Chapter 31: The Twelve Movements
As a high-tier player who had spent three years knocking about Yong Ye City, Jin Cheng was no stranger to hidden quests. However, this was also his first time encountering a chained quest.
“Hidden quests are usually standalone,” Jin Cheng said, fiddling with the ring. “‘Kingdom of the Hidden Moon,’ ‘Sir Lancelot, the most beloved bard across the entire continent’—it sounds like an independent, complete world. But I’ve never heard of anything related to it. In all likelihood, either no one has encountered it before, or someone did, but it was a very long time ago.”
Tang Cuo: “How do we repair it?”
Jin Cheng tilted his head and pondered for a moment. “I’ll have Wen Xiaoming give it a try. If he can’t, we’ll go look for Black Hat. Chained hidden quests like this are hard to come by—harder than winning the lottery. Leaving it like this would be too much of a waste.”
Most importantly, hidden quests yielded generous rewards; even if there was only a single piece, it could easily be top-tier equipment unobtainable in ordinary instances, much like Jin Cheng’s bow. Although one could still enter the instance without repairing the ring, the item that triggered the quest had to be a key item. Entering without repairing the key item would likely make the instance difficult to conquer.
Taking the ring, Jin Cheng said, “Keep using the revolver for now. You can swap it once we find a suitable weapon.”
Tang Cuo nodded, then suddenly thought of something else. “The difficulty of this instance was Intermediate. Mr. Crow didn’t come to make trouble?”
Jin Cheng found it odd as well, but Mr. Crow’s secrets were beyond what players like them could pry into. Whether he appeared or not followed no pattern whatsoever.
The two spoke no further. As usual, Tang Cuo didn’t inquire about Jin Cheng’s rewards. While Jin Cheng went to contact Wen Xiaoming, Tang Cuo rested in his room.
Although Showdown in the Devil City was cleared quickly, the toll it took was immense. After fighting without pause for three to four hours, Tang Cuo’s hypoglycemia was acting up again.
Pushing through exhaustion to take a shower, he collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep before his hair was even dry. He slept for eight and a half hours straight.
Eight and a half hours later, East Cross Street was eerily quiet. Tang Cuo wasn’t quite used to it yet. Right then, a knock came at the door; it was Chi Yan delivering takeout hot and sour noodles.
“Cheng-ge said you’d be waking up about now, so he told me to come call you.” Chi Yan had finally shed his green dinosaur pajamas, swapping into a grass-green casual outfit. He seemed to have an unusual obsession with the color green.
“Where is he?”
“The Central District.”
Without needing Tang Cuo to press him, Chi Yan poured out everything that had happened over the past dozen-plus hours since they had entered the instance like pouring beans from a bamboo tube. “Someone from Sister An Ning’s side went to storm the prison. Their Dage, Cheng Ke, told them to proceed to Zone E as planned. With Meng Yufei dead, they had even less reason to stay here. And the moment they left, Zone F descended into chaos again.”
The situation matched Jin Cheng’s predictions down to the letter, except this upheaval was far greater than the previous clash between new and veteran players on East Cross Street.
Chi Yan clicked his tongue in awe: “They’re fighting brutally! Dozens of people were sent straight to prison in one go, with countless injured, and it still hasn’t ended yet. Compared to them, what we did was practically little brats spitting at each other.”
What unfolded in these short dozen-plus hours served as a shocking re-education for both Chi Yan and the new players of East Cross Street. Those who had clamored to seek revenge against the veteran players instantly fell dead silent, wishing they could take a detour whenever they saw one.
Having experienced the Lucky Wheel, observed the turmoil of Zone F firsthand, and received an earful of sundry Yong Ye City rules from Jin Cheng, Chi Yan’s entire worldview was teetering on the edge of collapse. Yet a teenager’s melancholy came and went quickly; before long, he had already established a connection with An Ning.
“Sister An Ning said that once I get to Zone E, she can take me through an instance. The first instance is pretty tough to clear.”
You truly are a prodigy of socialization.
Tang Cuo glanced at the alarm clock, then at the eternal, unchanging night outside, suddenly not caring what time it actually was. Wiping his mouth, he asked, “Is something going on in the Central District?”
Chi Yan shook his head honestly. “I don’t know either.”
Tang Cuo asked no further. Packaging up the takeout container of noodles to dispose of it, he headed out the door with Chi Yan. Just as they reached the doorway, the little bell at the entrance suddenly chimed.
Ding.
You have a delivery. Please collect it.
A delivery?
Before Tang Cuo could react, Chi Yan was already thrilled. “A delivery! Ge, someone burned offerings for you! This outfit I’m wearing was burned to me by my parents; I just went to pick it up this morning. How does it look, cool right? Look at these shoes on my feet—limited-edition Air Jordans!”
What Chi Yan didn’t mention was that when he went to pick up his package this morning and saw that pile of belongings, he had cried like an idiot.
Only in that moment did he genuinely feel that he was truly dead. Separated forever from his parents by the gulf of life and death, he could never imagine what kind of sorrow his parents felt when burning those things for him.
Only then did Tang Cuo recall that Yong Ye City had such a setting. The delivery center seemed to be located in the Central District. Counting the days, nearly seven days had passed since he and Chi Yan died; it was about time for their First Seventh—the traditional seventh day after death.
He said nothing.
Assuming he was sad, Chi Yan tactfully kept his mouth shut. In reality, Tang Cuo was merely wondering who could possibly be holding a memorial for him. After pondering for a long time, there was no answer.
Going from East Cross Street to the Central District required passing through the area Cheng Ke formerly controlled, but that sector was currently rife with danger, so Chi Yan suggested taking a detour.
When he was hot-blooded, he was genuinely hot-blooded; when it was time to chicken out, he chickened out just as genuinely.
Upon reaching the Central District, Tang Cuo was in no hurry to find Jin Cheng, strolling leisurely over to the delivery depot. Yong Ye City’s delivery center was a legitimate brick-and-mortar shop decorated in traditional Chinese style. A large plaque hung above the entrance reading: Yong Ye Logistics.
Beneath it was a line of ornate English script: Paradise Express.
Stepping inside, the layout was remarkably down-to-earth.
The shop, spanning a full forty square meters, resembled a vast warehouse. Shelves were piled high with all sorts of goods—ranging from various electronic gadgets to fruits, vegetables, and cooked dishes. Near the windows was even a parked row of luxury supercars: Maseratis, Rolls-Royces, Lamborghinis, and the like. Yet the most striking sight was money: stacks upon stacks of paper currency and miniature mountains of gold ingots laid out brazenly across the shelves, without safes or protective measures of any kind, turning onlookers green with envy.
“Picking up a delivery?” The shop assistant was an elderly man in his seventies or eighties. Holding an enamel teacup, he ambled out from behind the counter, his eyeballs clouded and whitish, like a ghost.
Tang Cuo asked, “How do I collect it?”
The old man: “Give your ID number. One point deducted as delivery fee.”
Tang Cuo turned on his heel to leave. Chi Yan grabbed him, “Ge, Ge, where are you going?”
Tang Cuo: “I don’t have parents.”
Chi Yan: “…”
Tang Cuo: “Nor siblings.”
Chi Yan: “…”
Tang Cuo: “Not many friends either.”
Chi Yan: “…”
Tang Cuo: “Could be an enemy sending me a bundle of dynamite.”
Chi Yan: “Ge, stop talking. I’ll pay the point for you, alright? It’s on me!”
Of course, Tang Cuo couldn’t let Chi Yan pay the point for him; he was merely expressing appropriate displeasure at delivery fees. It was already 9102, shipping ought to be prepaid by the sender, not cash-on-delivery.
Even after people died, they still had to pay shipping fees; this shoddy shop was bound to go bankrupt sooner or later.
After a bit of back-and-forth, the old man handed Tang Cuo a document envelope.
Tang Cuo looked at the thin paper envelope, then at the piles of cash and gold ingots on the shelves, strongly wishing to demand his point back. But in the end, he didn’t do so—with Chi Yan beside him, he couldn’t set a bad example for the kid.
Tearing open the envelope, inside was a letter on pale-pink stationery, from which a white daisy slipped out. The letter bore only two words: Thank you.
Staring at the letter, Tang Cuo froze for a few seconds before calmly stowing it away.
Chi Yan scratched his ears and cheeks in wild curiosity, but didn’t crowd in to peek. He wanted to ask, yet held back desperately, practically suffocating with curiosity. Tang Cuo simply let him stew, stuffing the letter into his pocket and leisurely strolling ahead.
Jin Cheng was at an izakaya in the Central District that also happened to sell Lanzhou beef hand-pulled noodles. A far-from-authentic izakaya selling far-from-authentic Lanzhou noodles naturally had scarce business.
When Tang Cuo pushed aside the door noren and stepped inside, Jin Cheng was playfully teasing the proprietress. The proprietress was a beautiful woman whose hair was pinned up with an ornate hairpin; though faint crow’s feet lined the corners of her eyes, she was still brimming with mature charm. She wore makeup, but her hands were immaculate, with neatly trimmed nails.
Jin Cheng sat at the bar counter while the proprietress stood behind it pouring him liquor. Unbeknownst to them what had just been said, she cast him a sideways glance. It was at this moment she noticed new customers arriving and greeted them with a radiant smile: “New faces! Young man, what would you like to drink?”
Tang Cuo: “I’m looking for someone.”
Jin Cheng turned around and met his deadpan face. “Who pissed you off this time?”
Tang Cuo didn’t answer, taking a seat at the counter with two empty stools separating him from Jin Cheng. Chi Yan scratched his head, not daring to squeeze between the two big bosses after all. Calling out a greeting to Jin Cheng, he took the seat next to Tang Cuo.
The proprietress caught on, jutting her chin toward Jin Cheng with rich amusement. “Is this the one you were talking about?”
“Who else?” Jin Cheng said, wondering what kind of tantrum the guy was throwing this time.
Looking at the two empty seats separating them like an insurmountable chasm, Jin Cheng couldn’t help but chuckle.
Tang Cuo was thoroughly composed. Having just eaten hot and sour noodles, he wasn’t particularly hungry, so he merely ordered a token serving of tempura and plum wine. Chi Yan excitedly wanted this and that, agonizing over the menu before finally settling on a bowl of Lanzhou noodles.
He wanted to drink alcohol, but the proprietress turned him down.
“A kid shouldn’t learn from men loaded with bad habits. Big sister will treat you to sweet-and-sour plum juice.”
Chi Yan was easily pleased; a cup of plum juice made him forget all about liquor. Clasping the cup, he sipped in small gulps, his dark, round eyes darting back and forth between Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng. He sensed the atmosphere was a bit off, yet couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong.
Propping his chin in his hand, Jin Cheng looked at them. “Didn’t run into any trouble on the way?”
Tang Cuo: “?”
“Some people are already unable to hold back,” Jin Cheng remarked airily. “Among the groups brawling in Zone F, I vaguely caught the shadows of several individuals.”
“Did someone come down from the higher zones?” Tang Cuo asked.
“No, the equipment.”
“You mean among those trading blows, someone’s gear level exceeded what Zone F should have?”
“Bingo.” Jin Cheng snapped his fingers. The reason Jin Cheng loved having Tang Cuo around despite how maddening he could be was precisely that Tang Cuo never required extra explanation.
Jin Cheng loved playing instructor, but he always complained that others were slow on the uptake, and his own temper was terrible, with zero patience.
Pouring himself another small cup of liquor, he fiddled with the peanuts on a small saucer as he spoke: “Some new faces suddenly popped up in Zone F carrying formidable gear, wrecking the original status quo completely. East Cross Street has stayed put, but if this reshuffle finishes earlier than expected, even if we want to move, we won’t be able to.”
Tang Cuo didn’t understand.
Although Jin Cheng’s temper easily rubbed people the wrong way, his popularity wasn’t actually bad, nor did he have enemies lurking around every corner. The current state of affairs seemed more like those people had a compelling reason why they had to move against Jin Cheng, even at the cost of turning Zone F upside down.
Catching Tang Cuo’s furrowed brow, Jin Cheng smiled. “Still remember that song?”
Hearing the word “song,” Chi Yan reacted like a reflex: “That song about the crow and the lambs?”
“Yeah.” Glancing at the other patrons in the izakaya, Jin Cheng continued, “There is a very peculiar item in Yong Ye City called the Twelve Movements. Printed on the movements is the sheet music for The Song of God, Lambs, and the Crow. A movement is merely a thin sheet of paper without any other effects, but it can… formulate rules.”
What did formulating rules mean? A moment’s thought in Chi Yan’s little brain sent his eyes popping wide.
Tang Cuo asked immediately: “You have one?”
Jin Cheng held up a single finger: “There are twelve movements in total. I hold one of them.”
No wonder. No wonder so many people wanted to make a move on Jin Cheng; Tang Cuo understood everything now.
When Jin Cheng was in Zone A, he had his own squad and ran high-tier instances. With his terrifying prowess, those people might have held their urges in check. But once Jin Cheng dropped back to Zone F, it handed them far too many opportunities to strike.
Whether holding him down using ordinary Zone F players or sabotaging him inside instances, both were viable methods. Furthermore, the mechanics that players from different zones couldn’t undertake quests together, and that high-tier players could visit lower zones while lower-zone players couldn’t venture into higher zones without authorization, ensured that even if Jin Cheng was enraged, he couldn’t trace it back to their doorsteps for the time being.
The allure of the Twelve Movements was simply too overwhelming; it was something where even if you couldn’t obtain it yourself, you could never let anyone else have it.
Tang Cuo suddenly thought of another question: “With Yong Ye City having existed for so long, has no one else ever acquired a movement?”
As the question fell, not only Chi Yan, but the other patrons in the izakaya pricked up their ears as well. The proprietress, however, seemed to have known for ages, continuing to fry tempura at an unhurried pace.
“Of course there have been. But once a movement holder enters the Karmic Cleansing procedure or reincarnates, the rules established by that movement are shattered. The movement will then reappear inside instances.”
No one knew just how long Yong Ye City had existed, nor how many times the Twelve Movements had surfaced. In the ambiguous records left by predecessors, some had brought light through a movement, some had cast down darkness, and others had attempted to overthrow Yong Ye City’s reign.
In Jin Cheng’s view, the Twelve Movements were more like little playthings gods tossed down on occasion.
“Only three are currently known to exist: one was used up, one is in Black Hat’s hands, and one is in mine.”
Tang Cuo asked, “Why haven’t you used yours?”
Jin Cheng slid the saucer of peanuts across to him. “Because the time hasn’t come yet.”
Hearing this, Tang Cuo looked down at the dish. The peanuts were plump and large, arranged across the plate in the shape of a smiley face. What was most outrageous was that every single peanut had its red skin peeled off.
