Chapter 5: Mr. Clown
“Bang!”
“Bang!”
“Smack!”
“Aargh!”
“Stop hitting us! Stop!”
“I yield!”
“Help!”
The lights in the corridor swayed, casting wildly flailing shadows on the walls. The screams were crushed into fragmented pieces, piercing the night sky and traveling far, but no one came to intervene.
The new players were filled with anxiety. It wasn’t that they were too cowardly, but what was happening right before their eyes exceeded their imagination. Someone had bravely rushed forward, intending to save Tang Cuo, only to see a bone-chopping cleaver being swung with ferocious, whistling force.
When the beating was over, Tang Cuo listened to the groans and whimpers scattered across the floor and asked, “Want some more?”
The five men squirmed on the ground, frantically backing away. “No, no, no, no, no, no more! Boss, you’re our boss! We had eyes but couldn’t recognize Mt. Tai. Have mercy, please have mercy…”
The blond guy’s face was so swollen he couldn’t even speak. When he opened his mouth, air whistled through his missing teeth. He was in sheer agony.
Tang Cuo asked again, “Is there anyone above you?”
In this kind of world, beating the young ones brings out the old ones, and beating the old ones brings out even older ones. It was incredibly annoying. At this very moment, after that intense fight, Tang Cuo’s Health, which had painstakingly recovered to 13%, dropped back down to 5%. Back to square one.
Opening his character panel for a glance, Tang Cuo’s face darkened.
Seeing this, the five men shivered for no reason and continued shaking their heads frantically. No, there was truly no one else. If they hadn’t been doing so poorly, they wouldn’t have resorted to coming here to bully the weakest newbies.
Only then did Tang Cuo pick up his plastic bag, shove the meat cleaver inside, and walk away.
Waiting until his figure finally disappeared around the corner of the stairs, the five men scrambled up, supporting each other as they desperately fled. The players in the building and on the street watched their retreating backs, looking at each other in dismay.
Tang Cuo headed straight back to his room, only to find the door and window wide open. Going inside, he saw that the clothes he had used to tie up Zhang Xing had been torn to shreds, and Zhang Xing—who was supposedly still in his room—was nowhere to be seen.
It was obvious where he went.
Tang Cuo set down the plastic bag, walked to the window, and leaned out to look down. He caught sight of Zhang Xing sliding down the drainage pipe. Despite his bloated figure, his movements were surprisingly agile.
Let him run.
Tang Cuo had zero interest in the internal workings of a scam ring. If Zhang Xing hadn’t run, he would have had to worry about how to throw the guy out. But just as he was about to turn around and close the window, a magnetic voice brimming with amusement suddenly drifted over from next door—
“Didn’t expect you to be quite so kindhearted.”
Tang Cuo turned his head, saw a clown face, and his eyebrow twitched.
The clown was squatting on the windowsill, wearing motorcycle boots and a flashy fringed leather jacket. His hair was a bit long, so a section was gathered at the back into a small bun, exposing his forehead. The greasepaint on his face seemed casually smeared on, with an upturned, blood-red grin. Seeing Tang Cuo turn toward him, he raised a hand and tilted his head slightly: “Good evening.”
Tang Cuo narrowed his eyes. This man was at least 1.9 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. It was a wonder he could squat so effortlessly on a windowsill barely ten centimeters in diameter.
Seeing that he didn’t reply, the clown didn’t mind. He pointed at Zhang Xing and said with a smile, “In Zone F, there are at least a dozen small gangs like this one, each occupying their own territory. There is no shortage of newbies who get scammed out of all their points and are driven to a dead end, nor is there a lack of those who refuse to be fooled and end up getting beaten into submission. They call it the ‘first lesson of school.'”
Tang Cuo: “And?”
The clown propped up his chin. “I’m praising you. Couldn’t you tell?”
“Oh.” Tang Cuo directly closed the window.
He wasn’t very interested in chatting with the other party. If he had that kind of free time, he might as well go back to sleep. Thinking this, he acted on it. He turned around, laid out the newly purchased bedsheets and duvet cover, preparing to make do for the night.
Thump. Something hit the window.
Tang Cuo originally wanted to ignore it, but the thump, thump sounds came one after another. He had no choice but to walk back to the window. The moment he opened it, something flew straight at his face. He raised his hand, caught it, and opened his palm to look—it was a colorful glass marble.
The clown was still squatting on the neighboring balcony, tossing a marble with great interest. He said, “Did you really believe their words, thinking no one else would come looking for trouble?”
Tang Cuo: “So what if I believe them, and so what if I don’t?”
The clown spread his hands. “Indeed, it doesn’t matter either way. But very few newbies are as unfazed as you. I’m a bit curious, how did you die?”
Tang Cuo offered no reply.
“If you’re not willing to say, how about we make friends?” the clown asked. “It’s quite a coincidence that we live next door to each other. If you just ask, I can help out.”
“No need, thanks.” Tang Cuo closed the window again.
However, the clown’s words did remind him. Zone F was very large; it was indeed impossible for there to be only one small gang. In a place like this, the law of the jungle prevailed. If the blond guy couldn’t hold onto his territory, naturally someone else would come to carve it up.
Following the usual tropes, Tang Cuo should beat them all down and become the boss himself, but he had absolutely zero interest in being a boss.
Thump. It came again.
Tang Cuo’s head throbbed.
Thump. It still wasn’t over.
Tang Cuo took a deep breath, opened the window again, and smiled. “Can I help you?”
The clown: “Are you angry?”
Tang Cuo: “Obviously.”
The clown: “Has anyone ever told you before that you look quite good when you’re angry?”
Get lost.
“You aren’t a new player. People die here every day, and newbies join every day. Things like this happen daily. You must have seen a lot of it, so why offer to help me?” Tang Cuo’s gaze was sharp, as if it could pierce straight into the other’s heart with a single glance. “Isn’t it better to just watch the show like you did earlier?”
The clown raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I haven’t stepped in before?”
Downstairs, the noise grew louder. More and more new players had emboldened themselves to step out of their rooms. They were currently gathered in twos and threes, wantonly peddling panic.
Of course, there were veteran players too, but they were accustomed to such scenes. Usually, they just cast a single glance before losing interest.
The black city was still brightly lit.
Tang Cuo and the clown locked eyes, looking more like a standoff.
A strange sensation suddenly welled up in his heart. Tang Cuo carefully scrutinized the man opposite him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source of this bizarre feeling.
“Alright, I won’t bother you anymore.” The clown suddenly laughed. “Looking at me like that makes it easy for me to have some vulgar associations, and then I won’t sleep well at night.”
The response he got was a ruthless slam.
Tang Cuo felt he must be sick in the head to be spouting nonsense with him here.
Meanwhile, in Zone A.
Inside a quiet garden villa, floating firefly-like lights encircled the entire villa along a cobblestone path. When a gentle breeze blew past, they would sway and settle on the treetops and flower petals, stealthily twinkling like blinking stars. A black mechanical bird stood alone at the end of the path. It held its head high, a crystal heart glittering brightly within its hollow body.
Suddenly, an exclamation burst out from inside the house, shaking all the floating lights and even causing the mechanical bird to alter the angle of its raised head.
“The boss got punished back to Zone F again, again, again?! Did he run amok in an instance again???” A short guy with pink hair widened his eyes. To fully express his shock, he even stood up on the sofa.
Opposite him, a woman painting her nails twitched her hand, smearing nail polish outside the lines. She looked up faintly. “You used the word ‘again’ a bit too much.”
The pink-haired guy spread his hands. “What else should I use? ‘Again x4’?”
The woman shrugged and continued painting her nails methodically, completely unfazed. The pink-haired guy grew anxious and hurriedly said, “Hey, how can you be so calm? How many times has this been? He has to rank up from Zone F zone by zone all over again. It’s not like making a smurf account in an online game where you can dual-box!”
“So what do you want to do about it?”
“I’m anxious precisely because there’s nothing I can do about it!”
The woman wasn’t anxious—not in the slightest. She raised her hand to admire her freshly painted black nails. Mm, this matches her hair perfectly.
The pink-haired guy shuddered whenever he saw her smile. Black nails, black dress, and long straight black hair; every day she dressed up like a dark witch, yet she had a bizarre fondness for pink plush toys. She had even forced him to dye his hair pink, making him tear up from the harsh bleaching process.
“If you’re worried, just go to Zone F and find him.”
“Hiss.” The pink-haired guy hugged his arms and suddenly shivered. “He must be absolutely furious right now. I’m not going to walk right into his bad mood.”
“Then stay put and behave.”
“I can’t stay put! The boss promised to take me on a mission this week, and now he’s been punished back down!”
The pink-haired guy plopped back down on his seat, genuinely worried and angry. He originally wanted to mention the Blacklist update, but now he was in no mood to talk about it. Because compared to a suddenly emerging 99th place, the continuously death-seeking 1st place was obviously much more formidable.
So formidable it was about to explode.
After thinking it over from every angle, the pink-haired guy decided to secretly head to Zone F to scout the situation.
Yong Ye City was a place of extreme rules and extreme lawlessness. It discarded all human laws and morals, yet enforced incredibly strict jurisdiction over its various zones. Aside from the Central District, which was accessible to all zones, players from higher zones could walk freely in lower zones. However, if players from lower zones wanted to enter higher zones, they could only do so by earning enough points to rank up, or by obtaining a temporary pass.
Only Zone G separated Zone A from Zone F. They were very close, but Zone G was Yong Ye City’s prison, run by a highly perverted Warden. Therefore, the pink-haired guy had to rush to the Central District first, and then enter Zone F from there.
By the time he arrived, it was already past 4:00 AM.
Zone F at 4:00 AM was still bustling. Disoriented new players and accustomed veteran players were like the two constant main characters in a play, acting out the exact same drama every single day.
It had been a long time since the pink-haired guy visited a gathering place for new players like this, and he couldn’t help but sigh. At the same time, he couldn’t quite figure it out. The boss had clearly behaved himself for quite a long time, so why was he punished again today? Furthermore, he had promised to take him on a mission; he wouldn’t just stand him up without reason.
Whatever, if he couldn’t figure it out, he wouldn’t think about it.
Familiar with the route, the pink-haired guy deftly avoided the crowds and headed toward East Cross Street. Even within the same zone, there were differences between streets. East Cross Street was the weakest area with the worst conditions in all of Zone F. Some even jokingly called it—the Garbage Recycling Plant.
Jin Cheng, who was the pink-haired guy’s boss, as the number one on the Blacklist, would inevitably be tossed into East Cross Street like garbage whenever he was punished. And every time, it was in the exact same room.
An annual subscriber to East Cross Street—the only one in all of Yong Ye City.
The pink-haired guy grumbled internally as he walked. Arriving at East Cross Street, he didn’t take the stairs but climbed the window directly. The height of the third floor was child’s play for a Zone A elite like him. Even carrying a large backpack, it took him mere seconds.
Bang, bang!
“Boss! Boss, I’m here!”
Bang!
“Boss!”
The pink-haired guy knocked on the window for a long time with no response, so he couldn’t help but increase his force. However, he only applied a little more strength, and with a crack, the glass actually shattered. He stared in horror at the broken glass, then looked in horror at the person inside the room, and discovered in horror—
“Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?”
With a dark face, Tang Cuo raised the meat cleaver from the bedside and chopped it right onto the window frame. Crack, shatter. The remaining half of the glass was also shattered. Glass shards showered down on the pink-haired guy like freezing rain, chilling his heart to the core.
“Big bro, calm down; you must calm down. I got the wrong place, really! I’m leaving right now!” Survival instinct overwhelmed curiosity. The pink-haired guy turned around to jump downstairs, but just as he turned his head, he saw his own boss poke his head out from the window next door.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What are you doing??” the pink-haired guy shot back.
“Wearing a face mask.”
“Oh, fuck me ￥*&%!”
In his agitation, the pink-haired guy fell off, landing spread-eagled on his back.
Fifteen minutes later, inside Tang Cuo’s room.
The pink-haired guy placed his hands neatly on his knees, displaying the most well-behaved smile in history. Actually, he didn’t know why he had to act like this, but the current situation was just incredibly bizarre.
He, Wen Xiaoming, a Zone A elite, was playing the role of a submissive grandson in a trashy building in Zone F. Two people were sitting in the room: one was his boss, looking pale as a ghost with a face mask on; the other was an unknown new player, whose gloomy expression looked as dark as a ghost.
Separating the three was a round table. Sticking diagonally out of the tabletop was a black meat cleaver, reflecting a cold, sinister gleam in the dim lighting.
Perhaps this story had a new title: Two Butchers and a Pig Waiting to be Slaughtered.
