Chapter 31: The Twelve Movements
For Jin Cheng, a high-tier player who had roamed Yong Ye City for three years, hidden missions were no stranger. However, this was his first time encountering a serial mission.
“Hidden missions are usually standalone,” Jin Cheng said, toying with the ring. “The Kingdom Hidden in Moonlight, the continent’s most beloved bard Lancelot—it sounds like an independent, fully-realized world. But I’ve never heard of anything related to it. I suspect no one has encountered it before, or if they did, it was a very long time ago.”
Tang Cuo asked, “How do we repair it?”
Jin Cheng tilted his head and thought for a moment. “I’ll have Wen Xiaoming give it a try. If he can’t, we’ll go find Black Hat. A serial hidden mission like this is something you can only chance upon, not actively seek out; it’s harder than winning the lottery. It’d be too much of a pity to just leave it be.”
The most important aspect was that the rewards for hidden missions were extremely generous. Even just a single item could be a top-tier artifact unavailable in ordinary instances, much like Jin Cheng’s bow. Although they could still enter the instance without repairing the ring, the item that triggered the mission was undoubtedly a key item. Without repairing it, the instance would likely be very difficult to clear.
Taking the ring, Jin Cheng added, “Keep using the revolver for now. We’ll swap it out once we find a suitable weapon.”
Tang Cuo nodded. Suddenly, another thought occurred to him. “The difficulty of this instance was medium. Mr. Crow didn’t come to cause trouble?”
Jin Cheng also found it strange, but Mr. Crow’s secrets were beyond the scope of what players like them could pry into. There was no pattern to whether he appeared or not.
The two didn’t say much more. As always, Tang Cuo refrained from asking Jin Cheng about his rewards. Jin Cheng went off to contact Wen Xiaoming, while Tang Cuo rested in the room.
Though the “Showdown at Devil City” instance had been cleared quickly, it had taken a massive toll. Three to four hours of non-stop combat had brought Tang Cuo’s hypoglycemia to the brink of acting up again.
Forcing himself to take a shower, Tang Cuo collapsed onto the bed before his hair was even dry and fell asleep. He slept for eight and a half hours straight.
Eight and a half hours later, East Cross Street was unusually quiet. Tang Cuo wasn’t quite used to it yet when someone knocked on his door. It was Chi Yan delivering a takeout order of hot and sour glass noodles.
“Cheng-ge figured you’d be about awake, so he told me to come get you.” Chi Yan had finally shed his green dinosaur pajamas, changing into a grass-green casual outfit. He seemed to possess an abnormal obsession with the color green.
“Where is he?”
“In the Central District.”
Without Tang Cuo even needing to ask, Chi Yan rattled off everything that had transpired over the past dozen hours since they entered the instance. “Someone from An Ning’s group went to breach the prison. Their boss, Cheng Ke, told them to stick to the original plan and head to Zone E. With Meng Yufei dead, they had even less reason to stay here. But as soon as they left, Zone F descended into chaos again.”
The situation had played out exactly as Jin Cheng predicted, only this time the chaos was on a much larger scale than the previous conflict between the new and veteran players of East Cross Street.
Chi Yan clicked his tongue. “They fought ruthlessly. Dozens of people were sent straight to the prison in one go, and a huge swath of them were injured. It still hasn’t ended. Compared to them, what we did was just little kids spitting at each other.”
For the new players on East Cross Street, as well as for Chi Yan, the events of these short dozen hours served as a shocking re-education. Those who had been clamoring to take revenge on the veteran players instantly shut up, wishing they could take wide detours whenever they saw them.
Chi Yan had experienced the Lucky Wheel, witnessed the entire turmoil in Zone F firsthand, and absorbed a massive infodump from Jin Cheng regarding all sorts of obscure Yong Ye City rules. His entire worldview was on the verge of collapse. However, a teenager’s gloom comes as quickly as it goes; turning around, he had already reconnected with An Ning.
“Sister An Ning said she can take me into instances once she gets to Zone E. The first instance is pretty tough.”
You really are a networking prodigy.
Tang Cuo glanced at the alarm clock, then at the unchanging night sky outside, and immediately abandoned any attempt to figure out 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.”
Tang Cuo didn’t press the matter. He packed up the empty noodle container, disposed of it, and headed out with Chi Yan. Right as they stepped through the doorway, the small bell at the entrance chimed.
“Ding.”
“You have a package. Please check and sign for it.”
A package?
Before Tang Cuo could process it, Chi Yan lit up with joy. “A package! Ge, someone burned things for you! This outfit I’m wearing was burned for me by my parents. I just picked it up this morning. How is it? Looks good, right? Look at the shoes on my feet—limited edition Air Jordans!”
What Chi Yan omitted was that upon seeing that pile of items at the courier station earlier today, he had cried like an idiot.
It was only in that moment that it truly sank in: he was dead. He and his parents were separated by the boundary between life and death. He could never even fathom the emotions his parents must have felt while burning these offerings for him.
Tang Cuo finally remembered that Yong Ye City had such a mechanic. The courier station seemed to be located in the Central District. Calculating the time, it had been nearly seven days since he and Chi Yan died; it was indeed time for their “first seven” mourning period.
He didn’t speak.
Assuming he was simply sad, Chi Yan tactfully shut his mouth. In truth, Tang Cuo was merely pondering who exactly was mourning him. He thought about it for a long time but arrived at no answer.
To get from East Cross Street to the Central District, they had to pass through Cheng Ke’s former territory. The area was highly volatile at the moment, so Chi Yan proposed taking a detour.
When he was hot-blooded, he was truly hot-blooded, but when it was time to cower, he was an absolute coward.
Upon arriving at the Central District, Tang Cuo didn’t rush to find Jin Cheng. Instead, he took a leisurely stroll over to the courier station. Yong Ye City’s courier station was a proper storefront featuring traditional Chinese decor. A large plaque hung above the door, reading: Yong Ye Logistics.
Beneath it was a line of cursive English text: paradise express.
Stepping inside, the interior layout was incredibly down-to-earth.
The forty-square-meter shop resembled a large warehouse. The shelves were crammed with a dizzying array of items, ranging from electronics to fruits and prepared meals. Parked by the window was even a row of luxury sports cars—Maseratis, Rolls-Royces, Lamborghinis. Yet the most glaring sight was the money. Stacks of cash and mounds of gold ingots were piled blatantly on the shelves without a safe or any protective measures, turning onlookers green with envy.
“Picking up a package?” The clerk was an old man in his seventies or eighties. He wobbled out from behind the counter holding an enamel teacup, his eyes clouded and white like a ghost’s.
Tang Cuo asked, “How do I pick it up?”
Old man: “Provide your ID number. One point will be deducted as the courier fee.”
Tang Cuo turned around, fully prepared to walk out. Chi Yan grabbed him. “Ge, Ge, where are you going?”
Tang Cuo: “I don’t have parents.”
Chi Yan: “…”
Tang Cuo: “Nor brothers or sisters.”
Chi Yan: “…”
Tang Cuo: “And not many friends, either.”
Chi Yan: “…”
Tang Cuo: “It might just be an enemy mailing me a bomb.”
Chi Yan: “Ge, please stop talking. How about I cover this one point for you? I’ll pay!”
Naturally, Tang Cuo wasn’t going to let Chi Yan pay the point. He was simply expressing his appropriate dissatisfaction with the courier fees. It was the year 9102; shipping should be prepaid by the sender, not collected on delivery.
People were already dead, yet they still had to pay courier fees. This trash store was bound to go bankrupt sooner or later.
After some fuss, the old man handed Tang Cuo a file folder.
Tang Cuo looked at the thin paper envelope, then at the heaps of cash and gold ingots on the shelves, strongly wishing to ask for his one point back. He ultimately refrained. Chi Yan was right beside him; he couldn’t be a bad influence on the kid.
Opening the file folder revealed a letter. As he pulled out the light pink stationery, a white daisy slipped out. Only two words were written on the page: Thank you.
Tang Cuo stared at the letter, stunned for a few seconds, before calmly putting it away.
Chi Yan was scratching his head and cheeks with burning curiosity, but he didn’t lean in to peek. He desperately wanted to ask but forced himself to hold it in, nearly dying from the suspense. Tang Cuo simply let him suffer, shoved the letter into his pocket, and sauntered ahead.
Jin Cheng was at an izakaya in the Central District. This particular establishment also served Lanzhou beef noodles. A less-than-authentic izakaya serving less-than-authentic Lanzhou noodles naturally resulted in sparse business.
When Tang Cuo pushed aside the door curtain and walked in, Jin Cheng was flirting and bantering with the proprietress. She was a beautiful woman with her hair pinned up, sporting a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes but still brimming with mature charm. She wore makeup, but her hands were immaculate, her nails neatly trimmed.
Jin Cheng sat at the bar while the proprietress stood behind it, pouring him a drink. He said something that prompted her to shoot him a sidelong glance. It was then that she noticed a new customer had arrived. Smiling, she greeted, “A new face. What would you like to drink, little brother?”
Tang Cuo: “I’m looking for someone.”
Jin Cheng turned around, catching sight of his expressionless face. “Who pissed you off this time?”
Tang Cuo didn’t answer. He walked over and sat at the bar, leaving two empty seats between himself and Jin Cheng. Scratching his head, Chi Yan didn’t dare wedge himself between the two big bosses. He offered a greeting to Jin Cheng and took a seat next to Tang Cuo.
The proprietress caught on. Tipping her chin toward Jin Cheng, she teased, “Is this the one you were talking about?”
“Who else?” God knows what kind of temper he’s throwing now.
Looking at the two empty seats that felt as wide as a chasm, Jin Cheng couldn’t help but chuckle.
Tang Cuo remained completely unbothered. 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, loud and indecisive, wanted to eat this and that, agonizing over the menu before finally settling on Lanzhou noodles.
He wanted to order alcohol but was instantly shut down by the proprietress.
“Little kids shouldn’t learn from men riddled with stinking bad habits. Sister will treat you to some plum juice.”
Chi Yan was easily placated; a glass of plum juice made him entirely forget about the booze. Cupping the glass and taking tiny sips, his dark eyes darted back and forth between Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng. He felt the atmosphere was a bit off, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why.
Jin Cheng propped his chin up and looked at them. “Didn’t run into any trouble on the way?”
Tang Cuo: “?”
“Some people are already getting impatient,” Jin Cheng said lightly. “In those waves of attackers I dealt with in Zone F, I vaguely caught glimpses of several familiar shadows.”
“People came down from the high-level zones?” Tang Cuo asked.
“No, it was the equipment.”
“You mean, among the people you fought, some had equipment that exceeded the standard expected in Zone F?”
“Bingo.” Jin Cheng snapped his fingers. Why did Jin Cheng still like bringing Tang Cuo along despite him being so infuriating? Because he never needed to over-explain things.
Jin Cheng enjoyed acting as a mentor, but he always complained about others having poor comprehension. Given his own bad temper and lack of patience, it was a bad combination.
He poured himself another small cup of sake. Fiddling with the peanuts on his saucer, he said, “Some new faces suddenly popped up in Zone F armed with powerful gear, completely destroying the existing status quo. East Cross Street is holding its ground for now, but if this reshuffling finishes earlier than expected, they won’t be able to make a move even if they want to.”
Tang Cuo didn’t understand.
While Jin Cheng’s temper easily offended people, his actual popularity wasn’t bad, and he didn’t have enemies lurking on every street corner. The current situation suggested that these people had a compelling reason to strike at him, even if it meant turning Zone F upside down.
Jin Cheng caught Tang Cuo’s furrowed brow and smiled. “Remember that song?”
Hearing the word “song,” Chi Yan reacted reflexively, “The one about the crow and the lamb?”
“Yeah.” Glancing at the other customers in the izakaya, Jin Cheng continued, “Yong Ye City possesses a very special type of item called the Twelve Movements. Printed on the movements is the sheet music for the Song of the God, the Lamb, and the Crow. A movement is just a thin piece of paper with absolutely no other utility, but it can do one thing—establish rules.”
What did establishing rules mean? The gears in Chi Yan’s little head turned, and his eyes widened.
Tang Cuo immediately asked, “You have one?”
Jin Cheng held up a single finger. “There are twelve movements in total. I possess one of them.”
No wonder. No wonder so many people wanted to make a move against him. Tang Cuo understood everything now.
When Jin Cheng was in Zone A, he had his own teammates and ran high-end instances. His strength was formidable, so his enemies likely held themselves back. But the moment Jin Cheng dropped back to Zone F, he handed them far too many opportunities to strike.
Whether it was using ordinary Zone F players to pin him down or causing sabotage within instances, both were viable strategies. Yong Ye City’s rules dictated that players from different zones couldn’t undertake missions together. Coupled with the fact that high-tier players could visit lower zones while lower-tier players were barred from entering higher zones without permission, this ensured that even if Jin Cheng was enraged, he couldn’t immediately hunt them down.
The allure of the Twelve Movements was simply too great. It was the kind of item where, even if you couldn’t obtain it yourself, you absolutely could not let anyone else have it.
Tang Cuo suddenly thought of another question: “Yong Ye City has existed for so long. Has no one else ever obtained a movement?”
As his words fell, it wasn’t just Chi Yan—the other customers in the izakaya also pricked up their ears. The proprietress, however, seemed to have known all along, continuing to slowly fry the tempura.
“Of course they have. But once a movement holder enters the Karma Clearing Process or reincarnates, the rules established by that movement are shattered. The movement itself will then reappear in the instances.”
No one knew exactly how long Yong Ye City had existed, nor how many times the Twelve Movements had surfaced. In the vague, fragmented records left by their predecessors, some had used the movements to bring light, some had cast down darkness, and some had vainly attempted to overthrow the rule of Yong Ye City.
In Jin Cheng’s eyes, the Twelve Movements were more like little toys occasionally tossed down by the gods.
“Currently, only three are accounted for. One was used up, one is in Black Hat’s hands, and one is in mine.”
Tang Cuo asked, “Why don’t you use yours?”
Jin Cheng pushed the saucer of peanuts in front of him. “Because the time hasn’t come.”
Hearing this, Tang Cuo looked down at the saucer. The peanuts were large and plump, meticulously arranged on the plate in the shape of a smiley face. The most absurd part was that the red skins of every single peanut had been painstakingly peeled off.
