Chapter 9: Subspace Network Pass

Chapter 9: Subspace Network Pass

……

While Qin Feng roamed the star sea in his dreams, Qin Dahai found no trace of sleep.

After emerging from the bathroom, he had already regained his usual calm.

Only his still-reddened eyes and the lingering smell of tobacco that clung to him proved that the emotional outburst moments ago had not been an illusion.

He quietly tidied the dining table, washed the dishes and chopsticks clean, and put them back in the cupboard.

Having done all this, he did not go to sleep but instead walked to the narrow balcony.

He did not turn on the light, letting himself merge into the night outside the window.

The dazzling neon lights of the city carved shifting patterns of light and shadow across his sharply defined face.

He raised his wrist and lit up his old terminal.

With practiced ease, he opened the contact list and pressed firmly on a name labeled "Factory Manager Wu."

"Beep... beep..."

After a few rings, the call connected.

The holographic image of a middle-aged man in silk pajamas, with a slightly stout build, projected into the air, his expression tinged with the annoyance of being disturbed from sleep.

"Who is it? In the middle of the night, can't a man get some rest..."

When the man recognized the caller's face, his irritation vanished instantly, replaced by a complex mix of surprise, confusion, and respect.

"Old Qin? Dahai? What's wrong at this hour?" The caller was none other than Wu Daqiang, the factory manager of the alien corpse processing plant where Qin Dahai worked.

Qin Dahai's face was expressionless, his voice as steady as ever.

"Factory Manager Wu, I'm requesting a transfer."

"A transfer?" Wu Daqiang was taken aback, then frowned. "Old Qin, your current position might be tiring, but at least it's safe. I know you—your skills are solid, and no one in the factory disputes that. Why the sudden urge to transfer?"

Qin Dahai did not beat around the bush; he stated his purpose directly.

"I want to go to the giant beast disassembly workshop."

"What?!"

Wu Daqiang's voice shot up as if stung by a scorpion. "Old Qin, have you lost your mind?! Do you know what kind of place the giant beast workshop is? Just two days ago, they hauled back the carcass of a third-tier alien 'Crystal Scorpion'—if its toxin glands rupture by accident, even three layers of protective gear won't save you from losing a layer of skin! That place is full of young men risking their lives, and you..."

Wu Daqiang's gaze unconsciously fell on Qin Dahai's empty left sleeve, and the words died in his throat.

He sighed, his tone softening. "Dahai, I know you need money, but there's no need to throw your life away. I'll keep your position secure until you retire."

Qin Dahai's eyes pierced through the holographic image like two sharp blades, carrying an unyielding resolve.

He spoke only five words.

"My son is cured. He can train in martial arts now."

Those words struck Wu Daqiang's heart like a heavy hammer.

He opened his mouth, but all his words of persuasion lodged in his throat.

Qin Dahai's voice suddenly grew low and forceful.

"Factory Manager Wu, I lost this arm on the battlefield fighting live aliens, not in a workshop dealing with dead beasts. I know how to handle them, and I know how to keep the arm I have left."

"Tomorrow morning, I'll submit a formal request at the factory."

Beep, beep, beep—

The projection vanished. Qin Dahai sat down quietly, counting on his fingers, the fire in his eyes brighter than the stars in the night sky.

The salary for the giant beast disassembly workshop was 2.5 times that of a regular position, bringing in twenty-five thousand a month.

"Subspace Network Pass: two hundred thousand imperial credits."

"High-energy nutritional meals to ensure basic spiritual energy supply: five thousand a month."

"Basic spiritual energy potion: ten thousand per vial... one vial a month..." "Once the vitality index reaches 1.0 and he steps into the rank of first-tier martial artist, two vials of basic spiritual energy potion a month."

Qin Dahai calculated the enormous expenses Qin Feng might need after being admitted to a martial arts high school, lighting one cigarette after another.

The glow of the cigarette tips flickered on and off across his resolute face.

—

The first glimmer of dawn filtered through the gaps between the dense buildings of the "Silver Gull" community, casting light into Qin Feng's room.

He opened his eyes and sat up in bed.

There was no expected muscle soreness, no bone-deep fatigue from extreme training.

On the contrary, his body felt as light as a feather, every limb brimming with newborn vitality.

Each breath was deep and powerful, as if he could draw in all the free spiritual energy from the surrounding air and make it his own.

A night of restful sleep had not only fully repaired all the wear and tear from yesterday's intense training but also acted as a catalyst, transforming all his sweat and effort into visible growth.

He raised his wrist and lit up his personal terminal.

On the pale blue screen, the familiar string of numbers had changed once again.

[Vitality Index: 0.63]

In a single night, it had increased by 0.05.

This number was already equivalent to the total gains from months of hard training during his illness.

Qin Feng stood up, stretching his limbs. A series of crisp pops echoed from his joints, as dense as popping beans.

He could clearly sense that his strength, speed, and reaction time had all improved—small but real.

The root of his illness was gone.

He had recovered fully, and his efficiency in absorbing spiritual energy was extremely high.

The living room was empty; his father Qin Dahai had already left for work.

But on the dining table sat a steaming breakfast—two energy bars, a bowl of thick rice porridge, and a glass of warm milk.

Qin Feng sat down and devoured the breakfast in a whirlwind.

He understood that yesterday's hard training was the "damage," the sowing;

While nighttime sleep and nutritional replenishment were the "recovery" and "improvement," the harvest.

These three stages of martial arts cultivation were interlinked, each indispensable—one must eat plenty and rest plenty.

After breakfast, he wasted no time. He changed into his training clothes, left home, and took the magnetic levitation bus to the Extreme Martial Arts Hall in the Third Industrial Zone.

When he arrived at the hall, it was still early, and the training hall was not yet crowded.

Qin Feng walked to the front desk and said to the staff member on duty, "Hello, I'm here to pay the fee for the regular class."

"Alright, student Qin Feng, is it? The fee is three thousand imperial credits."

Qin Feng pulled up his personal terminal and paid the three thousand credits his father had transferred to his account last night.

[Payment Successful.]

After finishing all this, he walked into the training ground and immediately spotted that familiar, frail figure.

Liu Xiaoli had already arrived, alone in a corner, meticulously practicing the opening stance of the "Imperial Basic Body-Tempering Method."

Fine beads of sweat had already formed on his forehead, his face somewhat pale; clearly he had risen early and had been training for a while.

"Morning."

Qin Feng walked over and greeted him.

Liu Xiaoli stopped his movements, saw it was Qin Feng, and gave a shy smile: "You're here. Morning."

He wiped his sweat and resumed his training, striving to make every movement standard, but it was evident his body was still struggling, his qi and blood circulation far from as smooth as an ordinary person's.

Qin Feng nodded, also walked to the side, and began to warm up.

If he had not chosen the ten-thousand-yuan guidance, if Sun Chantang's Ten Complete Hands had not cured his root ailment, perhaps he would now be like Liu Xiaoli, struggling painfully yet reaping no corresponding gains.

(End of this chapter)