novelsite Chapter 87 0.65% Mechanical Affinity
Chapter 87 0.65% Mechanical Affinity
The maintenance compartment maintained a steady, low hum in the dead of night. The air was thick with the mixed smells of engine oil, metal, and old wires—a smell so familiar to Wang Zhengyang it felt like an extension of his own skin. He stood before the workbench in the center of the compartment, its surface covered with three piles of weapon parts, each representing a completely disassembled rifle. The light cast a cold, hard sheen on the metal surfaces, and those sheens seemed to possess different layers of texture in his eyes.
There were still three hours before he decided to head to 27 Oraning Street. But Wang Zhengyang knew that time wasn't measured by clocks, but by the degree of preparation.
His fingertips traced the gas tube of the AK-74, the metal conveying more than just a tactile sensation. There was so much more: the minute stress lines from the casting process, the thermal marks accumulated from thousands of rounds fired, the fiber residue left by the cleaning cloth from the last maintenance. All this information, like multiple exposures, superimposed in his mind.
Change is happening.
It wasn't a sudden awakening, but a natural breakthrough accumulated over the past three days and three battles. The instant a bullet pierced cover in the abandoned warehouse, the comprehensive awareness of the environment while unloading munitions at the dock, the precise firing of three pistols hovering beside the railway tracks—each battle was reshaping his resonance with the machinery. And now, in the silence of the maintenance car, Wang Zhengyang could clearly feel a certain threshold being crossed.
If the previous mechanical affinity was like viewing the world through frosted glass, now that glass is becoming clear and transparent. The increase from 0.6% to 0.65% may seem insignificant numerically, but it represents a qualitative leap in perception. Metal is no longer a silent object, but begins to "speak" of its own state; machinery is no longer a tool requiring strenuous manipulation, but gradually becomes a natural extension of one's limbs.
He remembered that night, behind the overturned freight car beside the tracks.
Natasha's trembling breaths still echoed in his ears, but Wang Zhengyang's attention was entirely focused on something else—the feeling of truly "releasing" for the first time. It wasn't training, it wasn't testing, but letting something surge out of his body at the brink of life and death.
He raised his left hand, fingers spread, palm down. Three pistols appeared out of thin air, hovering in mid-air as if suspended by invisible threads. The feeling at that moment was strange: it wasn't that he was "controlling" the three weapons, but rather that the three weapons became natural extensions of his limbs. The pressure of pulling the trigger was like the bending of fingertips, the feedback of recoil was like the contraction of muscles, and the trajectory of the bullet was like the extension of his line of sight.
"Puff puff puff puff puff puff puff puff!"
Nine gunshots rang out almost in a single line. Six men fell, each wound—between the eyebrows, the heart, the throat—perfectly executed like a surgical operation. The entire process took less than two seconds, so fast that he didn't even have time to think, "Could this be done?"—he simply said, "It was done."
After the battle, Wang Zhengyang stood amidst the six corpses, examining for the first time the changes within his body. It wasn't the ecstatic joy of a surge in power, but rather a quieter, deeper understanding—as if he had finally comprehended some language his body had been trying to convey.
Now, in the silence of the maintenance compartment, he wanted to walk a little further down that road.
The three pistols are very light. Even with hovering control, each weighs only about 700 grams. But the rifles are different—the three on the stage each weigh between three and four kilograms. Weight is not just a number; it means greater inertia, a more complex center of gravity, and a much higher degree of precision in handling.
Wang Zhengyang knew that 0.65% mechanical affinity was enough to meet this challenge.
Wang Zhengyang closed his eyes and moved both hands simultaneously. His left hand worked on the piston assembly of the AK-74, his right hand adjusted the roller locking block of the G3, and a part of his consciousness began to "connect" to the third weapon—that old FN FAL, with a cracked stock and a loose rear sight, which should have been scrapped and was sitting in a corner.
The connection process is subtle.
He first "feeled" the AK-74. The cold touch of the steel receiver, the taut pressure of the recoil spring, the almost invisible wear on the edges of the gas vents. This information wasn't obtained through his fingers—his hands were busy assembling it—but through some more direct channel. It was as if an invisible nerve had been established between the weapon and him.
Then there was the G3. The precision of the roller delay system reminded him of the inside of a clock, where each part performs a precise function at a precise moment. He could "hear" the tiny sound of the rollers pushing open the locking block when it was fired, and he could "see" the trajectory of the bullet as it spun through the rifling.
Finally, there was the FN FAL. This gun was in the worst condition, yet Wang Zhengyang felt a certain affinity for it. The broken stock told of a failed battle, and the loose rear sight hinted at rough maintenance. It needed repair, and Wang Zhengyang discovered he knew how to repair it—not with tools, but in a more fundamental way.
The 0.65% affinity made the repair process almost instinctive. His fingers seemed to be able to sense the arrangement at the metal molecular level, to "hear" the "plea" of every bit of wear. When his consciousness sank into the FN FAL's gun body, the state of the entire weapon unfolded in his mind like a three-dimensional blueprint—not just the physical positions of the parts, but also the stress distribution, wear trajectory, and material fatigue between them. Repair was no longer guesswork and experimentation, but a natural guidance following some kind of internal logic.
He opened his eyes, his hands still at work. Twenty-three seconds later, the AK-74 and G3 were reassembled and placed on either side of the table. Then he walked to the FN FAL, not picking up any tools, but simply gripping the gun with both hands.
This repair is different from the previous ones.
Wang Zhengyang let his consciousness flow along the metal, like water searching for cracks. He "felt" the fracture pattern of the internal fibers of the stock wood, a brittle fracture that indicated the wood was aging; he "heard" the tiny gaps caused by the wear of the rear sight adjustment screw threads; and he "saw" the almost invisible deformation at the end of the barrel—caused by the muzzle hitting a hard object.
Then he started to fix it, but not using conventional methods.
The right index finger rests on the cracked area of the stock. Not by pressing hard, but by applying a precise vibrational frequency, allowing the wood fibers to rearrange and adhere through resonance. The left fingertip gently rotates the sight screw, not tightening it, but first turning it counter-clockwise a quarter turn to release the stress on the threads, then rotating it clockwise to the optimal position. Both palms rest on the middle of the barrel, body heat conducting through the skin, generating uniform thermal expansion in the metal—not heating the entire barrel, but precisely controlling the expansion within the deformed area, using thermal stress to allow the material to slowly rebound.
During the repair process, Wang Zhengyang could clearly feel the difference brought about by that 0.05% increase. Three days ago, he would have needed to concentrate fully to maintain this precise control, but now, everything became easy and natural. The metal seemed to have come to life, actively "cooperating" with his repair intentions. When the last micro-deformation was corrected, the entire gun trembled slightly—not a physical vibration, but a kind of resonant feedback, like the machine expressing "comfort."
Seven minutes later, the FN FAL was brand new. No, not just new—all parts achieved a level of precision that exceeded factory standards. The friction of the bolt sliding on the rail was reduced by 30%, the trigger pull was consistently and evenly maintained at 2.5 kg, and the barrel axis was perfectly zeroed with the iron sights.