Chapter 1: The Era of Radiance
The elevator descended slowly, like a meteor plunging into an ocean of multicolored neon signs.
Through the glass, a colossal steel metropolis laid itself bare. Countless steel beams twisted and spiraled upward, dominating the landscape like giant serpents coiled across the earth. The further down they went, the more brilliant and densely packed the neon signs became, merging into clusters that resembled cheap glass rhinestones. Acid rain poured down, carving deep, crisscrossing gullies into the ground.
Two people stood inside the elevator. The light traced the silhouette of an obese man wearing a gold-rimmed monocle and a landscape-embroidered tapestry robe of cyan and green. His neck was buried beneath folds of flabby fat. Weaving the outer robe he wore required multiple artisans to change tens of thousands of shuttles, consuming over a year of time. Yet, this craftsmanship—once reserved exclusively for royalty—was now rampant among the upper-class citizens of the Spiral City. Time, after all, had officially become a commodity for sale.
The man was flipping a gold coin in his hand. Tossed up and catching the light as it fell, the coin gleamed with an engraved relief of a Penrose staircase.
“Look, my boy. This is the bottom layer of the Spiral City.”
When the elevator descended to a certain depth, the man suddenly spoke to his companion.
“Filthy, backward, and suffocatingly stale. Acid rain falls year-round; even seedlings can’t survive here, let alone people. That’s why everyone down here is a thug, a bad seed—trench rats that can’t bear the light.”
The person beside him remained silent, looking up through the glass toward the sky. A transparent membrane stretched across the heavens, enveloping the lower district like a soap bubble. Once they passed through this membrane, they had arrived at a place where sunlight could no longer shine.
“But there’s one thing down here that the upper layers don’t have. Do you know what it is?”
The elevator glass gradually became stained with the eerie, mottled colors of the neon lights. The twisted exterior walls of the buildings were plastered with advertisements: “Win a century with one minute of principal!” “The ‘Red-Eye Roulette’ awaits you—the billionaire’s seat stands vacant.” The fat man licked his thick lips, flashing a greedy smile like a snarling porcupine.
“That is—entertainment.”
Countless surreal, kaleidoscopic scenes flashed across electronic screens; this was a casino where lifespan itself was used as chips.
In today’s society, time had become the circulating commodity and currency. People lived within this Spiral City, which was composed of countless annular structures. While the wealthy households of the upper layers could comfortably possess centuries or millennia of lifespan, the impoverished living at the bottom had to earn their next hour of life through backbreaking labor. There were also many who took desperate risks, staking their meager remaining lifespans on a single roll of the roulette wheel, trying to gamble for a tomorrow.
The elevator ground to a halt, and a bright red number flashed on the display: 2026. This was not the floor number, but the indicator of the year.
The two stepped out of the elevator into a narrow, cramped alleyway. At the end of the alley lay the most famous time-wagering den in the lower district—the “Red-Eye Roulette.” Power lines crisscrossed like spiderwebs overhead, holding up various cloth fragments patterned with seaweed leaves and endless knots, catching the continuous downpour of acid rain. Coiled in the corners of the walls was a crowd of emaciated lower-class people, their skin covered in red blotches. A string of numbers flashed on their electronic neck collars—the countdowns of their remaining lifespans.
Hearing footsteps, the lower-class residents looked up feebly. When their eyes caught the Penrose staircase emblem embroidered on the fat man’s chest, a green light flashed in their eyes like starving wolves.
Someone stood up tremulously, shuffling forward on legs like withered kindling, and smiled obsequiously. “Two bosses, have a heart. Spare us a little time.”
The fat man’s gaze fell upon the man’s neck collar, which displayed his remaining lifespan: 12 hours.
“While you beg for time, you are also wasting my life. What benefit does pitying you bring me?” the fat man squinted and smiled.
“You two are headed into the ‘Red-Eye Roulette’ for a game, aren’t you? If you don’t mind, use my life as your stake. If you lose, it costs me my life, and you two won’t suffer any loss.” The man rubbed his hands lowlily. “If you win, I only hope you’ll grant me the scraps of your winnings—just two or three hours of lifespan would do.”
Hearing this, the fat man smiled half-heartedly. Just then, another disheveled woman stepped forward, cradling a filthy swaddling cloth in her arms, flies buzzing around her. She smiled fawningly:
“My lord, do you accept newborns here? The market price is three weeks of lifespan, but I’ll sell cheap. You can take it for just one week of lifespan.”
The fat man remained noncommittal. To survive, the people of the lower district would resort to any means necessary. Right at that moment, a cold voice suddenly came from behind him:
“Step back.”
Before the fat man could even react, a flash of cold light struck, ripping through the darkness of the alleyway in an instant. A rasp-handled handaxe cleaved fiercely through the air, shredding the thin cloth in the woman’s hands. Inside the cloth lay not a newborn, but a dagger.
Seeing her assassination attempt exposed, the woman’s face paled with shock. Then, her brows knit with hatred, and she lunged forward, thrusting the dagger toward the fat man.
“Dogs of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation!” she roared. “You monopolized time-jump technology and trapped us in this cage! You come from other eras, stealing our sunlight, food, and clean water. Look at the lower district—the time we earn from a whole day of hard labor isn’t even enough to keep us alive until the day after tomorrow!”
Many in the lower district harbored deep hatred for those from the upper layers, and assassinations were not uncommon. A flicker of shock crossed the fat man’s face, yet just as the woman’s dagger was about to pierce his chest, the tip of the blade suddenly rusted at an accelerated rate. In the end, it shattered into pieces, turning into fine sand.
Everything the handaxe touched was rapidly aging. When the fierce wind it whipped up brushed against the back of the woman’s hand, her skin became shriveled and cracked in an instant. Simultaneously, space distorted, and a loud pop echoed through the air.
The woman shrieked and fell backward, knocked unconscious by the shockwave of the blast. The emaciated man nearby, startled like a frightened bird, turned and fled.
A silhouette stepped out from the darkness, gripping the long handle of the handaxe. Tall and clad in a dark charcoal, cross-collared buttoned jacket, his face was obscured by a black-painted theatrical mask. The red patterns on it burned quietly like flames in the dark. In the flickering neon light, his sleek jawline was faintly visible, his skin as pale as paper. He was a young man of unstoppable momentum, like an unsheathed short sword.
The fat man dusted himself off and exhaled. “As expected of the cleaner the Chrono-Entropy Corporation thinks highest of. Not even the slightest hint of killing intent escapes your eyes.”
He puffed out his belly and looked at the young man. “Right, ‘Quicksand’?”
The young man remained silent, taking a step forward. He was the companion the fat man had gone to great lengths to hire—”Quicksand,” the chief time cleaner of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation.
The mega-corporation Chrono-Entropy, which monopolized time-jump technology, already controlled the world. The time cleaners were the cold-blooded, ruthless killing machines they cultivated. They were hyenas who spared no means to protect the corporation’s interests, traversing numerous timelines to brutally eliminate any dissidents.
“Being able to move with you counts as a massive bargain for me; I don’t even need to hire bodyguards. This time you have a corporate mission, right? To find someone in 2026?”
Faced with the fat man’s question, the young man called “Quicksand” still maintained his silence. Holding the long-handled handaxe, his silhouette walking through the dark alley resembled the Grim Reaper.
“Hey, Mr. Cleaner. I am a major client of Chrono-Entropy, after all. I paid a heavy price for the chance to walk with you. Don’t be so cold—at least give me a reply.”
The young man finally stopped his pacing. “Money.”
“What?”
“Voice service requires an additional fee.” Quicksand cast a sideways glance at him. The pupils visible behind the theatrical mask were an inorganic grey, mechanical and icy.
The fat man was dumbstruck, then gave a sheepish smile. But seeing that the young man showed no sign of backing down, he realized the other party wasn’t joking.
Thus, the fat man sighed and extended his wrist—the terminal implanted with his time chip. He opened the transfer authorization to Quicksand’s account. With a sharp ding, he looked down at his wristband and found that his lifespan balance had decreased by one week.
“It costs this much? This is flat-out robbery!” the fat man couldn’t help but shout.
“Yes.”
“I merely asked you to open your mouth and say a few words, and you have the heart to financially ruin your client like this?”
Quicksand nodded. “My market value is top-tier, and my service prices match my status.”
The fat man was speechless at his cold self-praise. Right at that moment, Quicksand suddenly asked, “Mr. Bumblebee, is your stomach feeling any better?”
In the nationless Spiral City, everyone went by a codename. The fat man’s moniker was “Bumblebee.” At this moment, he awkwardly recalled the reason behind Quicksand’s question. He was one of those upper-layer citizens who loved coming down to the lower district for entertainment, and the “Red-Eye Roulette” wagering den was their playground.
The situation in the lower district was volatile, making bodyguards essential for travel. Though he had bought the opportunity to travel with Chrono-Entropy’s chief time cleaner, he had ended up late due to a ridiculous reason—he had inadvertently eaten a slice of cheesecake that had aged prematurely due to chaotic time particles, forcing him to spend half an hour in the restroom. When the fat man finally saw the cleaner holding the handaxe at the elevator entrance, he had trembled with fear, feeling as though he were being pierced by the other’s sharp gaze.
“Much… much better.”
Quicksand said, “If needed, I can help massage your abdomen.”
The handle of the axe pressed against his belly. The fat man shuddered and hurriedly said, “No need, no need.”
“If you experience any physical discomfort, please inform me promptly. As I mentioned earlier, my services are top-tier,” Quicksand said flatly. “Also, watch out for rebel attacks. The woman who just tried to assassinate you might be one of them.”
A faction of the lower-class population resented Chrono-Entropy’s rule, gathering in this area as a rebel force to attack wealthy citizens coming from the upper layers.
Bumblebee, however, didn’t care. He clutched his belly and laughed. “With Mr. Quicksand around, any danger is negligible!”
Hardly had his voice fallen when a fierce gust of wind brushed past, and the handaxe scraped against the fat man’s cheek, slamming heavily into the wall. A chilling killing intent spread out. The fat man’s knees buckled, and he nearly wet his pants.
The young man in black stared coldly at Bumblebee through his mask.
“I am also a dangerous element capable of taking your life.”
Cold sweat poured down the fat man. For that single instant, he thought he was going to meet his maker. Quicksand effortlessly pulled the heavy handaxe out of the wall and said:
“Down here, do not trust or rely on anyone. Including me.”
The lower district was a chaotic mess, fraught with danger at every turn. The fat man’s heart pounded with lingering fear; he knew this was Quicksand’s warning to him. Quicksand was undoubtedly a top-tier hunter, every movement concise and powerful, executed solely to reap human lives. This man was not his servant, but a ferocious wolf capable of snapping back at any moment.
With his panic somewhat settled, the fat man wanted to continue their previous topic to fish for the cleaner’s objective in this area, but Quicksand’s mouth was now locked tight like a sealed box, incapable of producing another sound.
The two walked through the vibrant, mottled curtain of night. Quicksand’s gaze lingered on a piece of graffiti on the wall: highly expressive gold paint splattered across the surface like fractured sunlight. Against this backdrop, white lines outlined a human figure standing rakishly with legs apart, one hand holding a top hat and the other holding a playing card: the 8 of Diamonds. Beneath it ran a line of stylized English prose: “Have the world by its tail!”
“Sir, excuse my prying, but is the person you are looking for in this era him?” Bumblebee stopped before the graffiti. He no longer dared to slight this executioner-like young man and had switched to using honorifics.
Quicksand looked up at the graffiti, his eyes flashing as the image from the bounty warrant in his memory overlapped with the artwork.
The fat man had grown accustomed to his silence and continued on his own:
“The most cunning and dangerous fraudster of this era. With a simple gesture, he can turn the world upside down. Rumor has it that he stole an immense amount of time from Chrono-Entropy—a total volume far exceeding several centuries. Mr. Cleaner, this is a massive prize.”
Quicksand turned his head, his grey eyes looking coldly at Bumblebee.
“You’ve seen him.”
Bumblebee wiped away his sweat and smiled. “He’s very famous in the lower district. Though he’s elusive, he can occasionally be spotted at the ‘Red-Eye Roulette,’ playing a small game or two.”
“If we go to the ‘Red-Eye Roulette’ now, can we see him?”
Bumblebee said circumspectly, “It depends on whether your time aligns with his. What exactly are you looking for him for?”
Quicksand looked up at the graffiti on the wall. Bumblebee’s guess was correct; the reason he had agreed to travel together was that he carried a corporate mission from Chrono-Entropy—he had come to the year 2026 to eliminate someone.
That person went by the name “Diamonds,” a fraudster who had orchestrated many staggering scams and was a thorn in Chrono-Entropy’s side.
Quicksand said:
“I am here to deliver a letter to him. A notice of death.”
Outside the doors of the “Red-Eye Roulette,” many lower-class people sat dejectedly on metal benches, their skin wrinkled and aged like tree bark—this was the fate they had suffered after using themselves as stakes in the time-wagering den. Here, they mortgaged their lifespans, only to frequently lose their hands, reducing them to the lowest dregs of the lower district.
The two walked through the entrance, which was decorated with the twisted lines of a modern art style. The four walls slanted inward, and many glass boxes were embedded into them. Floating inside these boxes were fragments of time in the shapes of geometric paradoxes, radiating iridescent colors like holographic glass. From within the crystals, one could catch glimpses of scenes from countless parallel universes.
A mechanical receptionist identified the purple Penrose staircase emblem embroidered on the fat man’s chest. This was the mark of the highly powerful and wealthy from the upper layers—most of whom were administrators of Chrono-Entropy. Quicksand, on the other hand, presented his identification as a time cleaner—a pocket watch engraved with the emblem.
The two were led into a small room that emitted a soft scent of magnolia, inside of which sat a cherry wood roulette wheel. The decor throughout the room displayed a vintage charm.
Bumblebee walked over, and the mechanical receptionist set out caribou-horn chairs for them to sit, delivering the exchanged chips. Quicksand stood to the side, holding his handaxe. The fat man felt as if he were sitting on a bed of needles and hurriedly said:
“Please, have a seat, Mr. Cleaner.”
“I didn’t come here to play games with you. Where is the fraudster?” Quicksand asked coldly, his muscles tensed.
Sweat broke out on Bumblebee’s face. “Oh, how could it be such a coincidence that we’d run into him the moment we look? Please rest easy and sit for a while; I’ve already dispatched my subordinates to gather information in this era.” He seemed exceptionally nervous; his fingers slipped, dropping the gold coin he had been flipping onto the table. The gold coin rolled slowly, falling beneath the table, and Bumblebee scrambled clumsily to pick it up.
Quicksand stared at him for a long moment, then turned to leave. Just then, a deep, magnetic voice suddenly echoed from a corner of the room:
“Are you two looking for yours truly?”
The two looked up to see a burly man sitting in the corner. The beard on his chin was neatly groomed into a heart shape, and his silhouette resembled a small mountain. He wore a well-tailored white suit, with a top hat placed to the side. As the man stood up, the two were astonished to find that he stood over two meters tall and was assembled from various cybernetic prosthetics: a thick arm belonging to a silverback gorilla, a titanium prosthetic hand, and metallic footsteps that rang out as his feet hit the floor. Embedded into his rugged face was a delicate, classical cybernetic eye modeled after a human doll, which added a touch of feminine softness to his appearance.
Bumblebee’s eyes widened in shock. The brawny gentleman smiled gently. In stark contrast to his rugged exterior, he was exceedingly polite, carrying himself entirely like a gentleman.
“Dia… ‘Diamonds’…” the fat man couldn’t help but whisper, clutching Quicksand’s sleeve. “He’s… the fraudster ‘Diamonds’!”
This was a face that could occasionally be seen within the “Red-Eye Roulette” wagering den, and Bumblebee had crossed paths with him a few times before. Rumor had it that he frequented top-tier tables and rarely miscalculated, once winning two centuries within a single minute.
Despite carrying the title of “fraudster,” no one had ever been able to see through his tricks. He had also openly stated that if anyone could expose his sleight of hand, he would surrender his entire fortune. Yet, to this day, no one had ever managed to make him lose catastrophically.
“Yes, it seems Mr. Bumblebee still remembers the few pleasant little games we once shared. But this gentleman beside you and I are meeting for the first time. Here is my business card, please accept it.”
The burly gentleman said, smiling as he handed a card to Quicksand. It was an 8 of Diamonds playing card, with his moniker written on the back.
Diamonds, one of the suits of playing cards representing wealth, combined with the number “8,” which resembled the structure of a Möbius strip. “8 of Diamonds”—this was the codename the fraudster commonly used while walking the lower district.
In the next instant, a fierce wind suddenly erupted. Quicksand lunged forward abruptly, swinging the handaxe in his hand with lightning speed, cleaving straight toward the man in front of him!
The playing card was split cleanly in two. The stocky gentleman took a step back, dodging the attack with practiced ease.
The fat man was scared out of his wits and cried out, “Mr. Cleaner!”
The humanoid mechanical receptionist flashed red, letting out a sharp alarm as the chaotic footsteps of guards echoed from afar.
The gentleman remained entirely unphased, smiling warmly. “Sir, why such violence upon our very first meeting? Have we met somewhere before?”
“I’ve seen your face from a one-sided perspective,” Quicksand said flatly, recognizing the impressive reflexes of his opponent. “On a bounty warrant.”
“Judging by the emblem on your companion’s clothing, you must be a cleaner from Chrono-Entropy, yes? It seems the corporation holds quite a bit of animosity toward me. While the environment here doesn’t compare to the upper layers, it isn’t a place where the corporation can just recklessly make a move. Causing too much of a scene might disturb our distinguished guests.” The gentleman pressed a hand to his chest and bowed deeply with perfect etiquette. However, given his massive frame, the gesture pushed the surrounding tables and chairs completely aside.
Bumblebee barked, “Are you threatening us? Has this casino conspired with the rebels too?!”
The gentleman smiled. “Yours truly said no such thing. I simply believe that rather than brandishing swords and guns, it would be far better to resolve our dispute in a more peaceful manner.”
He pulled up a caribou-horn chair and sat down. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Cleaner. There is a roulette wheel right before us; why don’t we use it to play a game? If you win, yours truly will leave with you. But if you lose, I must ask you to depart from the ‘Red-Eye Roulette.'”
Staking one’s lifespan on a roulette wheel was a common act among the desperate desperadoes of the lower district. Quicksand silently observed the burly gentleman. His hearing was exceptionally sharp; at this moment, he could hear rustling footsteps echoing through the corridors and alleyways, as if a crowd was surrounding the wagering den. The newcomers were likely the “Clepsydra”—the rebel army assembled in the lower district whose sole enemy was the Chrono-Entropy Corporation. Although he was confident he could break through the encirclement alone, he wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble if possible, and simultaneously witness the methods of this notorious fraudster.
“I won’t play,” Quicksand said coldly and flatly. “You are an old hand. I cannot beat you.”
“The Mr. Cleaner is truly modest.”
“It is not modesty. Everyone has a specialty. Yours is deceiving people; mine is breaking them.”
The gentleman laughed heartily. “It seems the prize money for the game isn’t quite enticing enough to grant me the honor of your company.” He snapped his fingers and unbuckled his wristwatch, which contained an embedded time chip. The humanoid mechanical receptionist immediately stepped forward to receive it. “How about this: Mr. Bumblebee over there can act as yours truly’s opponent instead. Yours truly will not employ a single trick in this round. The two of you may inspect anything you like.”
His pitch-black, deep pupils locked eyes with Quicksand, seeming to harbor a pair of swirling vortexes. “To take the target’s life without shedding a single drop of blood, completing the mission assigned by the Corporation with just a single spin of a little ball—isn’t that remarkably easy?”
The fat man tugged at Quicksand’s sleeve, lowering his voice guiltily. “Mr. Cleaner, this guy is definitely running a scam. How about you just arrest him directly?”
“I am a novice, and weren’t you originally planning to come down here to seek entertainment anyway?” Quicksand replied, suddenly grabbing the fat man’s wrist. His five fingers were like forged iron, rendering Bumblebee completely unable to break free. “You go test his depth.”
Bumblebee was practically forced down into the chair. Recalling his past matches with this burly gentleman—though he never knew if the man had been holding back—he had generally won some and lost some. This time, there might actually be a chance of victory. Holding his long-handled handaxe, Quicksand stood to the side like a guardian deity. The fat man wiped his forehead with his handkerchief again, putting on a front of false bravado:
“I-I’ll play with you. Consider it an action on behalf of Mr. Cleaner. If you cheat, we’ll handle it by the rules—and rip off your cybernetic limbs!”
“If even my life can be given to you, what do a couple of arms and legs matter?” The gentleman was all smiles. “The rules of the game are as follows: we will each place our bets, spin the ball exactly once, and whoever walks away with the most accumulated time at the end is the victor.”
“How much are we wagering?”
“10 years of lifespan.”
The fat man’s eyes trembled. To nonchalantly place such a massive stake right off the bat proved that the opponent was indeed no ordinary character.
Quicksand gave a silent nod of approval. But just as the mechanical receptionist stepped forward to act as the dealer, he suddenly tapped his toe. The long-handled axe flipped into his hand as gracefully as a leaping carp. In a flash, the blade swept outward, shattering the mechanical receptionist’s head.
The mechanical receptionist collapsed to the ground, twitching violently. The rest of the room gasped at the sudden turn of events. Gripping the handle of his axe, his killing intent fully exposed, Quicksand said chillingly, “This is a robot belonging to your ‘Red-Eye Roulette.’ I don’t trust it.”
He strode out of the room. The corridor was packed with mechanical receptionists rushing over due to the commotion, casting a blinding red glow. Quicksand marched to the entrance of the “Red-Eye Roulette” and dragged over an emaciated lower-class man—the very same man who had just been willing to use his own lifespan as a stake to flatter Bumblebee. Quicksand said to him harshly:
“We are playing a round. You spin the ball.”
The emaciated man had no idea what was happening and stood there trembling. The gentleman remarked, “Mr. Cleaner, you are far more overbearing than I imagined.”
The young man in black spoke without a hint of inflection: “I am even more overbearing when I am taking a life.” He added, “Let me check beneath the table.”
The gentleman replied, “Be my guest.”
Quicksand inspected the table thoroughly; there were no abnormalities. The burly gentleman merely rested his chin on his hand, smiling without a hair out of place. Quicksand suddenly said, “Let me see the ball.”
The gentleman paused. Quicksand said, “There wouldn’t happen to be a mechanism inside the ball, would there? Like an embedded vibrator that stops it whenever a remote button is pressed.”
“Haha, if there were such a mechanism, yours truly would gladly surrender this arm to you on the spot.”
The fleeting panic in the gentleman’s eyes did not escape Quicksand. This man’s appearance perfectly matched the portrait on the bounty warrant, but was he truly the fraudster “Diamonds”? A shadow of doubt crossed Quicksand’s mind. To find his prey so easily—if this too was a trap set by Diamonds, was he already standing right inside it?
Regardless, he would know the opponent’s true strength once he saw it. He inspected the ball; it showed no wear and tear, meaning it wouldn’t deviate when rolling. He said, “We can begin.”
Under Quicksand’s oppressive aura, the emaciated man obediently spun the roulette wheel clockwise and launched the ball. Quicksand commanded, “Place your bets.”
The little ball whirled, looking as though it were fleeing frantically within the cage of the roulette wheel. Bumblebee bit his thick lips, incredibly anxious. He decided to employ a James Bond strategy for his wager, splitting his stakes into 7 years, 2 years, and 1 year of lifespan across the high numbers, a six-line bet, and the number 0. This way, he had a 67.57% probability of turning a profit, which, if successful, would yield a minimum return of 17 years of lifespan. He quietly cast a sideways glance at the burly gentleman, only to be struck with horror to see that the gentleman had placed his entire stake—10 years of lifespan—directly on the single number 8.
“You’re making a straight-up bet?”
The gentleman smiled genially. “Yes, ‘8’ happens to be yours truly’s favorite lucky number.”
The payout for a straight-up bet was 35:1, the highest possible return in a roulette game, but the odds of winning were a mere 2.67%. If this man actually won, he would claim 350 years of time—Bumblebee sucked in a sharp breath. What kind of confidence possessed this fraudster to make such a reckless, all-or-nothing decision?
“What an absurd bet. What kind of trick are you pulling in the shadows?” Bumblebee’s expression turned somewhat sinister.
The gentleman merely tapped the table with his metallic fingertips, smiling faintly. “It is no trick. It is simply that, compared to you gentlemen, yours truly prefers to believe in the favor of Lady Luck.”
That unfounded confidence left Bumblebee utterly flustered. The ball circled three times, beginning to decelerate. The red and black pockets blurred into a single color through the rotation before gradually becoming distinct again. It lasted a mere few seconds, yet it felt agonizingly long enough to drive one mad.
Then, as if under a spell, the ball slowed to a halt, rattling down directly into the pocket numbered 8.
A terrifying silence enveloped the room.
The fat man felt as though he had been struck by a bolt from the blue and bolted upright.
After a long pause, he stammered, “8?”
The gentleman merely smiled without a word. Bumblebee was practically choked up. “You… you won 350 years of time?”
“Impossible… this is impossible! You must have cheated!” Beside himself, Bumblebee reached out to grab the gentleman’s collar, only to be deftly dodged. The gentleman smiled and said, “Whether this time can be cashed out is a matter for later. Mr. Bumblebee, yours truly has won this round. I must ask the two of you to depart from the ‘Red-Eye Roulette.'”
“No, it’s impossible for this to be the result. You rigged the ball!”
“Mr. Cleaner already inspected it just now.”
“When the ball was thrown, you must have calculated the landing point using physics formulas. Is there a high-speed camera hidden inside that cybernetic eye of yours?”
The gentleman removed his eye, showcasing it to them as he shook his head with a smile. “This is merely an ordinary cybernetic eye.”
“But this was a 2.67% chance…”
“Since it wasn’t 0%, it was never absolutely impossible. We too are desperate desperadoes burning our bridges, chasing that microscopic probability of welcoming a tomorrow on the roulette wheel.”
“You used some method to disguise the wheel, didn’t you? A holographic projection? Nanite swarms? Is this wheel perhaps different from what I see, possessing a double-zero pocket alongside the single zero?”
“Sir, please calm yourself. What your eyes behold is entirely real.”
Bumblebee looked as though a piece of his soul had been ripped away, slumping limply back into his seat.
At this point, the gentleman stood up, placed his top hat over his head, and bowed to them with refined politeness. “Yours truly has thoroughly enjoyed himself tonight. Well then, gentlemen, we shall take our leave.”
The fat man suddenly gasped as he spotted a gold coin engraved with a Penrose staircase relief flipping through the gentleman’s fingers. He patted his own pocket, his face instantly turning pale with horror.
“As for this token of identity you obtained from the Chrono-Entropy Corporation, yours truly shall gladly accept it.”
It turned out that the reason this gentleman had set up the gambling match was not to test their operational style, but to steal that gold coin while their guard was down.
Bumblebee broke out into a torrential sweat. That gold coin contained the authentication chip required to open the elevators connecting the upper and lower layers; it was also his proof of being a client of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation. If this item fell into the hands of the lower-class people, it would undoubtedly cause massive trouble. He lunged frantically onto the table, shouting, “You little thief! W-Wait, give it back to me!”
Despite his massive build, the gentleman’s movements were agile and nimble. With a sudden leap, he vanished toward the doorway in an instant. However, at that exact moment, a chillingly calm voice echoed out:
“Please halt your steps, sir. You haven’t played a round with me yet.”
In a split second, the gentleman bent his upper body backward at a 90-degree angle, dodging a fierce attack. The handaxe howled like a wild beast, carving a deep gash into the wall. Quicksand stood beside him, his gaze as placid as an ancient well.
The emaciated man acting as the dealer was terrified once again, scrambling away on all fours.
Within a mere matter of seconds, a fierce clash erupted between Quicksand and the gentleman. The young man in black displayed staggering explosive power; the heavy, long-handled axe flew through his grip as lightly as a butterfly. Cold flashes of light crossed paths, leaving brilliant silver arcs hanging in the air. The gentleman dodged a few times before finally reaching out to forcefully block a strike. Quicksand discovered that the man’s strength was surprisingly immense—his cybernetic limbs derived from beasts and machinery granted him an arm strength far exceeding human limits.
Right at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Quicksand suddenly spotted a dark silhouette hurtling violently toward him. He took a step back, and the dark silhouette crashed heavily to the floor—it was Bumblebee, who had been hurled like a projectile by the mechanical receptionists.
“Mr. Cleaner, yours truly is no match for you, so there is no need to see me out. If fate permits, we shall meet again in the lower district.” The gentleman smiled slightly, seizing the opportunity to drive power into his legs and dash out into the night.
The two were instantly surrounded by a crowd of mechanical receptionists, rendering them unable to move an inch. Bumblebee groaned in pain, crawling up to clutch the hem of Quicksand’s trousers, looking incredibly pitiful. “Mr. Cleaner, I beg of you, go after him quickly! The machines in this wagering den are all on the fraudster’s side. Without that token of identity, I can neither take the elevator back to the upper layer nor contact the Corporation again.”
“Add money,” Quicksand said, looking down at him from above.
“How much?” Bumblebee had completely lost the arrogance he possessed when they first met, his eyes welling with tears.
“Give me a number you feel shows proper sincerity.”
Bumblebee grit his teeth. After a long pause, he opened the account authorization on his wristband once more. With another crisp ding, he looked down and found that Quicksand had deducted 10 years from his lifespan account.
A silhouette swept through the corridor like a tempest. Wherever it passed, the silver-white chassis of countless mechanical receptionists were shattered to pieces by the immense impact. Brandishing his long-handled axe like a demon emerging from hell, the young man in black carved out a path amidst the swirling metallic debris.
Bumblebee sprinted breathlessly behind him. The slanted walls of the “Red-Eye Roulette” were painted with distorted lines, resembling a bizarre music score that no one would ever play. Upon bursting through the main doors, the lower-class residents who had been slouched on the metal benches scattered in terror at the commotion. Bumblebee noticed that Quicksand wasn’t running in the direction the burly gentleman had fled, but was instead sprinting deeper into the alleyway.
“Mr. Cleaner, where are you going?!”
“To hunt the fraudster.”
“But he didn’t flee in this direction…”
Quicksand didn’t stop his pacing. He turned his face sideways, his grey eyes gazing ruthlessly at Bumblebee. “That was not the real fraudster. How could a prey renowned for lies expose himself so openly before our eyes?”
“Then… then what about my gold coin?!”
“Go chase it yourself.”
The fat man stomped his feet. “I paid you!”
Quicksand said, “First come, first served.”
Fury welled up in the fat man’s chest. He knew his time had been squandered for nothing; until Quicksand caught the real fraudster, he wouldn’t be getting his gold coin back. But restrained by the disparity in physical might, he could only shout, “Fine, fine! You go mind your business, I’ll go recover my lost property. But afterward, I’m going to register a little feedback with the Corporation!”
Quicksand kept his eyes forward. “Complain about me directly. I am not afraid.”
Bumblebee stormed off in the opposite direction. Quicksand plunged headfirst into the ink-like darkness of the night.
Inside the alleyway, power lines crisscrossed like the roots of ancient trees, and the neon lights lay submissively reflected in the puddles. Quicksand sprinted like the wind to a corner of the alley, spotting a frail silhouette within a dead end.
Quicksand tightened his grip on the long-handled axe and walked forward.
Step by step, the puddles shattered beneath his feet, fracturing the light and shadows. The silhouette turned around—it was the very same emaciated man he had encountered outside the elevator, whom he had just dragged into the “Red-Eye Roulette” to act as the dealer.
“Fraudster ‘Diamonds,’ a pleasure to meet you,” Quicksand said, his eyes bright as a hawk’s as he locked onto the man.
The man’s expression was uneasy, his back hunched over as if crushed beneath the heavy burdens of life. He looked at Quicksand with timid trepidation.
“How… how did you find out it was me?”
After a long pause, he spoke with a trembling voice. This appearance bore absolutely no resemblance to the legendary fraudster who took the world by storm.
Quicksand said calmly, “There is no need to pretend anymore. When I first saw you, I noticed you harbored a peculiar obsession with Bumblebee’s gold coin. Even though you concealed it exceptionally well, you still possess a sharp edge that sets you apart from ordinary people.”
“After that round of the game, I inspected the ball. I discovered it was 0.3 grams heavier than the ball I had previously verified. I expect you swapped the ball when you launched it. Is the swapped ball hidden inside your sleeve?”
The man remained silent, rubbing his hands together. A small ball rolled between his fingers. True to reputation, he was an old hand at the wagering tables, cheating without a soul noticing.
“When we first entered the room, the gold coin my companion was playing with inadvertently dropped onto the table and rolled off. That was also a mechanism you set up.” The young man in black calmly stated his deduction. “The room we were in—the entire thing was tilted, wasn’t it? From what I could see, it was tilted by roughly 15 degrees. Therefore, the final landing point of the ball was bound to return to the pocket numbered ‘8.’”
The man fell silent for a long time, before finally letting out a timid laugh:
“Mr. Cleaner, you are very intelligent. Risking your life on a roulette wheel never leads to a good end, but we people of the lower district have no other path to walk.”
“The cheating method you deduced is correct, yet not entirely accurate. The true answer is—that booth is a slice of time.”
“A slice of time?”
“Yes. The outcome of the roulette wheel there is fixed, a number spun from a specific game in the past. The wagering den cut and preserved the exact moment that result was achieved. The weight of the ball doesn’t matter at all; the game played by the guests in that room is merely a reenactment of the past.”
The young man in black remained seemingly unmoved by these words, save for a soft, light sigh that escaped his lips. “I see.”
“In this current world, time is no longer fair to us. That is just how we lower-class people are; we have no choice but to rely on lies to survive—sometimes deceived by time, sometimes deceiving time itself. That being said, Mr. Cleaner, there is one more lie to be uncovered here.”
The emaciated man seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second.
“In truth, I… am not the fraudster.”
Quicksand’s grey pupils widened slightly.
“I am merely the bait to draw you away. The real fraudster—you met him right from the very beginning.”
Acid rain left mottled stains on the ash-grey walls, and fluorescent paint glowed in the dark alleys as an obese man clad in a cyan and green landscape-tapestry robe ran breathlessly through them.
The multicolored neon signs formed a labyrinth in which Bumblebee blundered like a headless fly. He stopped by a utility pole, clutching his knees as he wheezed heavily. When he looked up again, he saw a silhouette standing not far away.
This was a deserted alleyway. The gentleman who had taken his gold coin stood under the glow of a streetlamp, pacing forward with an elegant posture.
“G-Give it back to me,” Bumblebee gasped, entirely out of breath.
The gentleman flashed his teeth in a smile. “Haha, you truly are a dedicated actor. But there are no other spectators left now, so there is no need to keep up the performance.”
Looking at the panting fat man before him, he called out the other’s true moniker:
“Diamonds.”
The fat man straightened up at a leisurely pace. That syllable acted like a secret password; all at once, the aura enveloping his entire body underwent a cataclysmic shift. Catching the gold coin tossed over by the gentleman, he slipped it into his robe. The arrogant, subservient expressions vanished entirely.
“It wasn’t easy to deceive the chief cleaner of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation. I wanted to play around for a bit longer,” the fat man said. Pressing a spot on his neck, a real-time voice changer matching his skin tone came loose, and his voice reverted to the lazy, casual cadence of a young man.
“How did you manage to secure the identity of ‘Bumblebee’?” the gentleman asked.
“Tricked an upper-layer citizen, adjusted the expiration date on his cheesecake just a tiny bit, and took over his identity while he was handling his physiological business in the restroom—it was just that simple.”
“Every time I cooperate with your games, it always leaves yours truly on tenterhooks,” the gentleman sighed, shaking his head. “Especially when I have to misappropriate your name. By the way, how did you find yours truly’s performance earlier?”
The fat man blinked, his features gradually shifting. Clusters of nanites carrying color-changing units were distributed across his body, allowing him to completely alter his appearance into that of another person. One eye was the first to revert to its original state—an eye as sly as a fox’s, mocking and playing with everything it beheld.
“The imitation was close, but not entirely perfect. Brother Hearts, I don’t carry myself with as much vigorous energy as you displayed.”
“Haha, well then, was the objective accomplished this time?”
“Thanks to Brother Hearts’ assistance, it went flawlessly. Not only did we make a fool out of the chief cleaner, but we also secured a trophy—”
The fraudster disguised as the fat man chuckled, fishing out a piece of bubblegum and popping it into his mouth. As if performing a magic trick, a platinum pocket watch engraved with a Penrose staircase appeared in his hand.
“The symbol of identity for the time cleaners. With this, one can open the elevators leading to the upper layers and head to the nearest Corporation branch. This trip has yielded quite a bountiful harvest.”
When entering the “Red-Eye Roulette,” Quicksand had presented this pocket watch to the mechanical receptionist. Right at that moment, the fraudster disguised as Bumblebee had already locked his sights onto it.
Later, when the mechanical receptionist hurled him, he had used those few moments of physical contact with Quicksand’s body to stealthily pocket the item.
The gentleman laughed heartily. “The time cleaners are bloodhounds that bite down and never let go. Now that you’ve stolen his property, he will repay the favor twofold.”
“It doesn’t matter. The time cleaners only know how to play games of cat-and-mouse, and I’ve long grown used to that.”
“What is your impression of that cleaner?”
Diamonds contemplated for a brief moment before ultimately offering a frivolous smile.
“To be deceived by such a trick proves that, in the end, he has a well-developed physique but a simple mind.”
He stretched his limbs. “Let Clubs Cat come pick us up. Tonight’s pastime should come to an end.”
Right at that moment, the two of them suddenly heard a scraping sound of metal dragging against the ground.
The sound emanated from the very end of the dark alleyway—sharp, cold, and intense enough to pierce one’s eardrums. The two jolted, snapping their heads around.
They beheld the Grim Reaper standing beneath the multicolored lights.
A night mist had risen, gentle and soft like a thin veil. And the Grim Reaper walked toward them step by step, dragging his long-handled axe.
Even though the bait had clearly lured him in the opposite direction, relying on his formidable physical power, he had arrived here like a sudden gust of wind. The gentleman’s voice carried a tremor: “Diamonds, our tail has been bitten.”
“Mr. Bumblebee.”
A chilling voice drifted over. The cleaner’s grey pupils observed them like abyssal ice, freezing them to the bone.
“Is your stomach still feeling unwell? I can offer you a massage service.” Quicksand spoke, but this time it wasn’t the handle of the axe, but the blade itself that pointed directly at the two men before him, his killing intent surging to the heavens. “After all, my services are top-tier.”
Never expecting that his companion throughout the journey had actually been the fraudster who had already swapped identities, Quicksand felt a rare surge of irritation. The opponent’s acting had been flawless, failing to expose even a single opening.
He heard a soft chuckle, and then the fraudster turned around.
“No need. Can I unsubscribe from this service?”
In the next instant, as the nanite clusters deactivated their camouflage, the bloated silhouette of the man dissolved before his eyes, and Quicksand caught a glimpse of the fraudster’s true appearance.
Beneath the chaotic neon signs, a head of soft, platinum-blonde hair caught the mottled colors of the lights. Below those sly, frivolous eyes rested a brilliantly shining red diamond dermis stud.
It was a refined face that looked far too young, causing Quicksand to daze for a split second. Behind the young man, Quicksand once again saw that ostentatious piece of graffiti depicting the fraudster. Clad in a white suit, holding a top hat, merely standing there made him look like a beacon of bright light drawing the nocturnal insects of the dark night to plunge toward him.
“Welcome to 2026. This is our Era of Radiance.”
By the time Quicksand snapped out of it, he realized a cold barrel was already aimed straight at his head. The fraudster drew a Mauser pistol from his waist, his smile mysterious.
“A pleasure to meet you, stranger from the future.”
