Vol·8 [Tournament]

Bu Liuxing sat by the desk, unmoving.

He nervously bit his nails, looking down to see the ruby on his protective charm gleaming.

At this moment, he could clearly feel an extraordinary pull from the manuscript on the desk.

That strange attraction went beyond ordinary things—it was definitely not just his desire to read.

It was like hunger, like thirst, like involuntarily glancing at a beautiful woman in a miniskirt on the street.

His lips were dry, his eyes fixed. Time ticked by, each second feeling like an eternity to A Xing.

"I can't look, absolutely cannot look!"

Only now did Bu Liuxing understand what Teacher Victor meant by "knight's tournament."

This was no simple test of endurance.

—It was a contest of their mental strength.

Those manuscripts were definitely problematic, imbued with powerful magic or superpowers.

A Xing's expression turned grave as he looked at the bookshelf, filled with other passengers' logs.

From the depths of the bookshelf, from darker places, several dark shadows darted, appearing to be mice.

The faint rustling sounds made A Xing hypersensitive, his eyes red.

If the passenger handbook was accurate—then without a doubt, David Victor was an Armadillo Hunter.

After Teacher Victor left, the oppressive feeling gradually dissipated, allowing Bu Liuxing's mind a sliver of clarity amidst the fear.

Recalling the past ten-plus minutes, he suddenly realized that perhaps many passengers were like him, drawn to the articles in "The Sun Times," like insects drawn to the smell of carrion, actively flying into the mouth of a pitcher plant.

Understanding this—

—Bu Liuxing immediately took out his phone.

But his thumb hovered over the unlock button, unable to press it—he felt utterly ashamed at this moment.

"When I parted ways with Brother Xue Ming, I promised him I'd try my luck with other passengers, but what am I doing? What am I doing!"

He slapped his cheeks, trying to snap out of the manuscript's allure, feeling both annoyed and sad, stamping his feet in anger.

"I can't cause him any more trouble! He said he'd be happy if I could find out something useful. I rarely, rarely see Brother Xue Ming smile, and things that make him smile are incredibly, incredibly important!"

He finally understood—

—why the old passenger who guarded his clothes outside the restroom door always liked to talk to himself.

In this underground world, there were many deadly temptations, obsessions that drove people mad, and sometimes, even the brain would betray itself, mistaking false signals for true commands.

Only by speaking one's inner thoughts aloud, constantly reinforcing the impression, could one avoid being dominated by hazy illusions.

Just as Bu Liuxing was resolving to leave after deep reflection—another wave of intense shame held his legs captive.

It was like being grabbed by the ankles by two cold, clammy hands; he couldn't move.

"I promised Teacher Victor I'd guard this manuscript for him."

Bu Liuxing's breathing grew heavy, and from the six-foot-three man came gasps like a bull's.

"From the moment we met, the teacher never put on airs with me. He opened up to me, a stranger, confiding his troubles and asking for help. Even if he's an Armadillo Hunter, even if he's an enemy, I accepted this challenge, and I absolutely cannot back down or break my word!"

Five minutes remained—

—At the earliest, five minutes; at the latest, nine minutes, Victor would return.

"He cut his own hand to write a good story, just like fulfilling a promise to his readers. The teacher is a man of his word. To write a vivid, bloody 'Broken Hand'—it must hurt terribly, right?"

Bu Liuxing pursed his lips, hugging himself, his eyes burning with a fierce refusal to yield.

"How can I fail his expectations? If I promise something, I must do it. Otherwise, how can I defeat him?"

He swallowed nervously, but his gaze involuntarily drifted back to the manuscript on the desk.

"Even if the teacher is a hunter, I'll wait until after the duel to ask for a clear explanation before considering whether to punch him—the teacher is only six feet tall and doesn't look strong at all. I'm not afraid of him in a fight."

He suddenly reached out, cupped his chin, and forcibly turned his head straight.

"No, Bu Liuxing."

A Xing said fiercely to himself.

"You can't peek, don't be impatient."

At this moment—

—David Victor returned.

The eccentric, great writer pushed open the door.

Bu Liuxing, as if returning from the gates of hell, immediately stood up. "Teacher! You're back? Does this count as me winning?"

"No," Victor said apologetically. "The train just entered North Sector 70, it's a bit cold. I came back to change clothes, and it would be impolite to go to the dining car in just my pajamas."

"Oh, I see." Bu Liuxing sat back down, anxiously staring at the time on his waterproof watch. Less than two minutes had passed.

After Victor finished changing, he slowly walked out, asking A Xing a question as he left.

"Sorry to have gotten your hopes up for nothing. You didn't peek at my draft, did you?"

"Don't worry, Teacher!" Bu Liuxing immediately replied, "I wouldn't! No matter how many times you change your clothes, I feel great. I can guard for another half hour without any problem!"

Hearing A Xing's reply, Victor's expression was one of vacant loss, a deep sense of disappointment. It took a long time for him to recover from that sorrowful mood and regain his spirit.

"Not bad, really not bad, Bu Liuxing. Your eyesight is truly excellent. If I could get your log, it would surely be a spectacular life!"

A Xing asked, "Teacher, you..."

"Yes, I am a hunter." Victor stated frankly and without reservation, "To write more powerful stories, I win your logs through repeated duels. It's like the famous author Hemingway, who seized the shameful romantic affairs of his good friends, risking the rupture of their friendship, to incorporate these materials into his books, turning them into a delight for readers."

A Xing fell silent--

--He rarely fell completely silent, completely still.

After Victor left to properly prepare coffee, the suffocating sense of pressure dissipated. A Xing finally became alert--this duel had officially begun.

"In that case, I must not lose."

He frantically opened his phone, fumbling through the log.

He and Jiang Xueming had backed up their phone data to each other; it was a shared investigation record, impossible to separate into a single-person log.

It contained a great deal of information about Jiang Xueming, including his [affairs] with Madam Canaan, as well as Jiang Bailu and Panacea.

He thought carefully, how terrifying it would be for Brother Xue Ming if this stuff were to appear in the newspapers.

David Victor walked towards the dining car.

As he passed from one carriage to the next, the previously lively and boisterous passengers suddenly fell silent.

Only after he left did the passengers return to normal from that oppressive feeling, whispering amongst themselves.

"That's a VIP passenger from the luxury carriage."

"Which one is it?"

"David Victor--BOSS really likes him. He's a translator."

"When he passed by me, I felt like my throat was being choked."

"These distinguished guests always have a near-manic obsession about them; it's truly unsettling."

Mr. Victor had already changed into a respectable outfit.

He had put on a tuxedo and tight leather pants, exuding a spirited aura. On his feet were bright red, upturned leather boots. A black velvet scarf and silver hair ornaments complemented his golden curls. His waist was adorned with a belt made of seventeen silver buckle plates. He juggled a fountain pen in one hand and carried a square doctor's bag in the other--looking quite ostentatious.

A cold wind carrying frost and mist blew in from the frigid northern territories. Many guests had already lowered their car windows. Yet, upon seeing the flamboyant and seductive writer pass by, they involuntarily flinched and hunched, retreating to the other side of the icy window.

Victor arrived at the dining car and took out the ingredients for White Lady coffee from his heavy doctor's bag--beginning to prepare the coffee.

Just then, Jiang Xueming entered the dining car--he was still worried, thinking of Bu Liuxing being so dazed by various things that he couldn't find his way. He had only waited about ten minutes before deciding to go look for him.

Until Xue Ming bumped into the strangely dressed, big-haired blonde in the dining car.

Unlike the other passengers, this big-haired blonde showed no intention of avoiding him and wasn't afraid at all.

This made Xue Ming become more vigilant. He put on a professional fake smile and took the initiative to greet him.

"Hello! May I ask your name, sir?"

Victor fiddled with the bottles and jars on the table, ignoring Jiang Xueming, fully engrossed in the coffee-making process.

Jiang Xueming leaned closer, clearly seeing the man's appearance, and calmly pressed further, "Hello! My name is Jiang Xueming. May I ask your name, sir?"

"David Victor." Hearing the other party state his full name, Victor replied politely as well.

Jiang Xueming then reached into his pocket for a cigarette, but Victor glared him to a halt.

So Xue Ming put away his cigarette and didn't take out his phone to show pictures, not wanting to leave any strange loose ends.

He continued to ask.

"Mr. Victor, have you seen my friend?"

"What does he look like?"

"He's tall, a big guy, about 1.9 meters, looks very likable and approachable."

"Are his eyes big? I'm not sure if that's the person you're talking about."

"Yes, his eyes are big, and he's wearing the standard passenger Spirit Clothes."

"Any other features?"

"He doesn't seem very smart, cries a lot, gets angry easily, and can't control his emotions."

"Is he your friend?"

"A very important friend."

After that, the two fell silent.

Victor's emerald-like eyes were fixed on Xue Ming. He was like a scanner, wanting to see the story on Xue Ming's body.

Jiang Xueming, on the other hand, did not yield. He walked in a circle, around to Victor's side, blocking a large part of the aisle.

--If Jiang Xueming didn't move, Victor wouldn't be able to return the way he came.

"Mm, he's in my carriage," Victor finally replied.

"You're making him coffee?" Jiang Xueming countered. "Can you take me to see him?"

Victor continued, "It'll take a few minutes. Could you do me a small favor? Answer a few questions."

Jiang Xueming responded, "What do you need me to do? Ask away."

"What flavor does your friend like?"

"Thirteen parts sugar. He really likes sweets."

"And the acidity?"

"You'd have to ask his attendant. I don't know about coffee."

"Then just make it normal. Does he have any preferences for latte art or how it's stirred?"

"You'd have to ask his attendant about that too."

"Then could you help me find two packets of sugar and two boxes of milk?"

"No problem."

"Jiang Xueming, why don't you just call him if you want to find him?"

"I want him to meet new people on the train and get a feel for our destination. But calling him suddenly might disrupt his social interactions. Mr. Victor, think about it. If you were having a great conversation with someone, and they suddenly had to take an urgent call, with no idea when they'd be back, wouldn't that spoil your mood?"

"You're right. You've thought this through very carefully." A relaxed smile spread across Victor's face.

During the few minutes it took to brew the coffee...

Jiang Xueming felt a strange sense of ease. He was having a very comfortable conversation with this stranger.

The way the other person handled the coffee, their attitude towards food, were all very serious. He was quite the professional barista.

There was just one lingering question—

—Xue Ming could smell the perfume of the meteor on this guy, along with incense and the scent of blood.

He didn't immediately dwell on these sharp, terrifying details, simply waiting quietly for Mr. Victor to speak on his own.

If Bu Liuxing had already met with misfortune, there was nothing he could do. If Bu Liuxing was still being held hostage by the other person, there was also nothing he could do.

In this awkward social situation, he felt very passive.

He could only try to probe indirectly through various topics, seeking a sense of security.

"Mr. Victor, are you a barista? Your technique for making coffee looks very professional."

"No, I'm a writer for a newspaper, mostly novels. Coffee calms me down and also excites me."

"Mm."

Victor asked, " Jiang Xueming, you seem to be quite wary of me."

Jiang Xueming explained, "When you're out and about, you always feel a little uneasy."

It had only been three minutes since the [sparring match] officially began.

The coffee dripped from the filter into the shimmering White Lady solution.

Victor picked up the topic of [unease] that Xue Ming had brought up.

"It's like when a teacher randomly picks students to recite Lu Xun's essays in class. You happen to remember every word of 'Wild Grass,' but you still feel a vague sense of unease, right?"

"That's a peculiar way to put it." Xue Ming looked at the liquid in the coffee cup. "Mr. Victor, could you explain that in detail?"

"This feeling of unease has two aspects. One possibility is that the teacher might not ask for 'Wild Grass' at all, perhaps they intended to ask for 'Hot Wind,' something unexpected." Victor couldn't find a spoon and seemed troubled by the countertop.

Jiang Xueming immediately understood the meaning and began searching the cabinet for cutlery with Victor. He continued, "Yes, I'm on this train, and I'm afraid of all sorts of unexpected trouble suddenly appearing."

Mr. Victor, while searching, finished his thought. "The second aspect is that you've memorized both collections, but the teacher just pretends to call on you and never actually calls your name."

"Exactly. I've prepared so many things for this journey. If they end up being useless, it feels like a waste of time." Jiang Xueming found a pair of chopsticks. " Victor, are you going to stir the coffee? Is it okay to use chopsticks? There are no spoons here."

"No, that won't do." Victor's eyes were kind as he explained wholeheartedly. "A spoon is a spoon, and chopsticks are chopsticks. Like the essays, they can't be confused. Even just the stirring method can change the taste of the coffee."

This meticulous and serious attitude gave Jiang Xueming a strange sense of familiarity.

"Mm, you're right."

The next second, Jiang Xueming froze, speechless.

Because he clearly saw that on the table beside Victor, the coffee, which had been a chaotic mess of fluorescence, milk stains, and various brown specks, had been stirred.

When they had looked down to find a spoon and then looked up again—

—in just those few tens of seconds—

—the coffee was already stirred.

For a fleeting moment, protected by the Spirit Clothes, Xue Ming's senses were enveloped in layers upon layers of Spirit Clothes material, yet he could still feel—

—that something beside Mr. Victor had helped him finish stirring the coffee.

Just now, Xue Ming had vaguely seen a faint, whip-like outline in the steam rising from the teapot. It looked like a tail.

It was like a soft, boneless serpent, a spirit snake made of brilliant crimson flame. The tip of its tail was shaped like a frivolous, flirtatious peach heart, just lifted from the coffee cup.

This extraordinary surge of inspiration made Jiang Xueming involuntarily vigilant—it seemed some kind of demon had possessed Victor.

"One is done. I'll let it cool a bit while I make the second cup," Victor said, continuing to fiddle with the container. "It'll probably take a few more minutes."

Jiang Xueming stopped initiating conversation, content to be a listener.

As Victor busied himself at the counter, he spoke again about empathy.

"Actually, I'm just like you, Jiang Xueming—my life is filled with so many feelings of [unease]."

"I write novels for The Sun Times. Every time I start writing, that feeling of unease comes. It's like a god has its hand on my throat, but it doesn't kill me completely."

"When I submit my manuscript, I worry if it will be rejected, or if it will be published without edits."

"In this suffocating panic, only when the draft is finished and revised do I feel like I've grasped a lifeline and climbed ashore, finding brief peace. But that peace doesn't last long."

"Because immediately, a stronger sense of crisis washes over me."

"Does anyone care about my work?"

"No way? There isn't a single person, is there?"

"Seeing no congratulatory letters from readers, or not even a single comment, not even a bad one, makes me increasingly uneasy."

"Every time I see other popular publications, I'm shocked by the ingenious ideas in those works and by their authors, which makes me even more uneasy."

"My mind races, and I rack my brain, trying to figure out how to steal their readers, whether by hook or by crook, to plunder them with my words."

"As long as someone responds to me, even if it's criticism that's as foul as a dog's mouth, I'll be as happy as if I'd eaten a caramel macchiato, finding it sweet and satisfying. That's the response I get when I open my heart, and it allows me to examine my inner self better. Thank you, Jiang Xueming, for listening to all my complaints."

As he spoke, time had also passed—

—Victor turned around, holding the second cup of coffee behind his back.

"Jiang Xueming, when we venture underground, we'll encounter many dangerous and terrifying things. Just defending constantly, this feeling of [unease] will only grow stronger and slowly drive you mad."

"I'm a Senior Passenger at the station, a predecessor to you. BOSS also wants people like us to find opportunities to guide passengers, to teach you how to survive in this underground world."

"From my own experience, the secret to staying clear-headed amidst this [unease] or [madness] isn't something that can be achieved through pure logic or deliberation."

In just a moment's inattention, Jiang Xueming missed Victor's magic trick again.

By the time Victor turned back to tidy the plates, the second cup of coffee was also stirred. He hadn't seen a spoon the entire time.

Victor spoke softly, leading the way ahead, describing it kindly.

"I overcome my inner fears through writing. Those horrifying monsters or spiritual calamities, those chilling and bizarre phenomena—they all ignite my creative desire and continuously fill me with courage. Therefore, I believe finding something to anchor your courage to is very important. I've prepared a gift for your friend."

Jiang Xueming: "Is it this cup of coffee?"

Victor: "More important than coffee."

"I should thank you on behalf of my friend," Jiang Xueming replied sincerely. "It seems he's very fortunate to meet you on this train."

Victor emphasized: "As long as your observation skills are sharp, opportunities for luck are everywhere. It's just that most of the time, Lady Luck favors the brave."

The two walked forward, deeper into the carriage.

However, the surrounding passengers were suffering greatly. They were huddled everywhere in the carriage, almost like stacked dominoes, with some even climbing into the luggage racks, curled up in dark corners.

At this moment—

—Bu Liuxing barely covered his eyes.

He was certain the manuscripts on the table must be some evil wizard's spellbook. Otherwise, why would his hands and eyelids completely disobey him?

In this silent battle, A Xing felt his mental energy being depleted at an alarming rate. It was as if he hadn't slept for days, yet his body remained in an excited state, refusing to rest.

"Don't look, don't look at it, don't look at it!" he repeatedly warned himself, not to commit anything against knightly etiquette.

But it was as if a cat in heat lived within him; the desire to peek at the manuscripts could not be extinguished.

He hunched over, burying his head in his lap, trying to fight the fear of losing control. He wanted to distract himself in the dark environment, to hide from the illusions.

Just then, a rustling sound rudely pulled him back to reality.

Driven by intense curiosity, he suddenly raised his head, involuntarily looking at the table—the sound was coming from the tabletop!

"What is it? What's there?!"

He leaned in to get a closer look, and when he saw the strange object on the desk, his soul nearly departed his body.

The neat manuscripts were wrapped in a black envelope, only its unsealed, thick edges exposed.

Beside a small box of wax seal, about a dozen plump mice were squatting, gnawing at the envelope of the draft.

Excluding their tails, they were nearly twenty centimeters long, each one overfed.

What Bu Liuxing heard was the sound of these glossy-furred, fat mice gnawing at the manuscript.

Before he could even shout "Beasts!"

A Xing gritted his teeth, grabbed the desk lamp, and swung it fiercely. The phosphorescent stone on his chest spewed out crimson flames, like burning rage.

The swarm of rats descended into chaos, squeaking amidst the shattered glass of the lamp. They seemed drawn by some delicious food, scattering and regrouping under Bu Liuxing's fierce blows—

—even as some rats were reduced to pulp, the others, as if under a spell, unafraid of the threat of death, pounced on the black envelope one after another.

"You animals! You're going to get me killed!" A Xing held half a lamp base, his face a mixture of shock and fury.

He snatched the envelope from the swarm of rats, seeing the dense bite marks covering the black envelope, which made his scalp tingle. Many rats were still clinging to it.

He swatted them away one by one, knocking off the rodents eagerly demanding more. As he did, other rats, using the force of his blows, bit fiercely into his knuckles. They didn't just take a piece of flesh; they clung on, grinding their teeth and sucking blood from the wound!

He gritted his teeth in pain, squeezing the creature in his hand until its eyes bulged and it lost strength. He then threw it to the ground and crushed its head. Only then did the fearless rats quiet down slightly.

The envelope had been relatively intact before. The slaps he'd delivered had torn several large holes in the cover page of the manuscript, allowing glimpses of the main text's title.

"What am I going to do? What am I going to do!?" A Xing looked frantically at the tattered manuscript in his hands. "There's no way I can explain this now!"

He lowered his head, intending to find some rat corpses to prove his innocence. But then he suddenly noticed that the "rat meat biscuits" that had been on the carpet were almost gone.

A few fragments of carcasses were immediately dragged under the bed by other rats, disappearing into deeper shadows.

They had trampled through the bloodstains from Victor's arm, making the floor and carpet filthy. The traces of rat-guts splattered by his stomping boots were no longer recognizable!

"Victor, I'm sorry," Bu Liuxing said, both annoyed and wronged. "I don't think you'll believe me no matter how I explain it now."

His hands trembled as he picked up the envelope and pages. He thought carefully—what kind of story could make these rats, unafraid of death, seem enchanted and driven mad, trampling over their companions just to get a look?!

He hesitated for just a moment before averting his gaze from the dreamlike, bewitching forbidden text.

"David · Victor, if these rats are some dirty trick you used in the Knight's Tournament to frame me—to accuse me of peeking at your manuscript, of looking at your backside—then you've underestimated me!"

A fierce fighting spirit ignited in his eyes—just like what A Xing had said when he first met Xue Ming.

"I feel a fire burning in my chest, a passionate emotion about to erupt!"

He stuffed the letter into Spirit Clothes, pressing it tightly against his chest, and then suddenly flipped over the bed in the studio, taking the iron frame with it.

"This isn't a [Tournament·Knight's Duel] where we fight to the death—"

The rats under the bed scattered in a panic, but then sensed the forbidden text's presence and began to gather, as if to show off their ferocity, baring their sharp teeth at Bu Liuxing.

He hunched down, his eyes darting with the scattered rats, finally locking onto his target.

"—but a [Tournament·Championship] where I must defeat my immature self to claim the final championship. I've already got it by the throat."

His bare hands were torn apart by the ferocious rats in an instant, leaving bloody wounds on his thenar eminence and wrist.

He suddenly grabbed three of the large, scurrying rats tightly in his hands.

The rats in his hands twitched unnaturally, trying to swallow, but his thick fingers choked their throats.

Fragments of the manuscript's envelope wrapper were spat out, only to be bitten back into their mouths. These creatures seemed bewitched, continuously repeating the swallowing motion.

Victor pushed open the studio door, and Jiang Xueming followed him in.

The two of them immediately smelled a strong scent of blood upon entering.

A Xing was kneeling on the ground before the manuscript, piecing together the last fragment of the envelope. Behind him lay dozens of rat corpses, arranged in neat rows, like trophies brought back from a battlefield by a knight.

The entire carriage had been turned upside down. In just a few minutes, he had torn the workspace apart with brute force, leaving little furniture behind.

—The rats had nowhere to hide.

His hands were covered in bite scars, some so deep that bone was visible.

Before he even looked up, his soft murmur could be heard.

"David · Victor, the victory is decided!"

He placed the final fragment, and the rhodonite on his chest stopped glowing.

"Our duel is over. Let's talk about the logbook in the cabinet!"

At that moment, Bu Liuxing rose to his feet.

He came forward with his bloodied fists, ready to let Victor experience his 1.93-meter reach and his 90-kilogram punch.

His fist was like a siege cannonball!

There was no longer any fear in his heart, no more of that inexplicable pressure.

The gust of wind from his punch, carrying flecks of blood, stopped abruptly before Jiang Xueming's nose.

At that moment—

—A Xing saw Jiang Xueming's silent gesture to hush, and instantly calmed down.

"What's going on? Brother Ming? Why are you standing with this guy?"

Jiang Xueming, holding a cup of White Lady coffee, first brought it to Victor's lips to check for poison. Then, he offered the same cup to A Xing.

"Drink this, and it'll heal the wounds on your hands. This Victor gentleman is a Senior Passenger from the station. He just told me a lot about you—whatever grievances you have, you can discuss them after you drink the coffee."

Victor felt both disappointed and happy—

—The reason for his disappointment was that this kid really hadn't looked at his manuscript. The manuscript, like an author's backside, was so unappealing that even its most alluring parts were ignored, making it a complete failure.

—The reason for his happiness was that BOSS had assigned Senior Passenger the task of helping train passengers, and it was finally complete.

This mixed emotion was precious. He immediately picked up his pen and, in the messy, dilapidated studio, began to write furiously, recording this feeling.

"After more than two hundred failures, finally, an ordinary passenger has passed this trial. Perhaps my experiences adventuring in the underworld as a Senior Passenger have made my standards too harsh."

"But I was lucky, favored by the goddess of fortune. I can prove to BOSS that this extreme high-pressure simulated training is effective. This kid did very well, separating the two matters like '[chopsticks are chopsticks, spoons are spoons]', clearly calculating and handling them beautifully."

"But there's one thing I need to correct you on. Bu Liuxing, if you ever meet another weirdo like me elsewhere next time, you should beat them up first before considering making a bet with them."

Teacher Victor's face darkened as he looked at the studio, which resembled the aftermath of a tornado, and repeatedly emphasized this to Bu Liuxing.

"You're too straightforward, too easy to fool. This kind of passionate and intense feeling makes me want to cry—you can easily take apart my bones and put them back together with Panacea. To think you'd go this far for this match, for this promise. While you have knightly spirit, repairing my studio isn't that simple."

"Huh?" Bu Liuxing scratched his head and tugged at Jiang Xueming's clothes. "Ming Ge, what is Teacher saying?"

Jiang Xueming didn't turn back. He found a relatively intact chair from the carriage and sat down just like that.

"He's praising you."