Chapter 56: A Bouquet of Flowers
Returning to the courier shop, they were greeted once again by the same seventy-or-eighty-year-old man with cloudy eyes, who opened his mouth and immediately demanded a one-point delivery fee.
Tang Cuo was now a wealthy man harboring a hundred points; naturally, he wouldn’t be stingy over a single point. But as he looked at his package, he hesitated to pay.
“Who’s sending you roses? Were you in a relationship before coming here?” Jin Cheng’s teasing voice rang in his ear. Tang Cuo looked over to see him leaning against a shelf with his arms crossed, smiling, yet his voice carried an inexplicable chill.
“I wasn’t in a relationship,” Tang Cuo said.
“Then someone had a secret crush on you,” Jin Cheng said as he picked up the bouquet of roses to inspect it carefully, though he found no cards or anything of the sort. But then again, who would write a greeting card to leave at a dead person’s grave?
Tang Cuo, however, didn’t think these were flowers from a secret admirer, because apart from the roses, the package contained other very grounded items. For example: money, fruit, and a pot of freshly stewed beef bone soup.
Opening the lid, a familiar aroma wafted out, and Tang Cuo instantly knew its source—Da Li’s wife.
Da Li was Tang Cuo’s comrade-in-arms. As he had mentioned to Jin Cheng during their reunion, Da Li had married his childhood sweetheart two years ago. Marriage meant a new beginning; after being discharged, Da Li returned to his hometown to run a small business. Though his life was ordinary, it was quite good.
Tang Cuo had visited him once after changing careers to become a detective. Da Li hadn’t understood why Tang Cuo suddenly became a third-rate detective and, seeing Tang Cuo all alone, had invited him to move to his city so they could look out for each other.
Tang Cuo had refused, but during that brief reunion, what left the deepest impression on him was the pot of soup on the table.
Da Li had always been an honest, straightforward guy. Remembering that Tang Cuo loved that soup, he brought a whole pot to his grave. And remembering Tang Cuo once saying he liked red roses, he had also brought him a bouquet.
But Tang Cuo had actually been lying to him. Only someone as simple-minded as Da Li would believe a lie so full of holes.
“Speaking of which, when I first arrived in Yong Ye City, I also received a bouquet of roses,” Jin Cheng suddenly recalled the past, a hint of sigh in his voice, while out of the corner of his eye he monitored Tang Cuo’s expression.
“Oh,” Tang Cuo reacted coldly.
Tsk.
Jin Cheng felt a little flare of temper.
This petty annoyance lasted all the way back to East Cross Street. Before entering the room, Jin Cheng couldn’t help but say, “Are you sure it isn’t someone who had a crush on you? Stewing soup and sending flowers, I’m almost moved myself.”
Tang Cuo strode inside, then looked back. “It’s from Da Li. Do you want some soup? If not, I’m closing the door.”
Jin Cheng raised an eyebrow, froze for three seconds, and then answered decisively with one word: “Yes.”
The two had picked up takeout on the way back, which, paired with the soup, made for a hearty dinner. However, while drinking the soup, Jin Cheng still couldn’t help muttering, “What’s wrong with Da Li? Sending soup is one thing, but why send roses?”
Tang Cuo: “Can you stop bringing up the roses?”
“Why?” Jin Cheng suddenly leaned in close, his handsome face infinitely magnified in front of Tang Cuo, causing Tang Cuo to subconsciously lean back against his chair. He simply set down his bowl and chopsticks, maintaining this posture as he stared at Jin Cheng.
This guy was truly acting a bit weird today.
“It was a misunderstanding. Da Li thought I liked roses, so he sent them,” he explained.
“How could you two have a misunderstanding like that?”
“Why couldn’t we?”
“Does that mean you don’t like roses?”
“I don’t hate them either.”
Jin Cheng finally stopped prying. He leisurely crossed his legs again and continued drinking his soup. When dinner was over, he picked up the bouquet of roses and said, “Since you don’t particularly like roses, why not give them to me?”
Tang Cuo: “Suit yourself.”
And just like that, Jin Cheng took the flowers away.
Returning next door, he placed the flowers into a glass bottle he had bought from the supermarket and set it on the table. But after a while, feeling the flowers were an eyesore, he moved them to the floor at the foot of his bed—out of sight, out of mind.
Another ten minutes passed.
Thinking that it was, after all, a token of Da Li’s earnest intentions, he moved the flowers back to the table. After repeating this cycle three times, Jin Cheng got tired of it, pulled out a prop rope, and hung the flowers entirely outside the window—
Better let everyone enjoy them together. Flowers this fresh and beautiful shouldn’t be hoarded in private.
A night of good dreams.
After eight hours of sleep passed, Tang Cuo woke up. Looking at the night sky outside the window, he realized he had completely lost all concept of time. He briefly washed up, splashed some cold water on his face, and pushed his bangs back. As he looked up into the mirror, he recalled last night’s dream.
He had dreamt of his past days in the military camp.
What color was time in the military? He figured it should be the color of camouflage, filled with tears, sweat, fearless struggles, and hard work. Yet last night’s dream was colored in rose—the hue of youth and restless hormones.
After calming his mood slightly, Tang Cuo walked over to the window and looked out. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught a glimpse of brilliant red. He turned his head—what exactly was wrong with Jin Cheng? Why would he hang roses outside the window?
Right at that moment, the window next door opened. Jin Cheng, brushing his teeth, poked his head out and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”
Tang Cuo remained expressionless. “Oatmeal.”
Jin Cheng: “How about a pot of wellness porridge?”
Tang Cuo ignored him completely, drew his curtains shut with a swish, and left the room without looking back, intending to eat spicy and sour sweet potato noodles alone outside East Cross Street.
Listening to the commotion next door, Jin Cheng knew the little bastard had definitely bolted, but it didn’t matter—his wellness kettle had a timer function. He wasn’t worried about Tang Cuo missing out on it.
On the other side, Tang Cuo, who had gone out foraging alone, got his wish and ate spicy and sour noodles.
The vendor was an auntie with a face that radiated good fortune. She had entered Yong Ye City right during the annual civil service exams. Assuming she had no chance since she lacked formal education, she was surprisingly recruited entirely on the merit of her unparalleled skill in cooking spicy and sour noodles.
According to what she told Tang Cuo, she hadn’t played a single instance. She was practically another Crow’s Chosen, second only to the European Emperor.
“Young man, how did you end up here? Talk to Auntie. Even though Auntie just makes noodles every day, I’ve seen a lot of people; maybe I can give you some advice.” Aside from selling her noodles, the auntie’s only joy in life was chatting with people. But the players in Yong Ye City were either driven to despair by the instances or cold and numb; few could actually sit and listen to her.
This young man Tang Cuo was great. One look and you could tell he was a proper, kind-hearted good kid. The auntie liked people like him.
But in front of such a Crow’s Chosen, how could Tang Cuo have the nerve to admit he was a negative-point player and a strong contender for the blacklist? The auntie probably wouldn’t be able to handle the contrast.
“I’m just an ordinary player,” Tang Cuo said.
“Sigh, what player this, player that,” the auntie suddenly grew sentimental. “I’ve been in Zone F for so many years, hoping every day to see my old man one more time. But thinking about it, it’s better if I don’t. Not seeing him means he might still be alive. Being alive is good. My little grandson must be in elementary school by now.”
Tang Cuo stayed silent, just listening.
When she finished, he asked, “Auntie, how much longer is your work term?”
The auntie answered offhandedly, “Counting it all up, still another ten years.”
Ten years. Truly a long time.
After finishing the noodles, Tang Cuo wasn’t in a hurry to return. He planned to visit the training grounds. These grounds were specially established for players, because player skills were incredibly diverse. Some were so destructive they couldn’t be practiced in small personal rooms, and even marksmen needed dedicated shooting ranges.
Tang Cuo wanted to test the compatibility between his magic and the Sword of Judgment. A large space with good privacy would be best.
Zone F’s training ground was located near the central district. The entrance was just a small reception area, looking completely unremarkable. The receptionist at the front desk was also a human NPC. After Tang Cuo explained his specific requirements, the receptionist tapped a few times on a console covered in light screens and looked up.
“Room 509, sir. Three points per hour. You can just go right in; the system will deduct the fee automatically.”
Hearing this price, Tang Cuo finally formed a comprehensive impression of Yong Ye City’s economy, ultimately concluding: the strong get stronger, the weak get weaker.
To clear instances and earn more points, one had to become stronger.
But to become stronger, you had to allocate points to stats, buy medicine, and train—all three of which required points and were highly expensive. Where did points come from? Instances.
It was a vicious cycle.
Most players in Yong Ye City were ordinary people who didn’t even know how to throw a punch when they were alive. This wasn’t a place where you magically awakened superpowers upon entry; if you wanted to get stronger, you had to work for it yourself.
Relying on his top-tier combat prowess among the crowd and a powerful partner like Jin Cheng, Tang Cuo had only accumulated fifty points to date. If it weren’t for the hundred points Jin Cheng transferred to him, what would he use to train? What would he use to buy medicine? He couldn’t just give up on allocating points, let alone the monthly tribute he had to pay.
The worst part was, some people might never receive packages from the living world. Without money, they had to spend points; when they ran out of points, they had to work at places like taverns. Juggling part-time work while diving into instances, living in constant torment, yet entirely unable to seek death.
Perhaps for them, dying in an instance could be considered a form of release.
But the system’s surveillance was omnipresent. If someone was judged to be passively surviving, or even actively seeking death, would there be alternative punishments?
Just then, the receptionist asked, “Sir, VIP members get a ten percent discount. Would you like to open a card?”
Tang Cuo’s train of thought was broken. He stared expressionlessly at the receptionist. The receptionist maintained his smile. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before the receptionist tried again, “Would you like a card? Opening one now gives you—”
“No.”
He turned on his heel and walked straight to the office’s glass elevator. The elevator went down, spanning thirteen floors in total. Room 509 was on the fifth basement level.
As the elevator doors opened, two more people entered the office. They greeted the receptionist familiarly and followed Tang Cuo into the elevator.
They were heading to the fourth floor.
Most players in Yong Ye City weren’t in the habit of greeting strangers, standing on opposite sides of the elevator on guard, ignoring each other. But a few seconds later, the two men seemed to recognize Tang Cuo.
One covertly nudged the other, who looked ready to shrink back. A few seconds later, they both turned their heads simultaneously, “B-Brother Tang.”
Tang Cuo: “…”
Hadn’t the Knife Gang been disbanded? Why was he still receiving the mafia boss treatment?
At that moment, they reached the fourth floor. The two nodded to Tang Cuo and then fled the elevator as if they were flying. Tang Cuo hadn’t said a single word, maintaining his cold aloofness the entire time—perfectly fitting the persona of a mafia boss.
He thought to himself: This is definitely Jin Cheng’s fault.
Soon, the fifth floor arrived.
The underground training ground was grand and majestic. From the glass elevator, he could see open arenas on every level. Floor after floor, different people with different faces were unleashing their primal combat instincts here.
It looked like a colosseum.
Tang Cuo walked out calmly, navigating away from the public areas to the private training rooms. The training rooms here were closed-off individual spaces. He easily found 509. When he pushed the door open, a system notification unsurprisingly triggered, informing him that the timer had started.
Since it was his first time and he hadn’t informed Jin Cheng, he only planned to try it out for an hour.
Today’s trial program: Fireball.
Tang Cuo had the garbage-tier Small Fireball rewarded by the system, as well as the Beginner Fireball he had learned through magic. As a man who had stubbornly locked horns with the Fireball spell, he naturally had to start his practice there.
He also needed to pair this Fireball with the Sword of Judgment, because Tang Cuo didn’t have a magic staff.
What exactly was a magic staff?
Tang Cuo believed it was merely a conduit.
Ultimately, magic was generated by the mage’s own mental strength and the mana condensed within their body, then channeled outward through a medium.
Roger Reeds’ conduit was his cane; Aesop’s conduit was his black umbrella. This proved that a conduit wasn’t strictly limited to a conventional wooden staff. Therefore, as long as Tang Cuo could channel his mana into the Sword of Judgment, theoretically, he should be able to cast spells.
But Tang Cuo tried a few times to no avail. Was his casting posture wrong?
Tang Cuo simply sat down cross-legged, placed the Sword of Judgment across his knees, and carefully focused on sensing the flow of mana.
