Chapter 23: The Murder Game (Part Eleven) (A Major Chapter of Five Thousand Words)

“You’re so wicked, Little Bai.” Wang Yue leaned languidly in Little Bai’s arms, her fair skin delicate as silk, her beautiful face radiating allure. Her slender fingers gently teased Little Bai’s sensitive spots, and her coquettish laughter was enough to drive anyone mad. She was like a fox spirit reborn, seductive and mischievous, stirring Little Bai’s desire until his whole body burned, his eyes blazing, his breath coming in heavy gasps—he could barely restrain himself from devouring the tantalizing sprite in his arms.

Just as Little Bai was about to lose control, ready to sweep Wang Yue away for pleasure, hurried footsteps echoed—“thump, thump, thump”—and it was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. He gently set Wang Yue down, eyes narrowing as he watched the staircase, tense and alert. Luo Hanya descended, breathless.

Seeing it was Luo Hanya, Little Bai relaxed considerably. He smiled, shedding his awkward facade, and joked heartily, “Brother Han, what’s got you so flustered? This isn’t like you at all.”

Luo Hanya was momentarily stunned; he hadn’t expected the shy youth from yesterday to have become so composed and at ease today. With a strange look, he swept his gaze around the hall—Wang Yue clinging to Little Bai’s right arm like a bird, Liu Shanshan and Li Xin sitting nervously behind him—and the Blood Hand, who should have been the master of this place, was nowhere to be seen.

Luo Hanya was clever and quickly deduced what might have happened. He scrutinized Little Bai anew, hoping to find some clue.

“Darling, step back for a moment.” Little Bai kissed Wang Yue, then boldly spread his arms, stepping forward like a host greeting a distant guest, his face full of smiles. “Brother Han, do you see anything?”

For some reason, Luo Hanya sensed a dangerous aura from Little Bai. He eyed him warily and probed, “Are you still the same person you were yesterday?”

Little Bai kept smiling, walking easily, his answer light as air. “Yesterday’s me was me, and not me.”

Little Bai was nearly in front of him, and his posture suggested he could attack at any moment. Luo Hanya knew he could not hesitate; now that Tan Yue was dead and Blood Hand likely killed by Little Bai, if he wanted to complete his mission, only one more could die—though stranger things might happen later. Ideally, no one would die.

So Luo Hanya laid his cards on the table. “Little Bai, don’t be hasty. Listen: my game role is policeman, last night's SR—I’m sure you’re SR, and Wang Yue is SR. Blood Hand is dead; Tan Yue killed himself because he was the killer. Before he died, he left clues about that old man's location. Why not join forces and take him down, saving everyone here?”

He spoke everything he knew in one breath. Little Bai’s expression turned ugly—Luo Hanya had analyzed the situation so thoroughly, his deduction skills were astonishing. “That’s true, but why should I cooperate with you? Don’t you think you know a little too much?” Little Bai’s face was grave, eyes locked on Luo Hanya, clearly murderous intent brewing.

Luo Hanya cursed inwardly but pressed on, trying to avoid conflict. “Hear me out. I didn’t come for money—I swear I’ll take nothing when we leave. Killing me gains you nothing, and you might get hurt if I retaliate. If there’s a safer way to get the same result, why not try it?”

Little Bai hesitated. Luo Hanya’s reasoning was sound—killing him gained nothing. But he’d forgotten the crucial point: strength is the foundation of cooperation, and Luo Hanya hadn’t shown enough strength to rival Little Bai. The more he argued, the weaker he seemed.

“Hmph! Empty words. Who knows what you really think? What if you betray me at the last moment? And you think you can hurt me? If you really could, what harm is there in cooperating?” Little Bai quickly grasped the key, and before he finished speaking, he struck first, aiming for a swift and decisive end.

“Bang!”—after just one round, someone fell to the floor. “Huh? How is this possible?” Little Bai lay on the ground, utterly bewildered.

He had suddenly lunged to punch Luo Hanya, hoping to catch him off guard, but Luo Hanya had anticipated the move. With a clean, swift grab, he controlled Little Bai’s wrist, and with a gentle twist, Little Bai toppled forward helplessly. Before he could regain his footing, Luo Hanya leaned in and knocked him back several steps. Ordinarily, Little Bai wouldn’t have fallen, but from the moment his wrist was caught, his mind went blank—he failed to control his balance and fell flat on his back.

Just then, the long-absent system voice sounded:

Knowledge Vault System expanded. Martial Arts Beginner unlocked.
Name: Martial Arts Beginner
Effect: Slightly enhances bodily control; increases unarmed damage; unlocks martial arts skill learning.
Note: Martial Arts? You mean Kung Fu, right?
You have self-learned Martial Arts Technique: Tai Chi.
Name: Tai Chi
Skill Type: Passive
Skill Tier: Upgradable
Effect: Slightly improves constitution; increases bodily control.
Note: This is a profound technique. Let’s see how much you can master. Since you don’t know Tai Chi, there’s a saying in the martial world: “Brother Feng, Brother Feng, you got beaten up again?”

Luo Hanya paid little mind to the martial arts unlock, seeing it as inevitable. What surprised him was that Little Bai was knocked down in a single round. Liu Shanshan and Li Xin were stunned, frozen like statues, while Wang Yue’s eyes shone as she gazed at Luo Hanya with admiration.

Little Bai’s face was crimson as he pushed himself up, glowering at Luo Hanya. Though he was unwilling to accept defeat, he wasn’t stupid—he could tell he was no match for Luo Hanya. He recalled Blood Hand’s reaction upon first meeting Luo Hanya; Blood Hand had seen through him at a glance, whereas Little Bai now looked like a clown.

“I lost. Let’s cooperate.” Little Bai admitted defeat without fuss, forcing a smile and extending his right hand, leaning forward slightly.

Luo Hanya reciprocated, shaking his hand with a soft mutter, “Should’ve done this sooner.”

Though the words were quiet, Little Bai heard them. His face stiffened for a moment, but he kept smiling. “Pleasure working with you.” As if nothing had happened.

Luo Hanya’s eyes narrowed, watching the twitching muscles in Little Bai’s face, quietly marking him as the most dangerous person—a man who could bend and stretch, whose face changed like turning a page. Who wouldn’t fear such an enemy?

Wang Yue saw Luo Hanya had not struck Little Bai down but was instead cooperating with him. She shook her head, sighing inwardly, clearly thinking Luo Hanya’s actions unwise.

The group exchanged information, and Luo Hanya finally understood what had transpired. He glanced once more at Little Bai, who was watching him in return. Their eyes met, and they smiled knowingly before turning their gaze forward.

Luo Hanya was drenched in cold sweat—this guy still had a knife. I’d better bring mine out too, just in case things get violent. He quietly went to the bathroom, returning with a large saber in hand.

“What are you doing, Luo Han? Are you planning to break the deal? I knew you wouldn’t let me go!” Little Bai saw Luo Hanya approaching, saber in hand, looking like he’d just come from the marketplace and was heading to the Celestial Gate. He assumed Luo Hanya meant to finish him off, his expression tragic, as though he were the victim. The three women were startled, thinking Luo Hanya was about to commit a massacre.

“No, no, I just found this saber on the way and thought it’d be handy for chopping wood—why would I use it on people?” Luo Hanya affected a Stephen Chow accent, trying to diffuse the tension.

But Little Bai and the three women were unconvinced; Little Bai discreetly swallowed, setting aside his scheming for the moment.

“The only clue left is the secret room by the front gate. Why bother with the rest? Let’s go straight there.” After hearing Luo Hanya’s assessment, Little Bai proposed heading to the gate. Luo Hanya had no objection, nor did the three women.

A few minutes later, the group reached the villa’s entrance. Though the villa’s architecture was dominated by black, its gate was white, assembled from numerous Hetian jade artworks, with wheels made from rare rosewood, exuding a subtle fragrance. It wasn’t a gate—it was a piece of art.

The group admired the marvelous artifact, reluctant to dismantle it for clues. Then, our protagonist stepped forward, saber in hand, and hacked away.

With a crisp clang, the gate collapsed in splendor. Luo Hanya, expressionless, used the saber to pry apart each jade piece, scanning for useful clues.

The three women stared dumbly at Luo Hanya, once again shocked by his actions. Little Bai was thoughtful: “Simple and direct, yet reasonable. He’s a model of wisdom disguised as folly, a man of great intelligence and skill—not easy to deal with.” In truth, Luo Hanya merely wanted to be quick; he hadn’t considered much else. If he knew Little Bai read so much into his actions, he’d be amused.

After searching, they processed all the parts but found nothing. During the search, they discovered that beneath the gate lay a massive iron lump, but no method to open it.

“Children, final game time is here! Ha ha ha, now comes the most thrilling moment!” The mysterious elder’s voice echoed from below, feverish like an announcer.

“Heh heh heh, I’m right beneath your feet, next to the transmitter you’ve been longing for. The remote to open the door is just 100 away from the villa entrance. If you look carefully, you can see it—it’s a fun but fragile little thing.” He paused, tantalizing the group.

“But unfortunately, once you go beyond 30 from this gate, your bombs will activate. If you don’t return within ten seconds, then—n, heh heh heh.”

“Let me remind you, your time is running out. The bombs in your bodies are set to self-destruct—you have one hour left. What will you do? Make your choice, ha ha ha!” The elder’s voice grew more deranged, cackling like a madman.

After his words, everyone’s face changed. It was a heavy blow; hope had seemed within reach, only to be snatched away. This swing from hope to despair was more crushing than perpetual hopelessness.

“Huh? Didn’t he say we just need the remote?” Liu Shanshan muttered as if in a dream.

“Yes, but that remote is completely out of reach,” Li Xin replied, pale and dazed, softly murmuring, “It’s impossible, give up.”

“Why impossible? It’s only seventy away,” Wang Yue refused to accept death, gazing at the distant remote with determination.

“Seventy—round trip is one hundred forty. The world record for 100-meter sprint is 9.58 seconds; average men do it in ten seconds, covering seventy to eighty, women only fifty to sixty. No one could make it back alive.” Little Bai’s expression was complex. “Is the old man just hoping one of us survives?”

“Yes, that’s exactly his intention,” Luo Hanya laughed bitterly, shaking his head in resignation.

“Are we just to wait for death?” Liu Shanshan looked to the others with hope, trusting someone might find a way out.

“What if we smash the nitroglycerin and take him with us?” Li Xin, usually gentle as water, now burned with reckless courage—or perhaps final desperation.

Luo Hanya was silent, then smiled at the sky and asked, “Is the lab’s nitroglycerin powerful enough?”

“Of course! There’s over a liter, at least twice distilled and purified. Conservatively, it could flatten everything within two kilometers.” Li Xin pondered briefly before giving her estimate.

“Are you sure it could destroy this iron lump?” he asked.

“Please, pure nitroglycerin explodes at eight thousand meters per second, heat output is 6,322 kilojoules per kilogram—each purification multiplies its power by hundreds or thousands. That bottle is at least twice purified; if this is the blast center, everything below will be vaporized.” Li Xin looked disdainfully at the iron mass beneath their feet.

“Who’s going to stay behind?” Liu Shanshan asked softly.

“Hey, aren’t you missing something? Why should someone stay for the old man’s sake?” Wang Yue wondered. “Can’t we set a timer and stay far away?”

Li Xin’s eyes flashed, then dimmed. “If only it were that simple.” She looked at Wang Yue as if she were a fool. “How do you make a timer? We don’t even have a single metal wire—how do you make it, how do you trigger it remotely?”

“Then how do we decide who stays?” Wang Yue, realizing someone must remain, looked nervously to Luo Hanya and Little Bai, seeking their opinion.

“You all go. I’ll stay,” Luo Hanya said after a pause.

“Wait! You can’t be serious!” Little Bai exclaimed, staring at Luo Hanya as if he were an alien.

“Do you have any other way to let more people survive?” Luo Hanya gazed at the dazzling sunrise, not turning his head, softly retorting.

“You surprise me—with your talents, you’d rather be a martyr.” Little Bai’s expression was complicated, but he found himself admiring Luo Hanya.

“Hey, is that a compliment?” Luo Hanya smiled, turning to Little Bai.

“Isn’t it?” Little Bai replied in kind.

Their eyes met again, smiles exchanged—not wary as before, but like old friends greeting each other. Who would have thought that just minutes ago, they were mortal enemies?

“Thank you. Do you have any unfinished wishes?” Li Xin, looking at the man who appeared aged beyond his thirty-something years, asked gently, unable to hold back.

“Brother Han, thank you. I’ll never forget you.” Liu Shanshan gave Luo Hanya a tearful embrace, running off into the distance, her tears scattered by the wind.

“Hehe, handsome, can I say you’re the first man I ever loved?” Wang Yue drew close, kissed Luo Hanya softly, and whispered in his ear.

“Brother Han, take care!” In the end, Little Bai called Luo Hanya “Brother Han.” Though their journey had been full of mutual suspicion, Luo Hanya’s final choice won his complete respect. This time, his words were sincere, without a trace of pretense.

Luo Hanya watched as the four left one by one, feeling both amused and awkward. After all, this wasn’t true death—it was just data-level death. It would hurt a little, but he couldn’t tell them that. All this talk of parting and farewell made him feel strangely out of place.