Chapter 4

Volume 1 Chapter 4: Mr. Crow’s Blacklist

Tang Cuo, one step away from death, efficiently looted all the money from Lu Wenming’s person along with the tarot card, then stripped off his jacket and tied him up.

The best find was a small packet of dried meat in Lu Wenming’s pocket. Tang Cuo ate the dried meat and took a few steps outside the door.

Outside was a corridor with five doors on each side. When Tang Cuo opened his door, the second door on the right also opened. A thin, frail middle-aged man poked his head out, saw Tang Cuo, stammered “you you you” for a while, then shrank back in terror.

The man was covered in blood—clearly another fresh corpse, a player from the same batch.

After standing there for a few minutes and finding no other trouble coming his way, Tang Cuo returned to the room and began his interrogation.

“Real name.”

“ID J19756, Zhang Xing.”

“Is this the afterlife?”

“Yes and no.” Zhang Xing shook his head with a bitter smile. “At first I thought so too—someone would rate me, judge whether I go to heaven or hell. But everyone who comes here hears the same thing: welcome back to Evernight City. Your previous life was just a trial for entering the city—a newbie village, a prologue. Death is only the beginning. So tell me, are we dead or alive now? There’s no way to say.”

“You enter Evernight City, and then?”

“You survive.”

“?”

“Survive. Earn points by completing game missions. Only by obtaining enough points can you re-enter the cycle of reincarnation. During that time, you must hand in enough points every month to stay alive.”

What kind of genius invented this reincarnation screening mechanism?

Tang Cuo thought there was a problem with this. The him after reincarnation wouldn’t be him anymore—why should he fight tooth and nail to earn points for a stranger? If he just stayed here forever, wouldn’t that be eternal life?

“What if I don’t leave?”

At this question, Zhang Xing trembled all over, his lips turning pale. “Even the elites of District A probably wouldn’t have such thoughts. Evernight City isn’t modern society—killing here isn’t illegal. There’s no morality, no law, only the most basic law of survival… To live here, you must hand in points every month. I really wasn’t lying to you earlier—newbies have a protection mechanism. The first month, you only need to hand in five points. Even at my most black-hearted, I couldn’t let you die the moment you arrive.”

Tang Cuo was unmoved.

Zhang Xing could only continue, face pale: “Besides points, there’s another necessary condition—doing game missions. Even if you have enough points to hand in, you must do at least one mission per month. If you don’t do it voluntarily, it’ll be forcibly triggered. You can’t escape it. All forced missions are life-and-death. Living peacefully is absolutely impossible. It keeps pushing you forward—retreat means death.”

“What’s District A?”

“It’s the district division here. When everyone first arrives, the system assigns you to a corresponding district based on your rating and initial points. Seven districts total—District A is the strongest, District F the weakest.”

“Where is this?”

“District F. Newbies are basically in District D and below—District F has the most. I’ve been here almost three months and I’m still stuck in District F. Moving up is too hard, and even if you do move up, the monthly points you have to hand in go up too. People like me—heh…”

As Zhang Xing spoke, he sank into a strange despondency.

Tang Cuo had no leisure to tend to his feelings. He’d asked all the basic questions. A middle-aged man with weak combat ability who had to rely on scamming newbies to earn points couldn’t possibly have access to anything core. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “Initial point allocation—it’s added to or subtracted from the original baseline, right?”

Zhang Xing stared blankly, then nodded.

Tang Cuo understood. In typical online games, initial values were initial values—Combat -8 should mean Tang Cuo was as weak as a chick and couldn’t even leave the newbie village. But the fact was, he was still himself, just with a non-fatal debuff attached. So the initial allocation here only added to or subtracted from the original baseline.

That original baseline was the so-called Human World Trial Game—Tang Cuo’s first twenty-four years of life.

But what interested Tang Cuo most was still that tarot card, and Zhang Xing’s combat mode.

Zhang Xing’s head still hurt. Hearing the question, he no longer had any thought of hiding anything. He’d never seen a newbie like Tang Cuo. Even if he didn’t say anything, Tang Cuo would find out soon enough—hiding it was meaningless.

“The tarot card was obtained during a mission. Missions contain all sorts of strange things—magic, martial arts, special abilities, all kinds of equipment, as long as you can find a way to get them. But everyone’s final combat style is different, and their approach is different too. I’m just a small fry—forget establishing my own style, I haven’t even touched the threshold of entry level. I can only fight relying on items like tarot cards…”

Actually, Zhang Xing found it very strange. Why would such a formidable newbie be assigned to the weakest District F? And why did he have to kick this particular iron plate?

In that short time, thanks to the dried meat, Tang Cuo’s HP had recovered to 7%. He stood up and frowned at the bloodstains congealed on his body, deciding to go out shopping first.

He temporarily let Zhang Xing off but didn’t release him—just knocked him unconscious. Zhang Xing had people above him, and Tang Cuo was afraid Zhang Xing would go back for reinforcements and burn his room down again.

He opened the door and went downstairs. This time Tang Cuo didn’t encounter anyone, making his way unobstructed to the black stone street outside. There were street signs by the road—common blue signs—reading: District F, East Cross Street.

Tang Cuo followed the route Zhang Xing had given him. After crossing a road, the crowd suddenly thickened.

It was lively here. Neon signs hung under the eaves, street-side windows were all open, music and the smell of alcohol drifting out. The smiles and unrestrained horseplay on the young men and women’s faces seemed utterly unrelated to the fear on Zhang Xing’s face.

No one gave Tang Cuo, covered in blood, even a strange look. Up ahead, a tavern door suddenly burst open. Amid the noise, a group brawl was unfolding.

Someone was crying.

Someone was laughing.

Someone by the street was still playing guitar and singing. Tang Cuo remembered him—a former D-list singer who’d died in a car accident a few years ago. One of Tang Cuo’s female classmates had been a big fan and even bought him a bouquet of flowers.

Tang Cuo stopped to listen for a few lines. Not very good. He moved on.

The supermarket was three streets away, like an old-time department store, with a huge poster of a sexy woman from the 1980s hanging on the exterior wall. Tang Cuo leisurely went in and browsed. A pair of socks cost a thousand yuan. A bowl of hot and sour noodles, five thousand.

Which meant one point could only buy four bowls of hot and sour noodles.

Tang Cuo refused to believe it and asked the auntie selling hot and sour noodles. The auntie liked this handsome young man who looked like he’d given speeches under the national flag as a kid, and told him the current exchange rate was one to a million.

Because hell money wasn’t worth anything. People these days burned everything—BMWs, iPhones, inflatable dolls—and hell money by the stack after stack. Inflation had set in.

Tang Cuo decided he’d beat up Zhang Xing when he got back.

But Tang Cuo wasn’t in a hurry to go back now, nor did he want to look for acquaintances from his batch. After eating and drinking his fill, he took a stroll through the streets of Evernight City. He spotted an antique-style hot spring bathhouse and went in with his newly bought clothes to wash up.

The money he’d looted from Zhang Xing was just enough for an hour. But what he didn’t know was that while he was enjoying his bath, in the game hall of Evernight City’s central district, waves were being stirred because of him.

The game hall—the mission collection point.

Evernight City’s game hall was comparable in scale to Las Vegas’s most luxurious casino. Circular overall, about the size of two football fields, over thirty meters tall, all-black steel frame structure inlaid with irregular glass crystals—cool and luxurious. And once you stepped inside, the scene before you would transport you from a Las Vegas dream back to the nineties.

Claw machines, fishing games, billiards, racing, Taiko drums, fighting machines, lucky wheels, dance machines—nearly every category of arcade facility since their invention was here.

The hall was packed with people, and at this moment, many eyes were fixed on three massive virtual screens hanging from the steel frame at the center of the hall.

Each screen displayed a long leaderboard, ranked from one to ninety-nine. The one everyone was watching now was called—Mr. Crow’s Blacklist.

The list read:

First place: District A, G79081
Second place: District A, E57456
Third place: District B, F66666
…
Ninety-ninth place: District F, K27216

“K27216? Who’s that??”

“The blacklist hasn’t updated in ages—where did this one come from? Someone from District F can make the list now?”

“Did some big shot from District A get sent back down again?”

“Is there anyone by that number in District A?”

Everyone was discussing it when a small pink-haired fellow suddenly had a flash of insight: “At this time—could it be a newbie? Drawing that much hate right off the bat—impressive.”

“How could it be a newbie?”

“A newbie in District F who isn’t pissing their pants is already doing well, right?”

“Exactly!”

“Have you all forgotten who’s in first place?”

“That’s different! He started in District A—how can you compare? Besides, Mr. Crow liked him so much back then. Damn privileged class—who ever heard of someone making the blacklist right after arriving…”

“Shh!”

The speaker looked around shiftily, afraid of being overheard. The people around him seemed to recall something, shuddered, and fell silent too.

Before long, the crowd dispersed, and the ripples Tang Cuo had caused gradually settled. In this city, fleeting phenomena were common—just a blacklist straggler, nothing worth paying much attention to.

The pink-haired one swam through the crowd like a fish, circling with interest, but seemed to find nothing interesting and left with a lack of enthusiasm. Judging by his direction, he was heading to District A.

And Tang Cuo, in District F, was thinking.

He was rated A, so why was he assigned to District F? Because of negative points? Was this a form of disguised punishment for negative points?

If so, Tang Cuo’s days ahead would certainly not be smooth. According to Zhang Xing, points could only be obtained through missions. To get points directly in Evernight City, you’d have to rob someone. And once Tang Cuo entered a mission, the negative points would definitely cause him trouble.

Half an hour later, Tang Cuo’s HP had risen to 13%, and he returned to East Cross Street. East Cross Street was much livelier than when Tang Cuo had first arrived. From time to time, people poked their heads out of upstairs windows, examining everything before them with fear and confusion. There were also more terrified figures by the roadside—the appearance of a single stray cat was enough to scare them out of their wits.

It seemed a considerable number of new players had been assigned to District F.

The worst batch lived up to its name.

Tang Cuo glanced around but didn’t see Chi Yan. He didn’t much care. Wearing a brand-new trench coat and carrying a large bag of daily necessities, he casually went upstairs, not wanting to greet anyone.

When the others saw him, some clearly recognized him but didn’t dare come over—some even shook their heads frantically at him. Tang Cuo frowned, vaguely sensing something. He turned and took a few more steps—sure enough, the corridor was blocked.

Five oddly dressed youths sat or stood around—two smoking, two playing cards, and one with yellow hair fiddling with an iron rod. Seeing Tang Cuo approach, the burly man smoking raised an eyebrow and scanned him, his tone unfriendly: “Looks like a pretty boy—that’s gotta be him.”

Yellow Hair grinned and stepped forward, swaying as he walked, speaking with a thuggish drawl: “We’ve been waiting for you half an hour. Newbies these days sure have guts—robbing money right after arriving, and after robbing it, you still had the leisure to go supermarket shopping. What’d you buy?”

Tang Cuo’s face was expressionless. He couldn’t be bothered to speak.

“Yo.” Yellow Hair raised his rod, pointing it straight at Tang Cuo’s heart, grinning wickedly. “Got an attitude, huh? In a hurry to get back and sleep?”

“Where’s Zhang Xing?” Tang Cuo asked.

“Hear that? He’s still asking about Zhang Xing?” Yellow Hair cheerfully gestured to his companions on either side, then continued: “Zhang Xing’s still in your room. Want to go see if he’s dead? A piece of trash who can’t even beat a newbie—even dead he’d just be taking up space. How about you join us instead? With that face of yours, how many people would fall for it?”

The other four burst into laughter, stubbed out their cigarettes, tossed down their cards, and pulled out strange-looking weapons from behind their backs, stepping forward. The violence and mockery in their eyes was barely concealed.

Tang Cuo remained expressionless. He glanced back at the street. A few scattered people were hiding not far away, poking their heads out toward this direction, but no one dared come over.

“Don’t worry, no one’s coming to save you,” Yellow Hair sneered.

Hearing this, Tang Cuo calmly pulled a black steel bone-chopping knife from the supermarket bag and gripped the handle, weighing it—the feel he wanted.

Yellow Hair paused mid-step and raised a hand to stop his companions, staring at Tang Cuo. “You want to fight us with a kitchen knife that has no special ability? You probably still don’t know what kind of place you’ve come to, kid. If you don’t want to die too ugly, now’s the time to beg for mercy.”

Tang Cuo asked, “Anything else?”

Yellow Hair was furious—this person, this proper-looking face, this calm and collected tone—all of it hit his anger triggers dead center. But just as he was about to speak, Tang Cuo exploded into action.

He charged forward, reaching Yellow Hair in the blink of an eye, sidestepping into a quick strike. The bone-chopping knife in his hand left an afterimage—”Smack!”—the flat of the blade swung horizontally, knocking out half of Yellow Hair’s teeth in one blow.

“Ow!” Yellow Hair was sent flying, crashing into his companions behind him and sending them tumbling. Teeth mixed with bloody spittle flew from his mouth, his head feeling like it had been caught in a door—painful and dizzy.

Whatever special abilities, martial arts, or techniques—at this moment, they all turned to mush.

The others were still conscious. They reached for their weapons, muttering incantations, about to unleash their big moves. But Tang Cuo’s bone-chopping knife didn’t stop. He was fast—faster than anything. Before their moves could even come out, the heavy blade of the bone-chopping knife swung flat into their faces.

In all martial arts, speed is the only unbreakable rule.

The black steel bone-chopping knife—blade and handle forged as one piece, dark and unadorned, only the edge giving off a dim metallic sheen. Not sharp, but large and heavy.

One swing of the flat blade, and even gods would meet their end.

Newbie village white-board equipment—the number one choice for murder and robbery.