Chapter 13
The place where the name “Jiang Jitang” had originally been written used to bear another name, but once those three characters filled the space, the original name vanished. On the black sheet of paper, a humanoid mass of black mist appeared. It lifted an ink brush as long as itself and drew a heavy stroke across the paper.
Death sentence.
Jiang Jitang locked eyes with that haze across time and space. Goosebumps erupted all over his body; he felt an uncanny chill.
I can’t win.
The mist itself, along with the apocalyptic and enormous negative energy behind it—merely perceiving it for an instant was enough to plunge one into despair. Even though he was born rebellious and loved challenging authority, his first reaction was to restrain his aura for self-preservation.
His enemy was not the person holding the paper, but rather the overwhelming darkness backing that person. It felt the same as the time he stood before the power of the Divine Temple—small as an insect.
His nerves were intensely stimulated; murderous intent surged.
“As long as my brain remains intact for three seconds, I can revive…” The frenzied thought refused to be suppressed. Deicide… now that’s something I’m very interested in.
“That person pulled out a special kind of paper. Do you know what that is?” He grabbed a disinfectant wipe and cleaned the blood off the table, trying to calm himself.
“I think it came from $^%* of #^$#^. It’s possible $^&$@& might show up too.”
Great—more bleeped censorship.
Jiang Jitang was already suspicious. Now he was even more certain: the rise in suicides and accidental deaths, the crazed youths looking for people to play games with, his mother’s subsequent death… all of these people were directly linked to this censored “little secret.”
“Can I add you on Feixun? We’ll talk online.” He didn’t intend to ask further. Their roles were unclear—say too much, make more mistakes. (Tnote: Feixun = Messaging APP)
A paper that could kill someone in a predetermined manner, simply by writing on it… even in a fictional world, that would shake the very foundations. Just what sort of monster lurked behind it?
And prior to this, he had been living in such a world—ignorantly and unaware.
If one day that creature decided to stop hiding and masking itself, what would this peaceful world turn into?
“My surname is Han—Han Shuo.” Han Shuo lowered his posture.
The young man freshly out of university before him was the only person who could heal him—no, the only one who possibly could heal them. He wasn’t even the worst case; there were worse. They didn’t have much time left.
“I’m Jiang Xingzhou, the $*%#^ regional head of Nan Jiang. We were one family five hundred years ago. Here’s my card—our branch address is on it. Come visit.”
The middle-aged woman extended a friendly hand. She didn’t know Jiang Jitang’s true situation, but if she could secure him, it’d be a massive gain. If not, there was no need to become enemies.
As Jiang Jitang suspected, not only their organization but also others had extremely scarce healing-type items. And the fact that he dared to use his skill at a time like this meant it wasn’t some one-time artifact.
Someone in possession of such an item—weak now, they were a potential rising star; but upon growth, they would become a strategic-level weapon. If he entered the “game” with them, survival rates would increase.
After adding both of them on Feixun, Jiang Jitang stood up and walked to the door. Suddenly, he looked back: “If I were an ordinary person, how would things turn out?”
“We have a special fund. Ordinary people don’t know the truth, but after some time, compensation payments from the ‘Elderly Car Crash Incident’ will be deposited.”
Jiang Jitang nodded and left.
Mystery born from the unknown—under the watchful eyes of the two government employees, he left the police station. A moment after he exited, they headed straight to the real branch office.
“If Brother Zhang had come today, it would’ve been great. His hand… sigh.” Han Shuo clutched his chest; there were people who needed treatment more than he did.
“Don’t dwell on it. Do your best to win him over. I think he might have a multi-use healing item. Old Zhang still has hope.”
Everyone became busy, and Jiang even more so. He increasingly felt fragile, like cardboard—utterly without a sense of security.
Power. He needed more and stronger power.
“I need more Wishing stars.”
The speech bubble seemed to sense his thought. A line of text popped up:
[Daily tasks have been updated. View now?]
“View.”
Ten minutes later.
“Pretty similar to the previous ones. As long as this world hasn’t worsened, getting what they need isn’t hard.”
Jiang Jitang sat on the sofa, holding a warm cup of red date tea. Who knew if it replenished blood, but its mild sweetness softened his whole body.
In front of him, the speech bubble panel was open, displaying the orders.
Today’s regular orders:
Task 1: Please purchase cold-resistant items for the villagers: at least four winter quilts and four spring/autumn quilts. Budget: 120 copper coins convert to 240 yuan. Note: Use leftover funds to buy some cotton-padded jackets. (Difficulty 
, Countdown 13:28:44)
Task 2: Please purchase one pair of fire steels for the villagers. Budget: 8 copper coins converted to 16 yuan. Note: For ignition. (Difficulty , Countdown 12:33:09)
Task 3: Please purchase motherwort, millet, and brown sugar for Hua-niang. Budget: 362 copper coins converted to 724 yuan. Note: Much appreciated. (Difficulty , Countdown 15:14:11)
Jiang Jitang looked at the projection clock—9:55 AM. Three regular orders, no special tasks.
The first one: 240 yuan for four winter quilts and four spring/autumn quilts, with enough left for jackets…
Leftover?
What gave this wisher the illusion that this amount would cover quilts with money left over for jackets? He remembered that cotton batting was expensive in ancient times.
Even today, quilts weren’t cheap—unless second-hand.
This task target seemed different from the usual ones. He didn’t know what standards the system used to assign targets.
Skipping that order, his eyes landed on the last one. That was what he cared about.
It wasn’t about ratings or potential—he personally cared.
Motherwort: activates blood, regulates menstruation, removes stasis. Often used for period pain or postpartum lochia. The combination of motherwort, millet, and brown sugar often appeared in postpartum or post-miscarriage care.
Hua-niang—an old term for a prostitute or singing girl.
He couldn’t help but think of the members of the Witches’ Sisterhood. Many of them were women who were rescued and became powerful. Having witnessed hell, they shattered societal chains, pursued strength, and fought for status, power, wealth, and everything that came with it—just like men.
Their beauty must have been sharp.
Their spells and blades even sharper.
But becoming strong—does that make it stop hurting?
“I really hope she’s buying these just to treat menstrual pain. She doesn’t need to leave a good review.”
“Meow-hum.” Golden Eye didn’t understand. It only saw that its great and mighty master lived like an ant every day—busy, but making little difference to the world.
“Master, aren’t you tired?”
“Actually, I quite like this kind of life.”
He came from the aristocracy but betrayed them. The rebellion he led was the nightmare of noble houses across nations. The ferocious mask he wore could stop children from crying at night.
Jiang Jitang admitted he wasn’t a ‘good person’ in the traditional sense.
No—he was the very image of a ‘villain’ in the traditional sense. He didn’t allow anyone to stand above him, didn’t bow his head, never stopped until his goal was achieved, and cared nothing for sacrifices.
All of these traits were forbidden in the magical world.
Because like forces repel, he despised those like himself. Though royal families across nations were linked by blood, he never hesitated to kill distant relatives.
He liked those who were pure and sincere—but that didn’t mean he treated them kindly.
The person closest to him was Parsons. More than half of the knights under Parsons died by his hand; all of Parsons’ commanding officers and relatives were wiped out.
Even their initial “association” stemmed from premeditated scheming.
Standing here now, looking back, he saw a ruthless demonic hero—and also a wretched, beaten version of himself. Neither loved, nor capable of loving.
Things were different now. Life wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t suppressed by terrifying powers or infringed upon endlessly.
This is what I really want.
Perhaps each delivery had little significance, and the task targets were nobodies—mere dust of history. But what did it matter? They provided enough emotional value.
That was extraordinary for him.
Jiang Jitang decided to fulfill the last order first.
Coincidentally, the morning market hadn’t closed. He could catch it.
The local farmers’ market sold more than vegetables. Along the roadside were vendors carrying baskets of medicinal herbs—cheaper than pharmacies. But quality varied; one could find bargains or get scammed. Whether it was profit or loss depended on one’s eye.
Sure enough, in an alley by the market, he found several vendors selling herbs spread out on plastic sheets. He examined them one by one, tasted small pieces, and finally picked a stall.
The seller was a man in his sixties or seventies. While weighing the herbs, he said, “These are wild motherwort picked straight from the mountains and sun-dried. Pricier, but high quality.”
Indeed. His motherwort was priced at 16 yuan per jin, whereas the stall next door sold it for 9. But his were unsulphured, uncut whole plants with flower buds—premium white-flower motherwort. (1 jin = 500 grams)
He bought ten jin. After discount: 150 yuan. Packed into sealed bags.
After that, he had 574 yuan left.
He then bought brown sugar and millet. Conveniently, this region was one of the brown sugar production areas—made from locally pressed green sugarcane. He bought 20 jin directly from the sugar workshop: 280 yuan.
The millet came in sacks—20 jin for 160 yuan.
Riding his bike, he transported everything home.
On the road, surveillance cameras of the Skynet system were lit. His every move was spread under the sun.
But Jiang Jitang stayed calm. Only when he got home did he store the items in the task backpack. Since healing had already been exposed, he wanted to delay revealing anything else.
As he was leaving, he glanced at the house next door. The fat auntie’s home was now hung with black mourning couplets.
She had truly died. Everyone looked regretful.
When someone dies, all is forgiven. Even if there had been conflict, one could only remember the good. Besides, the fat auntie had always been generous and fair, always considering her neighbors.
“My condolences.”
People comforted Old Jin and the fat auntie’s dumbstruck son. Old Jin shed no tears; he just suddenly looked much older, his spirit drained.
[Mom, if anyone invites you to play a game sometime soon, don’t agree. A dangerous game has hit the market—it’s said to cause psychological distress. Don’t worry, I won’t play either.]
After turning off his phone, Jiang Jitang walked in another direction.
In the torrent of fate, what else can ordinary people do besides protect themselves and mourn?
The order wasn’t fully done. After buying motherwort, sugar, and millet, he still had 134 yuan. Jiang Jitang decided to take a shortcut.
He went to a pharmacy and bought a motherwort-based tonic paste, supplemented with saffron, donkey-hide gelatin, and other medicinal ingredients—using up all the money to the last cent.
But in his system, there was still a gift he could give worth one-tenth of the purchase value.
He entered a Western pharmacy made of three adjoining storefronts: “Do you have one-pill-a-month contraceptives?”
The clerk, who had been looking at her phone, gave him a suspicious look: “For men?”
He shook his head. “No.”
A smirk of disdain appeared in her eyes—seeing him as an irresponsible playboy. But she still brought the medicine: “One pill per month, five pills per box.”
“Any discount if I buy more?”
“???”
Jiang Jitang remained smiling, calmly meeting her probing gaze.
“Five boxes, after discount: 74 yuan.”
“Is 72 yuan and 40 cents okay?”
“…Fine.”
What poor girl got stuck with this boyfriend? Making her take contraceptives while being stingy… If he weren’t attractive— Okay, fine, he was very attractive. But you couldn’t eat good looks.
While she cursed him relentlessly in her mind, her hands moved swiftly, handing him the bag with the medicine.
“Thank you for your purchase. 72 yuan and 40 cents.”
