The human organ of smell is the nose, and the faculty of olfaction itself relies on the myriad nerve cells lining the nasal cavity.
Generally speaking, sharper and more discriminating smell requires a greater number of olfactory cells. Humans possess roughly five million such cells, whereas dogs boast anywhere from one hundred to two hundred million—hence their sense of smell so vastly surpasses that of mankind.
Ken had been pondering this for some time. As his strength increased, the growth of his muscles was unmistakable; when exerting force, they hardened like steel, far denser than those of an ordinary person. Clearly, his muscle fibers had undergone significant enhancement and transformation.
But if his sense of smell had improved, what changes would that imply at the level of the organ itself?
Would it mean an increased number of olfactory cells or related neurons?
Or had each individual cell been strengthened, its efficacy magnified many times beyond that of a normal human's?
There were no obvious changes in the outward shape of his nose, which made the latter hypothesis seem more likely.
If Ken had possessed a medical background and the proper equipment, he would probably have taken samples from his own nasal cavity for study already. Given his extraordinary regenerative abilities, removing a small sample would have had no real impact.
Who knew—this discovery alone might even have been worthy of a Nobel Prize.
…
August 2. More than a day had passed since the stabbing incident Ken had witnessed on the night of July 31.
Yesterday and today alike, he continued to follow his established plan and rhythm: training at the gym during the day, wandering the streets at night to hone his hearing and sense of smell, while simultaneously building a personal "database" of sounds and scents.
He even had a vague impression that training at night yielded better results—though this, of course, would require further experimentation to confirm.
After chatting with Captain Zhao on WeChat the previous day and learning that the suspect had already been placed on a wanted list, Ken had largely stopped paying attention to the matter. In his view, once the suspect's real identity had been exposed, there was no way he could evade the police under such scrutiny. As for whether the scent Ken had "collected" from the bloodstained glove in the trash bin two nights earlier truly belonged to the suspect, he had not bothered to verify it.
Yet things often unfold in strange ways: the flowers one tends with care refuse to bloom, while the willow planted without intention grows lush and green. Ken had not gone looking for the suspect—yet the suspect appeared within Ken's world all the same.
Or, more precisely, the suspect's scent entered the range of Ken's olfaction.
Just after six in the evening, Ken left the gym and was about to follow his preplanned route to train his hearing and sense of smell. He had barely taken a few steps when, amid the chaos of countless odors, he caught a faint but familiar scent.
Two nights earlier, driven by curiosity about the outcome of his scent-tracking, Ken had forced himself to rummage through a reeking trash bin and found a bloodstained glove that likely belonged to the suspect. The experience was thoroughly unpleasant, but the smell had left a deep impression—especially since less than two days had passed.
Ken immediately lifted his gaze and scanned his surroundings. Judging by the strength of the scent, the target could not have been more than ten meters away.
Although his recent training had focused on smell and hearing, he had not neglected his eyesight. Because he often roamed at night, his ability to see in low light had improved dramatically, and with targeted practice, his dynamic vision had also been enhanced to a certain degree.
His eyes swept rapidly over the passersby around him, yet he found no trace of the target.
Soon, he sensed the odor growing fainter—the target was moving farther away.
Ken frowned slightly. It wasn't that his sense of justice was overflowing and he was eager to apprehend a wanted criminal. In truth, he wished to keep a low profile and avoid exposing his abilities. Even if he located the suspect, his plan was simply to notify Captain Zhao and let the police make the arrest; he had no desire to play the hero himself.
But now, catching the scent without seeing the person was like stopping halfway through a bodily need—deeply uncomfortable and hard to endure.
So he began to move slowly in the direction of the scent, focusing his attention and carefully searching for its source.
After more than ten minutes, he finally spotted a gaunt, dark-skinned man with messy, slightly curly blond hair and a pair of sunglasses, standing in front of a phone repair shop.
Ken had already seen the suspect's photos that Captain Zhao had sent—an ID picture and several extremely blurry surveillance stills. To be honest, the difference between the real person and the images was considerable, especially that head of tousled blond hair; in the photos, the man had black, closely cropped hair.
Drawing closer, Ken's eyesight allowed him to confirm it beyond doubt—from the man's chin, nose, mouth, and overall height and build—that this was indeed the wanted suspect Captain Zhao had shown him.
Just as Ken took out his phone to report the sighting to Captain Zhao on WeChat, a shout from behind startled him:
"Mr. Ken!"
Ken froze, then turned around to see Zhu Ke'er and the delicate-looking girl who had been standing with her earlier downstairs at the gym. Each held a cup of fruit juice as they walked toward him.
"Mr. Ken, who are you messaging? We've been calling you for ages—how did you not hear us?" the girl walking beside Zhu Ke'er asked curiously.
Ken realized that his intense concentration on smell and vision had likely filtered out a great deal of auditory information, causing him to miss their voices.
Still, he felt inexplicably puzzled. If Zhu Ke'er had said it, that would have been one thing—but who was this girl to speak to him in such a familiar tone? They weren't even acquainted.
He had no time to respond. His first instinct was to turn back toward the direction where the blond suspect stood.
Whether it was because the girl's voice had drawn attention or for some other reason, the blond man happened to glance in Ken's direction as well.
Their eyes met abruptly.
The eye contact lasted only an instant—less than a second. Ken quickly shifted his gaze "naturally," feigning interest in something across the street.
But the blond man sensed something amiss and suddenly quickened his pace, moving away.
"Damn it," Ken muttered under his breath. He turned to Zhu Ke'er and said, "I'll contact you later," before striding after the blond man.
At this hour, the street was crowded with people just off work and heading out for dinner. The flow of pedestrians was dense, and the blond man was clearly an experienced runner, weaving through the crowd with ease. He soon vanished from Ken's sight, possibly darting into a nearby shop or alley.
Earlier, wary of alerting him, Ken had maintained some distance after confirming the target, which prevented him from giving immediate chase.
An ordinary person would likely have been forced to search blindly or guess at the man's escape route—but Ken had locked onto the suspect's scent and felt no fear of losing him.
He even had the leisure to send his location to Captain Zhao. On the other end, however, Captain Zhao could not sit still—he called directly.