Round Fall Again: Lose Once More
Foreword:
People say I have three idols: Jesus, Marx, and Freud, but that's just a formulaic statement. In fact, reality is my only idol.
--Pierre Paolo Pasolini
[Part 1 - Afro]
"I never expected to find the master tapes of film master Pier Paolo Pasolini, along with a complete set of filming equipment, in a place like this."
Inside the Curiosity Museum, a flamboyant man with an exaggerated afro, wearing 1980s-style tight bell-bottoms and a diamond-studded jacket, looked at the exhibits in the display cases and muttered to himself.
"What is it? A screenplay? Is it 'Violent Life'? Is it 'Medea'? Or 'Little Fairy Marisa'? Is it 'One Thousand and One Nights'?"
He approached the display stand, his sunglasses revealing a pair of emerald green eyes, as beautiful as jewels.
"Oh! It's The Decameron-- "
At this point, the guest Five Fingers fiddled with his mustache, his raised buttocks finally returning to a normal standing posture, his expression turning utterly bored.
"--Boring! Dry and boring famous works! I thought I could find some rare and exotic items, but it's all these representative works that have been read tens of millions of times."
The man with the afro immediately caught the attention of the tour guide, who came to his side.
"Sir, do you have any comments on the contents of the Curiosity Museum?"
With his hands on his hips, head held high, and a sharp, sidelong glance, he declared, "Not just have opinions, but have very strong opinions."
He pointed to the works in the cultural and art exhibition hall—
"--Does this place only contain well-known, cheap goods? Is your so-called 'rare' items merely meant to bring middle school students to a museum to learn about the pinnacle works created by the most famous stars in the history of art?"
Is the "rare" status solely determined by the work's ability to generate revenue?
"I want to see something special, something new, something unknown, something unconventional and bizarre."
The tour guide looked troubled, unsure what to say. This guest was a first-time visitor to Cruise Ship No. 4, and newcomers were not allowed into the Human Museum. As for the other exhibits, most of the treasures were things that were considered valuable by the average person—well-known and popular works. To appeal to the masses, the exhibits needed to be recognized for their worth by the majority.
"Excuse me, sir, this is your first time on Cruise Ship No. 4. You do not have permission to enter our area."
At this point, the tour guide paused, as if the term was rather ambiguous.
Human Museum
"Wait a minute." The man with the afro suddenly became interested. "Is this [Human Museum] you're talking about the kind I'm thinking of?"
During the westward expansion of the United States, there were many mysterious circuses that traveled along the Pacific Railroad to the West Coast.
They set up camps along the villages and towns, performed everywhere, and adopted many deformed people, such as women with three breasts, tall giants, short dwarfs, conjoined twins with one body and two heads, and strongmen who looked like monsters.
These sensual performances are often accompanied by various intermission erotic dance performances, turning into a series of blood-pumping, grotesque shows.
Human Museum are one such example. In order to make more money, people born with deformities have become sought-after commodities, transforming them from the weak into the strong in society. As a result, circus managers began to domesticate humans as animals.
They broke the limbs of black slaves, creating the disabled; they turned people of various races, or even prisoners captured by burning, killing, and looting, into deformities; they burned their faces with chemicals or flames, tormented their minds, drove them insane, and finally threw them into Animal Pen for guests to visit and admire.
The man with the afro was very interested in this kind of performance.
--The tour guide leaned close to the guests and handed them a black promotional poster. The content on the poster was exactly the same as the circus tabloid advertisement from the westward expansion movement two hundred years ago.
"Wow!" The man with the afro lifted his sunglasses to examine the poster closely. "The layout and design of this poster have taken me back to that era; it's a work of art in itself!"
"Uh," the tour guide said, not quite understanding what "going back to that era" meant, taking it as a compliment from the guests.
The man with the afro then asked, "How much membership fee do I need to pay to participate in the exhibition? I want to become a VIP here!"
The tour guide naturally wouldn't miss such an opportunity to make money. According to the usual procedure for regular customers to apply for VIP status, it costs 48,800 yuan. If it's a new customer who can't wait to ask about the Human Museum, then the price will be raised to 488,000 yuan.
Managers' sales strategies are ruthless like this.
For people, the value of the thing itself is far less than the anxiety brought about by that "impatience".
The things you can't buy are always the best, and the goods still traveling towards you in the logistics system are always the most beautiful.
If they needed to find a pornographic film immediately to solve their immediate problem, they would not hesitate to take out their wallets and give the money to the film seller.
This impatience is the key to making money.
The tour guide, who had only been working for six months, felt inexplicably guilty every time she quoted that price. Her manager always said she was brain-damaged, because business is a matter of mutual consent.
The man with the afro waved his hand, and as if by magic, pulled a black card, HC, from his sleeve.
"--Pay the card here! I need to leave immediately and see the contents of the Human Museum as soon as possible. I can't wait!"
The tour guide, somewhat dazed, thought, "Everything's fine." Cruise ship number four had always been the White Shark Association's weakest money-making venture, compared to arms sales, medical services, the sex industry, and entertainment gambling—
--This ship is only designed to satisfy the peculiar tastes and curiosity of distinguished guests. Occasionally, some pretentious young noblemen will bring their female companions to discuss romance and nature, as if talking about these artists can highlight their wealth and elegant demeanor.
George Joshua left the fourth and fifth seals of the Gate of Death on this ship. He never intended to make money from the Curiosity Museum; he mainly intended to use it to house extremely dangerous and high-value units as Animal Pen for psionic research.
Within a minute, the tour guide had already returned the VIP card to the man with the afro.
"Sir, I'm sorry, there's a slight problem with our accounting system."
The man with the afro asked, puzzled, "Huh? Why?"
"It's probably because the rain was too heavy," the tour guide explained. "The Chaos Egg doesn't seem to want to work; it's probably due to today's fireworks show and all sorts of pheromones that it's stressed out."
The Chaos Egg, like a living POS machine, can also malfunction due to spiritual pressure. It was the battle between George Joshua and Glory that triggered its stress response.
"You're not taking my money, and you're even giving me a card? Is there really such a good deal?" the man with the afro asked suspiciously. "Why?"
"Because," the tour guide said with a smile, "When you arrived on Chairman George Joshua's ship, you insisted that you could come up with a price of 488,000—when the manager received your HC (cash gift), he treated you like a tycoon, like a distinguished VIP! He trusts you!"
This was entirely just polite talk from the Curiosity Museum manager. If this guy really couldn't come up with the money, Cruise Ship No. 5 had plenty of ways to send this swindling guest to get "cash."
"Excellent service! So heartwarming!" The man with the afro withdrew his embarrassment and asked the tour guide to lead the way, "Take me to your secret garden, I can't wait."
At this point, the tour guide was about to leave. She wasn't in charge of the Human Museum's exhibits, so she summoned another cruise ship butler, who was the manager's top assistant at the Curiosity Museum.
The assistant, standing seven feet tall and resembling a robust bear, removed his thick felt hat and bowed respectfully as he walked from the exhibition hall corridor to the man with the afro.
"I am the assistant to Manager Damien of Cruise Ship No. 4. Dear guest, you may call me ' Dashan '--"
As he said this, Dashan reached out and took a ruby from the necklace through his brown hair at the nape of his neck.
"--This is my talisman, and also a very important item. It carries my aura. Some strange things may happen when you visit the Human Museum, but don't worry, it will protect you."
The man with the afro looked up and saw that the necklace had more than a dozen stones, all of them artificial pyroxene jewelry. He then shook hands with Dashan and took the red stone.
At that moment, a lively chatter could be heard coming from the reception bar of cruise ship number four.
The conversation gradually turned into cheers, arguments, and muffled groans of punches and kicks.
A clumsy man rushed into the display case, his head covered in blood, completely drunk. His hair was stained red with blood, and his face was covered in shards of glass.
This man was none other than Clark Sean, a reckless and stubborn young man who was gathering information from people in the reception bar, but everyone on the No. 4 cruise ship knew where this Guangling Zhixi soldier came from.
Most of George Joshua's retainers were outlaws, and many were petty thieves whom Clark had personally sent to prison, so naturally they wouldn't give this soldier a friendly look.
Clark's cousin from the fighting gang made a bet with Clark: a drinking contest. If Clark won, the Clark to see Manager Damien —if he couldn't find Todd, he could at least ask Damien for information about Radish's whereabouts.
Clark drank a full 1,500 milliliters of whiskey, winning the drinking contest fair and square.
But it seemed that the cousin of the War Gang did not intend to keep his promise, so Clark barged into the exhibition hall to find the tall and burly assistant Dashan.
"I need to go to the Human Museum! Assistant Dashan! I need to go to the Human Museum! I need to see Manager Damien! I need to speak with him!"
Clark looked horribly horrified. His head was still bleeding, his face was covered in shards of glass from being hit with a bottle by the gang's thugs, and he was in excruciating pain. The rising smell of alcohol in his stomach had also made him delirious.
"Who is this guy?" The man with the afro completely removed his sunglasses this time, his bright green eyes hidden in the messy strands of his afro, as if he had seen a precious work of art, a gem that was rarely seen in the world and was perfectly flawless.
Dashan's assistant stood in front of the distinguished guest, ignoring Clark Sean, and explained to the guest.
"This is a soldier from Guangling Zhixi named Clark Sean. He's tired of living, so he came to Cruise Ship No. 4 to look for someone."
Clark Sean, hunched over and clinging to the arm of Dashan assistant, was practically a lump of mud.
"--Do me a favor, please. I just want to catch someone."
Dashan grinned and said, "This guy is too dedicated! He actually thought of asking the White Shark Association to help catch criminals. What kind of business is this? Asking the boss to help catch his own employee? Hahahaha!"
"What do you want me to do? If I get promoted and become a centurion, I'll help you too! You talk to Damien!" In that instant, Clark seemed to understand the narcotics squad leader's feelings. "As long as Damien helps find the person! I'll definitely work for you guys after I rise to power!"
Without power, he is nothing; he has to fawn over high-ranking officials of the criminal underworld in order to find out where Radish is.
He lost again, and gradually he was about to lose everything, even his fighting spirit.
[Part ② Follow me]
"Get out!" Dashan kicked Clark in the stomach.
Clark rolled away, his eyes bulging, but he immediately got up, enduring the nausea and pain, and crawled back.
"Take me to see Damien! Why? Why should this guy see Damien?! Why?!"
He seemed to have lost his mind, pointing at the man with the afro behind Dashan.
"Is he a criminal too? Is he your VIP? How many people has he preyed on? How much money has he made for you?!"
Clark was furious. After boarding the No. 4 cruise ship, these "middlemen" who walked the line between the law and reality repeatedly mocked him. They didn't commit crimes directly, but the criminals had to obey their orders.
Clark was completely helpless against them; he couldn't even produce a search warrant.
At this moment, looking at the diamond-studded jacket on the man with the afro, and at his ostentatious and extravagant accessories, he thought to himself, why is this stupid society so unfair? He had risked his life for the warband, and only the gunsmith and the instructors at the training camp had taught him how to survive. But hard work and happiness were not at all equivalent.
He charged at the man with the afro, but was blocked by the Dashan and took another solid punch.
The punch nearly shattered his jaw, causing him to cough up blood. Despite this, he mustered all his strength to activate his spiritual body, transforming into a weak, feeble thread that gradually transformed into two fingers, which he used to rip off the afro-haired man's hood!
"Damn it! You rich people deserve to die a horrible death!"
Clark, true to his idiotic tradition, transformed into a raging beast while drunk and irrational.
Dashan wanted to continue his assault, to completely shatter Clark's skull, to smash the kid's jaw and teeth into his brainstem, but in that instant—
--A scorching and terrifying tide of psionic energy surged from behind.
A scorching red arm grabbed Dashan's fist and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Clark Sean
David Victor threw off his wig and mask, furious. His carefully crafted disguise had been seen through in an instant by this drunkard.
"No matter who you are, your courage to overcome the strong with the weak has won me over."
Dashan's expression changed drastically, his face suddenly turning grim and terrifying— the Detective King had actually appeared on Chairman Joshua's ship?!
Victor peered over the Dashan's massive frame, emerging from under his armpit, and reached out to Clark Sean, who lay sprawled on the ground.
This is our first meeting, and I hope you can face reality. I will continue this journey with you.
The menacing gaze sobered Clark considerably. When he recognized Victor's Detective King, he seemed to realize something—could it be that many VIP units from various stations had already arrived at Lieyang Fort? Had Ming De not abandoned this place?
The Dashan stood ready, its thick fur peeking out from its neck, almost reverting to its original form. The assistant bared its teeth, and deep, guttural roars emanated from its powerful chest.
The landline phone by the wall suddenly rang. Judging from the bright orange indicator light on the phone, it was Manager Damien calling.
While keeping a wary eye on Victor, Dashan retreated. This Blood-giving Monster had heard of the Detective King's reputation and naturally knew how powerful the [Hell Highway] was.
He answered the phone.
"Let them in."
Damien's voice brought a strange sense of peace to Dashan. If that was the case, everything would be much easier. He, a mere lackey, wouldn't have to directly confront the might of the Detective King.
A pot of piping hot White Lady coffee cured Clark Sean's jaw.
The impatient and impulsive young man got up and saw Mr. Victor leaning on his back, his buttocks sticking out, glaring angrily at the dark doorway in the distance.
Dashan's assistant changed his demeanor, becoming smug, smug, and confidently certain of victory.
"Manager Damien said that the Human Museum never picks and chooses its guests—"
"Please follow me, distinguished guests!"
With a rough, open hand, a giant man nearly 210 centimeters tall led the way for the two of them.
Clark Sean then realized just how foolish he had been!
Controlled by alcohol, out of his mind, completely enraged, he actually tore off Mr. Victor's mask?
Now that Victor's identity has been exposed, how will this Detective King deal with the monsters and demons on Cruise Ship Number Four?!
"Mr. Victor!" Clark Sean was completely sober, pale and covered in cold sweat, realizing the enormity of his mistake. "Mr. Victor, I... I..."
"I have a student who gets into trouble just like you," Victor said. "Getting into trouble isn't so bad, Clark Sean."
"What's terrifying is when consciousness is conquered by regret and pain, leaving the soul in the past, never able to take the next step."
"As Pasolini once said, people often discuss, mistakenly believing, that he had three idols."
"It is Jesus, Marx, and Freud; the sacred authority of religion, the sacred authority of politics, the sacred authority of the mind."
"That's just a formulaic statement; idols don't exist."
"The only thing we can truly grasp is reality."
The Dashan remained standing, filled with apprehension.
He was wary of Victor, fearing that the VIP might change his mind and leave.
But Manager Damien was such a shrewd and cunning man that he had almost completely grasped Victor's character.
"This is a duel of knights." Victor walked into the enemy's trap without hesitation. "I am a Red Stone People, and I will not refuse such a challenge. Clark Sean, if you want to find the answer, find the crucial clue, find that carrot—"
"--Follow me!"