Amid their laughter and jeers, Ye Zi understood everything.
The black-haired ratfolk had not died at all. He was merely grievously injured and extremely weak.
If he tried to snatch food openly and fairly, he would never get even half a Mandala Fruit. Sooner or later, he would starve to death.
So he could only pretend to be dead, deceiving newcomers like Ye Zi—fools!
—There would surely be newcomers who thought he was already dead and had caught the plague.
And if those foolish newcomers happened to get lucky and seize a Mandala Fruit, yet lacked the strength to protect themselves, they would surely flee to the corner where the black-haired ratfolk lay, trying to use the "plague" to deter the covetous eyes of the other Red Eye Ratfolk.
But these fools had no idea that the black-haired ratfolk's side was not some "Safe Zone."
It was another deadly trap!
Using this method, the black-haired ratfolk could keep snatching Mandala Fruits one after another even while hovering on the brink of death.
As for why the other Red Eye Ratfolk, knowing perfectly well that the black-haired ratfolk was not dead, did not step forward to finish him off or rob him?
Naturally, it was because the Turan People were mad for gambling, valuing it above everything else.
In a sense, gambling was a hearty, all-out battle against the hazy, intangible thing called fate.
The contest at a gambling table was no different from slaughter on a battlefield. Both demanded racking one's brains, exhausting every ounce of strength, and stopping at nothing.
Even after falling into the deepest depths of the Black Dungeon,
the ratfolk still had to gamble.
They gambled on whether the black-haired ratfolk was truly dead.
They gambled on whether more fools like Ye Zi would fall for