Chapter 58: Pass the Parcel (1)
Lin Yandong invited Jin Cheng to cooperate, allowing Jin Cheng to bear the risk of snatching the Movement, but at the same time, he relinquished his own claim to it and even provided Jin Cheng with all the intel he possessed.
On the surface, he appeared to gain absolutely nothing. He was magnanimous, gentle, and elegant—like a true philanthropist.
Jin Cheng asked Tang Cuo, “What kind of person do you think he is?”
Tang Cuo thought for a moment and said, “A master strategist scheming behind the scenes to secure victory a thousand miles away.”
Using two idioms in a row—this was undoubtedly a peak highlight for Tang Cuo, a man who considered himself practically illiterate.
Although Jin Cheng was surprised that Tang Cuo rated Lin Yandong so highly after just one meeting, remembering that Tang Cuo’s eye for people was always razor-sharp, he nodded. “To him, Yong Ye City is like a chessboard. A brilliant chess player only lets their opponent know their true objective at the very last second. Lin Yandong is low-key, unassuming, and rarely steps into the spotlight. I’ve observed him for three years, and all I can say is—we can cooperate, but proceed with caution.”
Lacking interaction with the man, Tang Cuo didn’t offer any further comments.
As the two walked back to East Cross Street, Jin Cheng took Tang Cuo to the Ruby Tavern to place a bounty for information on Meng Yufei.
Tang Cuo suddenly had a question: “If you buy information on someone, and someone else is buying information on you at the exact same time, what does the Ruby Tavern do?”
“Then it depends on whose connections are stronger.”
“?”
“The owner of the Ruby Tavern is a businessman who insists on clear transactions. Once he takes your order, he does the job well. But who he chooses to do business with depends entirely on his mood.”
“…”
Then the fact that you two have done business so many times probably means birds of a feather flock together, Tang Cuo thought expressionlessly.
Jin Cheng couldn’t resist ruffling Tang Cuo’s hair. “Are you communicating with me via brainwaves?”
Sporting messy hair and a dark expression, Tang Cuo retorted, “Can’t you read them just fine?”
“…”
“.”
Jin Cheng was defeated once again. He raised an eyebrow, entirely speechless. But after a moment, he seemed to savor something from their exchange, and a faint smile touched his lips.
Tang Cuo had already walked ahead. Jin Cheng quickly caught up and casually brought up the Special Trigger Instance.
“According to Lin Yandong, this instance is extremely difficult. Some teams have even been completely wiped out. Even if they clear it, it doesn’t guarantee triggering the Twelve Movements reward. If we hurry, we might just make it.”
The intel stated the Twelve Movements were in the instance, meaning players had genuinely found traces of them inside. Since the Twelve Movements had appeared, they could definitely be brought out by players—yet no one had accomplished this so far.
From Zone F to Zone E, Tang Cuo was still short fifty points, and Jin Cheng was short about the same. But Jin Cheng didn’t plan to grind missions to level up right away. As the saying goes, sharpening the axe won’t delay the woodcutting; he needed to let Tang Cuo train a bit more first so they could clear the instance at maximum speed.
As for that Special Trigger Instance, players in Zone E were likely powerless against it, and players from higher zones wanting to drop down to Zone E would need time.
This matter seemed like a race against time, but there was actually still a buffer.
“Let’s go to the training grounds.” Jin Cheng made the final call. His hands were itching, and his heart was itching a bit too. The look he gave Tang Cuo was somewhat wicked. In that instant, Tang Cuo finally recalled the fear of being dominated by his demon instructor.
Thinking of this, the unyielding drive within him surged up again.
Sparring with Jin Cheng was genuinely an exhilarating experience.
Half an hour later, inside the private training room.
After demonstrating basic sword techniques to Tang Cuo, Jin Cheng dismantled his bow into twin blades to act as a sparring partner. Time was too short to allow Tang Cuo to practice move by move; only actual combat could unleash his talent the fastest.
Sparring against Jin Cheng while using sword techniques he wasn’t fully adept at, Tang Cuo was undoubtedly the one getting suppressed.
“Again.” The demon instructor beckoned with his finger, a smile on his lips yet utterly ruthless. Even though he was fiercely protective of his own and willing to pamper Tang Cuo in every other aspect, this was the one area where he absolutely would not hold back.
If you wanted to learn from him, you had to be prepared to get completely thrashed.
Only fighting spirit remained in Tang Cuo’s eyes.
Flicking his longsword, he stared sharply at Jin Cheng. The next second, his figure shot forward like lightning. Gripping the sword with both hands, he instantly slashed down toward the top of Jin Cheng’s head.
Jin Cheng didn’t dodge. He deftly blocked the strike with his twin blades, still having the spare energy to critique, “Your speed is pretty fast, but you lack strength. In a situation like this, you need to rely on finesse.”
The two sides separated once more.
As the word “finesse” landed, Tang Cuo flicked Jin Cheng’s twin blades aside with his sword and followed up with a side kick, successfully forcing Jin Cheng back. When the enemy retreats, I advance. Tang Cuo’s fighting style was fierce and unyielding; even with a sword, his movements remained sweeping and forceful.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Amidst the clashing of blades, Tang Cuo was driven back by Jin Cheng again, barely stabilizing himself until his right leg hit the corner of the wall. Panting, he wiped the sweat dripping from his chin. His distinct black-and-white eyes stared straight at Jin Cheng, as deep as the thick night.
Being stared at like this, Jin Cheng thought back to the past again. The countless training sessions, the countless times of getting up to try again—the stubbornness of the youth was the rhythm of his adolescence, a sight that naturally evoked joy.
Even if that joy had changed flavor a bit now.
“Want to go again?” Jin Cheng smiled, not hesitating to use his own strength to provoke him.
“Bring it on.” Catching his breath, Tang Cuo gave a rare smile—the kind that actually showed his teeth.
Jin Cheng was momentarily dazzled by that flash of white teeth. His heartbeat skipped half a beat, and Tang Cuo attacked right at that moment, almost catching him completely off guard.
Now this is interesting.
“You’ve learned to play mind games with me?” Jin Cheng drove Tang Cuo back again. Rolling his wrists, he finally decided to get serious.
“Then just now—where were you looking?” Tang Cuo wasn’t like Jin Cheng with all his nonsense. If he said he’d fight, he fought; if he didn’t say it, he still fought. For a time, the only sounds left in the training room were the clash of metal and sweat hitting the floor.
This brutal training lasted for a full four hours, until Tang Cuo was completely drained of energy.
Although Jin Cheng was also dripping with sweat, the pride of the blacklist maniac wouldn’t allow him to collapse here. He remained standing, arms crossed, admiring the sorry sight of his little disciple sprawled on the ground.
Tang Cuo tried to kick him but missed, instead using up his very last ounce of strength. He irritably rolled over, continuing to lie there to recover his stamina, ignoring him.
“Alright.” Jin Cheng bent down, resting one hand on his knee and offering the other. “Go back, take a shower, and rest. We head out for the mission tomorrow.”
Hearing this, Tang Cuo endured his exhaustion and finally grasped his hand to stand up.
Nothing more was said that night.
The next day.
The two appeared in the Mission Hall once again. As soon as they showed their faces, whispers spread rapidly from the hall across the entire Central District, and even throughout the whole city.
Accompanying this was undoubtedly the news of the Sixth Movement’s appearance.
Exactly fourteen hours had passed since Lin Yandong shared the intel with Jin Cheng. How many people had caught wind of it during these fourteen hours, Jin Cheng didn’t know.
Those people might be hiding in the shadows observing, or perhaps they had already frantically dived into missions. And those in the know would definitely guess that Jin Cheng would stick his nose in too.
There was no need to hide. Instead, appearing openly would intimidate their opponents and perhaps even scare a few off.
Tang Cuo knew this perfectly well too, so the two of them walked with the absolute swagger of big bosses, looking as cool and unrestrained as possible. Right as they entered the mission wall, Jin Cheng even turned back and waved at everyone. Reading his lips, it looked like he said—
“Goodbye.”
“Ding!”
“Congratulations, players, on starting the mission [Pass the Parcel]. There are a total of twelve players in this game.
Objective: Make the drumbeats stop, or survive past 49 rounds. Mr. Crow once said, you must have at least one of the two: strength or luck.”
“Wishing you a happy survival!”
As the voice faded, their vision returned.
For the first time, Tang Cuo didn’t rush to observe his surroundings. Instead, he carefully searched his memory, because this exact instance was included in the intel Jin Cheng had bought from the Ruby Tavern, and the details were laid out very clearly.
[Pass the Parcel] was an extremely simple, brutal instance with a very high fatality rate. The gameplay was similar to Hot Potato. Players sat in a circle, and one of them held a large red hydrangea ball.
A blindfolded NPC stood in the center of the circle beating a drum. When the drumming stopped, whoever held the flower had to go on stage to perform or answer a question. Those who failed the performance or answered incorrectly would die.
There were two ways to clear the instance. Aside from enduring through forty-nine rounds, the key to the other method lay in finding slips of paper hidden inside the red flower ball. There were four slips in total, each bearing a single character or word. Only after one slip was taken out would the next one spawn, and they wouldn’t necessarily appear in every round.
When players collected all the slips, they needed to piece the characters or words into a complete sentence and shout it aloud to the drummer. The drumbeats would stop, and the game would end.
Before every round began, the drummer would loudly ask, “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” This was the hint provided by the system.
However, it was crucial to note that while there were twelve players, there could be dozens of people participating in the game. The system wouldn’t indicate who was a player and who was an NPC. If an NPC ended up with the red flower ball, since they were purely there to play the game, they wouldn’t check if a slip was hidden inside it.
As a result, that slip of paper would be missed.
If a complete sentence was missing a character or a word, they might be able to guess it in the end, but it could also lead to a total wipeout. Therefore, even though receiving the red flower ball put players at risk of death, they still had to take it. In fact, they had to do everything in their power to ensure it landed in their hands.
Looking around, the game’s location was a spacious, abandoned factory building draped in cobwebs. All participants were already in position. Tang Cuo himself was seated in an armchair. During the game, they were not allowed to leave their chairs.
Right in the center of the circle was a large red drum. The drummer was temporarily absent.
Tang Cuo counted. There were fifty-six people in total—twelve to fifty-six, a ratio of nearly one in five. All fifty-six people, himself included, were wearing identical blue factory uniforms. The back of the uniforms read “Baole Machine Tools” alongside a large logo.
The logo was identical to the spray-painted emblem on the factory walls. Clearly, this was the so-called Baole Machine Tools Factory. Tang Cuo looked down at everyone’s feet; he didn’t see a single shadow.
An abandoned factory, dead employees, a bizarre game—Tang Cuo figured this might be a new style of team-building introduced by Hell.
Jin Cheng sat diagonally across from Tang Cuo. The two exchanged a glance, both realizing the other knew the score. A simple, brutal instance like this deserved a simple, brutal playstyle. Thus, Jin Cheng cleared his throat and went straight into information sharing.
The players in Zone F generally wouldn’t have Jin Cheng’s wealth to buy instance intel from the Ruby Tavern. Nor would they have the extensive connections to coincidentally learn the details of this instance from elsewhere.
If someone suddenly stood up and fed them the clearance info, their instinct would be to doubt and raise their guard. But the person they were facing was Jin Cheng.
At this point in Zone F, was there anyone left who didn’t recognize Jin Cheng’s face? The answer was no.
The infamous blacklist maniac, a top-tier boss from Zone A—was there any need for him to deceive them? Furthermore, the players placed in the same lobby as Jin Cheng and Tang Cuo wouldn’t be the bottom of the barrel in strength. They could naturally see that Jin Cheng, the man who single-handedly built the safe zone, bore no ill will toward ordinary players.
“I’m pressed for time and need to clear this quickly, so I don’t want anyone here dragging me down.” Jin Cheng crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair with his arms folded. Smiling, he spoke bluntly: “Now, all players, please raise your hands.”
Everyone present looked at each other in dismay, whispering among themselves. The NPCs couldn’t comprehend Jin Cheng’s long string of words just now, so their confusion was a normal reaction.
Shortly after, eleven hands were raised one after another, not a single one missing.
Jin Cheng raised an eyebrow and looked at Tang Cuo. “Why are you raising your hand? Afraid I won’t recognize you?”
Tang Cuo: “Going with the flow.”
Jin Cheng: “Since when did you become such a team player?”
Tang Cuo: “Because you died early.”
Tang Cuo never considered himself antisocial; he just disliked gathering in crowds. Back when he was alive, he was a young man fully capable of casually chatting with the uncles and aunties in his neighborhood without changing his expression.
The other players looked at each other, alarm and doubt in their hearts: Is the relationship between these two big bosses good or bad? They aren’t having a fight, are they?
Clinging to these thighs doesn’t feel very reassuring.
Creak— Right at that moment, the factory’s dilapidated iron doors were pushed open.
A bald, burly man wearing the same blue uniform but with a red armband walked in through the doors holding drumsticks. The game had officially begun.
