Chapter 21: Demon Arena (19)
“Come in.”
Tang Mobai welcomed Yan Wuzhen into the room enthusiastically. Yan Wuzhen’s expression, however, was still sour. “Let’s make one thing clear first—if you don’t have a realistic chance of escaping this place, I’m not joining your plan.”
“Of course, of course.”
Thanks to the coins he had won from Yan Wuzhen, Tang Mobai had successfully moved out of his old shabby room—and brought along a large piece of luggage.
The moment Yan Wuzhen stepped inside, he spotted Deville sitting quietly in a corner. He raised an eyebrow.
“Why is he here?”
“Uh, he’s our… teammate, I guess?”
He wasn’t really sure. Tang Mobai couldn’t command Deville; the man’s daily routine was so mechanical it was like someone had programmed it into him—fight in the arena, buy bread, come home, rest.
The only change was that Deville now split his bread with Tang Mobai every day. Thanks to that, Tang Mobai no longer had to suffer through the awful slime meals from the cafeteria. Still, when they slept together at night, he couldn’t help but feel like the bread-sharing was some sort of “overnight fee.”
Maybe it was because they’d been together for a while, but when Tang Mobai moved, he just couldn’t leave Deville behind. Anyway, the room was big enough for two.
Yan Wuzhen didn’t comment. From the look in his eyes, he probably assumed Tang Mobai had somehow managed to win Deville over.
Deville was a veteran of the arena—a madman, yes, but an undefeated one. Even Yan Wuzhen’s cheated win record couldn’t compare. Having someone like that on their side raised the success rate of any plan significantly.
Still… why was there only one bed?
Yan Wuzhen glanced at the single bed in the room but said nothing, sitting down cross-legged instead. “Alright. What do you want to ask?”
“Oh, wait, lemme think…” Tang Mobai pretended to recall something. “Right—first, about me personally. The revival match isn’t held inside Lost Paradise itself, but in an independent world, right?”
Yan Wuzhen shot him a surprised look—not because the question was sharp, but because it was so basic. “Yeah. All revival matches are conducted in other worlds. They didn’t even tell you that?”
“Cough—well, they’re not online all the time…” Tang Mobai scratched his head awkwardly.
In reality, this was part of a prearranged cover story. The experts in the real world had decided to have the government pose as the mysterious “guild” backing him. To explain Tang Mobai’s ignorance about basic things, they’d set it up so he was only a minor pawn, not an insider.
Of course, he couldn’t admit that outright. On the surface, he was just a nobody lucky enough to be noticed by a big shot. Believe it or not!
Sure enough, when Yan Wuzhen’s expression darkened, Tang Mobai quickly added, “But they still care about me. Really. They’re just… busy for now. Once things settle down, it’ll be fine.”
That earned him a cold, mocking smile. Ah, yes—classic scumbag talk. From the start, Yan Wuzhen had guessed right: Tang Mobai’s mysterious patron wasn’t reliable. He just hadn’t expected the kid to still be defending them.
But it wasn’t his problem. When Tang Mobai inevitably got dumped, he’d be there to kick him while he was down.
“You should know most frontline demons in Lost Paradise receive missions, right?” Yan Wuzhen said, restraining his impatience.
“Mm… exploration of other worlds or something?” Tang Mobai guessed.
He really didn’t know much. He’d only gone through one newbie instance—basically an intern-level errand boy—and even that ended in failure. (Sorry, Motherland qwq.)
Yan Wuzhen nodded. “Yeah. They’re assigned to post-apocalyptic worlds to complete missions. Though ‘exploration’ is a nice way of putting it—most of the time, it’s just looting, killing, and destruction. You know how the Sins work. And what better stage for indulging desire than a world already at its end?”
“The title Demon isn’t just for show. We’re the scavengers that descend upon chaos—stealing resources, knowledge, wealth, seducing survivors into hell. Whatever depravity you can imagine, we’ve done it.”
“This world’s the same. Except it’s not undergoing an apocalypse—it’s after one.” Yan Wuzhen pointed upward. “Go outside and you’ll see. Nothing survives out there. It’s a dead wasteland. This tower we’re in was probably repurposed from ruins.”
“This world… is already destroyed.”
Tang Mobai froze, speechless for a long moment before murmuring, “Because of… a Great Demon?”
“No. The real cause wasn’t us,” Yan Wuzhen said flatly. “Think of us as flies—drawn by the stench of a dying giant. Can you really blame the flies for the giant’s death?”
“This world was once the birthplace of alchemy. But that’s ancient history now. Even the raw materials for alchemy can’t be found here anymore. The alchemical items circulating in Lost Paradise today are made by demons who inherited the craft and reproduce it using substitutes found in other worlds.”
Tang Mobai blinked. “Substitutes?”
“Yeah. Take mercury, for example. There’s also something called Miao Silver—very similar in properties, though not identical. Mercury is essential for alchemy, but Miao Silver can replace it to some extent, after enough refinement.”
“Why not just use mercury, then?”
“Easier said than done.” Yan Wuzhen sneered. “Only a handful of worlds still produce true mercury. Their native powers are strong, and supplies are scarce. The raw materials that do reach Lost Paradise are monopolized by the Jade Society. Almost none of it leaks out.”
Tang Mobai didn’t react much—but the expert team watching from reality did. One of them jolted upright, eyes wide. “That’s it!”
“Calm down,” Wang Yuanzhi said quietly.
“Yes, sir…” The man sat down again, though excitement still burned in his voice. “It’s basic knowledge that different worlds—different planets, even universes—have entirely different geological and biological compositions. That leads to completely unique resources and ideologies. But—”
He pointed at the data on the screen. “We’ve found multiple alchemical symbols identical to those in Earth’s alchemical texts, and they’re also mentioning mercury—whose description perfectly matches ours. This suggests the structural similarity between Earth and this world might be extraordinarily high! Maybe even a shared origin, diverging at some point in history!”
“If that’s true, then their alchemy might actually work on Earth!”
While Tang Mobai had been fighting for his life, the experts hadn’t been idle. Whenever he was safe, they’d tune into other streams to gather intel. In one tech-oriented world, they’d even discovered a new ‘law of physics’—only to realize later that it didn’t exist on Earth at all. Meaning any invention based on it would be useless here.
That harsh lesson taught them how vast the gap between worlds truly was. Even now, they couldn’t explain how the energy in those spiritual talismans worked—let alone replicate them.
Only then did they understand why Lost Paradise required “appraisals” of every imported item: only objects acknowledged by the system could function properly across worlds. Tang Mobai’s gun, which somehow still worked here, was pure luck—he’d landed in a world almost identical to Earth.
This made alchemy infinitely more valuable. The experts were already poring over alchemy texts and decoding tower symbols overnight.
“Mr. Wang, we should contact Tang Mobai immediately,” one said urgently. “Tell him to gather as much alchemical knowledge as possible. If this really was alchemy’s birthplace, traces of it must remain—even after destruction.”
But Wang Yuanzhi only shook his head. “No. The top priority is still survival. Don’t issue any orders that might distract him.”
“But he’s safe for now!”
“He’s still in the revival match. That’s not safe.” Wang Yuanzhi’s tone was steady. “We have time. Don’t rush.”
The others fell silent.
Did they really have time? Debates over Lost Paradise and the infinite worlds still raged in higher circles, and as project leader, Wang Yuanzhi bore crushing pressure.
Then another researcher spoke up suddenly. “Actually… maybe survival and alchemy aren’t separate goals.”
He pointed at the screen. “This world was the cradle of alchemy, and the arena itself is covered in alchemical symbols. Are we sure the revival match’s rules are unrelated to alchemy?”
*
“Alright,” Yan Wuzhen finally said, “you’ve had your curiosity satisfied. Now tell me—what makes you think you can even survive the revival match?”
Tang Mobai’s gaze flickered. “Uh… I’ll explain tonight.”
“…Why tonight?” Yan Wuzhen frowned, then caught the glance he threw at the live-stream chat. “Ah. I see.”
[Huh? Why can’t he tell us?]
[So we’re getting cut off now? 🙁 ]
[Man, these revival match streamers have zero transparency. One star!]
[LOL, what do you expect—we’re just background noise anyway.]
[No more betting odds? Come on, someone start one! Will this revival match finally break the 0% success streak?!]
[I bet he won’t.]
[Same.]
[Hey, if everyone bets ‘won’t,’ the system won’t even open!]
[Please, even Qiong failed, and she was the most promising one yet. These losers are doomed to rot here forever.]
[True. I almost thought she’d make it that time—almost.]
Tang Mobai hadn’t even thought that far. Honestly… he had no idea how to clear the revival match.
So please, I’m begging you—external support team, do your thing!!
While waiting, he continued pressing Yan Wuzhen for more intel about Lost Paradise and the Infernal Hells, feeding every bit of it to the experts.
Yan Wuzhen sighed. “No one’s ever gotten this much information out of me before.”
Tang Mobai smiled carefully. “Should I say it’s an honor?”
“No,” Yan Wuzhen replied, grinning dangerously. “You should know that if you ever dare screw me over… you’re dead.”
Tang Mobai: “…”
Time slowly passed as they continued their Q&A. When it was almost time for the livestream to end, Tang Mobai hurriedly memorized the information that the expert team had sent through the barrage of comments.
When the stream closed, Yan Wuzhen, who had been reading quietly in the corner, lifted his head to look at him. An oil lamp beside him cast a dim, flickering glow across his face.
Yes… this was the right kind of atmosphere, wasn’t it?
Yan Wuzhen was just about to speak when he noticed that Deville—who had been sitting silently in the corner—suddenly moved. Without a word, he walked over to Tang Mobai and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Yan Wuzhen: “…”
His gaze flicked toward the single bed in the room, then back to Tang Mobai—his expression slowly shifting.
“Wait—huh?!”
Tang Mobai flailed. “There’s a reason for this! Really! We’re just sharing a bed to save money—don’t get the wrong idea!”
“I’m not misunderstanding anything,” Yan Wuzhen said with a faint smile. “It’s just—sharing a bed every night, moving houses and still bringing your roommate with you, being able to let someone guard your back in a place like this… of course, I believe you.”
No, you don’t! You’re absolutely mocking me!!
“I was just thinking,” Yan Wuzhen added lightly, “maybe I’ll mention it on tomorrow’s stream…”
“Don’t you dare—!” Tang Mobai almost did the classic “reaching hand of despair,” before remembering that his so-called “romance subplot” wasn’t even real. It wasn’t like he and Deville had actually done anything—just innocent bed-sharing roommates! And even if there were something between them, it’s not like the state would punish them for it.
Instantly, he straightened up with sudden confidence. “Hmph! Go ahead, say whatever you want! Let’s see if they believe you or me!”
That confident, huh?
Yan Wuzhen gave him a long look, then sighed and let it drop. “Enough nonsense. You can tell me your plan now, right?”
“Of course.” Tang Mobai exhaled softly, bent down, and pulled a new oil lamp from under the bed—his own purchase, of course, since Deville never bothered with such things. But there was no way he could calmly sit there, being hugged from behind while explaining a plan to another man, so he had prepared a second lamp in advance.
Before he could hand it over, Deville moved again.
Tang Mobai lit the new lamp and awkwardly pried himself free, pressing it into Deville’s hands. “Be good, go to bed first.”
He said it in the same soothing tone one uses with a child—he’d gotten used to caring for the man—but failed to notice the way Yan Wuzhen’s expression twisted into something between disbelief and horror.
Deville took the lamp but didn’t look happy; he froze, as if shocked at being “abandoned.” After a long pause, he sulked back to his corner.
When Tang Mobai turned back, Yan Wuzhen was staring at him with a complicated expression. “What?”
“Nothing.” Yan Wuzhen hesitated, then said, “I’ll admit it—you’ve got guts.”
Unlike Tang Mobai, a clueless newcomer, Yan Wuzhen knew exactly who Deville was—the mad gladiator who’d won every single battle. He’d seen that blood-drenched frenzy up close. Whatever Tang Mobai was doing to live peacefully beside that man, it was nothing short of suicidal bravery.
Tang Mobai: “???”
Forget it. He steeled himself and steered the topic back.
“Don’t you think the fourth rule of the arena is… strange?”
Yan Wuzhen recalled it instantly.
Rule #5: Only the living present on-site have the right to vote. (Refer to Chapter 3)
“What about it?”
“This rule has two conditions,” Tang Mobai said thoughtfully. “ ‘On-site’ likely refers to the arena itself. And ‘living’—that’s the second key. If there’s any place where tricks can be played, it has to be in those two words.”
Ever since he’d heard it, his instincts had been screaming that if the so-called “moderator” of this Revival test were to tamper with anything, this was the perfect loophole.
Yan Wuzhen looked at him in surprise. “That’s it? You think no one’s ever noticed that before?”
“I’m sure they have,” Tang Mobai said, “but why haven’t they succeeded?”
“The first condition—being alive—has an obvious loophole,” Yan Wuzhen said. “If only the living can vote, then just kill everyone else, right? Problem is, everyone thought of that. No one could do it.”
He traced the metal collar at his neck. “These aren’t just symbols of slavery—they’re protection. According to the seventh rule, masters/NPCs overseers must protect their property. We’re their ‘property.’ They have to ensure the Revival trials proceed smoothly. That’s why we have all those restrictions—no leaving the room at night, no killing each other outside the arena.”
Tang Mobai nodded. “Ever since 009 said that line, I’ve never even wanted to go out at night.”
Thinking back, it was strange—why didn’t anyone try? Even when death was certain, no one risked sneaking out, no one tried to fight for a chance at survival. It was as if that single command had erased the very possibility of defiance from their minds.
The expert team had warned Tang Mobai about this—a kind of cognitive suppression. It chilled him to the bone. No matter how violent the fights were, the cafeteria lines were always perfectly orderly; everyone was polite, disciplined, hygienic. No one ever tried to ambush an opponent or even break the rules.
“But I succeeded,” Tang Mobai said softly. “That’s why you’re sitting here now. The rules aren’t perfect. If there’s a loophole, there’s a way out.”
“…Easier said than done,” Yan Wuzhen muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Then show me. Prove it.”
“I can’t. Not yet. It’s only a theory—but one we can test. The rules are rigid. If we go around them, we might win. For example, right now, everyone’s locked in their rooms. If we use something like laxatives or explosives—not directly to harm anyone—we might bypass the restrictions.”
“Hold on,” Yan Wuzhen interrupted. “Even assuming that works—how are you going to drug everyone? And how much do you even have left from before?”
“That potion needed precision mixing,” Tang Mobai admitted. “None left. So explosives might be more feasible. I saw sugar on the exchange list—we could use that to make black powder.”
“Wait—wait!” Yan Wuzhen rubbed his forehead. “You can’t just make black powder from sugar! And even if the rules don’t forbid destroying the building, the place is practically indestructible. People have tried—it doesn’t even scratch, and NPCs catch you immediately—”
“I know.” Tang Mobai nodded. “The walls shouldn’t be that strong by nature. I think they’re reinforced with alchemical matrices. I can try to disrupt them. We don’t need to collapse the whole place—just block others from entering the arena during the vote.”
That was, in fact, the strategy the expert team had deemed most viable.
“You know?” Yan Wuzhen suddenly snapped. “You can read these alchemical symbols?!”
“Uh… only a little.” Tang Mobai’s eyes flicked aside. Of course he couldn’t. The experts could—barely. Even they had only matched a few symbols to old records, enough to guess at meanings.
Still, that was fine. They didn’t need to be alchemists; they had science. Engineers might not understand magic, but they understood buildings. Under their direction, Tang had spent the last two days wandering the tower collecting data, allowing them to reconstruct most of its blueprints and identify where the alchemical nodes likely were.
Yan Wuzhen’s expression shifted again—suppressed excitement flickering in his eyes. Of course. If this mysterious “guild” coveted alchemy, of course they’d have people who could interpret it.
Suddenly, the impossible plan didn’t seem so far-fetched. His mind began racing, filling in logistical details.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s refine this plan…”
“Uh, Yan Wuzhen?”
“Wait—let me think.”
“No, seriously—does the oil lamp… have a quality issue?”
“That’s impossible,” Yan Wuzhen said absently, still deep in thought. “Since this arena was built, there’s never been a single issue.”
But there were three lamps burning in the room now—and he hadn’t noticed one of them flickering.
Tang Mobai swallowed hard. “What if there is a problem, but no one noticed because the people involved died?”
That made Yan Wuzhen finally look up. His pupils shrank as he realized—every lamp in the room was flickering.
The next second, all three lamps went out.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
