Qi Xia’s words left everyone utterly baffled.
At first glance, his statement seemed riddled with holes—even Di Yang couldn’t figure out what Qi Xia was thinking.
“You mean… you’re not leaving?” the middle-aged woman asked.
“I’ll be the last to leave,” Qi Xia replied. “I have a few questions for Di Yang.”
The others exchanged puzzled glances. The last to leave… wouldn’t that mean he’d be left alone?
Is this guy an idiot?
And… trading one fan for one “Sorrow”?
“Can we trade with you right now?” a woman asked.
“No, not yet,” Qi Xia shook his head. “As I said, someone needs to get ‘Sorrow’ from Di Yang first. My exchange will begin at that point.”
“This…”
The group hesitated. Di Yang’s “Sorrow” required three fans to trade, and no one was willing to part with them.
“Listen, all of you are a team now,” Qi Xia said firmly. “As soon as someone secures Di Yang’s fan, I’ll give you all the ‘Sorrow’ I have, and you can escape. If you fail, I won’t give you a single one.”
His words struck like a hammer, leaving everyone momentarily stunned.
After a pause, an older participant spoke up, “Maybe… we could pool our resources?”
“With sixteen of us, gathering three fans shouldn’t be too hard… right?” someone else chimed in.
Qi Xia paid no attention to their fundraising efforts, simply closing his eyes and waiting in silence.
Within minutes, they had gathered three fans and traded them to Di Yang for one “Sorrow.”
All eyes turned to Qi Xia.
He nodded. “Good. Now, I need you all to elect a leader.”
“A leader…?”
“I don’t want to deal with each of you individually—that’d be too much hassle,” Qi Xia said. “I need a middleman to collect fans from each group and exchange them with me. I’ll hand over the ‘Sorrow’ to them in bulk.”
None of the participants had expected it, but under Qi Xia’s subtle influence, they had gradually begun to unite.
“How about this big brother as the leader?” a young woman suggested. “He was the one who just traded fans with Di Yang for ‘Sorrow.'”
“Yeah, let him do it!”
A somewhat introverted man was pushed forward, visibly embarrassed by the attention.
“Well… since everyone’s chosen me as the ‘leader,’ I won’t decline,” the man said, nodding to the group. “Each team, give me one fan. I’ll handle the exchange with this brother here.”
Without further hesitation, the groups discussed briefly and each handed over a fan. Qi Xia, in turn, decisively pulled out all his “Sorrow” from his pocket.
He displayed each one to confirm—seven in total.
“Brother… shall we trade?” the leader asked awkwardly, aware that most of the fans in his hands were “Joy” and “Delight.”
“Exactly. A fair exchange—one hand gives, the other takes,” Qi Xia said. “But not here. We need to move.”
“Move?”
“Yes,” Qi Xia nodded. “Everyone, follow me.”
Though confused, the group had already handed over their fans and chosen a leader—there was no choice but to follow.
Di Yang watched as the crowd slowly moved to the far side of the room, his expression guarded.
He couldn’t fathom what Qi Xia stood to gain by trading his long-hoarded “Sorrow” one-for-one.
This was a monopoly. He could’ve made a killing—getting at least twenty fans in exchange. Yet here he was, settling for one-to-one?
Qi Xia gathered the group around him and whispered a few words.
Their expressions shifted instantly.
“Young man… have you lost your mind?” the middle-aged woman asked, trembling.
“Not at all,” Qi Xia replied calmly before turning to the “leader.” “Let’s trade.”
The leader hesitated, then nodded grimly, handing over seven fans. Qi Xia, in turn, gave them all his “Sorrow.”
Once the “leader” distributed the “Sorrow” to the group, they exchanged glances—then scattered in all directions, splitting into their respective teams.
Di Yang frowned. Something felt off. But before he could react, Qi Xia was walking toward him.
“Di Yang,” Qi Xia called.
Di Yang said nothing, his cold gaze locked onto the man.
“You must still have a full set of ‘Joy, Anger, Sorrow, Delight,’ right?” Qi Xia asked.
“Didn’t you see?” Di Yang replied icily. “All I have is what’s on the table.”
“No.” Qi Xia shook his head. “You started with three fans. And after killing someone, you took their five. So besides the six on the table, you still have eight.”
Di Yang remained silent.
“To ensure you could escape no matter who your final teammate was, I refuse to believe you didn’t keep at least one ‘Sorrow’ for yourself,” Qi Xia continued. “So you must have a complete set—because you never knew who you’d end up paired with.”
“And?”
“And that’s how you fell into my trap today,” Qi Xia said.
Before Di Yang could react, chaos erupted among the crowd in the distance.
“Match failed?! You’re screwing me?!”
“What the hell?! Ours failed too!”
“What’s going on?! Our fans got swallowed!”
Di Yang’s frown deepened as he observed the commotion. He knew deceit was common in his arena.
When only a dozen or so remained, human nature’s ugliest side always surfaced.
Even without weapons, people would kill each other over a single fan.
By the final stages of past games, the floor was always littered with bodies.
But this time, the entire crowd was in disarray—all seven groups seemed to be clashing at once.
Even if some had cheated… was it possible for all seven to turn on each other simultaneously?
Before Di Yang could process it, the participants bolted for the exit.
They had been subtly positioning themselves all along, waiting for this very moment.
Di Yang’s eyes widened in alarm. He vaulted over the table and gave chase—but he was too late.
The seven teams fled like they’d seen a ghost, vanishing through the door.
Only then did Di Yang glance at the matching machines—each one displayed “Match Successful.”
Staring at the exit in disbelief, he realized he’d been played.
He had to stop that man—now!
Whirling around, he sprinted toward Qi Xia—but again, he was a step behind.
“Di Yang,” Qi Xia grinned. “Let’s gamble with our lives.”
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