After returning, Li Pan took a long shower, scrubbing so hard it was as if he shed a whole layer of skin. He changed into fresh underclothes and used Xingtian's scan to check his physical condition.
Level 4 lifeform.
What did that mean? Simply put, Li Pan was now physically capable of enlisting among cybernetic soldiers—like the MARSMARINE Mars Marines—or stepping into an underground fighting ring to brawl for quick cash against gang-affiliated cyborg bruisers.
These days, everything was rated in terms of technological levels. Patients, the disabled, or anyone who needed equipment just to move freely were considered Level 1. Ordinary people, with standard prosthetic assistance, averaged Level 2.
Spending some money on limb enhancements, taking specialized drugs, and undergoing long-term training could push a person to Level 3—essentially the peak of natural human ability. Level 3s were equivalent to professional athletes, fit for military service and capable of handling normal-intensity combat operations.
Level 4 lifeforms, however, could only be reached through certain surgeries and biochemical modifications. In fact, this level was usually used to classify wild beasts, alien pests, and various synthetic creatures. Humans who qualified as Level 4 were generally found in elite, specially designated units: Cerberus-type special weapons police, high-clearance security bureau agents, or corporate security division elites.
The Vortex Gang's cyberpsychos Li Pan had run into, the Takamagahara ninjas, and even Nightwalker K all counted as Level 4 lifeforms.
Beyond that, the scale could extend upward to Level 5 or 6, depending on the tech-based weapons and cyberware an individual used—but honestly, there wasn't much point.
Because "human" has limits.
By human standards, a gap of four levels was already in the realm of "superhuman." Beyond that, those enhanced beings—merely by existing—would exceed the Public Safety System's deviation thresholds and be classified as safety hazards.
They could only be registered as bioweapons or combat cyborgs, requiring full-time oversight and reporting. By public safety law, deploying a Level 5—or higher—bioweapon on Earth without cause was strictly forbidden.
It was absolutely, absolutely, absolutely forbidden for such "beings"—such "non-humans"—to evolve an individual self-awareness or connect to the QVN security network and gain citizen rights.
In other words, Level 4 was a watershed. It was not a state that normal humans could reach through so-called "hard work." There was a genetic lock—an invisible ceiling.
And Li Pan had just broken that ceiling.
Just sitting there, breathing in, breathing out, sweating through a dream—he'd ascended to Level 4.
And this was only the beginning.
By the standards of the Nine Yin Scripture in his hand, he had merely completed the first cycle of the Nine Yin Body-Refining Art—just his first transformation.
Yes, Li Pan chose to call it a "transformation."
The Nine Yin Body-Refining Art had nine cycles in total. In game terms, each cycle boosted all attributes. And "nine" was only the symbolic limit—one could keep going beyond it, endlessly, higher, greater, stronger.
Refining to the very end would turn him into the true form he'd glimpsed in his dream.
The God of Zhong Mountain, the Nine Yin Candle Dragon.
Yes—he was the Candle Dragon, and the Candle Dragon was him.
In some way, Li Pan had already "awoken."
He didn't yet fully understand the reason or logic behind it, but he knew that whether he was a transplanted soul from rural Earth, a corporate drone of 0791, or the sleeping god in distant mountains, they were all, in essence, the same being.
Every "Li Pan" was the same existence, projected across different dimensions, planes, parallel universes, and myriad Earths.
By corporate definition, that made him a "monster."
But there was a twist: for some reason, he wasn't just an object—he was a person. And it seemed he could use the Silver Key to transcend time and space, interacting with these other projections of himself, like playing rock-paper-scissors with the reflection in his mirror at midnight…
Of course, there was no need to worry too much about being detained by the Monster Corporation or exiled.
After all, maxing out the Nine Yin Body-Refining Art wasn't something you could do in a year or two—let alone going beyond the ninth cycle.
And besides, the Body-Refining Art was only the first volume, the introductory summary!
The complete Nine Yin Scripture still had four more great volumes! Each one could only be trained after the Body-Refining Art reached a sufficient level of mastery.
In short, this was a genuine immortal-cultivation manual!
Only problem was… this 0791 Earth wasn't built on immortal-cultivation rules—it was a cyber-tech universe!
Wasn't "cultivating immortality in a cyberpunk world" just a little absurd?
Honestly, with the lucky coincidences so far—the key, the scripture, the zombie encounter, the first transformation—he'd already hit the jackpot. A full mastery? Not something to worry about now.
But seriously…
"Did I just get hotter?"
Li Pan peered into the mirror. Maybe it was an illusion, but he felt his skin looked better—almost with a faint metallic sheen—after shedding in the refinement process.
Still, the change wasn't obvious. Without a system chip comparing body data, no one would notice.
For now, it was only physical enhancement. He seemed to have no superpowers, and certainly couldn't fly. And since he wasn't about to leap off the balcony, he took the elevator instead.
At the elevator door, he ran into Orange again—still half-asleep, looking utterly exhausted. Only half a night's rest, and already off to work again.
"Morning, Sister Orange. Thanks, by the way."
His breakthrough might have been sparked by her provoking his potential…
"Oh… morning, Li. Thanks? For what?"
Clearly, she didn't remember last night.
"Oh, just the psych doc you recommended—it really helped me get the job."
"Ah, right. Congrats. The outfit suits you—makes you look sharp."
He pried the elevator door open for her, stepping in together.
"Last time you were working late… did you work straight through until now? No rest days?"
She gave a bitter smile. "Daiwa's got entrance exams coming. The school's upgrading its firmware, and I had to buy a new software package. Just have to grit my teeth for now."
"If you need anything, Sister Orange, tell me. Now that I'm employed, I've got corporate backing—interest-free loans."
"That's kind, but I've got the tuition covered. I'll be fine."
Li Pan didn't push. She was like him—prideful, unwilling to bow to the world. And she had someone she had to protect, making her far stronger than she seemed. No need to worry—he'd just help when he could.
Today was a big day for him too—the online board meeting. But compared to a few days ago, he felt much more confident.
Hell, worst case, he'd just quit!
With this month's loan covered and a superhuman Level 4 body, he could find work anywhere—even as a mercenary. Word was a crew in Night City calling themselves "Cyberpunks" was making waves—maybe worth a meet.
Humming a tune, he stepped into the conference room just on time, ready to report to the big shots.
A round table sat in the center, with twelve overhead lights—just like the reception hall downstairs.
At least on the surface, the board and the general managers were "equals."
At the appointed time, Li Pan followed protocol.
Lights out.
In an instant, the room turned into a void corridor; the walls and doors vanished, leaving only the round table.
Then—snap, snap, snap—lights came on one by one.
In the seats appeared the indistinct figures of corporate executives in suits, their nameplates visible.
"General Manager 0674"
"General Manager 0213"
…
"General Manager 081"
"General Manager 01"
Eleven in total—the general managers of the Monster Corporation's branch offices across the multiverse.
Wasn't the board supposed to be from Earth 0?
General Manager 01 spoke.
"0791 branch. First managers' meeting.
As per company rules, report from the branch manager. All eleven ranked managers in attendance.
We may now begin."
They all signed, and a paper appeared before Li Pan:
0791 Branch, Fourteenth Manager (Acting), First Report Meeting Minutes…
He signed his name.
A beam of light hit the table's center—an antique semiconductor radio appeared.
If he hadn't been a country bumpkin from another world, he might not have recognized it at all.
General Manager 01 explained, "This is an old signal receiver. The Earth 0 board can now hear your statement.
0791—begin."
So Li Pan read out his daily reports from the past few days.
…
Well, that was that. 2,500 credits a month—take it or leave it.
Surprisingly, the board and managers had no "opinions or suggestions."
General Manager 01 said coldly, "0791, by order of rank, I will ask first.
Employee 0791002—your personal assessment?"
Of Ah Qi?
Li Pan reread his report. "Safe. Blue. Stored."
0674 cut in, "Non-written assessment. Your instinct—can you trust 0791002?"
All eyes were on him, the radio silent. Li Pan shrugged.
"Yes. I can trust him."
0674 pressed, "Really? He's not exactly human. No unusual behavior?"
Strictly speaking, I'm not human anymore either, Li Pan thought.
Feigning thought, he said, "Oh—he likes watching people drink coffee. Probably a hobby from life."
"Coffee?"
"Yes. Whether it's a hobby or an obsession with promotion, those aren't concepts guardians originally had. So, in a way, he's just carrying out his former contractor's last wishes.
The dead's last wish—how many people even care? In any case, it's his tether to the world.
Monster or human, as long as he's got coffee to drink, work to do, and a home to go to, he won't spiral out of control."
081 interrupted, "He's an Apostle, 0791. Do you understand what that means?"
"I do. When the contract completes, the death-contract entity fully awakens and descends."
"Then do you understand the possible consequences if Monster No. 007, Tangled Thread / Death's Bond, awakens?"
"I do."
"State them."
"A Level 4+ biocrisis on 0791, Fourteenth Mass Extinction."
"And you're still willing to risk this?"
Li Pan stared back. "I don't give a damn."
Silence.
After a pause, 0674 cleared his throat. "0791, this meeting is for mutual aid. Given our line of work, we all need help sometimes—especially you, with so few tools at your disposal. Asking for assistance isn't shameful. If you ask, I'll personally take a trip and handle your problem. What do you say?"
Li Pan smiled. Back down now? No way. "No need. You just want guarantees—fine. I'll take responsibility. As long as I'm general manager, if 002 loses control, I'll gouge his eyes out myself. Happy?"
The radio hissed faintly.
General Manager 01 said, "The board accepts your judgment."
"…Then thanks for the support?"
"Any other questions?"
None—this was the only real discussion point anyway.
Li Pan seized the chance: "I request a raise and promotion!"
"Salary requests must go to HR. Not within meeting scope. Sign and adjourn."
They all signed, lights went out, and the regular room lights came back. Li Pan was alone.
…That was it? Seemed the multiverse GMs were busy people.
Back in the office, the meeting memo had already been faxed over.
MR007 held up a sign: Thank you for your trust, Manager. I won't let you down!
Li Pan patted its shoulder. "One cup of coffee is enough for me from now on. I've got a sensitive nervous system—two cups and I can't sleep."
The fax machine suddenly went berserk, spewing paper.
"What the hell…"
Four types:
Monster Investigation Missions – Leads on suspected targets/events, with time, place, personnel, power assessments. Basically, go check it out and take "appropriate measures" if it's a monster.
Monster Procurement Budgets – Similar, but these monsters already belonged to someone—usually a competitor. Budgets acted like bounties: failed attempts raised the reward; success raised your rating.
Monster Escort Commissions – Moving high-risk monsters between worlds for better containment efficiency.
Monster Development Assistance – Moving research specimens between worlds for study—high risk of disaster.
Li Pan stared at the pile. "What the hell! This fax is broken! Ah Qi! Lock it up!"
MR007 quickly stopped him, writing: You passed the assessment. The board is satisfied with you, so they've entrusted you with more tasks.
"Which quality—covering for subordinates or taking the blame?"
The quality most valued by the company is a cold, unfeeling heart. Only those who can ignore the consequences—even the destruction of their home—are fit to manage.
Oh, that was easy. He didn't consider this world his "home" anyway…
.
.
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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