Chapter 32: The Great Tram Speedster
As the customers of the izakaya gradually departed, only Tang Cuo, Jin Cheng, and Chi Yan remained inside.
The proprietress brought Tang Cuo his tempura and glared at Jin Cheng. “Look at you, driving all my customers away.”
Jin Cheng shrugged. “Maybe they just didn’t like your cooking.”
“The food is more expensive today. You’re paying double.”
“Tch.”
Jin Cheng ultimately paid the price for his smart mouth. If he dared to say no, the proprietress’s sushi knife might have ended up lodged in his skull.
It was Chi Yan’s first time seeing the big shot get taken down a peg. He found it incredibly novel, and as soon as they left the izakaya, he eagerly prodded Jin Cheng for details. Jin Cheng shot him a look. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Oh.”
Jin Cheng ended up sharing the gossip with them anyway, feeling that if he didn’t, his innocence would be ruined. What was up with the look in that little bastard Tang Cuo’s eyes?
“The proprietress used to be Black Hat’s lover, but they’ve already split. Make sure you don’t bring it up in front of her. In Yong Ye City, you need a life to spare if you want to listen to gossip.”
Chi Yan touched his neck, fully aware that if he hadn’t bumped into these two big shots, he’d never be privy to this caliber of gossip. Observing them these past few days had made him painfully aware of how lacking his own strength was. He was like a low-level alt account constantly jumping around; even in a regular MMO, he’d be doomed sooner or later, let alone in Yong Ye City.
While he was agonizing over this, Jin Cheng spoke up. “Head back to East Cross Street. Tell anyone who wants to live to stay inside.”
Chi Yan: “Huh?”
Jin Cheng: “You guys are too weak.”
Chi Yan: “Sob.”
Chi Yan practically wept. Paired with his all-green outfit, the scene was bizarrely fresh, but he was obedient. Told to leave, he left without any extra nonsense.
Once he was gone, Tang Cuo asked Jin Cheng, “Were you purposely bringing up the Twelve Movements in front of those other customers earlier?”
Jin Cheng: “The Twelve Movements aren’t a secret among high-tier players; those who need to know already know. But for ordinary players, it’s a bit out of reach.”
Tang Cuo: “You want to use it in Zone F?”
“I really can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“You flatter me.”
Jin Cheng walked leisurely toward Zone F with his hands shoved in his cargo pants pockets. He looked casual, but upon closer inspection, a rare solemnity hid in his gaze. “What I got is the Eleventh Movement. The higher the number, the weaker the Movement’s effect, and the smaller the area its laws can cover. The legendary first one is called the Golden Movement, said to affect all of Yong Ye City, but no one has ever seen it.”
Listening to him, Tang Cuo increasingly suspected that Jin Cheng’s penalization back to Zone F might have been intentional.
Up ahead was the area Cheng Ke had previously occupied, which was now the most chaotic part of Zone F. This time, Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng didn’t take a detour. They walked straight through, practically radiating a four-word aura from head to toe: Badass and Untouchable.
How could anyone not notice them? Everyone did.
“The Twelve Movements drop upon death, so you better stick close to me. If I die, you can at least pick it up,” Jin Cheng said.
“Won’t they just keep trying to kill me?” Tang Cuo asked.
“Then we die together.”
“I refuse.”
The two strolled and chatted lazily, eventually stopping at a street-side tram station. They just stood there watching, making no moves. Hidden in the shadows, an unknown number of eyes watched them. Two gangs up ahead, who were just about to clash, cautiously halted their crossfire because of their arrival. The pause was incredibly awkward.
Jin Cheng seemed dissatisfied. “Why aren’t you fighting?”
Tang Cuo: “You scared them.”
They sat down at the station. Jin Cheng crossed his legs, while Tang Cuo started researching the fare. Yong Ye City’s public transport system was highly unique; it had everything from bicycles to trams to magic trains, but you wouldn’t see one pass by even after half a day, and the fees were absurdly high.
He suddenly thought of those luxury sports cars at the courier station, wondering if they were drivable.
The people ahead ultimately didn’t fight. The entire street Tang Cuo and Jin Cheng were on fell into an eerie peace. They waited a bit longer until an old Shanghai-style tram clattered over, going ding-ding.
The conductor was a guy with a buzz cut wearing a uniform. He froze for a second when he saw them, seemingly surprised that anyone was waiting for a ride here at this hour.
“To East Cross Street, how much?”
“Two hundred thousand, or a quarter of a point.”
It was daylight robbery. It was so extortionate that Tang Cuo didn’t even bother talking to him. Jin Cheng, however, played the rich patron, directly paying for both of them and stepping onto the tram.
But just as he planted one foot through the door, an attack suddenly rained down from the sky. Jin Cheng dodged swiftly, pressing his back against the tram car, and looked up in a specific direction.
Tang Cuo’s eyes narrowed. “Sniper rifle.”
“Let’s go.” Jin Cheng grabbed Tang Cuo’s arm, and the two quickly ducked inside. Catching the conductor in his peripheral vision, Jin Cheng’s voice turned sharp and cold: “Drive.”
Only then did the conductor snap out of it. It was probably his first time encountering such a scene in all his years on the job, and a hint of excitement actually showed on his face.
Ding-ding, ding-ding—the tram started moving again.
Tang Cuo opened the window. The gentle evening breeze blew in, carrying a faint, barely discernible scent of blood. The black stone street lay in silent tension; the streetlamps stretched the tram’s shadow until it looked like a long, creeping monster.
Bang! The second shot arrived, tearing right through the open window and shearing off half a seat. Tang Cuo looked at the scorched cross-section, guessing the bullet was imbued with some sort of power.
Just like Jin Cheng’s arrows.
“Did you see where he is?” Jin Cheng asked.
“He changed positions.” In the past, Tang Cuo had done sniper training with Jin Cheng; Jin Cheng was the sniper, and he was the spotter. Right now, he didn’t have binoculars, but Jin Cheng raised his bow.
Bows were actually quite similar to sniper rifles or missiles in a way.
“Can you do a tracking shot?”
“Tracking arrows are expensive.”
Meaning it wasn’t worth wasting one here.
Tang Cuo had just asked casually. Meanwhile, the sniper hidden in the dark fired a third shot—and naturally missed again. Jin Cheng was rather displeased. “Sending just one person to try and pick me off? Which bastard is underestimating me this much?”
He walked from the front of the tram to the back, scanning the area, and spotted a gramophone behind the very last seat. Amused, he lowered the stylus, and a melodious voice flowed out as the record slowly spun.
“That south wind blows cool and refreshing,
That nightingale sings softly,
The flowers under the moon have all fallen asleep,
Only the evening primrose,
Exhales its fragrance…”
Evening Primrose, by Teresa Teng.
Tang Cuo shot him a glance—Are you sick in the head?
Jin Cheng raised an eyebrow—Isn’t this nice?
Tang Cuo didn’t want to talk to him. He wanted to get off the tram. What sin had he committed to be chased by assassins with Evening Primrose playing as background music? The song wasn’t even halfway through when an attack resembling a comet, trailing a long, blindingly bright tail, smashed toward the tram.
The comet reflected in Jin Cheng’s eyes, making them glint. He reached up, hooked his hand onto the window frame, and flipped himself onto the roof, drawing his bow at maximum speed.
Boom! The metal arrow struck the comet dead center right before the attack landed. The starlight exploded, transforming into an intense shockwave that rippled through the air, shaking the entire tram.
Tang Cuo leaned out of the carriage to look. The exploding starlight looked exactly like a magnificent firework display.
“Evening primrose, I sing for you,
Evening primrose, I think of you.
Ah, I sing for you,
I think of you.
La la la la…”
The conductor was probably a hardcore Teresa Teng fan, keeping her records on board and even singing along while speeding down the street. Tang Cuo felt like a pitiful hostage on a pirate ship, with nowhere to hide from the singing.
“Hold on tight, sharp turn ahead,” the conductor warned just in time. He aggressively cranked the steering wheel, locking it all the way. The tram executed a textbook ninety-degree drift, its ding-ding bells ringing out like waves crashing against the shore.
Even now, Tang Cuo couldn’t figure out the mechanics of this tram. It looked like a railcar, but it ran without tracks.
Whatever.
Tang Cuo pulled out his revolver, raised his hand, and fired two shots bang-bang at the side of the street. A man rushing out of a dark alley took a hit, clutching his bleeding stomach as he collapsed.
But as one fell, a whole group surged out behind him.
Tang Cuo decisively pulled his arm back, grabbed a mop from inside the tram, and poked the ceiling. “Fight faster.”
Jin Cheng popped open the roof hatch. “What exactly is your problem with me?”
“Then toss me some grenades.”
“Why can’t you just be cute?”
Tang Cuo raised his hand, about to poke him with the mop, so Jin Cheng tossed down a few Poké Balls. These Poké Balls looked just like Wen Xiaoming’s Choking Eggs. Tang Cuo examined them closely and, sure enough, found powered by 10086 printed on the bottom.
“They’re called Boom-Boom Eggs, not Choking Eggs. They’re usable,” Jin Cheng said. He had specifically gotten them from Wen Xiaoming when handing over Tang Cuo’s ring.
What kind of god-awful naming sense was this?
Face utterly devoid of expression, Tang Cuo casually lobbed a Boom-Boom Egg out the window. It smashed into the crowd, popped open in the middle like a Poké Ball, and sprayed white smoke. The next second—Boom!
A deafening explosion blasted the attackers off their feet.
Fine, Tang Cuo accepted the name Boom-Boom Egg. He tested it and found the Boom-Boom Eggs could actually be placed in his inventory slot. They were evidently one of the more successful weapons Wen Xiaoming had developed.
The tram sped on, music drifting along the way, while Boom-Boom Eggs detonated continuously along both sides of the road. The smoke they blasted out was even multicolored. White, red, yellow, green—blooming one after another like flowers made of powder.
Tang Cuo truly hadn’t realized Wen Xiaoming possessed such an artistic soul.
Suddenly, the tram jolted, and the shaking threatened to grow violently worse.
Tang Cuo frowned, taking wide strides to the back of the car and looking out the rear window. He saw the long black stone street suddenly begin to crack and snake open down the middle, as if something was about to burst from the ground.
He didn’t recognize it, but Jin Cheng did. With a sneer on his lips as he drew his bow, he muttered, “Even bringing out a Puppet Master… Are you afraid I won’t figure out who’s behind this?”
At the same time, in the Game Hall of the Central District, voices boiled over.
“They really started fighting!”
“Can they actually pull it off this time?”
“That’s the number one player on the Blacklist they’re up against! So many people in Zone A couldn’t beat him. Even if he’s dropped back to Zone F, his strength should still be there…”
“Damn, this is too intense! I just ran into someone who came back from Zone F—the whole street is blowing up!”
“…”
As they talked, the topic inevitably shifted to the Twelve Movements.
“Is that Twelve Movements thing really that overpowered?”
“The supreme Movement of Yong Ye City, it’s on par with the Declaration of Independence! Don’t underestimate that single sheet of paper. I heard that about a hundred years ago, someone got their hands on both the Third Movement and the Fifth Movement. Two Movements held by the same person almost turned the entirety of Yong Ye City into hell!”
“Hiss, it’s that terrifying?”
“Isn’t Yong Ye City already hell? What’s the difference?”
Someone immediately scoffed. “That’s nothing. Usually, you might still have a way out by doing missions and clearing instances. But in that person’s hands, survival wasn’t even on the table. I heard that at the time, across Zones F through C, all missions were turned into forced missions, back-to-back with no breathing room. You couldn’t see a single living soul walking down the streets because everyone was trapped in instances, and barely anyone made it back alive.”
Hearing this, some shuddered in fear, while others expressed doubt. Yong Ye City never let you see its history, and very few written records were passed down. No one knew if what this guy was saying was actually true.
Disguised with a hat, Wen Xiaoming wove through the crowd, sucking on a lollipop while keeping an eye on the surrounding commotion.
His boss had actually obtained the Twelve Movements over half a year ago. He had deliberately kept it under wraps, but the secret leaked anyway. The current situation was a double-edged sword, difficult to weigh. Wen Xiaoming couldn’t process things that complex; he had even considered suggesting his boss just sell the Movement to Black Hat, but his boss hadn’t agreed.
Crunch, crunch. He bit the lollipop to pieces, chewed on the stick, and sat down in a corner. He pulled out a gadget the size of his palm, resembling a Whack-A-Mole machine, and started tinkering with it.
Before long, Tang Cuo’s name also began popping up in the Game Hall.
K27216, Tang Cuo, the third from the bottom on Mr. Crow’s Blacklist. Thanks to the Man Returning in a Snowy Night instance, he was finally no longer dead last.
“Fuck! Are the newbies all this fierce now?”
“You’re not looking at who’s training him. I heard a rumor from The Ruby Bar that this 27216 is the number one’s apprentice…”
“Can’t they just go to Zone A? I don’t even dare go back to Zone F now!”
“It blew up, it blew up! Something else exploded!”
In the blink of an eye, a few more people rushed in frantically from outside. One of them, without even catching his breath, shrieked at the top of his lungs: “They destroyed Mr. Crow’s bronze statue!”
The entire hall gasped, and a chorus of “Holy shit” echoed endlessly.
Zone F was extraordinarily lively.
Mr. Crow popped out of nowhere, stomping his feet on the ruined bronze statue, the feathers on his head practically falling out from sheer rage. “You despicable, arrogant, thousands-times-cursed players! I’m furious! I’m furious!! I’m furious!!!”
Meanwhile, the speeding tram was already halfway back to East Cross Street.
The thing that had tunneled out of the ground earlier was a giant puppet python, while its master hid in the shadows, completely unfindable. Yong Ye City had a few highly specialized combat classes, and Puppet Master was one of them. Their personal strength was weak, making them entirely unnoticeable in a crowd, but the puppets they controlled were terrifyingly strong.
Puppets were mechanical constructs mostly obtained within instances. Because they were incredibly hard to acquire, the majority of Puppet Masters died before they could fully mature. But if even one out of a thousand succeeded, that person was bound to be formidable.
Jin Cheng fired seven consecutive arrows into the giant python, dismantling its joints. The python lost its mobility, and its massive body crashed heavily into a roadside building, which was what smashed Mr. Crow’s bronze statue.
He only had his own vanity to blame; he could have placed the statue anywhere, but he insisted on putting it right in the middle of an intersection.
The graceful singing continued to drift through the air.
Half of the tram’s roof was now destroyed, making it look like a speeding pile of scrap metal with a unique charm. Tang Cuo gripped his revolver tightly, leaning against an intact section of the wall, and wiped a trace of blood from his cheek.
Jin Cheng jumped down from the roof and patted the conductor’s shoulder. “Ge, take a detour.”
The conductor looked back. “Detours cost extra. Half a point per kilometer.”
Scam. What an absolute scam. A true public servant of Yong Ye City.
