Chapter 88#

You Look So Cocky#

Sang Chiyu sped through the narrow alleys. Without any backup to guide his route, he had to find his own way. In the Paradise, there were no living creatures besides him and Su Ruhui; everything else that moved was a puppet created by Su Ruhui. Even though Sang Chiyu lacked any interest in that talkative fellow, he occasionally couldn’t help but wonder why the man had locked himself away in this secluded Paradise, living day and night with these machines. The weather system of the Paradise was entirely controlled by Su Ruhui—it was clearly midnight, yet Sang Chiyu saw a round sun rising in the distance. The sky turned a faint blue, a color so pure it looked like the glaze on fine porcelain.

Mystic Art: Heavenly Eye.

“Is my Paradise pretty?” Su Ruhui’s voice chuckled through the communicator.

Through the vision of the Heavenly Eye, Sang Chiyu looked down upon this massive Paradise as he rode. Wooden buildings rose and fell in jagged rows, stacked together like building blocks. Puppet pedestrians resembled ants, weaving through the narrow streets and alleys. These puppets were set with their own movement patterns, living their lives day after day just like real people.

Simultaneously, he saw countless puppets on Blackbird motorcycles closing in on him from all directions. Each motorcycle carried two puppets: one to control the steering and another holding a firearm. At the next intersection, he was about to collide head-on with a motorcycle squad! Sang Chiyu jerked the handlebars; the tires screeched as they skidded against the ground. He drifted, turned, and ducked into a long, steep descending mountain staircase. The puppets converged behind him, chasing his tail.

In his earpiece, Su Ruhui chattered incessantly, taking it upon himself to introduce the scenery as he passed it.

“That’s the largest gambling den under the Bliss Pavilion. Why not go in and take a look? The innermost hall has Russian Roulette. If you win, you can get a one-day tour voucher for the Begonia Moon Residence. Wow, don’t be so cold, you won’t even give it a single glance?”

Sang Chiyu leaned low, his chest pressed tightly against the cold body of the motorcycle as bullets whizzed past his ears. He drew a shotgun from beneath his trench coat, turned back, and fired. The recoil of this gun was enough to shatter an ordinary person’s shoulder, yet he held it with one hand, his other hand firmly controlling the motorcycle. The buckshot hit several puppets; their Blackbirds spiraled out of control and crashed into the buildings lining the mountain stairs. He raised his gun and fired again, the bullet hitting a motorcycle’s fuel tank. The bike exploded, and the buildings erupted in flames, swallowing the following motorcycles in a sea of fire.

“Alright,” Su Ruhui said. “My gambling den just got blown up by you.”

More motorcycles charged out of the inferno, trailing surging flames as they pursued Sang Chiyu. He reached the bottom of the stairs, drifting and fishtailing. The Heavenly Eye operated silently as he quickly planned the optimal route. He chose a dark, narrow lane, cutting into the darkness like a fierce blade. The puppet pedestrians in the alley cried out in alarm, dodging in all directions.

“The teahouse in Tea-Water Lane uses the most expensive Zhengshan Xiaozhong tea. Go in and have a taste!” Su Ruhui recommended energetically.

“The barber shop under the Great Compassion Temple… I think a bald head would really suit you.” Su Ruhui laughed loudly.

Sang Chiyu didn’t say a word.

Finally, Su Ruhui said, “The way you ignore me is so cocky. What am I going to do? I think I like you even more now.”

The road ahead ended, and the roar of motorcycles behind him grew louder. Sang Chiyu rode directly into a flour warehouse, drawing his blade at the same time. He didn’t activate the electric current; he held the blade low at his side, slicing open the sacks of flour stacked in the warehouse. White powder filled the entire space. He held his breath and crashed through the warehouse’s wooden wall. Behind him, the flaming Blackbirds and puppets chased him into the warehouse. The flames ignited the flour floating in the air; sparks flared, and a violent explosion occurred instantly. The shockwave shattered every window on the street, hurlsng Sang Chiyu and the Kawasaki motorcycle outward. Sang Chiyu activated the Instant Shadow Displacement art, flashing to a spot a hundred meters away the moment the flames were about to engulf him. The Kawasaki was consumed by the fire, turning into scrap metal.

Most of the Paradise consisted of wooden buildings; its owner had a strong taste for ancient Chinese style. The fire spread rapidly, turning the entire street into a sea of flames. Charred puppet pedestrians were strewn everywhere, while some, oblivious to the pain, walked around covered in fire, still executing their programmed routines.

Su Ruhui, in the earpiece, was clearly feeling complicated. He sighed. “The Kawasaki motorcycle I bought for eight hundred thousand, my Tea-Water Lane, my bionic puppets… do you have any idea how much money all this cost me?”

Sang Chiyu climbed up from the ground. The acceleration caused by the impact was too great; even with the flash displacement, he couldn’t avoid the collision. His forehead was cut, and blood blurred his vision. Faint green fluorescent dots surfaced beneath his skin—the self-healing factors in his demon blood were repairing his body.

He continued walking with a limp, but after a few steps, he had returned to normal.

“People say cats wreck houses, and it’s clearly true,” Su Ruhui said.

“Quiet.” Sang Chiyu’s tone was ice-cold.

He furrowed his exquisite brows; it seemed Su Ruhui’s incessant babbling had finally pushed him past his limit.

“You wrecked my house and you’re still being so mean? Look around you; my expensive Paradise has been turned into a junkyard by you.” Su Ruhui gave a sleazy laugh. “Don’t think you’re walking out of here. I’m going to open a cat café, and you’re going to be my star attraction, selling your body to pay off your debt.”

Sang Chiyu stopped paying attention to him. He was getting closer and closer to the Calculation Center. He looked down at his watch; there was only one hour left.

He passed a building with a pink sign, and Su Ruhui enthusiastically introduced it again: “This is the Begonia Moon Residence. The ladies inside use the latest bionic prosthetics I developed—one hundred percent coverage with artificial muscle. They feel no different from a real person. Their massage techniques are excellent; why not go in and try?”

Sang Chiyu walked past Su Ruhui’s “Begonia Moon Residence” without looking sideways. A scantily clad woman winked at him, calling out “Brother Sang” in a pinched voice. His excellent eyesight allowed him to identify the model of muscle on that woman—pneumatic-drive muscles capable of lifting three hundred kilograms with one hand. A single hug from that female puppet could crush him into meat paste.

Expressionlessly, he raised his gun, and a bullet hit the female puppet square between the eyes.

Ten minutes later, Sang Chiyu stopped. Ahead was the stone archway of the Bliss Pavilion, his original destination. Su Ruhui was no longer at the Bliss Pavilion, but the shortest path to the Calculation Center required him to cross the Pavilion’s main hall. Dozens of iron puppets painted in colorful oil stood directly in front of him. Their crude faces showed no expression, yet their still, watchful posture held a predatory air.

These were the thugs of the Bliss Pavilion.

Sang Chiyu prepared to draw his gun.

Suddenly, the thugs parted to create a path. A puppet coated in bright red paint walked over carrying a tray, stopping in front of Sang Chiyu. On the tray sat a plate of fried dried fish, a plate of salmon sashimi, and a cup of steaming goat milk.

Sang Chiyu’s hand on the gun paused.

“I fried the fish myself, sliced the salmon myself, and heated the goat milk myself,” Su Ruhui said with a grin. “It’s all stuff you kitties like to eat. Don’t be polite; replenish your energy before the fight.”

Before Su Ruhui could finish speaking, a brilliant, lightning-like vertical line sliced through the red thug puppet. The puppet was split into left and right halves, falling to either side. The tray was also split in two; goat milk spilled all over the ground, and the little fish and salmon fell onto the filthy pavement. Sang Chiyu held his blade and walked forward, his tactical boots stepping right over the dried fish. The crispy fried fish were crushed into fragments, making a crunching sound.

Su Ruhui made a “tsk” sound. “You aren’t stepping on dried fish; you’re stepping on my heart.”

He snapped his fingers.

The thugs swarmed forward. The front row opened their mouths, spewing surging torrents of fire. Sang Chiyu flashed instantly, a gun in one hand and a blade in the other, moving through them like a gale. Every bullet was fired with unerring accuracy into their mouths. The bullets ignited the flamethrowers, and the thugs exploded one by one. Thugs suddenly appeared on the floors above, machine gun barrels poking through the railings with a clattering roar.

Sang Chiyu looked up and didn’t move.

Mystic Art: 100-Refined Steel.

Bullets struck Sang Chiyu’s body at six hundred rounds per minute; the impact forced him back. The bullets the puppets used seemed to be specialized; they burst into clouds of multicolored oil paint upon impact. Once the belt of ammunition was spent, Sang Chiyu remained unscathed. The thugs scrambled to change the ammo belts, but with the continuous fire interrupted, Sang Chiyu had already appeared behind them, taking out their control centers one by one.

“Just how many Mystic Arts have you swallowed?” Su Ruhui wondered. “Are you a game of Snake?”

Sang Chiyu checked his watch; thirty minutes left. He turned and entered the Bliss Pavilion. The Bliss Pavilion was actually the manufacturing base for the Paradise’s puppets. Inside the building, many chains moved through the air, hung with naked bionic puppets. Sang Chiyu walked deeper. Beneath a massive puppet recycling machine was a pit for scrapped puppets; bionic puppets were sent into a grinder, and mechanical ones were dismantled. In the pit specifically for scrapped bionic puppets, there were many male puppets that looked identical. Their smooth, handsome faces were expressionless, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Su Guanyu suddenly appeared in the Bliss Pavilion, looking up at the puppets hanging on the chains. Their exquisite faces were all the same—there were countless “Su Guanyus” on the chains.

Sang Chiyu didn’t look sideways, brushing past Su Guanyu and continuing forward.

Su Ruhui sighed. “I have no choice. I’ll just have to sacrifice the house I spent so long building.”

He snapped his fingers again.

“Detonate the Bliss Pavilion.”

The voice command was issued, and five demolition points were activated simultaneously. Intense flames burst through the doors and windows from all sides. The roar of the explosion echoed through the Paradise. The shockwave caused passing puppets to fall apart, and the high-rise of the Bliss Pavilion instantly collapsed, crumbling downward with destructive force.

High-explosive charges, with a detonation velocity as high as 9,500 meters per second; even 100-Refined Steel could not withstand it.

Inside the central laboratory of the Calculation Center, surrounded by glass curtain walls, eighteen monitoring screens simultaneously played the explosion of the Bliss Pavilion from various angles. The entire high-rise had collapsed; even if Sang Chiyu wasn’t blown up, he would be crushed to death. As the footage continued to play, Su Ruhui’s voice suddenly rang out: “Pause. Enlarge one hundred times.”

The image was magnified, and a point of light appeared within the flames.

“Analyze the light point.”

The system spoke: “Analysis complete. That is light refraction caused by a Space-type Mystic Art.”

“I was careless. This guy has a Space-type Mystic Art. He probably didn’t use it before because the Calculation Center was too far for him to jump. The straight-line distance between the Bliss Pavilion and here is only one thousand meters. What is the jump distance of the lowest-level Formless Gate?” Su Ruhui asked.

The system replied: “One thousand meters.”

“…” Su Ruhui said. “I’m screwed.”