Chapter 22: The Deceased
Tang Cuo had a long, drawn-out dream. When he woke up, he was groggy and disoriented. With no lights on in the room, he couldn’t quite tell whether it was day or night. A couple of seconds later, he remembered that Evernight City had no daytime to begin with.
Blurred light slipped through the broken window, casting a faint shadow on the floor. Tang Cuo lay still, staring at the shadow for a long while before realizing it looked like a person.
Looking toward the broken window, Jin Cheng was sitting sideways on the sill, one leg casually propped up. The glowing orb atop the distant high tower resembled a moon, hanging directly above his head and illuminating the unscarred side of his face.
He was peeling an apple. The long ribbon of apple peel trailed from his fingers like Rapunzel’s hair, already draping onto the floor.
Tang Cuo remembered locking the door before going to sleep. Now, with no signs of the door being picked, Jin Cheng had definitely climbed in through the window again.
“You were talking in your sleep just now,” Jin Cheng teased upon seeing him wake up.
Tang Cuo sat up from the bed. His morning grumpiness wasn’t too bad today, but he still didn’t feel like indulging Jin Cheng’s pointless teasing. He needed to get up, eat something, and sit quietly for a bit to calm his mind and welcome a brand-new day.
Jin Cheng, however, told him, “Your complexion is so awful first thing in the morning; you must not be eating enough fruit. I used to tell you to eat at least one apple a day. Did you throw my advice in the trash again?”
My complexion is awful first thing in the morning because you’re annoying me in my room.
Tang Cuo didn’t believe nonsense like “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” because the very man standing before him preached geriatric wellness every day while never practicing it himself.
For instance, right now: he peeled an apple himself, but wouldn’t eat it; instead, he was forcing Tang Cuo to eat it.
Tang Cuo didn’t like apples.
“I haven’t fucking brushed my teeth yet,” he even resorted to cursing.
“Then go brush,” Jin Cheng replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world, setting the apple into a glass bowl and watching him walk into the bathroom. By the time Tang Cuo actually began brushing his teeth, Jin Cheng was already steeping oatmeal.
He had an electric kettle and a toaster hidden under Tang Cuo’s bed alongside his red wine—the quintessential bachelor survival kit. The toaster sold in Evernight City’s supermarket was also a bit different from those in the real world: while normal toasters branded toast with smiley faces, this one branded them with skulls.
After having breakfast, Tang Cuo looked at the alarm clock he had bought just yesterday; it showed a little past nine in the morning.
Jin Cheng remarked, “That kid from your batch is truly wasted in Evernight City. If he hadn’t died, he could’ve made a roaring success of himself even as a charlatan cultist.”
Tang Cuo asked impassively, “What did he do this time?”
“Oh,” Jin Cheng smiled. “He’s been holding a pep rally all morning—a passionate oath-taking ceremony for braving Evernight City. Right now, East Cross Street is mostly filled with rookies who arrived within the past week. With no rush to do missions yet, having them attend a class together fits right in.”
Tang Cuo walked over to the window and looked down. East Cross Street wasn’t just a single street; it was the collective name for two long black-stone avenues intersecting into a cross, with a resident population of around five thousand. As a renowned dumping ground in Zone F, it gathered either the newest of newcomers or the weakest beings at the bottom of the food chain. Now that these people had banded together, who knew what kind of repercussions it would stir up.
Chi Yan.
Tang Cuo turned the name over in his mind. He could tell that Chi Yan genuinely wanted to help, just like when he had pulled off his hood at the square and placed it over the little girl’s bald head.
In such circumstances, kindness could not be feigned.
Yet did he truly understand how much danger this would bring him?
Thinking of this, he turned and asked, “When you first arrived, what was this place like?”
Jin Cheng crossed his legs like a lord. “You’re asking the wrong person. I was assigned to Zone A from the very beginning. By the time I was penalized and sent back down to Zone F, I was already number one on the blacklist. To me, Zone F has always been the same, no matter when.”
You sound quite proud of that?
Tang Cuo didn’t want to engage with his bragging, so Jin Cheng asked instead, “So I’m really curious: how exactly did you die? Your rating couldn’t possibly be low—if not A, then at least B. Why did you end up on East Cross Street?”
Jin Cheng’s gaze grew sharp. He had an intuition that a secret lay behind Tang Cuo’s death. But Tang Cuo had no desire to answer the question. Turning his head back toward the window, he replied, “I’m already dead. Does how I died matter?”
Of course it matters.
In life, aside from life and death, there were no big matters to begin with. If death didn’t matter, what else could possibly be more important? Jin Cheng actually had a lot of questions he wanted to ask him—for instance, whether he ultimately passed the squad assessment, and what he had been doing all these years. But while he hesitated for a brief moment, a knock sounded at the door.
Both turned their heads simultaneously and heard Chi Yan shouting outside the door, “Ge, Cheng-ge!”
Jin Cheng went to open the door. Chi Yan rushed in like a gust of wind, and before he could even catch his breath, he blurted out, “There’s news of that little girl! A player just came and told me they saw her on Sanhe Street to the north a couple of days ago! She’s easy to spot because she’s bald. I’d bet eight to ten it’s definitely her!”
After joining the Knife Gang, Chi Yan had asked other players to keep an eye out for news of the little girl. Now, a few days later, his efforts had finally borne fruit.
Jin Cheng asked, “You’re going over to find her?”
Chi Yan nodded as if it were obvious. “Yeah! We found a lead, so of course we have to go!”
Jin Cheng asked again, “You’re neither kin nor friend to her. Once you find her, what then?”
Chi Yan suddenly choked.
Find her, and then what?
Chi Yan truly hadn’t thought that through. He had merely met her by chance in the square after dying, thought the little girl was pitiful, and instinctively wanted to help her.
Jin Cheng suddenly smiled, turning back to shoot Tang Cuo a look. Tang Cuo found him tiresome and ignored him, thrusting his hands into his trench coat pockets and walking out the door with cool indifference.
“Hey, Ge, where are you going?” Chi Yan asked hurriedly.
“Weren’t you the one looking for someone?” Jin Cheng patted his shoulder and sauntered out after him. Chi Yan finally caught on, a broad grin spreading across his face, and quickly scrambled to catch up.
Sanhe Street was three streets away from East Cross Street. It wasn’t far—about a fifteen-minute walk. The players here were slightly more capable than those on East Cross Street, and living conditions were marginally better, but only just.
Chi Yan walked swiftly. The player who had provided the clue was waiting for them at the intersection.
Meeting up, that player said, “I saw her about three days ago; I’ve forgotten the exact time. But if I’m not mistaken, she probably lives in that building over there. I saw her on the fourth floor, though I don’t know which specific unit she’s in. It’s just… I can’t guarantee she’s still there either, so I can only bring you over to check. Seriously.”
With Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng around, the player appeared very constrained and somewhat frightened. He had witnessed the chaotic brawl the night before with his own eyes. If not for that, he wouldn’t have volunteered the information either, fearing he might get dragged into trouble.
Chi Yan quickly offered a few soothing words, and the four arrived at the apartment building mentioned by the player. It was another roadside building, five stories high in total. Heading up the stairs, they encountered several players, all of whom steered clear without a word.
Coldness, alienation, and vigilance—this was the norm in Zone F.
“Right about here.” The player took a spot in the fourth-floor corridor, estimating the location, and said, “She seemed to be standing right around here that day. There was no one else in the hallway. I live on the fifth floor, and when I came downstairs, I happened to see her. Since you rarely see bald little girls, I took an extra glance. She seemed frightened by me and didn’t really move. When I left, she was still standing there.”
Chi Yan asked, “Did you speak to each other?”
The player shook his head. “I only paused for a few seconds before leaving. It was really just a brief glance.”
Seeing that no more details could be gleaned, Chi Yan decided to search directly. The method was simple enough: check room by room, and they would surely find her.
Naturally, this task fell upon Chi Yan, because Jin Cheng and Tang Cuo were two haughty lords who strictly avoided lifting a finger whenever possible.
The result was disappointing.
Chi Yan knocked on every door—eight in total. Three opened, but none were her. Two didn’t open; people spoke a few words through the door, and neither sounded like her.
Three doors had no response at all.
Chi Yan went back to the three who had opened their doors, using his natural interpersonal flair to fish for info, successfully ruling out two more doors. None of these people seemed to know the little girl, but regarding who lived on the same floor, they generally had some impression of people coming and going.
“So it’s this one?” Chi Yan looked suspiciously at the room at the end of the corridor and knocked again. Still, no answer. He didn’t even know the little girl’s name, so he couldn’t call out for her.
At this point, Jin Cheng finally stepped forward, drew a card, and swiped it against the door. Click. The door unlocked.
Chi Yan’s mouth fell open. “Is this door electronic? A master keycard?”
Jin Cheng smiled without answering, but Tang Cuo caught sight of the logo on the card—powered by 10086.
Truly the omnipresent 10086.
Without looking left or right, Tang Cuo was the first to enter, proving himself an old hand at home invasion. Jin Cheng followed right behind, equally brazen. Chi Yan and the informant lagged behind. But when they stepped inside, they found both big shots frozen in place, staring at—a pool of dark red blood on the floor.
“Blood?!” Chi Yan cried out in horror. “Where is she?”
There was nobody in the room, nor was there a corpse.
Jin Cheng squatted down and touched the blood. It was semi-dry and still slightly tacky. Sweeping his gaze across the corners of the room, he keenly spotted an object beneath the bed. Pulling it out, it turned out to be the missing dinosaur hood from Chi Yan’s pajamas.
“How could this happen?” Chi Yan took the hood and found that it was stained with blood as well. He drew a sharp breath of cold air, dreading to imagine what the little girl had endured.
Instinctively, he turned to ask the informant if there were any other clues, only to see the player looking even more pale than he was. The moment their eyes met, the player immediately protested, “It wasn’t me! I swear I just brought you here to take a look!”
He had only wanted to leave a good impression on the big shots; who knew he’d still land in trouble? The player felt like dying right then and there. Chi Yan hadn’t actually suspected him, so seeing him like that, he could only let it drop.
Over there, Jin Cheng had already reached a conclusion. “There’s no blood anywhere else, and no signs of struggle in the room. Most likely, she died instantly and was teleported directly into prison.”
A flash of inspiration struck Chi Yan. “Could it be like what happened to my Ge? She refused to exchange points, so she was killed?”
Tang Cuo didn’t think so.
Zhang Xing had used the Tarot card on him ultimately because Tang Cuo had struck first. That little girl was young and frail; would she be unyielding enough to stubbornly clash with veteran players to the death?
It made no sense.
“Ge, what do we do now?” Chi Yan was at a loss, feeling the dinosaur hood in his hands weigh a thousand pounds.
“Once inside prison, there’s only one way: find a way to reduce your sentence yourself, or wait until your term is served. Redeeming someone is extremely difficult; don’t even dream about it early on.” Jin Cheng leisurely turned on the faucet to wash the blood from his hand, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe it dry, and continued, “If you can’t swallow your anger, you can also kill the murderer and send them in there to keep her company.”
Hearing him speak so flippantly, Chi Yan felt an inexplicable chill. “But we have no idea who the murderer is.”
Jin Cheng spread his hands.
Tang Cuo suddenly stated, “The deceased knows.”
“Huh?” Chi Yan was momentarily taken aback, before sudden realization dawned on him. “Right! She’s in prison, she didn’t actually die! Doesn’t that mean as long as we see her, we’ll know who killed her?!”
But the moment the words left his mouth, Chi Yan recalled what Jin Cheng had said yesterday—the warden of Zone G was a lunatic even he didn’t dare provoke lightly.
“If I just go for visitation, there shouldn’t be any problem, right? Besides, he’s a dignified warden, and with so many people in prison, he won’t notice me, will he?” he asked tentatively, his wide eyes brimming with hope.
“You’re dreaming.” Jin Cheng casually tossed the used handkerchief onto the floor. “Evernight City’s prison has no wardens or guards—only a single Warden. If you want to enter, you must pass right before him, and that will trigger a game.”
Chi Yan’s expression instantly turned as bitter as a bitter gourd, his facial features practically scrunching together.
Tang Cuo also frowned slightly, then asked, “Is this warden a player, or a native of Evernight City?”
Jin Cheng raised an eyebrow. Look, his disciple was just that sharp.
“A player,” he replied definitively. “Except for Mr. Crow, everyone in Evernight City is essentially a player.”
Chi Yan and the informant blinked, failing to grasp what that meant for the moment. Jin Cheng and Tang Cuo weren’t charitable enough to explain it to them; exchanging a glance, the two strode outside.
Tang Cuo’s gaze swept over the closed doors, but he didn’t spend time inquiring further. The player who brought them here quickly took his leave. Watching his fleeing back, then looking at the dinosaur hood in his hands, Chi Yan felt a sudden surge of frustration.
On the way back to East Cross Street, he was still muttering, “She’s so small, she poses no threat at all. Why kill her? It makes no sense, and there’s no need…”
Jin Cheng remarked, “There are thousands of ways to die in this world, and thousands of kinds of malice. Who says killing someone requires a reason?”
Chi Yan pouted, desperately unwilling to agree, yet unable to voice any rebuttal. Previously, he had only seen such unbelievable things in social news reports; even with what the Lucky Wheel had put him through, it was fear far outweighing bewilderment.
Tang Cuo watched, remaining silent.
Before long, the three returned to East Cross Street. From afar, they saw a crowd gathering in the street, growing larger by the minute. Someone looked up and spotted them, running over in haste: “Little Brother Chi!”
Chi Yan’s eyelid twitched. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s been murdered!” The person’s expression was panicked, tinged with anger. “It was just discovered! Two new players knew each other and lived close by. Just now, one went over to find the other, only to find a pool of blood in the room—and the person gone!”
The rest of the crowd crowded around as well. Not daring to be presumptuous before Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng, they all swarmed around Chi Yan.
“Yeah, yeah, we searched everywhere, but couldn’t find them!”
“It has to be those veteran players! They’re taking revenge on us!”
“It’s definitely them!”
“What do we do now?”
Everyone talked over each other. A few of the most furious ones immediately began clamoring to go confront the veteran players. At these words, though everyone looked tense, none objected—because no one knew if they would be the next victim. When the lips are gone, the teeth are cold.
Yet Chi Yan cut in with absolute certainty: “No!”
The youth’s face was resolute. “Extorting points and murder are two completely different things! Every wrong has its perpetrator, every debt its debtor. Have you even confirmed anything before charging off to risk your lives?! Who’s going to take responsibility if something goes wrong?!”
Chi Yan’s demeanor was quite imposing; a crowd of grown men and women was genuinely cowed by this young kid, making even Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng look at him in a slightly new light.
But once Chi Yan managed to temporarily calm the crowd and turned back to Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng, his face instantly fell. “Ge, my dearest Ge, what do we do now?”
Jin Cheng: “Didn’t you seem full of ideas just now, Little Brother Chi?”
“Another person died! Don’t you think this is a lot like what happened to that little girl? How could it be such a coincidence?! There can’t be some serial killer roaming the city, can there? I seriously can’t handle this!”
“Investigate,” Tang Cuo said concisely. “Find out exactly how many people have died.”
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Author’s Note:
Great Detective Tang Cuo’s ultimate evolution—Death God Elementary Schooler! (Note: A reference to Detective Conan, who brings death wherever he goes)
