Chapter 1094: The Weak

Yan Zhichun had just stepped out of the arena and stood on the sticky, foul-smelling street when a familiar voice reached her ears.

“Tsk.”

“Oh?” Yan Zhichun replied softly.

“Tsk. ‘Oh’ my ass. You finally got a signal,” Saturday snapped. “I thought you were fucking dead.”

Yan Zhichun glanced at the people around her. Seeing that no one was paying attention, she took a few steps to the side.

Noticing this, Dr. Zhao subtly retreated as well, quietly moving to stand beside her.

Yan Zhichun tensed slightly at his sudden approach but quickly remembered that Dr. Zhao was now an “ally” and let it go.

She sighed. “Everything go smoothly?”

“Tsk. More or less,” Saturday replied. “So? Go or not? How’s your recon?”

“All set. Just waiting for me to arrive.”

“Got it.” With that, Saturday’s voice faded.

Yan Zhichun turned to Dr. Zhao and, after a pause, asked, “Coming with me?”

“I…” Dr. Zhao hesitated, his expression conflicted as he looked behind her. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but my friend…”

Yan Zhichun glanced back at the empty street—the spot where they had just emerged from thin air.

“‘Disaster’?” she said. “What if your friend doesn’t make it out?”

“Doesn’t make it out…” Dr. Zhao trailed off, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility. “But we promised to go together yesterday. If he doesn’t come out, I’d be alone…”

“I get it,” Yan Zhichun said. “In a place like this, finding someone you can trust—someone who doesn’t harbor malice—is rare. Even if he’s got nothing else going for him, at least he’s someone you can talk to. But given the situation now, you have to choose your own path.”

Dr. Zhao struggled to articulate his feelings. He didn’t even know why he was so insistent on bringing Han Yimo along.

Was Han Yimo really his brother? His friend?

By any reasonable measure, he wasn’t.

All he knew was that Han Yimo was another weak, insignificant soul in the “Land of Finality,” just like him—someone with a tainted past, disliked by most, yet still desperate to survive.

He couldn’t bring himself to dive alone into a plan orchestrated by monsters. He knew he wasn’t cut out for grand schemes. But if someone like Han Yimo—another small fry—could be by his side, it gave him an inexplicable sense of security.

“I don’t know how to choose my own path,” Dr. Zhao admitted. “I still want to wait for Han Yimo. Honestly… I’m terrified.”

“Terrified?” Yan Zhichun frowned. “You weren’t scared when you agreed yesterday.”

“I…” Dr. Zhao shook his head. “After seeing the way Xuanwu and Qinglong looked at us today… I realized we’re not even in the same league. I’ve got a scalpel; they’ve got machine guns. I don’t kill people, but they do.”

“A scalpel has its advantages,” Yan Zhichun countered. “If you strike the right spot at the right time, even a machine gun won’t save them. My advice? Come with me first. There’s still time on the way, and I’ll send someone to fetch Han Yimo later.”

She paused, then added, “Assuming he actually makes it out, that is.”

“You…” Dr. Zhao sighed. “…Fine.”

Neither of them voiced it, but it was far from certain that Han Yimo would emerge from the “Cangjie Game.”

The game’s original “referee” was Earth Dragon, but she was dead now—having traded her life for the survival of Chu Tianqiu’s team.

In a lawless, unregulated environment, the referees left in the arena were Qinglong and Xuanwu.

What kind of lunatic would trust those two to play fair?

—

Qinglong leaped down from above, landing silently on the ground.

The game arena now consisted only of towering walls surrounding a massive central display screen.

The remaining players slowly gathered around the screen, eyeing it warily.

Since this was a “life-or-death” variant of the “Cangjie Game,” the rules would naturally be a twisted version of it.

But the enormous screen before them had no writing interface, nor did it have a “Phoenix Scroll Platform.” How could this possibly count as “Cangjie Game”?

Qi Xia stood before the screen, looking up before turning to Qinglong.

“Well?” he asked.

“Short and sweet,” Qinglong replied. “We compete over three ‘characters.’ Winner takes all.”

“Just three?” Qi Xia raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully confident.”

“Let’s just say…” Qinglong shook his head. “I’ve studied enough of Aries’ game designs to pick up a trick or two.”

“Ha. Learning from Aries?”

Qi Xia let out a laugh—whether from anger or amusement was unclear.

“What’s so funny?” Qinglong smirked. “Plenty of games here were inspired by Aries, but ‘Cangjie Game’ wasn’t one of them.”

“You’re not stupid,” Qi Xia said. “Think harder. Really, no influence at all?”

Qinglong’s smile faded slightly, his expression cooling. “Even if ‘Cangjie Game’ borrowed from Aries’ ideas, this ‘life-or-death’ variant didn’t.”

“Oh?” Qi Xia nodded. “Well, Qinglong, there’s one thing I still don’t get.”

“And that is?”

“Some people design puzzles. Others solve them.” Qi Xia lightly stroked his chin. “Who’s stronger—the one who sets the challenge, or the one who overcomes it?”

Qinglong pondered for a moment before grinning. “If I’m hearing you right, you’re saying you’re stronger than Aries.”

“You heard right.”

“Interesting question,” Qinglong mused. “Solving every puzzle just means you understand the designer’s logic. It doesn’t mean you’re better.”

“But I solve *twisted* puzzles,” Qi Xia countered. “Instead of learning from Aries, you should learn from me. I’m about to dismantle your variant right now.”

“Be my guest,” Qinglong said. “This *is* a ‘life-or-death’ match. If you fail this time, there won’t be a next.”