startled. “You rate him that highly? The Roster of Generals?”
The Wastrel smiled, his bony hand—like a chicken’s claw—patting Bear Mountain’s broad shoulder. “Ranking him low would be a mistake. The ability to peel away the haze from the tiniest details and see the heart of things—that’s what every great general dreams of. Give him two more years, and perhaps we’d be fighting all the way to the Empire of Philip. What a pity, what a pity.”
“I thought I already held him in high regard, but I never expected you to value him so much, Specter.” Seeing the Wastrel’s expression, Bear Mountain couldn’t help but use his other, awe-inspiring nickname. Only with him was the War Tiger truly invincible. If not for his health forcing early retirement, the War Tiger would never have been destroyed.
“Specter, ha, I always disliked that name. I tried to get you all to stop, so I gave myself the nickname ‘Wastrel.’ See, now I really am a lonely specter. There’s no such thing as a wrong nickname, only a wrong name. Now, I’m both a wastrel and a ghost.” The Wastrel pulled the filter from his mouth, tossed the tobacco into his mouth, and chewed it dryly.
Bear Mountain, feeling pity, said, “If you want to smoke, just smoke. Don’t do that. You’re making me feel like I’m committing a grave sin.”
The Wastrel shook his head, climbed into bed, and said, “Forget it, it’s stronger this way. I’m going to sleep.”
“Hey, you haven’t told me what’s wrong. Analyze it for me. Don’t sleep!” Bear Mountain shook the whole bed.

“Stop shaking. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand. Sleep now,” the Wastrel replied, his back turned to Bear Mountain, his eyes shining as he pondered Li Daoran’s deductions. Bear Mountain’s retelling surely missed something, filtered through his own understanding. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow he would meet the young man. Perhaps, in this war, a new star would rise for the White Deer Republic.
As the Wastrel snored amidst Bear Mountain’s shaking, Bear Mountain’s irritation grew, but in the end, he could only lie down helplessly. That night, both Xu Xingxing and Bear Mountain lay awake, doubting their own intelligence.

Early the next morning, Li Daoran awoke promptly at six. While others were still lost in confusion, he was already in the bathroom, opening a small silver box. Inside, neatly arranged, were the gene injections he took daily—thirty vials in total, along with a large needle and syringe. Li Daoran couldn’t help but smile, picked up a needle, injected himself, washed his face, and headed out for a run.

“Simple running doesn’t do much for you anymore; it’s just basic activity now,” Chen Ming said, as if he’d been waiting for Li Daoran to wake.
Li Daoran nodded as he ran, signaling he was listening.
“We’ve made a plan for you. Start with running to warm up, the duration is up to you—it’s not important. Then it’s the gravity chamber: train your Phantom Demon Hand, yoga, military boxing, squats and other aerobic exercises under double gravity. This will train your body more efficiently. The process must last at least three hours. I know it’s tough, but once you’re used to it, we’ll raise it to triple gravity and higher, depending on your adaptability.”
Li Daoran decisively went to the gravity chamber, directly opened it to triple gravity, and silently began squats, high knees, and push-ups. When he was exhausted, he practiced yoga to stretch his body, and when he couldn’t move anymore, he trained his Phantom Demon Hand. When his fingers were sore, his body was about ready to move again, so he kept training. With the gene injections as a foundation, as long as he persevered, his physical fitness would only improve.

Chen Ming said nothing. Li Daoran was pushing himself too hard, but he couldn’t stop him. Li Daoran was holding back a surge of determination; as long as he didn’t get injured, let him be. After all, the only one suffering was Li Daoran, but the benefit would be for all humanity.

And so, Li Daoran spent a full six hours in the triple gravity chamber. When he came out, he was visibly thinner, and stepping out the door, he felt so light he might float away, walking with a buoyancy that was a consequence of spending too much time in the chamber. His body would need some time to adjust again.