Chapter 4: Mr. Crow’s Blacklist
Only a step away from death, Tang Cuo swiftly scoured Lu Wenming for all his money and that Tarot card, then stripped off his coat to bind him.
The best loot was undoubtedly the small bag of dried meat in Lu Wenming’s pocket. Munching on the dried meat, Tang Cuo stepped outside and took a few paces.
Outside the door was a corridor with five doors on each side. When Tang Cuo opened his door, the second door on his right also opened. A frail, middle-aged man poked his head out. Catching sight of Tang Cuo, he stuttered, “Y-y-you…” for a long time before shrinking back inside in terror.
The man was covered in blood, seemingly also newly deceased—a fellow player from the same batch.
After standing there for a few minutes with no further trouble coming his way, Tang Cuo returned inside and began his interrogation.
“Real name.”
“ID J19756, Zhang Xing.”
“Is this the afterlife?”
“Yes, and no.” Zhang Xing smiled bitterly and shook his head. “I thought so too at first—that someone would grade me and decide whether I go to heaven or hell. But everyone who comes here hears the same sentence: Welcome back to Yong Ye City. Our previous lives were just a fucking trial to enter the city. It was the beginner’s village, the prologue. Death is where everything truly begins. So, tell me, are we considered dead or alive right now? There’s simply no way to tell.”
“Enter Yong Ye City, and then what?”
“Survive.”
“?”
“Survive and earn points by completing game missions. Only by obtaining enough points can you re-enter the cycle of reincarnation. In the meantime, you must submit enough points every month just to stay alive.”
What kind of genius invented this reincarnation screening mechanism?
Tang Cuo felt there was a problem with this. After reincarnating, he wouldn’t even be himself anymore. Why should he fight tooth and nail to earn points for a stranger? If he just stayed here, wouldn’t that mean immortality?
“What if I don’t leave?”
At this question, Zhang Xing shuddered all over, his lips turning pale. “I doubt even the elites in Zone A would harbor such a thought. Yong Ye City isn’t modern society. Murder isn’t illegal here. There is no morality, no law, only the most fundamental laws of survival… To live here, you must hand over points every month. I really wasn’t lying to you earlier; beginners have a protection mechanism. You only need to pay 5 points for the first month. No matter how black-hearted I am, I couldn’t possibly let you die the moment you arrive.”
Tang Cuo remained utterly unmoved.
With a pale face, Zhang Xing could only continue: “Besides points, there’s another necessary condition: completing game missions. Even if you have enough points to hand over, you must do a mission at least once a month. If you don’t take the initiative, one will be forcibly triggered. You can’t escape it. All mandatory missions are a narrow escape from death. It’s simply impossible to live peacefully. It constantly forces you forward; stepping back means death.”
“What is Zone A?”
“It’s the regional division here. When everyone first arrives, the system drops you into the corresponding zone based on your rating and initial points. There are seven zones in total; Zone A is the strongest, and Zone F is the weakest.”
“Where is this?”
“Zone F. Newbies are basically in Zone D and below, with the most in Zone F. I’ve been scraping by here for almost three months, and I’m still just spinning my wheels in Zone F. It’s too hard to rank up. And once you do, the monthly points you have to pay also increase. For someone like me, heh…”
As Zhang Xing spoke, he sank into inexplicable despondency.
Tang Cuo had no leisure time to care for his feelings. He had asked basically everything he needed to. A middle-aged man with weak combat power who had to rely on scamming newbies to earn points couldn’t possibly know anything core. Pondering for a moment, he asked, “The initial stat allocation is an addition or subtraction based on your original foundation, right?”
Zhang Xing was stunned, then nodded.
Tang Cuo understood. In a typical online game, the initial value is just that—the initial value. A Force of -8 should mean Tang Cuo was as weak as a sickly chicken, unable to even leave the beginner’s village. But the truth was, he was still himself, just saddled with a non-fatal debuff. So the initial stat allocation here was merely an increase or decrease based on his original foundation.
This “original foundation” was the so-called Trial Game of Life—the first twenty-four years of Tang Cuo’s life.
However, what interested Tang Cuo most was that Tarot card and Zhang Xing’s combat style.
Zhang Xing’s head was still throbbing. Hearing this question, he completely lost any desire to hide anything. He had never seen a newbie like Tang Cuo before. Even if he didn’t say anything, Tang Cuo would find out soon enough, making concealment pointless.
“The Tarot card was obtained during a mission. There are all sorts of bizarre things inside missions: magic, martial arts, superpowers, various equipment… as long as you can find a way to get them. But the combat style everyone eventually forms is different, and the paths are different too. I’m just a nobody. Let alone forming my own style, I haven’t even touched the threshold of the basics. I can only fight relying on props like the Tarot card…”
In fact, Zhang Xing found it very strange. Why would such a formidable newbie be placed in the weakest zone, Zone F? And why did he have to be the one to kick this iron plate?
In just this short while, thanks to the dried meat, Tang Cuo’s HP had recovered to 7%. He stood up, frowned at the dried blood on his body, and decided to go out and do some shopping first.
He temporarily let Zhang Xing off the hook but didn’t release him, opting to knock him out instead. Zhang Xing had superiors; Tang Cuo was worried he might go back to fetch reinforcements and burn his house down.
Opening the door and heading downstairs, Tang Cuo didn’t run into anyone this time. He made his way unimpeded to the black stone street outside. There were street signs—very ordinary blue signs—that read: Zone F, East Cross Street.
Following the route Zhang Xing had provided, Tang Cuo crossed a street, and suddenly, there were many more people.
It was bustling here. Neon signs flashed under the eaves, and the windows along the street were open, with music and the aroma of alcohol wafting out. The smiles and uninhibited horseplay of the young men and women seemed completely disconnected from the terror on Zhang Xing’s face.
The crowd paid no unusual attention to the bloodstained Tang Cuo. Up ahead, the door of a tavern was suddenly smashed open. Amidst the clamor, a massive brawl was unfolding.
Some were crying.
Some were laughing.
A person on the street was playing guitar and singing. Tang Cuo remembered him; he used to be a D-list singer who died in a car accident a few years ago. A female classmate of Tang Cuo’s really liked him and had even bought him a bouquet of flowers once.
Tang Cuo paused to listen for a bit. It wasn’t very good, so he left.
The supermarket was three streets away. It looked like an old-school department store, with a massive poster of a sexy 1980s pin-up girl hanging on the exterior wall. Tang Cuo casually strolled inside. A pair of socks cost one thousand dollars, and hot and sour noodles cost five thousand.
In other words, one point could only buy four bowls of hot and sour noodles.
Tang Cuo didn’t believe this absurdity and asked the auntie selling the hot and sour noodles. The auntie, who had a soft spot for handsome young men who looked like they gave speeches under the national flag as kids, told him the current exchange rate was one to one million.
Because hell money was worthless. Nowadays, people burned everything—BMWs, iPhones, and blow-up dolls. Hell money was burned stack after stack, leading to massive inflation.
Tang Cuo decided to beat Zhang Xing up again when he got back.
But Tang Cuo wasn’t in a hurry to return just yet, nor did he want to go looking for acquaintances from his batch. Having eaten and drank his fill, he strolled the streets of Yong Ye City. Seeing an antique-looking hot spring bathhouse, he walked in with his newly bought clothes to take a bath.
The money looted from Zhang Xing was just enough for a one-hour soak. But what he didn’t know was that while he was soaking comfortably, the Mission Hall in the Central District of Yong Ye City was making waves because of him.
The Mission Hall, the place to accept tasks.
The scale of Yong Ye City’s Mission Hall rivaled the most luxurious casinos in Las Vegas. It was entirely circular, roughly the size of two football fields, and over thirty meters high. Built entirely with a black steel frame structure and inlaid with irregular glass crystals, it was both cool and extravagant. Yet, once you stepped into the Mission Hall, the sight before you would pull you right out of your Las Vegas dream and back into the 1990s.
Claw machines, fishing games, pool tables, racing games, Taiko no Tatsujin, fighting arcade cabinets, lucky prize wheels, dance machines, and more—practically every category of amusement facility since the dawn of arcades was here.
The entire hall was packed with people. Right at this moment, many gazes were fixed on three massive virtual electronic screens hanging from the steel frame ceiling in the center of the hall.
Each electronic screen displayed a long leaderboard, ranked sequentially from 1 to 99. The list everyone was currently focusing on was called—Mr. Crow’s Blacklist.
The list read as follows:
1st Place: Zone A, G79081
2nd Place: Zone A, E57456
3rd Place: Zone B, F66666
…
99th Place: Zone F, K27216
“K27216? Who is that??”
“The Blacklist hasn’t been updated in eight hundred years; where did this guy pop out from? Even people from Zone F can get on the list now?”
“It’s not some big shot from Zone A who got penalized and sent back, is it?”
“Is there a person like this in Zone A?”
The crowd buzzed with discussion. A short guy with pink hair suddenly had a flash of insight: “Given the timing, could it be a newbie? Drawing that much aggro the moment he arrives, impressive.”
“How could it be a newbie?”
“A newbie in Zone F not pissing their pants from fear is already good enough, right?”
“Exactly!”
“Did you all forget the guy in first place?”
“That’s different! He started right in Zone A; how can you compare them?! Besides, Mr. Crow loved him so much back then. Damn privileged class, who else gets put on the Blacklist the moment they arrive…”
“Shh!”
The person speaking looked left and right shiftily, terrified of being overheard. The surrounding people seemed to remember something; they shivered and also fell silent.
Before long, the crowd dispersed, and the ripples caused by Tang Cuo gradually subsided. In this city, flashes in the pan were common. A guy dead last on the Blacklist wasn’t really worth paying much attention to.
The pink-haired guy weaved through the crowd like a fish. He took a lap with great interest, but seemingly finding nothing amusing, left in low spirits. The direction he headed was exactly toward Zone A.
Meanwhile, Tang Cuo in Zone F was currently deep in thought.
He had gotten an A-rating after all, so why was he assigned to Zone F? Because of his negative points? Was this some sort of disguised punishment for negative points?
If so, Tang Cuo’s upcoming days would definitely not be easy. According to Zhang Xing, points could only be obtained from missions. To get points directly in Yong Ye City, you’d have to rob someone. And once Tang Cuo entered a mission, the existence of negative points would definitely bring him trouble.
Half an hour later, Tang Cuo’s HP had risen to 13%, so he returned to East Cross Street.
East Cross Street was much livelier now than when Tang Cuo first arrived. From time to time, people poked their heads out from the windows upstairs, sizing up everything before them with terror and confusion. Trembling figures had also appeared on the roadside; a mere stray cat popping out could scare them out of their wits.
It seemed quite a few new players had been assigned to Zone F.
The worst batch ever, true to its name.
Tang Cuo swept a glance around but didn’t see Chi Yan. He didn’t care much, though. Wearing his brand-new trench coat and carrying a large bag of daily necessities, he walked upstairs nonchalantly, having no desire to greet anyone.
When the others saw him, some clearly recognized him but didn’t dare approach to say hello; someone even shook their head frantically at him. Tang Cuo frowned, faintly sensing something. Turning the corner and taking a few more steps, sure enough—the corridor was blocked.
Five young men in bizarre outfits were either sitting or standing. Two were smoking, two were playing cards, and a blond guy was toying with an iron rod. Seeing Tang Cuo approach, a burly man smoking raised an eyebrow, sizing him up with an unfriendly tone: “Looks like a pretty boy gigolo; that’s gotta be him.”
The blond guy then swaggered forward with a smile, his gait wobbly and his tone sleazy: “Been waiting for you for half an hour. You newbies sure have some nerve these days. Daring to rob someone the moment you arrive, and even having the leisure to go grocery shopping after robbing them. What did you buy?”
Tang Cuo remained expressionless, too lazy to even open his mouth.
“Oh.” The blond guy pointed his rod straight at Tang Cuo’s heart, smiling wickedly: “Got a temper, huh? In a rush to go back to sleep?”
“Where’s Zhang Xing?” Tang Cuo asked.
“Hear that? He still cares about Zhang Xing!” The blond guy chuckled, gesturing to his companions on either side, then added: “Zhang Xing is still in your room. Wanna go see if he’s dead yet? A piece of trash who can’t even beat a newbie is just taking up space even if he dies. How about you join us instead? With a face like yours, who knows how many people would be willing to fall for your tricks?”
The other four burst into roaring laughter. Snuffing out their cigarettes and tossing aside their cards, they each pulled out a bizarre-looking weapon from behind their backs and stepped forward. The violence and mockery in their eyes were barely concealed.
Tang Cuo remained expressionless, glancing back down at the street. People in twos and threes were hiding not far away, peeking over, but no one dared approach.
“Don’t worry, no one’s coming to save you,” the blond guy sneered.
Hearing this, Tang Cuo merely calmly pulled a black steel bone-chopping cleaver out of his supermarket plastic bag. Gripping the handle, he weighed it in his hand—it had the exact feel he wanted.
The blond guy paused slightly, raising a hand to stop his companions. Staring at Tang Cuo, he said: “You think you can fight us with a kitchen knife that has zero abilities? You probably still don’t know what kind of place you’ve come to, little kid. If you don’t want to die too ugly, it’s not too late to beg for mercy.”
Tang Cuo asked: “Are you done?”
The blond guy was instantly infuriated. This guy, this handsome face, this nonchalant tone—it all hit his berserk button perfectly. But just as he was about to speak, Tang Cuo launched his attack.
He dashed forward, arriving right in front of the blond guy in the blink of an eye. Turning sideways, he struck swiftly, the bone-chopping cleaver in his hand leaving an afterimage. “Smack—” Using the flat side of the blade, a single horizontal slap knocked out half of the blond guy’s teeth.
“Ouch!” The slapped blond guy crashed into his companions behind him, sending them tumbling. His teeth fell out mixed with bloody foam, and his head felt like it had been slammed in a door—throbbing with pain and dizziness.
Superpowers, martial arts, special moves—at this moment, they all turned to mush in his brain.
The others were still somewhat coherent. Grabbing their weapons and muttering incantations, they prepared to unleash their ultimate moves. But Tang Cuo’s bone-chopping cleaver didn’t stop at all. His speed was fast—faster than anything else. Before the opponents could even execute their moves, the heavy bone-chopping cleaver smacked them right in the face.
In the martial world, speed defines the winner.
The black steel bone-chopping cleaver had its blade and handle forged as a single piece. It was dark and lackluster, with only a dull metallic gleam at the edge. It wasn’t sharp, but it was very large and very heavy.
One smack, and even a celestial immortal would be sent to the afterlife.
Beginner’s village plain-tier equipment—the number one choice for murder and robbery.
