I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 154 Debbie's Trouble (11K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

"Are there any side effects?" Richard asked. "For example, the effects of the Ivan virus itself?"

Richard was actually quite surprised. Scientific research usually takes time, and he was prepared for a long battle, but he didn't expect to achieve a breakthrough in just a few days.

"Nothing in the short term," Christina said, shrugging. "We don't know about the long term yet. Our sample size is too small, and we need to do more testing. But the results are already quite obvious; infecting skin cells with the adolescent virus can prolong the cell's active cycle."

"How long can it be extended?"

"I don't know, our testing time was too short," Christina said, shrugging.

She pointed to a volunteer test subject in the video: "This is our only male test subject who has successfully contracted the virus. The skin on the back of his hand was transplanted three days ago and is still normal."

Richard glanced at the video and saw that the skin on the back of his hand had completely returned to normal, with no abnormalities.

It was just smoother and younger-looking; the tester was at least 50 years old, but that skin looked like that of a person in their twenties.

This is undoubtedly a huge step forward.

Richard asked, "What are the difficulties now?"

"The gene-edited adolescent virus has very low activity and extremely low infectivity. It easily undergoes apoptosis, for reasons unknown." Christina opened a photo of the adolescent virus. "And I'm also worried that it might revert to the Ivan virus state, which would be a huge problem. I would need to conduct more in-depth gene editing and more experiments."

"The underlying mechanism remains unclear. I don't know whether this effect is caused by Substance X, or whether the genes of the adolescent virus produced this effect under the influence of Substance X. Conducting large-scale human trials rashly could have unimaginable consequences."

"At least two to three months of small-scale preliminary testing is needed before clinical trials can be scaled up."

Richard understood; there had indeed been some good breakthroughs, although it was still a long way from being implemented.

The adolescent virus is useless in nature; it will die on its own if released randomly, and it can't even leave the laboratory.

In some ways, this is good news, at least it won't spread out of control.

However, there's been too little research on it; who knows if this thing would mutate or undergo other changes if left in nature?

Its origin, the source of the Ivan virus, is still unknown.

What virus did the Rosenberg Virus Lab use as a basis to modify the Ivan virus, or was it dug up from some godforsaken place?

The most dangerous thing is that the military may have hidden some backdoors, which would make things even more complicated.

The military often uses ordinary people for experiments, and Christina didn't dare to take the risk.

Regardless, this is exciting news. After groping in the dark for nearly two months, we have finally seen a glimmer of hope.

The Princeton campus is bustling with young people.

Edgar walked beside Richard, in a very good mood. Being able to get some fresh air out of that dark and gloomy laboratory felt like a prisoner getting some fresh air: "You know what, this 'youth virus' stuff is fucking weird."

He lowered his voice as he spoke.

There weren't many students around, but this wasn't something that could be said out loud; it was confidential. If Richard hadn't been in the project team, he wouldn't have dared to say it even if it meant death.

Edgar was feeling incredibly stifled.

Edgar glanced at Richard, noticing his lack of expression, and assumed Richard was completely oblivious to the shock: "When it's stable, a drop on cultured blood can keep it alive overnight. When it's unstable, no matter the temperature..."

Even humidity couldn't stop it from dying. I'm telling you, I've tried forty-seven different culture medium formulas, forty-seven! In the end, I found it had nothing to do with the culture medium; it just died and came back to life as it pleased, it was completely illogical!

Richard hummed in response.

Many discoveries in biology and chemistry are purely based on luck.

This situation is perfectly normal.

Even after another year of experimentation, a suitable culture medium may still not be found.

Perhaps an intern will figure it out by trying it out casually.

Edgar was getting excited: "I tried replicating the Adolescent Virus DNA and embedding it into normal cells, but that thing just doesn't work. So the key isn't in that DNA. It's somewhere else! My advisor is still working on that Substance X, and nobody knows what it is."

Edgar went on and on: "It's so weird! It's like you see a cell phone, it can make calls and play games, you open it up and it's crammed full of electronic components! Then you try to figure out why, so you take some parts off and try them out, and it works. So you take some more off, and it still works! Until you hollow it out completely, FXXK! It still works! Can you understand? It's so weird! An empty shell with a screen and it can play games, that's how we feel right now!"

Richard glanced at him: "Not bad, progress is rapid."

"Fast? This is nothing." Edgar lowered his voice, but there was an uncontrollable sense of pride in his tone: "Although we can't leave the lab yet, if this direction can be successfully implemented..."

, 7

He paused, thinking he shouldn't say too much. If others overheard, he'd never be able to repay the enormous compensation claim in a hundred lifetimes. He forced himself to say back, "Never mind, I won't say anything. You wouldn't understand anyway. In four or five years, when you're doing your PhD, you'll probably understand. If there's a chance then, I can take you to the lab! Especially those amazing primitive cells—my supervisor got them from who-knows-where! They're incredible! Even dead cells are alive..."

'

He suppressed his excitement, patted Richard on the shoulder, and said smugly, "Anyway, don't worry, your senior brother will definitely protect you."

Richard was speechless: "You, a mere ox or horse, dare to claim you'll protect me?"

"Hmph, I'm just a beast of burden now, but in a few years I'll be a professor! If this project yields results, it'll definitely win a Nobel Prize! It's like I'm young again!"

Edgar lowered his voice in excitement.

The two entered the administration building and unexpectedly encountered Professor Alaric.

Since going solo, Alaric has been full of energy and looks much more energetic than when he was in the cell lab. He was wearing a dark gray trench coat, glasses, and was tall and thin, with a rather dashing appearance.

Alaric was holding a stack of documents, looking quite pleased with himself.

He received another $18 in funding today, bringing his lab's total funding for the year to over $100 million!

When he saw Edgar, he paused for a moment, then exclaimed happily, "Edgar! Long time no see!"

Edgar greeted him in return: "Professor Alaric."

Alaric glanced at Richard beside him, the genius high school student Christina had chosen, and simply nodded before turning his attention back to Edgar: "How's it going? Still in the cell lab?"

"Um.

""

Have you published any CNS papers recently?

Edgar's lips twitched slightly when he heard the question.

Two months ago, if Alaric had asked him, "Have you gotten your hands on any CNS papers?", he would have honestly answered, "No."

Now, thinking about the project he was working on, and his advisor's private lab that was always locked and wouldn't let anyone in...

Those cells that die on a set timer, that substance X whose mechanism is unknown, that mysterious adolescent virus...

CNS is utterly worthless!

Edgar replied sincerely, "No."

I'm working on a Nobel Prize-level project!

CNS?

Even dogs wouldn't want that.

Alaric clearly misunderstood as "Edgar is still doing the most basic chores," and he shook his head: "The competition in the cell lab is too fierce. My project is progressing well, and I might be able to publish two papers this year."

He paused for a moment after he finished speaking, as if waiting for Edgar to show an envious expression.

Edgar remained expressionless.

Alaric felt a little uncomfortable, but he could only continue, "If you're interested, you can come and take a look. My project group is still short of someone to do basic experiments. Although my equipment can't compare to the cell lab, there are fewer people, more freedom, and more resources allocated to you. I can get you a first-author paper at the CNS level."

Alaric is making good progress, but he is desperately short-handed.

This is a common problem for any small, newly established lab.

No PhDs are willing to go there. Who knows if your lab will even still be around next year?

If I'm gone, my thesis will be left unfinished, and my graduation will be completely ruined!

Edgar's lips twitched again when he heard the word "first author".

Two months ago, he would have seriously considered the invitation.

But now, I'm in a Nobel Prize-level R&D team!

Only a fool would leave.

Even if he is just a very late author when he publishes a paper in the future, with this experience, getting an offer from any lab will not be a problem!

Moreover, even if the small part he was involved in could never be made public, he knew that the direction was right, and once successful, the whole world would be shaken, and he could easily get a degree and a teaching position at Princeton!

After achieving some success, everyone in the immortality project team was very excited, and everyone knew that they were in a project with a promising future.

Leaving at this juncture?

"Thank you," Edgar said, declining, "I signed a confidentiality agreement and won't be able to leave for several years."

Only a fool would leave!

Alaric patted him on the shoulder sympathetically: "If you change your mind, feel free to contact me. I have a good relationship with Professor Shepard and can ask around for you. As long as you keep it a secret, maybe I can get you transferred."

"Thank you for your kind words!"

Alaric glanced at Richard again, then turned and left, full of pride.

Edgar watched him walk away and said in a low voice, "Professor Alaric is really unlucky. He has no idea what he's missing."

9

"Given his position in the cell laboratory, if he hadn't left, he could have been listed as the first author on the most important paper simply by participating in the immortality project, and perhaps even won the Nobel Prize through that project. Now..."

'

Richard nodded, watching Alaric's departing figure with great sympathy.

No. 1200, Wanding Mountain Villa.

The shadow lay on the table, breathing steadily, its tail occasionally brushing against the edge of the table, snoring softly.

It still looks like a kitten, but if you look closely, you can see that its fur is darker and shinier than before.

Richard squeezed its bones; they were even firmer, allowing it to easily jump to a height of 4 or 5 meters.

When the claws were tucked into the paw pads, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but Richard knew that the claws could easily slice through three layers of soft padding and even leave scratches on the floor tiles!

This thing looks like a kitten, but it can actually be seen as a leopard in cat's skin!

Richard consumed a full 156 units of 20-abundance [fresh flesh and blood] to complete the full-body replacement of the shadow.

All four limbs, torso, muscles, bones, and skin were replaced.

He didn't touch anything except the brain.

He didn't know if touching his brain rashly would lead to unimaginable consequences.

The shadow was unaware of what was happening inside its body.

All it knew was that it had been eating better, jumping higher, and wagging its tail more vigorously these past few days.

Richard took out a thermometer, inserted it into the cat's anus, and tested its temperature.

Shadow looked up at Richard with dissatisfaction, licked Richard's fingers, and could only droop his face and endure the discomfort.

After measuring various data, Richard recorded them in his notebook.

The record shows the daily observations: normal body temperature, normal appetite, and steady improvement in reaction time, speed, and strength.

No rejection reaction, and no obvious abnormal behavior.

There are basically no problems; perhaps it can be used on humans.

Richard wasn't in a hurry and decided to wait another three or four days to see the effects. He would only begin human trials once he was certain that there were no delayed side effects.

Richard chose his first human test subject: Debbie.

Catherine is unsuitable because she is a servant, and Richard is unsure whether this kind of magic will have a related effect on servants.

He sees Debbie every day and is very familiar with her physical condition. He can detect any changes immediately, and if anything abnormal happens, he can remove the abnormal cells at any time, so everything is under control.

However, playing it safe is also important.

Debbie is a human, and Shadow is an animal. There is a difference between animals and humans, so he needs to wait a few more days to confirm that everything is alright.

He closed the notebook and tucked it into a pile of study notes, making it very inconspicuous.

Richard came downstairs and found Debbie sitting on the sofa with her bare legs crossed, a tablet computer on her lap, looking distressed.

The screen showed a video of an NFL cheerleading performance, looping a very difficult move: a mid-air spin and landing, played repeatedly in slow motion.

"I have to participate in NFL practice tomorrow." Debbie said with a pained expression, "—How am I supposed to jump like that?"

Being an NFL cheerleader is significantly more difficult than being a high school cheerleader.

She's still in the center position.

As a professional team, NFL cheerleaders are even better than many competitive cheerleading teams, with a large number of high-difficulty moves that are comparable to acrobatics.

Debbie played the footage of the cheerleader completing a double spin in the air again, then paused it: "Look how stable she is when she's airborne. I feel like I could only manage one and a half spins, and even then, I'd be crooked!"

Richard sat down on the sofa next to her and glanced at the screen.

That was a very difficult move, involving a double spin followed by a reverse spin after landing.

Richard understood at a glance that Debbie, with her current physical condition, simply couldn't do it.

She's only 17, and she needs at least two more years to develop the leg and core strength required to support that kind of aerial control.

Richard doesn't need to be measured; once his physique improves to 18 points, his eyes become the most accurate measuring tool.

"Look! Look!" Debbie played it again, pointing to the cheerleader's leap on the screen: "She can reach that height; my jumping ability is probably only two-thirds of hers. I tried, and I definitely can't do it. She's amazing!"

Debbie turned off Lan's video call, her face full of worry.

Richard sat next to her without saying a word.

That's fine for now. In a couple of days, I'll help her strengthen her body and she'll be fine.

However, we need to wait a few more days until we confirm that there are no problems with the shadow.

Something slid past the window.

The shadow jumped down from the second floor and disappeared into the night with a single leap.

Debbie glanced at Lan, puzzled, "Why do I feel like it's getting faster and faster lately? Even adult Buddhist cats aren't that strong!"

Richard smiled and Lan smiled: "The Saintess's cat, huh..."

"Catherine glanced at Lan Yingzi, but Lan smiled without saying anything."

The Giants' training facility was bigger than Debbie had imagined.

The spacious room features deep blue cushions, the walls are printed with the red, white and blue logo of the Giants, mirrors surround the walls, and overhead lights emit a cool white light.

The air smelled of disinfectant mixed with rubber mats, much better than the smell of Francis Lewis School.

Everything around her reminded her that this was the basketball court from her high school years ago, a place that belonged to the professional team!

When Debbie changed into her uniform and walked into the room, she could already sense that the atmosphere was too intense for Lan.

It was her first day in the cheerleading team.

She'd been fighting with those bitches since middle school at Francis Lewis High School; she knew all too well the way cheerleaders talked.

She smiles and compliments your new clothes to your face, then turns around and sarcastically remarks in the group chat, "She actually wore that outfit? Doesn't she know she's five pounds heavier than me?!"

These bastards are isolating me!

Everyone had already formed a line around Lan Yiyi, while Debbie stood on one side of Lan's group, and no one spoke to her the entire time.

There was no welcome, no introduction, no exchange.

The cheerleading captain used to be a blonde girl named Miranda, who was also the center. Now her position has been taken over by Debbie, but she is still the captain.

Miranda's hair was tied up tightly, with not a single stray hair on her forehead. Her shoulders and back were straight, and her ankles were wrapped in skin-colored bandages, the marks left by years of long-term training.

"Hi! I'm Debbie! Hello everyone!" Debbie took the initiative and walked to the front of the line, clapping her hands and raising her head to shout.

It didn't feel like a greeting; it felt more like forcing everyone to acknowledge themselves.

Everyone looked up at Lan, and a red-haired girl scoffed, "Oh, so the Holy Maiden is arrogant."

Debbie Yu Shanqiu set her sights on her.

Great, you have a target orchid!

When faced with an attack from a group of bitches, the best approach is to target and attack just one of them.

Debbie and Lan have resolved their differences, and there are also conflicts among the bitches. If Debbie attacks her hard enough, the others are likely to join in the fun.

As a Holy Maiden, as long as she acts tough enough, no one will dare to lay a hand on her!

"What's your name!" Debbie shouted.

Red-haired Madeline was stunned for a moment, not expecting Debbie to be so brave.

Debbie walked up to Madeline and said, "I'm asking you, what's your name, you bitch!"

Bi, Bi Chi? Everyone was stunned.

Did they say Debbie was a saint?

This behavior shows absolutely no trace of the humility and magnanimity of a Catholic saint!

The women looked at Madeline with expressions of anticipation, as if they were watching a good show.

Regardless of who is unlucky, they are all happy and gossip.

Madeline felt incredibly embarrassed and, in a fit of rage, retorted, "Bitch! How dare you insult me?!"

"What's your name, you coward! I asked you what your name is!"

Madeline was panicked; she hadn't expected a high school student to take the initiative in this kind of environment.

She was a bit awkward, but she knew how to handle it.

Debbie's identity is very special, so she can't use her old fighting skills. She is also very afraid of the fanatical Catholics.

Miranda suddenly shouted, "Alright, everyone's here. Let's start warming up!"

Madeline felt like she'd been granted a pardon, glared at Landabi fiercely, and then went back to the line.

Debbie glanced at Miranda, who simply smiled.

Debbie immediately understood: "That seemingly kind person is actually a sly jerk who stabs you in the back!"

She's got way too much experience in tearing people apart, and she's got all sorts of bitches and sluts.

This is her area of ​​expertise that year.

Training began with captain Miranda leading everyone in a group warm-up.

Debbie kept up with the warm-up; she did the four-step exercise, showing she had a good physique.

She even performed better than several of her teammates. Her flexibility was good enough, and her movements were precise. During the warm-up, she didn't look any worse than the others.

Coach Edmund came to Lanzhou, and as always, he wore eyeliner, heavy makeup, and high heels.

Edmund glanced at Landa a few times without saying anything special: "Get to the exercises, do three sets first!"

"Year!" Miranda led everyone in the action.

Debbie discovered that the basic training movements were a level more complex than those of the high school team; many of the complex movements performed by the high school cheerleading team were only part of the basic training here.

Debbie could jump and spin immediately, but she couldn't control her strength; she jumped too lightly.

In contrast to the horizontal strokes, each landing by the professional team members carries a deep and steady force, each horizontal stroke is like a nail, very stable.

Debbie could tell they were in excellent physical condition, with clearly defined muscles in their thighs and core.

Edmund immediately noticed Debbie's vulnerability.

The assistant coach and Derek whispered, "Coach, she hasn't fully developed yet, and her training intensity is only at the high school team level. The moves she can do are very superficial. She's at this level."

Andrei didn't say what he meant: Debbie couldn't be the center, and it was even unlikely that she would be on the official team.

Edmund nodded.

Of course he could see it, but there was nothing he could do. The boss said, "Lan, Debbie is in the center position, so she must be in the center position."

He stared at Debbie, who, amidst a group of girls four or five years older than her, bounced around like a young deer that hadn't yet fully grown.

Maybe high school kids like this kind of girl, but in the NFL, on the big screen of the Super Bowl, her movements are weak and ineffective, making her look like a child dancing a children's dance.

Edmund started to get a headache.

Debbie could tell that every girl around her danced better than her.

The best natural year captain Miranda.

After finishing the first set of basic exercises, the girls relaxed in twos and threes, stretching their legs and doing other exercises.

Debbie started panting.

After a five-minute break, they began the second set of exercises. After finishing, the girls continued chatting as if nothing had happened.

Debbie started sweating.

The amount of exercise in professional teams is far greater than that in high school teams.

Then, after the third set of movements, the girls finally showed signs of fatigue.

Debbie had persevered, sitting on the bed covered in sweat.

This is just the beginning of one day of training.

Miranda sneered inwardly, but outwardly showed concern, saying, "Coach, Debbie is new here and still young, so we need to give her and Yi some individual basic training, especially in terms of physical fitness, as she's a bit behind."

Debbie gritted her teeth and glared at Miranda. "I know what you're thinking. You just want to tell everyone I can't do it!"

Miranda just smiled. Bitch! Feeling good?

Madeline added from behind Miranda, "Yeah, she just arrived, so she's bound to follow us. She's still a high school student, not even an adult yet."

When the words "She's not a Buddha yet" were uttered, Debbie heard a few people around her chuckle softly.

Debbie remembered Lam Madeline, but didn't say anything directly, because she knew she could handle Lam.

In any case, professional cheerleading is a sport close to competitive sports, and strength is the foundation of everything.

Debbie was able to dominate the cheerleading squad at Francis Lewis High School not only because she was good at tearing, but also because she was the strongest there that year.

Edmund nodded to Lan: "Debbie, first train with Coach Andre on physical conditioning and movements, before you rush into team training."

"OK!" Debbie glared at Lan Madeline and Miranda, then went to practice alone with Derek.

She tolerates Lan, but that doesn't mean she holds grudges.

When Debbie came to training, PR director Langdon also made a nervous inspection, bringing along photographer Clay to take some photos of Debbie for promotion on the website.

The Saint's First Professional Training

It's obviously full of hype, and of course he'd jump on that bandwagon.

Sister Clay stood at the edge of the set with a camera, filming several sets of footage from the same angle.

Then he glanced down at Lan in the viewfinder and shook his head helplessly.

Langdon leaned closer to look at the screen, frowning slightly. "How is it?"

"The other team members are alright, Miranda is the best material. But Debbie—"

Clay didn't finish speaking, but her tone made it clear enough.

Langdon, having watched many cheerleading performances, could distinguish between good and bad. He frowned and said, "Film a few more sets, then edit one together. Today, Bia will release a video of her first day of training. There's a lot of interest outside; everyone's waiting to see how the Saintess and the Giants' first day goes."

Langdon's voice was a little hoarse, and you could tell he was under a lot of pressure.

Those Protestant bastards are still targeting him, his phone line has been cut off, he's changed his phone number, and his personal social media accounts (private messages) are unreadable.

Even Debbie's social media accounts are handled by professionals from the Sawyer School.

"I'll try my best." Sister Clay looked worried and lacked confidence.

Miranda led the team to begin training.

Debbie was doing basic training alone with the assistant coach and Derek, muttering to herself.

Some Protestants who were resisting Debbie gathered outside.

Faint sounds drifted from outside the window on the east side of the training facility, accompanied by the cacophony of loudspeakers: "The Giants are heading towards a religious inferno! Get the Saintess out of the team!"

"Rugby is a sport for all ages, and it's taught year by year!"

"I'll refund my ticket as soon as Debbie appears!"

The sound was quite loud, but just enough to carry into the training hall.

Debbie heard Lan.

The other girls, of course, heard it too.

Several people exchanged glances with Lan Yihang, their lips curling into a hint of schadenfreude.

Madeline turned her head toward the window, as if waiting to see Debbie's reaction.

Debbie was stretching at the edge of the field when those sounds came in. She stopped abruptly and continued stretching without even glancing at the crowd, much to Madeline's disappointment.

Only Miranda maintained her smile, though inwardly she was almost jealous of Madonna.

In any case, Debbie's "hype" is genuine. Even though the shouts came from protesters, TV stations and newspapers still counted it as "huge attention," which is what every cheerleader dreams of!

She had never experienced this level of popularity in her entire life.

What about Debbie? She'll get everything from Lan!

They even stole my spotlight from Lan!

I was a better dancer than her even in junior high!

It's fair!

Clay sat in the stadium until the end of training, but still couldn't get any usable footage.

Having no other choice, he could only have Debbie record a very short self-introduction in front of the camera.

Debbie stood in front of the white wall of the training hall, wearing Lan's new uniform, and smiled at the camera, saying, "Hi, I'm Debbie!"

Clay: "How's it going since you just joined the Giants?"

Debbie: "Very professional. The training intensity is much higher than in high school, but I love it here! It's very challenging!"

She flashed her signature sweet and innocent smile.

"I hope I can keep up with everyone's pace!"

"Keep it up!"

Clay took the video and went straight to Lan to deliver it.

After recording this segment, Debbie walked back to her room.

Miranda walked over and said with a smile, "Debbie, training is at six o'clock tomorrow morning."

Debbie continued packing without stopping: "What time?"

"Six o'clock."

Debbie smiled, her smile even more genuine than Miranda's: "Okay, six o'clock. Thanks for the reminder."

She was all too familiar with this move.

If she arrives at Lan at 6 o'clock, and everyone else arrives at Lan more than ten minutes earlier and starts practicing, then she will once again be marked as "late" in this group.

She was all too familiar with this tactic.

Because she had played with other people as well.

Bitch! I've been playing with that stuff for years!

Debbie walked out of the back door of the training facility, a special passage opened for her by the Giants that year to prevent her from being besieged by Protestants.

Several devout New Jersey police officers stood guard nearby.

"Saint-Debbie!"

Debbie laughed and said, "Hi!"

"Could I get my wife's autograph? She really likes you."

...sign.

I'm a saint, and a star, okay!

Debbie can only sign autographs.

"Thank you so much! Keep it up! Don't care about all that noise outside! Just be yourself!"

"Thanks!"

After dealing with the police and fans, Debbie got into Catherine's car, and her face fell.

Catherine glanced at Lan: "Chu Shun?"

"Hmph." Debbie leaned back in her chair, her face turned towards the window. "They all bully me. One's a smiling tiger, the other a bitch lackey, and they even said she's only a high school student and not yet a Buddha." Ha! Are they that old?!

Debbie glanced down at Lan's chest, and Lan gained immense confidence from her.

Catherine started the car: "Should I talk to the Giants?"

Debbie raised her chin and said defiantly, "Useless. I'm Debbie, can't I handle a few little bitches? Francis Lewis High School, Dolan!"

"OK!" Catherine smiled at Lan, glanced at Lan in the rearview mirror, and turned out of the parking lot.

Anyway, if Debbie deals with Yulan, Richard will be there to back her up.

Catherine had a strange feeling that Richard was becoming more and more like Debbie's biological father.

Debbie muttered a few curses about Miranda in the passenger seat, then muttered something about Miranda again, as if she were encouraging herself.

The car drove onto the main road.

The light from the streetlights slid across the windshield in segments.

Debbie leaned against the window, already able to hear the protests outside. Her NFL cheerleading career had just begun and seemed to be going very smoothly.

Richard likes to watch me dance, Debbie thought to herself.

I must be the best!

Richard sat by the window, sipping Tieguanyin tea.

Brian's voice came through the receiver: "Master, Free Transport 3, found Lan, but the annual price is too high."

"explain."

"The ship is a refrigerated container ship, registered in Liberia and flying the Panamanian flag of convenience. Its route is very fixed: New York – Colombia – Ecuador – Venezuela, and then back. The goods declared through customs are all fruits, including bananas, avocados, and blueberries – those South American cold-chain agricultural products. All customs documents are legal, all taxes are paid, and there are no irregularities. This type of ship is a good tool for transporting human organs, drugs, and weapons."

"The ship has now left the United States and makes a round trip every two months. The straight trip will probably be in March."

"The ship is registered under the name of an offshore shell company in Panama, which wholly owns a limited liability company registered in Delaware. The office address of the Delaware company is a Manhattan post office box. There is nothing else. There is no disclosure of the actual controller, no list of directors, and no traceable cash flow."

"So, why did you go to Lan?" Richard didn't quite understand company management.

"Years ago." Brian's voice deepened. "To have investigated this far, you've already used the Port Authority's internal authority. To go any further, I can only contact the CIA."

Richard understood that Brian was just a congressman and had little influence outside of America.

Brian summarized: "Fixed shipping routes, refrigerated container ships, nested shell companies, virtual addresses needed for even an office—typical organized operation. That hidden dock on Hart Island that year, who knows how many they had prepared."

Richard took a notebook out of the drawer, wrote "Freedom of Transport 3, March" horizontally, then drew a blue line under it, and asked while thinking, "What's the state of the NYPD right now? It feels like a mess."

Brian changed his tone, becoming slightly more relaxed and confident, saying, "Fortunately, the good and bad district policy is being implemented smoothly. The crime rate in the good districts is declining, and police morale is much higher than when we went to France. Isabella acted quickly; she replaced a batch of cooperative district police officers, and the remaining officers are much more obedient. It's a good thing, otherwise we wouldn't be able to operate."

"What trouble?" Richard was just beginning to believe there was no trouble.

Brian and Isabella's collaboration on this scheme will undoubtedly face a lot of opposition.

Brian's tone remained unchanged: "The trouble is with the city council. City Council Speaker Payne wants to restrict the NYPD's budget allocations, forcing us to abandon our good and bad zoning policy."

They seized on the point of "average annual police force allocation," claiming that good districts have more than three times the police force of bad districts, violating the principle of fairness. This claim has already begun to be sensationalized in the media.

"I've got Kiri and several city councilors from good districts working together to stop this state from going up," Brian said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "His district is also within the good districts."

"Can it block it?"

"I can block it once. But once I do," Brian's voice deepened, "there are people in the city council pushing to drag this out until before the election season. If Marty brings it up during the debate, I'll have a hard time handling it."

Richard nodded to Lan.

Marty Hith, Brian's closest competitor.

In his early forties, a Harvard graduate, a law firm partner, he is skilled at media packaging and portrays himself as the spokesperson for "New New York".

The good and bad zone policy was exactly what he used to attack Brian's "old-fashioned, out-of-touch, and biased rich" image.

If Brian gains benefits from Lan, his opponents will gain leverage over Lan.

The opposite is also true.

In politics, it's a zero-sum game. If you gain something, someone else will lose, and you'll also have enemies.

Things will always be like this.

Richard wrote the words "Lan" in his notebook: "Speaker Payne, Marty."

Brian continued, "Let Kiri stall the city council. I'll get the federal subsidies for the NYPD approved by the state first. Let's see if we can drag this out until after election season; votes are more important than the budget."

Richard intervened in the specific operations.

The cunning of this political old fox far surpasses that of his two mediocre followers.

"Regarding Free Transport 3—should I continue to keep an eye on it?"

Richard closed the notebook: "Let's wait until March, when the ship comes to Lanzhou. You take care of your affairs, and remember, 'Hart Island, France,' I want that France."

The Hart Island Law State is related to the supply of corpses on Hart Island, which is Richard's public interest.

Anyone who dares to stop this will become Richard's enemy.

"Okay." Brian didn't ask any more questions.

Richard hung up the phone.

Just then, Debbie walked in with a limp, her shoes not even fully off, and pouted, saying, "Richard! Can you take a look at my knees? They hurt so much!"

She put her arm around Emily, knowing that Richard was skilled at treating sports injuries.

Richard glanced at Lan.

Debbie was already sitting on the edge of the sofa, her right foot resting on the coffee table, her trouser leg rolled up to her knee, revealing a bulge that was visible to the naked eye at her snow-white knee.

She said pitifully, "It hurts so much! I twisted my body and jumped around too much today!"

Richard frowned: "Jumping while injured?"

"You didn't see those bitches! I can't stand it!" Debbie glared, "Ouch~ that hurts!"

Seeing him move sideways, she immediately stretched her leg out towards him, saying, "Quick, quick, it hurts so much! I jumped too much today!"

Richard pressed down on his knee.

Richard touched the side of her knee with his fingertips. There was a small, soft bump there. It felt slippery to the touch, indicating mild edema and fluid buildup due to excessive joint movement. It wasn't serious, but it was definitely caused by years of overexertion.

The ankle joint was also a little red and swollen, and the capillaries had been slightly broken due to repeated impacts, with a light blue bruise under the skin.

"That much exercise?"

"Wow!" Debbie said with a stern face, "The training volume of professional teams is 3 to 4 times that of our middle school team. I couldn't keep up at all today, even the joint practice was much more intense."

Richard gently kneaded her, actually beginning to treat her with fresh flesh and blood.

After repeated charging and discharging, the maximum capacity of the [Blood Box] has been increased to 28 units. He then enhanced 20 units of [Fresh Flesh and Blood] with a single charge, leaving the remaining 8 units for emergencies.

Catherine glanced at Lan and the other two, then rolled up her sleeves: "What are we having for dinner tonight?"

"Let's make noodles with eggs and tomatoes," Richard casually suggested.

"Okay." Catherine walked into the kitchen.

Following Richard, her tastes are almost adapted to Chinese food.

After Richard finished treating his knee, he reached out and pressed on the outside of San Yi's ankle: "That's enough. You did extra training after your regular workout."

Debbie took a deep breath, shrank back, and stubbornly resisted the urge to straighten her leg.

"It's because of extra practice and the class," Debbie said, looking aggrieved.

Her voice carried a tone that was both pitiful and self-righteous: "They're all so strong, like adults all year round. I jump one horizontally, they jump three horizontally. They land steadily, but when I land, my ankles are shaking. Their stamina is better than mine, and their strength is better too—"

Her voice was slightly softer: "I can't just give up on day one. The whole internet is waiting to laugh at me!"

Richard did not respond.

He began to press down hard, and Debbie's body initially tensed up, then slowly relaxed.

Her eyes narrowed, like a cat that had been petted to a comfortable position; her chin lifted slightly, and her breathing became even.

Debbie's skin had a thin pinkish hue, her body temperature was slightly low, and she was a little damp from sweating.

Shadow, who was originally lying on the sofa armrest, saw this scene, stood up, stepped on the sofa cushion, walked to Richard's side, and nudged his arm with her head.

Richard didn't stop. The shadow arched across Lan again, then jumped onto Richard's knees, curled up, and its tail rested on the back of his hand, just between Richard and Debbie's knees.

"What are you doing!" Debbie glanced at Lan Yingzi with her eyes raised.

The shadow pretended not to hear and buried its face in its tail.

Richard pretended to press Lan for about half a minute, and then completely solved Lan's problem.

Debbie glanced down at Lan, then tried it out on Lan again, exclaiming in surprise, "Your move is amazing, Lan!"

She exercises frequently, and such sports injuries usually cause pain for at least two days.

Debbie spun her ankle again to make sure it hurt, then leaned over Richard, wanting to lie on top of him.

Richard disdainfully reached out a hand to block her halfway, pressing down on her shoulder and pushing her back into place.

"It stinks. I'm going to take a shower."

Debbie's body odor was considered mild by Western standards, but Richard could still smell it.

Find a machine to transform her hair glands into fresh flesh and blood, and there will be no more smell.

Debbie sniffed herself, embarrassed and annoyed: "I took a shower right after practice at the gym—"

'

"Go take a shower!"

Debbie could only stand up awkwardly and go to Lan Erling.

Soon, Richard heard cheerful, off-key singing coming from the bathroom. Debbie was humming a song while showering, in a very good mood.

Richard pressed Lan's back and limb bones, then pinched Lan's paws, feeling the tight tendons and smooth joint feedback, confirming that there was nothing unusual about the fur, bones, and tendons.

When he turned the shadow over, Yu Man called out to Lan.

Debbie's problem is simple: her body is not up to professional-level intensity.

She lacks strength and stamina, and her joints cannot withstand repeated impacts. The core reason is that her muscles and bones have not yet developed properly. This is due to issues with training and technique; her physical condition is simply not up to par.

Wait another three or four days.

Once it was confirmed that the shadow was indeed fine, Richard helped Debbie rebuild her flesh and blood, fill in the gaps, and gradually raise her strength, resilience, and endurance to the attribute level, so that she could complete those complex movements and also help him test the effects.

However, the intensity of the enhancement must be controlled. Debbie is a brainless girl, and we absolutely cannot let her act inhumanly, otherwise she really dares to show off all sorts of outrageous actions in the media.

Improving to the level of top cheerleaders is enough.

Richard opened the video and watched performances by top NFL cheerleaders, analyzing their moves and skill levels as a benchmark for Debbie's improvement.

Catherine turned her head and saw Richard watching a cheerleading performance video, completely absorbed.

Perhaps this is why Debbie insisted on becoming an NFL cheerleader...

Catherine sighed.

A blood donation site in Manhattan.

Richard knocked on Lan's office door first.

Inside, Jinglan was inside for about three or four seconds, then there was a sound of chair legs scraping against the board, followed by the sound of plastic bags being quickly folded up.

A few seconds later, Han Qing's voice came from behind the door, with a slightly flattened tone: "Hmm—come in."