The news report playing on the television concerned a homicide that had just taken place at the Sai Wan Pier in Hong Kong. The reporter announced the identities of the victims: Brother Quan, a major Hong Kong triad boss, and several of his low-level enforcers. The crime scene was impossibly bloody, the manner of death profoundly bizarre, with blood and shattered organs strewn across the pier. However, the footage shown on screen was heavily pixelated; otherwise, the television station would certainly face lawsuits from human rights organizations for airing such explicit imagery.

The reporter then attempted to interview a police superintendent, but the officer offered nothing but clipped, non-committal responses. Yet, the superintendent’s ashen complexion suggested something terrifying had occurred at the scene, something capable of blanching the face of even a seasoned law enforcement veteran.

“We do not yet know the forces behind this case—perhaps a gang feud, perhaps something else. But as citizens of Hong Kong, we at the news authority trust that this case will be solved swiftly, and measures taken to restore peace and order to the territory,” the reporter concluded.

Liu Hui slapped the television off with a sharp snap. It seemed the Hong Kong police had found nothing of substance at the scene yet; for the time being, he wouldn't be dragged into the investigation.

“Boss, here is your tea.” Hu Xian'er appeared before Liu Hui at the perfect moment, carrying a cup of steaming tea made from the specific blend she prepared only for him.

“Xian’er, thank you.” Liu Hui accepted the cup, took a sip, and murmured his satisfaction. The fragrant aroma filled his mouth, leaving him deeply content.

“Boss, may I ask you a question?” Seeing Liu Hui in a good mood, Hu Xian'er ventured.

“Heh, go ahead,” Liu Hui chuckled.

“Boss, can you paint?”

“Paint? Does drawing comics count?” Liu Hui asked, intrigued.

“Comics certainly don't count. I mean, do you know how to paint in the traditional Chinese style, the kind using a brush?” Hu Xian'er looked at him with palpable anticipation.

“Painting with a brush? Definitely not, since I haven’t learned how. I did practice calligraphy for a while, though,” Liu Hui replied.

“Boss, think carefully. I mean painting animals, portraits, that kind of thing with a brush,” Hu Xian’er persisted, unwilling to give up.

“Xian’er, I truly don’t know how to do any of that. Besides comics, I simply cannot render animals or portraits,” Liu Hui said with a wry smile.

“Oh, I see.” Hu Xian’er looked visibly disappointed.

“Xian’er, why were you asking about that?” Liu Hui inquired, curious.

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Boss, if you’re busy, I’ll get back to work then.” Hu Xian’er sounded crestfallen as she retreated.

Liu Hui shook his head, unable to fathom the sudden shift in the girl’s focus. However, he didn't have the time to dwell on her thoughts. Starry Sky Myopia Eliminator was set for official launch in a few days, and he was swamped with work, leaving no room for idle speculation.

Li Zhi had already flooded television networks with advertisements, launching a massive campaign across all countries and regions outside of Greater China. As the ads for Starry Sky Myopia Eliminator aired repeatedly, the initially unremarkable commercials began to capture widespread attention, yielding unexpectedly positive feedback. With the ads going viral, Starry Sky Myopia Eliminator had successfully triggered consumers' desire to spend; anticipation was boiling over, with everyone waiting only for the launch date to make their purchases. The cute girl with the beautiful eyes in the commercial, Gao Xiaoyao, had also drawn considerable public interest. In short, Liu Hui’s comeback product was ready; it only needed the final push.

But a new worry began to plague Liu Hui. Although he could procure countless genetic medicines from Zerg, always securing substantial returns, he had failed to establish his own centralized research center. This meant that while Starry Sky Group was expanding rapidly, it suffered from severe specialization—possessing biological and pharmaceutical technology but lacking other high-tech fields, especially its own industrial foundation, which was detrimental to future growth. This fact infuriated Liu Hui. Ultimately, the core issue was a shortage of talent. Starry Sky Group appeared successful, but it lacked the caliber of personnel he needed, prompting him to dial a familiar number.

“Hello, President Hou? This is Liu Hui from Starry Sky Group.”

“Mr. Liu, greetings. It’s an honor to receive a personal call from you; I’m truly flattered,” President Hou replied warmly.

“President Hou, has your headhunting firm managed to find the technological leaders we requested assistance in locating for our group last time?” Liu Hui cut straight to the chase.

“Mr. Liu, it’s not that our firm hasn’t tried. It’s just that your company’s requirements are exceptionally high. The technological leaders available today are all highly sought after; their current employers guard them fiercely, making them nearly impossible to poach. Furthermore, the timeline you provided was extremely tight; we genuinely couldn’t find candidates to satisfy you in such a short period,” President Hou began to lament.

“So, you’re saying it’s impossible for our company to secure suitable talent quickly?” Liu Hui asked.

“Mr. Liu, if the timeframe is too rushed, it truly is impossible. We have done our utmost,” President Hou said apologetically. For a world-renowned headhunting firm, failing to fulfill a client's mandate was a significant blow to their reputation.

“But I need this kind of talent urgently. What should I do?” Liu Hui sounded helpless.

President Hou was at a loss, but suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind. “Mr. Liu, actually, we did locate one candidate who fits your criteria quite well, but…”

“But what?” Liu Hui’s spirits immediately lifted.

“That candidate’s age is… rather advanced,” President Hou stated, feeling the absurdity of his own words.

“Oh, very old? How old?” Liu Hui pressed.

“He is over ninety. He used to be the chief director of the China Shipbuilding Research Institute, though he retired over twenty years ago. After retiring, he moved to Hong Kong to live with his daughter and son-in-law. Tragically, two years ago, his daughter, son-in-law, and their family died in a car accident, leaving him completely alone. He currently resides in a retirement home,” President Hou explained after recalling the details.

“Over ninety years old? How is his mind now? Can he still process complex issues?” Liu Hui asked.

“When he was at the Shipbuilding Institute, he was the academic leader there. While his direct research output wasn't always the most groundbreaking among the top scientists, his management ability was superb; he could coordinate those eccentric geniuses flawlessly. He also maintained deep connections with many famous Chinese scientists of that era. Moreover, over several decades, he mentored countless students—his influence is widespread. Although he is in his nineties now, his mind remains remarkably sharp, and his thinking agile. However, his physical health is very frail; he likely won't last much longer. Mr. Liu, you aren't seriously considering him, are you?” President Hou asked, surprised.

“Heh, of course not. It’s just that hearing you describe him, he sounds quite remarkable, so I asked a few more questions. By the way, which retirement home is he in?” Liu Hui smiled.

“The gentleman’s name is Chen Songlin, currently residing at the Mong Kok Elderly Home.” President Hou took a moment to locate the file on the elder Chen Songlin.

“Understood. Well, President Hou, please continue looking for that technological leader for us. I’ll be hanging up now.” Liu Hui concluded.

“Certainly, I will keep monitoring suitable candidates.”

After ending the call with President Hou, Liu Hui felt a surge of excitement. Most people would dismiss this old man as useless. But for Liu Hui, age wasn't the primary issue; he valued intellect and connections above all else. And this Chen Songlin seemed to possess a mind perfectly suited to his objectives.

Liu Hui had previously consulted Zerg about human longevity. Zerg had confirmed that through the Zerg’s research, human lifespan could be extended up to 240 years. If this old man was as brilliant as President Hou claimed, Liu Hui could inject him with life-extending drugs, effectively rejuvenating him to conduct critical scientific research. Furthermore, with connections spanning across the contemporary Chinese scientific community, if managed correctly, Chen Songlin represented an enormous human resource pool. The most fortuitous aspect was that the man was utterly alone, unburdened by family ties—making him the ideal candidate.

The more Liu Hui considered the plan, the more feasible it seemed. He quietly descended to the basement, activated the dimensional trading device, and contacted Zerg. Zerg appeared on the screen almost instantly.

“Respected Lord Zerg, it is a pleasure to see you,” Liu Hui greeted him with a smile.

“Respected Lord Liu Hui, I am pleased as well. What business brings you to me?” Zerg inquired.

“Ah, it’s like this: you mentioned previously that you could extend human lifespan. Is that truly possible?” Liu Hui asked.

“That is certainly true,” Zerg affirmed.

“In that case, I would like to know precisely how you manage to extend human longevity?” Liu Hui pressed.

“There are two methods. The first is direct injection of gene modification drugs. These drugs directly alter human genes, inducing genetic mutation, which allows humans to reach a lifespan of 240 years. Humans beginning at age twenty-five enter their prime, which lasts until around 220 years old, with the final two decades marking the formal aging process. Humans already in their prime who undergo this modification will extend their prime until age 220. For those already entering senescence, the modification will gradually restore them to their prime state, only beginning to age again after 220 years have passed. This genetic modification has no effect on humans still in their growth phase,” Zerg repeated what he had told Liu Hui before.

“What about the second method?” Liu Hui asked urgently.

“The second method utilizes pure energy to repair and remodel the body's cells. We directly use energy to stimulate the cells within the body, causing them to regenerate vitality and return to a youthful state,” Zerg explained.

“What is the difference between these two methods?” Liu Hui queried.

“The first method is time-consuming, requiring about two years for the entire transformation process. However, the changes occur subtly, without appearing abrupt, and the cost is relatively low. The second method yields fast results; it can bring about radical changes in the human body within a single day. Because it uses direct energy stimulation of the cells, we can precisely control the number of years added to the lifespan. For instance, if we wish to extend life by twenty years, we control the total energy dosage applied to stimulate the cells, and the subject will appear twenty years younger within twenty-four hours. However, the second method demands vast amounts of energy, making the cost high, and the transformation is visually conspicuous,” Zerg elaborated.

“What are the costs for each method?” Liu Hui asked next.

“The cost for the first method is the same as the previous AIDS treatment drug: one unit of miraculous powder exchanged for ten doses of medication. The second method is considerably more expensive; extending one year of life costs one unit of miraculous powder in terms of reputation points.”

“The costs for the two methods vary so widely?” Liu Hui sounded puzzled.

“That is unavoidable. Although our genetic technology has reached its zenith, we cannot arbitrarily modify the human body; these two approaches represent the peak of our capabilities,” Zerg replied with a sigh.

Liu Hui quickly calculated in his mind. Compared to the exchange rate of one kilogram of narcotics for one year of life, this was actually not prohibitively expensive. He asked again: “What do the resulting products look like for these two methods?”

“The first method yields a gene serum, similar to your previous AIDS treatment fluid. The second method requires large machinery—it resembles a biological healing tank, though the substance inside is different,” Zerg clarified.

“And can both of these items be produced right now?” Liu Hui’s primary concern.

“Of course they can be manufactured. Whenever you require them, we can produce them immediately,” Zerg confirmed decisively.

Only after receiving Zerg’s affirmative answer did Liu Hui contentedly leave the basement. Through Zerg, he had found a path: using Zerg’s elixirs to restore vitality to aging scientists who could then dedicate themselves to his research goals. This was the only way he could achieve his objectives in the short term. However, this endeavor required meticulous planning, with zero room for leaks. If others discovered he possessed the ability to extend human life, no matter how many strategic partners he had, his personal safety could not be guaranteed. The research institute would become his ultimate possession—or, more accurately, the object of their research.

Liu Hui sought out Wu Yuanjia, instructing him to quietly make arrangements for him to visit the Mong Kok Elderly Home later that day to meet a man named Chen Songlin. He emphasized to Wu Yuanjia that this was a classified mission and must be kept secret from everyone.

Wu Yuanjia understood immediately and made the necessary arrangements. Shortly thereafter, an inconspicuous vehicle departed from the Starry Sky Group headquarters, heading toward Mong Kok.

Qian Yu Chu Hai will be attending national meetings in Chengdu starting today and will have extensive social obligations, leaving no time for writing. This will cause a delay of about five days, during which there will be no updates. I hope readers can understand. The words missed during these five days will all be made up in May. M