Chapter Fifteen: Zhou Ze's Doubts

The female professor shook her head, correcting him: “I can’t claim certainty, but from my professional standpoint, all the data indicates this is real.”

Asking you is pointless, Zhou Ze thought with mounting irritation. He pointed at another professor responsible for data analysis.

“Professor Wang, what’s your perspective?”

Wang coughed several times before speaking slowly: “I can say with one hundred percent certainty that his genetic prototype has achieved complete assimilation. Furthermore, according to the results of our human engineering analysis, his physical indicators are all exceptional—his skeletal structure is proportionate, his physique is long and balanced. In short, he possesses a body that is—”

“A body that approaches the ‘template.’” Zhou Ze’s brow furrowed slightly. He rose and walked to Professor Wang’s desk, facing him directly, enunciating each word: “Let the data speak.”

“Yes, of course.” Seeing Zhou Ze approach, Professor Wang seemed to realize something and hurriedly pressed the mute lock on his desk.

It was a common soundproofing device.

A faint mechanical hum sounded—around Professor Wang’s chair, it was as if a glass dome had descended, sealing off their voices from the room.

Only then did Wang pick up the report beside him and read in a measured tone: “Councilor Zhou, a moment ago I took the liberty of conducting a template assessment on him. The results show that Ji Cheng’s shoulders, elbows, wrists, hands, hips, knees, ankles, toes, and heels—his joint positions—match the template to a similarity of 92.7%. Moreover, in the data smoothing observation window, it wasn’t until the sampling rate exceeded 225 that two distinct curves appeared.”

The so-called ‘template’ was in fact the product of a failed research project in Southport more than three years ago. Because the people of Baishan Star did not know the Mimicry Method, assimilation with genetic prototypes was extremely difficult. One geneticist had the idea to compare as many empowered individuals’ genomes as possible, seeking similarities to distill a genetic template.

According to his hypothesis, the more someone matched this ‘template,’ the more suitable their body structure would be for genetic prototype assimilation.

Southport’s parliament quickly approved the proposal, but in practice, it proved an immense endeavor—sequencing the genes of those who had been injected with prototypes was exhausting and time-consuming. Eventually, the method was simplified to a rough assessment based on joint positions.

Ultimately, the project failed; a large number of young people whose joint positions matched the template by seventy or eighty percent were found to have no particular potential.

“So what you’re saying is,” Zhou Ze interrupted, “when the sampling rate is low enough, Ji Cheng’s physical state is indistinguishable from the template?”

Professor Wang nodded. “That’s correct; that’s one way to interpret it.”

It was as if two similar photographs had their pixel counts gradually reduced—lower them enough, and they would look exactly the same.

Zhou Ze nodded thoughtfully.

If it wasn’t a coincidence, was it possible the genetic template hypothesis was actually correct, and their previous research simply hadn’t gone far enough? Or perhaps the template itself wasn’t precise enough?

He stepped out of the soundproofed zone, not turning as he addressed Minister Zeng from the City Defense Command: “Zeng Hang, have there been any suspicious behaviors from him lately?”

Minister Zeng popped a piece of loofah candy into his mouth, speaking carelessly: “Councilor Zhou, if you want to know how he achieved one hundred percent prototype assimilation in such a short time, you could have just asked him directly.”

Zhou Ze whirled around so suddenly that Zeng Hang jumped, as though struck by a chill. Zhou Ze fixed him with an intense stare, regarding him as if for the first time, making even Zeng Hang—one of the highest-ranking non-empowered officials—lower his head, unable to meet his gaze.

“Honestly,” Zhou Ze said, the corners of his mouth twisting into a smile, “it’s been years since anyone dared to speak to me like that. Have you all forgotten your positions?”

He was still smiling, but no one believed it was genuine.

“If Ji Cheng knows nothing, questioning him is pointless. If he does know something, who among you can guarantee he’d tell the truth?”

He suddenly pointed to a young researcher: “You?”

Then he turned to an older professor: “Or you?”

Every expert and scholar in the room lowered their heads; none dared guarantee that Ji Cheng would be honest. In the scientific field, a piece of intelligence of dubious veracity—one likely to be false—was worse than useless. It would bring no insight or clues, but could instead lead research astray.

Zhou Ze’s voice was deep: “Whether he’s a true genius or hiding something, investigating quietly to avoid alarming him is the best approach.”

He turned to Minister Zeng.

Minister Zeng looked pale, thinking as he replied, “We’ve been monitoring him from a distance since receiving the notice. He’s stayed home all week except for two outings yesterday.”

Zhou Ze pressed, “What did he do?”

“It seemed he was going to buy rice at the supermarket. The observers said his sister looked half-starved. After a trip, he spent forty minutes in a civil defense alley and went straight home; later he and his sister went out to eat.”

Lu Shangbai interjected, “His sister is very beautiful, though she seems a bit… off in the head.”

“No one would call you mute if you kept quiet,” Zhou Ze snapped at Lu Shangbai, then continued with Minister Zeng, “Was that alley investigated?”

Minister Zeng replied, “Yes, the investigation report is here.” He handed over a stack of documents.

Zhou Ze took the report and quickly flipped through it, page by page, frowning deeply when he reached the end. “Everything was normal?”

“Yes. Other than some footprints and fingerprints, nothing was found,” Minister Zeng added. “The prints all belonged to Ji Cheng.”

“So, there’s no issue. It’s just talent? Then how do you explain him taking several years to reach fifty-five percent assimilation before?”

“Maybe he was hiding his abilities before, waiting for a chance to amaze everyone,” Lu Shangbai speculated.

“You think everyone likes the spotlight as much as you?” Zhou Ze barked, though inwardly he found the idea plausible. Otherwise, it was nearly impossible to explain.

Lu Shangbai was puzzled. “Boss, what are you really thinking? At this point, he seems perfectly fine. Isn’t an extra genius a good thing for Southport? Why all the caution?”

Zhou Ze paced a few steps. “If he’s truly just a genius, of course it’s good news. But his level of talent is far beyond normal—I can’t decide whether to trust him.”

“True,” Lu Shangbai said, taking a breath and pausing for a few seconds. “Eighteen years old, one hundred percent assimilation—a feat beyond imagining. And he also cracked—”

Zhou Ze abruptly cut him off, “Councilor Huang’s slot will go to him as well.”

“What? Wasn’t that reserved for some so-called mechanical prodigy?”

“That prodigy is also named Ji Cheng,” Zhou Ze replied calmly.

Lu Shangbai’s mouth opened in shock, first amazed, then his expression turned peculiar.

Maybe when I have kids, I should name them Ji Cheng too, he thought. Call him Lu Ji Cheng—guaranteed genius.

At this moment, a professor stood up and suggested, “Why not just detain him for research? Maybe we’ll uncover the secret to rapid prototype assimilation.”

“Absurd!” Minister Zeng slammed a stack of documents on the table, venting all his earlier frustration. “You’re playing with fire! Do you even realize how dire Southport’s internal and external situation is? Right now, we need talent more than ever. Consider his potential, his formidable hacking skills and genetic gifts—I dare say within ten years he’ll be councilor-level.”

“Ten years? At this rate, Southport might not even exist in ten years!”

The professor’s attitude only further enraged him. Minister Zeng was nearly shouting. “If you don’t believe me, I could make you disappear tonight!”

The professor wanted to protest, but seeing Zhou Ze’s glare, he fell silent at once.

Zhou Ze’s gaze shifted to Vice President Liu, who had barely spoken since the results came in. That subtle glance drew the attention of the entire assembly to Vice President Liu.

“I have two suggestions and one request,” Vice President Liu said, nodding gently as all eyes turned to him.