Vol. 7 [Tournament: Knightly Tournament]

[Amulet of Life: Longevity and Prosperity]

[Properties: A large lock made of gold, silver, and rhodonite silicate mineral.]

[Amulet Type: Spirit-Class / Life-Lock]

[Universality: In a spirit disaster environment, the amulet can drive away spirits for passengers. Most spirit disasters affect human brainwaves and optic nerve signals, causing hallucinations. The radiance of the rhodonite can illuminate the true environment, guiding passengers on the correct path.]

[Instructions for Use: Rhodonite is a triclinic crystal. If you are in a spirit disaster, maintain enthusiasm, bravery, and anger. It will help you avoid misfortune and seek good fortune.]

[Manufacturer: Nine Realms Station Rhodonite Ironworks · Old Spirit.]

[Remarks: A life-lock given to children who have not yet grown up. It was originally a precious gift cherished by nannies, meant to bless and protect the child until they grow up—the nanny will then unlock the life-lock and release its true power.]

This journey ahead is uncertain, its fortunes and misfortunes unpredictable.

To properly understand his teammates' capabilities, Jiang Xueming read through the instruction manuals for both of A Xing's items.

After finishing the amulet, he then opened the brocade box and took out A Xing's cane.

[Mingde Masterpiece: Iron Knight]

[Properties: A carbon steel dress cane crafted with die-cast precision.]

[Weapon Type: Blunt / Slashing / Sword / Cane]

[Universality: This club can clear weeds for passengers and duel opponents. Its handle resembles a lion-shaped steel hammer, and a rapier can be drawn from the butt of the shaft.]

[Instructions for Use: Ancient envoys carried tokens when entering and exiting gates. Knights, when they took off their armor and put on formal attire, unable to carry swords, had the Barton fighting technique and the protective dress cane.]

[Manufacturer: Nine Realms Station Ironworks · Arrogant and Ruthless]

[Remarks: Regarding humility, honesty, mercy, valor, justice, sacrifice, honor, and soul, you possess none of these eight virtues—are you only driven by hunger and lust?]

Meanwhile—

—Bu Liuxing knocked on the golden door of the VIP carriage.

He could vaguely sense a strange, inexplicable fate, like gravity, pulling him to the door.

He recalled the instructions from his elder brother Xue Ming—

—In the underground world, be cautious in all matters.

But he couldn't control his hands, just as he couldn't control his eyes from leaving the novel section of the newspaper earlier.

To use a peculiar analogy.

"It's like you know staying up late is terrible, your body is screaming, your eyes are dry and red, yet you still can't pull yourself away from your phone, computer, or TV—you can't detach yourself from these things."

At this moment, A Xing was talking to himself, as if making excuses, or perhaps like Mr. Jason Megan's peculiar habit of repeating things to reinforce memory.

He knocked harder on the golden door, growing more impatient.

"Teacher Victor! Are you inside?"

He was eager to know what happened in the next chapter of the novel—what was the continuation of that story?

The door suddenly opened.

A thin, cold, and stern face appeared in the half-open gap.

Devil·Victor [David·Victor] remained motionless.

A Xing found it difficult to describe the appearance of the unfamiliar man—his icy, sharp aura was unlike anyone he had ever met.

Beneath a shock of wild golden curls were angular brow bones and a broad forehead.

Emerald-green eyes, like jade gems, were deeply set on either side of a prominent, high-bridged nose.

His lips were thick and full, his chin and cheekbones slightly gaunt, like an anorexic patient with a regular schedule who had been dieting for a long time.

This was completely different from how Jiang Xueming felt to A Xing—

—If elder brother Jiang Xueming was like a block of pure ice.

The writer before him was like a glass of absinthe emitting a faint green glow. His features and demeanor alone gave him a dreamlike quality.

Victor's hand rested on the doorknob, his metacarpals broad, his knuckles rough. He hunched over, poking his head out as if hiding inside the door, meeting Bu Liuxing's gaze from outside.

Those large green eyes held a look of cold contempt.

Bu Liuxing was both fearful and delighted. Unknowingly, he had already come to regard this author as an idol in his heart.

"Teacher Victor! I never thought I'd actually be able to meet you here!"

He took off his hat and bowed hastily, hunching his body.

David·Victor offered no direct response—

—He merely scanned the area outside the door, glancing left and right, confirming no one else was present.

Only then did Victor step out, walking formally towards Bu Liuxing, the impetuous reader.

He was wearing pajamas and kept his right hand behind his back, appearing very polite.

He was over 1.8 meters tall, yet he still had to look up at A Xing.

He toyed with a steel pen in his hand, which seemed to be the very staff gifted to him by BOSS, and looked A Xing up and down, still without speaking.

Bu Liuxing felt a prickle of unease under Teacher Victor's gaze—something felt off.

Brother Ming had said that long-term underground train passengers all developed minor psychological quirks.

Perhaps Victor was also an experienced traveler, someone who had been to many places, which explained his odd behavior?

A Xing calmed himself, intending to introduce himself.

"Teacher Victor, I'm one of your readers!"

Before A Xing could finish—

—David Victor interrupted, "Be quiet. I'm observing you."

A Xing wanted to try and connect with him. He remembered a certain David, an armed mercenary from The Bourne Identity, had the same name.

"Teacher Victor, do you know how many coincidences there are in the world? The first security guard I met when I came to the station was also named David. Don't you think that's fate between us?"

"I said—be quiet." Teacher Victor paced around Bu Liuxing, bending and peering in front and behind him, scanning him up and down.

A Xing grew more nervous—

—He didn't understand Teacher Victor's intentions.

He secretly tried to gauge the writer's expression, but saw no stray thoughts, only a focused, serious demeanor, as if he were observing a sculpture, or a work of art—Teacher Victor's eyes seemed filled only with an ardent pursuit of art.

"When I meet interesting strangers, I can't help but observe them closely, trying to understand their habits and micro-expressions," Victor explained. "Forgive my rudeness, I haven't asked your name yet, or perhaps your mood has calmed, and you now know what politeness is—when meeting a stranger, please state your name first."

"My name is Bu Liuxing! Teacher Victor!" A Xing suddenly perked up. He finally felt free from the feeling of being watched and breathed a sigh of relief.

He thought to himself—

—That feeling of being intensely stared at earlier was truly bizarre.

"You already know my name, so there's no need to elaborate like a lengthy, redundant piece of prose." Teacher Victor stood straight, hands behind his back, chest out.

He presented a 45-degree profile, like a side-view oil painting in the golden ratio, to greet his uninvited guest and began the conversation unhurriedly.

Victor: "I have a small, unconventional request upon our first meeting."

Bu Liuxing's brow unfurrowed. Hearing Victor needed help was excellent—after all, Big Brother Xue Ming had said.

People should help each other!

Maybe if he helped Teacher Victor, he could get an early look at the novels in The Sun Times?

"Please, just tell me what you need. If there's anything I can do to help, I'll find a way!"

"The first thing I ask you to do—" Victor corrected, "--is to call me 'you,' not 'sir'."

"Oh, that's easy." Bu Liuxing scratched his head. "Why? I respect you."

Victor gritted his teeth, impatiently interrupting again, "Because this inexplicable honorific makes me anxious and troubled—please stop addressing me in that frivolous, fawning manner, like you're talking to a celebrity idol. Bu Liuxing, you can call me by my name—we are all mortal, born between heaven and earth."

"Oh hahaha. Hehe." A Xing felt an inexplicable pressure—

—Yes, pressure.

Facing Teacher Victor, it was as if an invisible hand was gripping his throat. The hand wouldn't crush him directly, but breathing became difficult.

When he first met Big Brother Xue Ming, A Xing had felt a similar pressure. But as he got to know him better over time, the pressure disappeared.

Perhaps this was why passengers were afraid of Big Brother Xue Ming.

David Victor possessed the same kind of power. Perhaps Victor and Big Brother Xue Ming's mental strength was comparable.

"I have a second request for you," Mr. Victor said, bringing up a minor work-related issue. "I've encountered a difficulty in my writing that I can't resolve on my own."

"Oh! Writing novels! I love that!" Bu Liuxing became excited again, wanting to elaborate enthusiastically.

—He was immediately silenced by Victor's shushing gesture, no longer daring to speak.

Victor stepped aside, opening the door fully.

"This is a long story. Why don't you come in and we can discuss it in detail?"

Bu Liuxing looked inside—

—It was a simple yet not-so-simple studio.

The arrangement inside was very strange. Why strange?

Because next to the desk was a kitchen shelf, next to the shelf was a bathtub, and next to the bathtub was the bed.

The large lights on the ceiling illuminated a painting on the ceiling—it was Van Gogh's Starry Night.

In addition, the shower and toilet were crammed into this narrow private space.

A bright red carpet stretched straight into the room—all the way to the end of the carriage. This was the last carriage, and the safety door at the rear had been removed, revealing the passing scenery outside.

"Judging by your body's reaction," Victor whispered in A Xing's ear, standing on tiptoe, "it seems you're afraid. I suppose so. I consider myself a reclusive and eccentric person—if my abrupt invitation offended you, please feel free to turn back. But please keep my whereabouts a secret, don't tell anyone on the train. I don't wish to be disturbed by louder knocking while I'm creating."

"No! No, no, no!" Bu Liuxing pursed his lips, sniffing deeply through his nose, like a bull with reddened eyes. "Teacher asked for my help, how could I possibly refuse!"

With that—

—A Xing barged into the studio.

He found a comfortable spot, as if in defiance, as if wanting to prove his capability, and sat down leisurely in the guest chair by the desk.

He rolled up his sleeves, acting as if he were back in his own home, stretching and yawning casually and naturally, as if he were about to fall asleep peacefully.

He shouted carelessly, "Teacher Victor! I'm already here, I'm ready. You were saying you encountered difficulties writing a novel. Ask me anything you need!"

Victor closed the door, his right hand still behind his back, and calmly sat back in the host's seat.

" Bu Liuxing, you have two scents of perfume on you. One is Gucci's Snake's Mystery? The other is Dior's Sauvage? Or Dior Homme? I can't quite remember the scents of these luxury goods, but I can vaguely recognize them."

"Oh," A Xing was a little embarrassed. This was the perfume he used to let girls smell. "The other one is Dior Homme Sport."

"Then my guess is correct, I've found the right person." Victor stubbornly kept his right hand behind his back, biting open the cap of his pen with his mouth and making notes on the manuscript paper: "Bu Liuxing, you must be someone with rich romantic experience."

"Yes. How can you tell?"

"Your tear ducts are well-developed, with many capillaries around your eyes. The position of your nasopharyngeal tube and the flesh around your eyes are characteristic of someone who cries often. A handsome young man who cries a lot and has money will often have suitors."

"It seems so. That's how it is. Teacher, you are very perceptive."

"This makes things easier. I want to know, what does it feel like to lose a lover?"

Victor picked up his pen and leaned towards Bu Liuxing, saying earnestly.

"Please tell me your experience, what does it feel like to lose a lover, to be separated from a lover by life or death? If it could be more detailed, that would be great. If it could be detailed enough to feel like opening up your chest and taking out your heart to examine it closely."

A Xing's body involuntarily leaned back. Victor's sudden advance made the pressure increasingly terrifying.

Suddenly, A Xing's cold sweat dripped from his forehead down to his chin.

Victor sat back down, having sensed the boy's nervous and delicate emotions.

"Sorry, I'm a bit obsessive, but I feel like a complete failure. I have no romantic experience, nor do I understand women—

—All my novels serialized in The Sun Times were written to cater to male readers, never considering the feelings of female readers.

—This time, I'm starting to write about romance, a genre I've never touched before. This isn't a bold attempt, it's just because I want to kill the mediocre and lazy self of the past."

"You mean, the story I saw?" Bu Liuxing asked cautiously. "The story of Broken Hand?"

"Yes." David · Victor described it with utmost caution, as if holding a scalpel to perform surgery on his own story: "I haven't even decided on the title yet. I sent it to the newspaper just to try it out. But."

Suddenly—

—Victor went from extreme calm to a furious lion, letting out a piercing roar from his throat.

"But the editor at the newspaper didn't even look at it! They just published my draft!"

From extreme cold to intense heat, it took almost a second.

A Xing was stunned speechless.

He only knew that Big Brother Xue Ming had warned him that the passengers underground had eccentric temperaments and strong personalities, but he had never met anyone like Victor before.

"I won't ask a stranger I've just met to understand my manic-depressive mood." Victor returned to his calm state, as if the roar just now was A Xing's auditory hallucination. "I also won't ask you to empathize with me unnecessarily. Bu Liuxing, I've tried my best to explain the whole story clearly to you—but an author's unedited first draft is like their backside. They put my backside on full display in the newspaper!"

This intense obsession and shame, these emotions like rampaging beasts, made A Xing restless.

Victor continued, "This was a mistake. I originally hoped this story would be meticulously crafted, with a title, a subtitle, a complete dedication, and an introduction, not a crude concept like 'hanging by a thread,' hastily put together like an apron made of a mask."

"Perhaps. The readers won't really..." A Xing finally managed to interject, "won't really care. Teacher Victor, are you... being too sensitive?"

"But I care," Victor said earnestly, his eyes bloodshot. "I care very much. If I took a photo of your backside and published it in the newspaper..."

A Xing: "And there's such a good thing?"

An awkward silence lasted for about ten seconds.

Victor regained his composure.

"In short, I hope you'll listen to my complaints.

I'm completely stuck in this rough story. The serialization has already begun, and I'm in a state of anxious restlessness, like being forced to ride a duck—

—Bu Liuxing, I've already revised the first draft to the third. The director at the newspaper has also apologized to me.

But in this love-themed story, I'm missing something. A fake is a fake. No matter how I try to embellish my writing, it won't become real."

Victor rambled on, his emotions dejected, pointing his pen towards the tail of the carriage, towards the missing tail door.

"Looking out from this door, I can gain a lot of inspiration. I've seen the essence of many lives—

—I've seen people marry and have children here, I've seen terns and bats migrating with the underground tides, pairing up in caves.

—I've seen that the birth and disappearance of life are inseparable from love. My soul is missing this female character. My work is like its theme, only having one Broken Hand."

"This... I'm afraid I can't help you much with this." Bu Liuxing smiled awkwardly. "Teacher, I'm not a woman, and I don't know what girls think when they're in love. If you're looking for material from me, then I can only talk about the wild thoughts of boys in love."

"..." Victor remained silent, propping his chin with his left hand, biting the pen holder, his gaze etched with a dark intensity, silent.

A Xing didn't dare to speak either—

—He glanced sideways, unwilling to meet Victor's intensely oppressive gaze.

Suddenly, he saw a string of dark red at the junction of the carpet and the floor.

This made A Xing pay closer attention, his pupils constricting and focusing.

That string of sticky, thick red liquid—it was blood.

A Xing had no other special skills, but he had plenty of experience being beaten and bleeding. The crimson fluid in the dim yellow light slowly seeped into the carpet, leaving a deeper dark red in the red wool, so much so that he hadn't noticed the bloodstains when he first entered the room.

This made A Xing even more uneasy.

Why was there so much blood? Whose blood was it?

Something was wrong, very wrong.

Should he notify the attendant? Right here? Or should he call Brother Xue Ming after leaving?

I need to find a way to get out of here. But if I leave directly, will Teacher Victor become suspicious?

In the long silence, only the deafening percussion of the train's wheels on the tracks could be heard.

A Xing tried not to look at the bloodstains, wanting to avert his gaze—the chaotic thoughts in his mind were almost forcing him to stand up and flee this narrow, eerie studio immediately.

He caught another glimpse of the starry oil painting on the ceiling, and on a bookshelf display case to the side, faintly visible books.

Bu Liuxing, as if finding a lifeline, wanted to escape this oppressive and strange atmosphere. "Teacher Victor, I'd like to see your collection of books, may I?"

Victor was still lost in thought, still wearing that anxious expression he had when encountering a difficult problem. "Mm. Put them back when you're done."

Bu Liuxing let out a sigh of relief, as if rolling off an electric chair, and slowly walked to the bookshelf.

He carefully avoided the trail of bloodstains on the carpet, and could barely detect a faint metallic scent of blood amidst the incense in the air.

--That's right, it was blood.

He confirmed once again that David·Victor's studio contained blood.

Trembling, he reached for the cabinet door. In the dim light, it was difficult to discern the titles of the books inside. He could only see thick volumes, each about the size of a palm, neatly arranged within.

A Xing chuckled incessantly, as if he had discovered a treasure. "Are these your writing inspirations, Teacher?"

"Yes," Victor replied. "They are logs."

"Are..." Bu Liuxing didn't quite process it, his hand already pulling open the cabinet door. "...passengers'?"

"Logs?"

The unique fragrance of book pages wafted from the cabinet. Each log was inscribed with a name, the unfamiliar name of an unknown passenger.

They were packed densely in the bookshelf, at least two hundred volumes.

A Xing felt his body stiffen, unable to move another inch. The cold sweat on his back had soaked through his spiritual clothing, turning into a patch of chilling dampness.

He could no longer tear his gaze away—he could only stare at Victor's figure.

The great writer sat at his desk, his back to A Xing.

His left arm propped up his chin, his expression still indifferent.

His right wrist bore a shocking wound, only a sliver of flesh remaining, his hand hanging in mid-air.

Judging by the clean cut at the wrist, it had been severed with a single stroke, without hesitation, cleanly and precisely. Due to nerve activity, this Broken Hand was unnaturally twitching and spasming.

Blood flowed ceaselessly from the wound.

Yet David·Victor seemed oblivious, still contemplating the writing problem he had encountered. Even as his complexion worsened and he grew weaker, he never noticed the abnormality of his body.

A Xing suffered a severe mental shock—

--He could clearly feel his madness index soaring, his tendons becoming uncontrollable due to the chaotic electrical signals in his brain, his entire body stiffening.

He looked at the manuscript on the worktable.

This should have been the third draft after Victor's revisions—

--Could it be?

--Could it be that Teacher Victor had simply cut off his own palm to observe as writing material, just to revise the draft and write about a Broken Hand?

In an instant, that strange, inexplicable attraction reappeared.

A Xing could barely tear his gaze away from the manuscript. This immense attraction and overwhelming fear were like two cold yet seductive executioners, forcing his body back into the electric chair.

For a moment, he forgot all his reservations—forgot the characteristics of the Armadillo Hunters, forgot all the unsettling elements in this cramped studio.

He felt as if his throat was being choked, his body pinned down, and he was made to sit back in the guest's seat, almost pleadingly, like a fish out of water, begging Victor.

"I really want to know, I really want to see what the revised manuscript looks like."

"No, I'm afraid I cannot grant that request." Victor's demeanor was unchanged, showing no abnormality. "This manuscript is still considered a work in progress until it is officially published in the newspaper."

"Even if it's a work in progress. I want to see it. I don't care. Teacher," A Xing's voice trembled, "I beg you. I really want to see it. I don't know what's wrong with me. Are you an Armadillo Hunter? Have you killed anyone? In this studio, I feel extremely, extremely suppressed, extremely, extremely afraid, but these terrifying emotions can't make me leave. I can't control my curiosity. I really want to see."

"Then," David·Victor raised his teacup, still with that rigorous and natural expression, "Bu Liuxing, let us have a fair duel. In this duel, I am not some high and mighty author, and you are not some fan chasing an idol—we are simply two knights."

A Xing was confused. "Duel?"

"I need to tend to my wound." Victor held up his bloody Broken Hand. "And prepare you a cup of invigorating White Lady coffee—do you know what it is?"

"I've heard of it. Sha Yang Xiao Gong mentioned it." Bu Liuxing remembered the vendors at the Golden Land Station selling such things.

"It's a folk remedy Panacea, not as effective as the station's, but it can deal with minor ailments." Victor cradled his Broken Hand and headed for the door. "The White Lady is the larva of the Madness Butterfly. Its name comes from ancient folk legends. Both East and West, Venus sculptures and the Nuwa stone of the Hongshan culture, feature plump, gourd-shaped sculptures."

A Xing had seen this information in the crew manual and noted it down carefully.

Victor drank the coffee from his teacup, and holding his arm, he rejoined it. In the span of a single breath, the wound on his hand healed.

The sound of muscle rejoining was like sleet.

The sound of bone growth was like wind blowing sand.

"The terracotta goddess from Luoselvinas or Dongshan, Liaoning, the goddess of death from Gagarinovinas or Moldova, they all share the same name, both called the White Lady."

After Victor finished explaining the origins of these folk remedies to A Xing, he proposed the terms of their duel.

"I'll make you this cup of coffee, which will take about six to ten minutes--

--Before I get back, if you can hold yourself back, and not act like some street thug, sneak to my desk, take off my pants, and peek at my drafts like you're looking at my butt. Even if you win this duel."

"What's the prize?" A Xing's eyes lit up at the strange and unusual wager.

"I'm willing to share my revised manuscript with you, exclusively, before it gets published in the newspaper." Victor pouted, a hint of displeasure like a customer impatiently demanding service.

Bu Liuxing jumped up excitedly, "Deal! I accept this challenge!"

"But," Victor's tone shifted, "if you lose, I want you to hand over your passenger log for me to copy and put on my bookshelf."

Bu Liuxing was astonished. The stakes of this bet couldn't be described as trivial; for him, it was practically inconsequential. If Jiang Xueming knew what the kid was thinking, he'd have his butt bruised with fist-sized welts.

"That's it?"

"Don't misunderstand," Victor reminded A Xing specifically before leaving the studio, "I want the complete passenger log, including all the memories in your mind, all the joys and sorrows within those memories. Don't worry, I won't harm you. I have my ways of extracting this log from your skull."

Though he didn't quite understand what Victor was saying, A Xing never shied away from a direct challenge. He was never afraid, so brave.

"Teacher, you go ahead and make your coffee. I'll be good, guarding your drafts like a knight! Not only will I not peek, but no one else will get to see them beforehand."

" Bu Liuxing, it truly moves me that you can understand my words and connect with the inner meaning I express sentence by sentence. It's a coincidence that my security guard shares your name, but I believe the story that unfolds from our mutual understanding is true destiny--this is a duel, you must be alert, it is between you and me--"

David·Victor closed the golden door.

"--[Tournament (feat. Patrick Bartley) · Knight's Duel]"