Qi Xia walked for a long time before finally looking up at the bead above his head.
If he didn’t find the Earth Ox soon, the bead would likely vanish, since the so-called “Heavenly Snake Moment” lasted no more than two hours at most.
Without a watch or clock, there was no way to track time, but Qi Xia had a strong feeling that the Hour of the Snake was about to pass.
He shook his head, absorbing the memories flooding his mind.
“Though risky… this confirms the method works.” Qi Xia glanced again at the bead above him. “Using ‘Endless Regeneration’ to ‘rewind time’—did you see that, Azure Dragon? ‘Time’ doesn’t exist. We only perceive its traces in people. If we can rewind a ‘person,’ in theory, we’ve rewound ‘time.'”
He lowered his gaze to his hands, growing even more convinced of the underlying logic of this entire “Land of the End.”
This was a bizarre realm operating on the overwhelming power of “Endless Regeneration.” People were constantly rewound in place, yet time surged forward across this land—a paradoxical contradiction that had existed for years.
Were people left behind, or was the world left behind?
Following the map in his hand, Qi Xia walked for another ten-odd minutes before finally spotting the “Zodiac” game arena.
The arena was far larger than he’d imagined—a long-abandoned open-air football field.
The only thing that puzzled him was how dilapidated it was. Had the map not clearly marked the location, even Qi Xia wouldn’t have dared believe this was the Earth Ox’s game site.
He had visited many “Zodiac” arenas before, but this football field was easily the most rundown—so much so that it felt unnatural.
Was it because it was open-air? Or did the “Zodiac” working here simply never maintain their arena?
Approaching the front, Qi Xia found no “Zodiac” present, but he could faintly hear distant shouts from inside. He stowed the map and stepped through the main entrance.
With the open view, the first thing he noticed was the barren, yellow-earth pitch, devoid of even a blade of grass. Next, his gaze landed on the group gathered at the center.
An unusually frail Earth Ox stood gripping a pitch-black rope, its other end held by six participants bunched together.
It looked like a seemingly fair but fundamentally unbalanced tug-of-war.
The six men strained with bulging veins, their bodies leaning back as they gritted their teeth, exerting murderous force. They had clear roles—some shouted commands, others looped the rope around their waists.
Meanwhile, the frail Earth Ox stood firm, gripping the rope steadily. The taut black line didn’t budge an inch.
Qi Xia watched the one-sided game from a distance, a question quickly forming in his mind.
The Earth Ox clearly had strength to spare. She could end the game instantly but chose not to, merely holding the rope without fully exerting herself—as if toying with them.
What was the point?
The six participants, however, grew increasingly strained, their hands reddening as they trembled violently. Then, with a sudden stomp, the Earth Ox yanked the rope taut, sending them all sprawling to the ground.
Qi Xia frowned. This game was bizarre.
While Earth-level games varied in form, their core was always the same: killing.
Yet no matter how he looked at it, this tug-of-war couldn’t possibly result in death. So what was the Earth Ox’s goal?
Recalling how she had dragged out the match, exhausting the participants, Qi Xia suddenly understood. “No… the game isn’t over.”
Sure enough, as the six gasped for breath on the ground, the Earth Ox stepped forward and spoke: “Round One is over. Now, choose whether to proceed to Round Two.”
Only then did Qi Xia realize the frail Earth Ox was a woman.
“R-Round Two?” A burly man lying on the ground stared up at her. “What Round Two?”
The Earth Ox reached into her chest pocket and pulled out a dagger, tossing it onto the ground.
The blade spun midair before embedding itself in the dirt.
“One life for one of my limbs.” She pointed at the knife. “Choose which teammate to sacrifice. For each loss, I’ll use one fewer limb—up to four. If you win under these conditions, the reward doubles per sacrifice. Or you can leave now—your choice.”
“What do you mean, ‘use one fewer limb’?” a lanky man asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” The Earth Ox tucked one arm behind her back. “I can use just one hand, or none—tying the rope to my waist instead. Or I can lift a foot. You decide which limbs I forfeit. Clear now?”
Qi Xia smirked. It was as he’d guessed—though he hadn’t expected the “reward doubles per sacrifice” clause. The participants now faced a dilemma.
Should they abandon the “entry fee” and leave, or invest greater stakes for exponential returns?
Anywhere else, the rational choice would be clear—nothing is worth trading a life for. But the “Land of the End” was different.
“I say we sacrifice Brother Wang,” one man suggested. “He’s already ‘Echoed.’ We can split the ‘Tao’ with him later. Walking away now is a waste.”
“Wha—?” A man—presumably Brother Wang—glared. “The hell kind of logic is that?! What if I die and we still lose? I’d die for nothing!”
“I have an idea!” A bespectacled, heavyset man interjected.
“What? Spit it out!” Brother Wang clung to the lifeline.
The man adjusted his glasses solemnly. “Humans have four limbs. The Zodiac said one life per limb. Sacrifice four, and we’re guaranteed to win.”
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