Chapter 59: Pass the Parcel (2)
“Do you have anything you want to say to me?”
The bald, burly man spoke, but not a single person present answered. All the players maintained cold, impassive faces, experiencing for the first time what it felt like to clear an instance with a walkthrough—it was as if they all had an omniscient view.
The bald man saying this exact line served as further proof: Jin Cheng hadn’t lied to them.
At this moment, the red hydrangea was in the hands of one of the players. The burly man gave him a glance, blindfolded himself, raised his drumsticks, and… Thump! Thump! Thump!
The hydrangea was passed along. Every NPC was the perfect gamer, completely absorbed in the game. The moment they received the flower ball, they couldn’t wait to pass it on, looking both excited and nervous.
Amidst the drumbeats, the passing speed only got faster. Many NPCs squealed and yelled excitedly. Their shouts echoed through the spacious factory, combining with the drumbeats to create a tense atmosphere.
Soon, the red hydrangea landed in Jin Cheng’s hands.
Although the slips of paper only spawned after the drumming stopped, Jin Cheng still carefully inspected it, believing that seeing is believing. According to the rules of the game, the flower ball could not stay in anyone’s hands for more than five seconds, and it had to be passed to the next person consecutively without skipping. Therefore, even though he really wanted to pass it directly to Tang Cuo, he had to give up the idea.
Tang Cuo, on the other hand, kept his eyes glued to the drummer, observing his every move and listening carefully to every beat. Because the walkthrough stated that the drumbeats followed a pattern.
While drumming, the drummer would perform a move where he struck the left and right edges of the drum consecutively with both sticks. This move would appear a total of four times. Regardless of how fast or slow he drummed, or what the rhythm was, the moment this move appeared for the fourth time, the drumbeats would stop.
This was the cue for the players.
The red hydrangea could not stay in a player’s hands for more than five seconds, and those five seconds were the key.
Tang Cuo waited until the rim-striking move appeared for the third time, then announced loudly, “All players, starting from me, number yourselves sequentially from left to right. I am Number One; red shirt is Number Two. Understand?”
Although the players didn’t understand his intention, intimidated by Jin Cheng’s prestige and eager to cling to his coattails, they all nodded very cooperatively.
Tang Cuo continued, “Now, listen to my commands.”
At this moment, the red hydrangea had just landed in Tang Cuo’s hands. He held onto it, intentionally delaying for three or four seconds, only passing it to the next person right as the five-second limit hit.
Number Two was five people away from him.
The drumbeats continued. Tang Cuo perked up his ears to listen carefully while tracking the red hydrangea with his eyes until it reached Number Two’s hands. “Number Two, hold it for five seconds before passing.”
Number Two quickly nodded, hugging the red hydrangea and counting to five in his head. Just as he was about to pass it, he realized the flower ball had already been snatched into the next person’s hands. The system truly was uncompromising; it wouldn’t let you keep it for a single second extra.
“Number Three, continue.”
“Number Four, continue.”
Under Tang Cuo’s continuous commands, the players became inexplicably nervous, many stealing glances at Jin Cheng. Jin Cheng merely watched leisurely. Right at that moment, the drumbeats suddenly sped up.
“Number Five, hurry!” Tang Cuo immediately changed his command.
Number Five jolted. The moment he touched the hydrangea, he tossed it aside as if it were a hot potato.
Tang Cuo’s gaze turned sharp, watching the hydrangea pass rapidly. There were five people between Number Five and Number Six. Each NPC passed the flower at an average speed of about two seconds, while Number Six and Number Seven sat right next to each other. He had originally planned to control the passing speed so that either Number Six or Number Seven would get it; combining their time would give them ten seconds, which would be enough.
But the drumbeats suddenly sped up, so he had to be fast too. Just then, the consecutive rim-strikes appeared.
The red hydrangea was now two people away from Number Six. Tang Cuo looked up at Jin Cheng. Catching on, Jin Cheng’s hands flashed silver, and his mechanical bow was drawn taut.
Whoosh— Just as the drumbeats were about to stop, Jin Cheng’s arrow struck the NPC sitting next to Number Six. The massive explosive force knocked the NPC right to the floor, and the red hydrangea, which was supposed to be passed into his hands, missed its mark.
“Pick it up,” Tang Cuo ordered decisively.
Number Six snapped back to his senses a beat late, then practically sprang out of his chair like he’d been electrocuted, lunging sideways to snatch the hydrangea. Holding it tightly in his arms, he looked at Jin Cheng and Tang Cuo in terror and confusion—how did he become the first one to end up with the ball?
At this time, the bald man untied his red blindfold, turned around, and asked, “Will you choose a talent performance, or answer a question?”
Jin Cheng put away his bow and arrow. “Answer a question.”
Number Six, paralyzed with nerves, turned into a repeater: “Answer a question.”
The bald man glanced at Jin Cheng but didn’t penalize him for a rule violation. Clearing his throat, he began to read out the question—
“A towering ancient temple rests in the clouds, unknown how many monks dwell within. Three hundred and sixty-four bowls, exactly used up without fail. Three people share one bowl for food, four people share one bowl for soup. I ask you, learned master of calculation, how many monks are in the temple?”
Number Six was completely dumbfounded. What the hell was this? Wasn’t this ghost company doing team-building? Was this a fucking language arts question or a math problem?
The other players also looked at each other in bewilderment.
Jin Cheng spoke up again: “Six hundred and twenty-four.”
Number Six the repeater: “Uh, six hundred and twenty-four.”
The bald man: “Answer correct.”
The NPCs cheered, and thunderous applause broke out.
The players were also stunned. A big boss truly was a big boss; while they were generally still struggling with mental arithmetic for basic addition and multiplication under a hundred, he had arrived at the answer so quickly.
Jin Cheng offered an unfathomably profound smile.
Tang Cuo couldn’t be bothered to tell everyone that it was only because he had the answer sheet—he was cheating.
Unfortunately, there was no slip of paper hidden inside the hydrangea this time. They could only proceed to the next round of the game.
Meanwhile, at the Zone G Prison in Yong Ye City.
It was Leng Miao’s thirteenth day in prison, and the Chen Liu in the opposite cell remained as loud and annoying as a fly. The people in the prison had gradually been released one after another, yet Chen Liu, a mere lackey under Chong Yanzhang, still hadn’t been let out, proving he truly had killed quite a lot of people.
Today, Jiang He was scheduled to be released.
Chen Liu started acting up again. With Leng Miao present, he didn’t dare yell loudly, but he would resort to sarcastic mockery. “I say, you so-called smart people, you so-called strategists, only know how to borrow another’s knife to kill. Jiang He, the number of people who died because of you is definitely not small, right? Doesn’t everyone say you’re formidable? Yet you’re actually getting out earlier than I am. How laughable.”
No one answered him.
Leng Miao had long since used magic to block out all sound, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, ignoring everyone.
Jiang He was quietly waiting for his cell door to open. The process of serving time meant relying on teleportation to get in, but relying on your own two legs to walk out. Therefore, if you had enemies, it was extremely easy to get ambushed outside Zone G and sent right back in.
The time arrived. With a click, the door finally popped open automatically.
Jiang He stood up, dusted off his clothes, and strode out of the cell. Hearing the noise, Chen Liu’s resentful complaints in the next cell suddenly morphed into verbal threats.
“Jiang He, once you leave here today, if you dare talk nonsense in front of the boss, I definitely won’t spare you when I get out! Mark my words—even if I can’t do anything to you, the others won’t just sit back and let you climb the ranks!”
As his words fell, Jiang He happened to walk past his cell. Through the iron bars, he turned his head to look at Chen Liu.
It was a look brimming with sheer apathy.
For some reason, a chill shot from Chen Liu’s tailbone straight to his scalp. His heart gave an uncontrollable shudder. He immediately felt ashamed of his own reaction and glared back boldly. “What’s with that look? Jiang He, what are you thinking? I’m warning you, you—”
Jiang He cut him off directly. “I’m thinking, what kind of spell was I under to stay in Tianzhi and be teammates with a moron like you? I should have paid off my debt of gratitude to Chong Yanzhang over this past year.”
Chen Liu was stunned.
Jiang He’s underlying implication was nothing less than disbandment. Yet despite Jiang He voluntarily leaving, Chen Liu didn’t feel the slightest joy. This was very strange. He stared blankly for several seconds before realizing, “What did you say?!”
Jiang He: “I said you’re a moron.”
Chen Liu’s hair almost stood on end. “Jiang He! Don’t you dare threaten me with quitting! Do you think the boss will beg you to come back and put you on a pedestal? Don’t you forget, when you were being hunted down, it was the boss who saved you! The entire Tianzhi acted as your sanctuary; that’s the only reason you’re alive today!”
“But you’ve also forgotten—did Tianzhi hold its current status back then? If it weren’t for me, all of you would be nothing but second-rate thugs.” In this moment, Jiang He revealed a rare arrogance and conceit.
He struck Chen Liu down with words, despised him with his gaze, and just as Chen Liu’s face turned beet red with rage, he cut him off again. “Oh, I know you can’t understand, because a moron can’t understand human language.”
“You!!!” Clutching his chest, Chen Liu nearly suffered a heart attack.
“Go back and tell Chong Yanzhang that sparing your life is the last debt I’ll ever repay him.” Ignoring him completely, Jiang He turned and walked away.
Chen Liu threw himself against the bars, gripping them as he screamed Jiang He’s name, blaming and cursing him, yet unable to elicit a single glance back. As he screamed, Chen Liu’s rationality returned, and a sudden trace of lingering fear washed over him.
In the opposite cell, Leng Miao opened his eyes at this moment.
With his eerie gaze, he watched Jiang He’s retreating back. With just a little thought, he understood Jiang He’s plan. Truthfully, he was quite curious about the ultimate direction of Tianzhi, which was why he had dispelled his magic to listen to their conversation.
Jiang He breaking ties with Tianzhi was expected. But what surprised Leng Miao was that Jiang He was still considering Chong Yanzhang in his final moments. Voluntarily withdrawing, provoking Chen Liu with words, and deliberately putting on that ugly facade—it was all to ensure Chong Yanzhang could face his departure without feeling guilty.
Chong Yanzhang would no longer need to be caught in a dilemma and could even pin the blame for driving Jiang He away entirely on Chen Liu, using this opportunity to suppress the veterans within the team.
This calculation was truly brilliant.
Yet Leng Miao still didn’t favor Tianzhi’s development. Without the courage of a warrior willing to cut off his own wrist to survive, Chong Yanzhang could hardly accomplish anything great. Furthermore, with Chen Liu and Jiang He locked up here together for a full thirteen days, fully aware of their discord, Chong Yanzhang had never once shown up to visit.
This was likely the decisive factor that drove Jiang He to give up on Tianzhi.
Without Jiang He, Tianzhi was no longer worth paying attention to. However, Leng Miao suddenly recalled a piece of intel dropped by a player imprisoned a couple of days ago regarding the appearance of the Twelve Movements in a Zone E instance.
If Chong Yanzhang still possessed the courage to burn his boats and fight for it in Zone E right now, perhaps Tianzhi still had a chance to turn things around.
But would he?
Leng Miao fell into deep thought.
On the other side, Jiang He walked out of the cell blocks completely unimpeded. Yong Ye City was a circular city, so every zone was shaped like a fan, and Zone G was no exception. The two straight sides and the curved outer edge of the fan were lined with towering cell blocks, acting like a massive wall isolating Zone G from the other zones. The central area, however, was a vast, empty lawn.
This large lawn was the main stage where the warden usually played games with the inmates. Sometimes he arranged games inside the cells, but only sometimes.
Right now, the lawn was a sea of green grass without a single soul in sight.
Jiang He walked at a leisurely pace. After five minutes, however, he realized he was wrong—it wasn’t that there wasn’t a single soul; someone had collapsed in the grass.
She was far too thin, practically skin and bones all over. Her flimsy clothes were covered in speckles of blood, clinging tightly to her body, so much so that the not-very-tall grass nearly completely concealed her.
Jiang He recognized her. It was the little girl who had been locked in the opposite cell.
A day ago, she had been taken out by the warden to play a game and never returned. Jiang He assumed she was dead, never expecting to run into her here.
He couldn’t help but crouch down and check her breathing.
Her breath was so faint it was imperceptible. In this state, Jiang He couldn’t even determine whether she was alive or dead.
Just as he was hesitating whether to leave directly or do a good deed, the little girl suddenly raised her bony hands and grabbed his ankle tightly.
Jiang He was instantly on guard, his dagger drawn from its sheath.
As the little girl struggled to lift her head, the tip of the blade pointed right at her eyes. The cold glint reflected in her vacant gaze, forcing a degree of clarity into her.
“Take me out.” Her voice was hoarse, as if ground by coarse gravel, stripped of the tone a little girl her age should have. Her eyes were also terrifying, brimming with intense resentment and hostility, her comical bald head adding an absurd contrast.
After speaking a single sentence, she had to pause to catch her breath, as if she had exhausted all her strength. Yet her hand still clung firmly to Jiang He’s ankle, like grasping the last straw.
“Take me out,” she repeated.
“What are you going out for?” Jiang He asked.
“What for?” The little girl suddenly laughed. The smile tugged at her wounds, and she stubbornly kept speaking as she coughed up blood. “I was born weak, so I don’t have the right to live, do I? Everyone can step on me. Even when I die, no one is willing to let me off! Why?!”
Falling alongside her hysterical questioning were tears suddenly overflowing from her eyes.
She took one last look at Jiang He, then suddenly let go of him and began crawling toward the exit on her own.
Jiang He watched her, then looked back at the path she had come from. The hidden blood trails in the grass were perhaps proof of her struggle to crawl out.
But since she was able to appear here and move toward the exit, it meant her sentence was over.
Jiang He looked down at the tears that had fallen on his shoe.
He never cried. Even when he failed and left Tianzhi, turning into a stray dog once again, he wouldn’t cry. But the little girl’s tears inexplicably touched something within him.
So he bent down, scooped up the little girl who hadn’t crawled far at all, and strode toward the exit.
The little girl struggled, seemingly unwilling to accept his charity and pity any longer. But she had truly run out of strength and quickly went still in his arms.
As he walked, Jiang He suddenly felt someone watching him from behind. He abruptly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the highest point of the cell blocks—a watchtower at the western corner—but the tower was completely empty.
There was only one person in all of Zone G who could stand up there—Warden Xiao Tong.
Could it be him?
Jiang He frowned in confusion, but if the little girl didn’t receive treatment soon, she would truly die. He had no choice but to decisively carry her away. The moment he stepped out of the prison, Jiang He suddenly realized he still didn’t know her name. He asked, “What is your name?”
After a long time, the little girl finally answered, “Zheng Yingying.”
This was actually the first time they had spoken since becoming neighbors in the prison cells.
