Chapter 35: The Hunger Games
At this point, whether you stick your neck out or shrink back, it’s still a knife either way.
After thinking it over all night, Tang Mobai finally decided to take the risk.
Before leaving, Yan Wuzhen said, “Actually, you could try contacting the Watchtower Guild. Didn’t the guild leader say he owed you a favor?”
“He already gave us the safehouse, didn’t he?” Tang Mobai replied. “I mean, I could probably ask him to lend me some points, but it feels like that would use up the favor entirely—and that’s not what I want.”
“Our situation’s already dangerous enough. The ones watching us aren’t just from the Jade Society. As an alchemist, you’d definitely attract the interest of other guilds too.” Tang Mobai lowered his lashes. “When we don’t even know who’s friend or foe, having a potential ally is crucial. And with allies, reciprocity matters—it can’t just be one-sided taking.”
Yan Wuzhen shrugged. “Suit yourself. Even if you don’t go, I will. That’s a lot of money on the line.”
Tang Mobai nodded, then turned to Seth.
Seth tilted his head, avoiding his gaze. “You could just order me to go, you know.”
Tang Mobai blinked. “But I don’t want to order you. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”
“Let’s just go. We’re teammates, aren’t we?” Seth said, looking away, then strode out the door first. “Besides, I need points for repairs too.”
“Huh? Weren’t you already fixed?” Tang Mobai looked him up and down. When they’d returned to the safehouse earlier, Seth hadn’t looked nearly as wrecked as after the revival match.
“That’s just the surface,” Seth shook his head. “A lot of internal systems—especially my weapons—need to be rebuilt. Costs a fortune in points.”
“Oh… okay.” Tang Mobai really didn’t understand cyborg mechanics.
“Are you two done chatting? Are we going or not?” Yan Wuzhen barked impatiently, striding ahead. Why were they chatting like high schoolers on a picnic? Since when had they gotten so close?
“Coming, coming!”
The Demon Casino was located on the right side of the Hunger Hell—part of its infamous “sin street” for gambling, drugs, and vice. The moment Tang Mobai stepped in, a riot of neon lights nearly blinded him.
Along the street were dimly lit clubs with suggestive posters, doorways lined with scantily clad men and women—and, to his astonishment, beast-eared girls, aliens, even dinosaurs.
Wait. Dinosaurs???
Tang Mobai froze in front of a huge poster. The creature on it looked like a Tyrannosaurus—if a Tyrannosaurus had long legs, red knee-high boots, a seductive grin, and a steel pole between her claws.
Big bold letters read, “Dino-Girl Pole Dance Show – 00:00”
Tang Mobai: Crap. I really wanna see that.
“…That’s your kink?” Yan Wuzhen looked back, expression pure disdain. “Now’s not the time for this. Move!”
Tang Mobai hurried after him, muttering, “But it’s a dinosaur… dancing for me! Wait—is that a real dinosaur?”
“No, of course not. Modified. The cosmetic surgery industry in Lost Paradise is top-tier—this whole district’s a gold-sink. You can change into anything you want,” Yan Wuzhen said offhandedly. “Man today, woman tomorrow—or even that dinosaur on the poster, if that’s your thing.”
“…Do a lot of people go for that?”
“Mostly the ones walking the Lust path—or Gluttony.”
“Gluttony?”
“Yeah. Especially here in Hunger Hell. Most Gluttony types end up as casino regulars.” Yan Wuzhen stopped walking. “Anyway, this—” he gestured at a magnificent three-story building glittering in gold and light—“is the second biggest money pit here: the Demon Casino.”
Crowds moved in and out, faces alight with manic excitement. Near the back, Tang Mobai saw someone practically naked, being thrown out after losing everything.
“…Why are you standing so far away?” Yan Wuzhen shot him a flat look.
“Force of habit,” Tang Mobai said, eyes darting nervously around the casino’s dazzling floor but feet edging away from danger.
“Stop gawking like an idiot. Get in here!”
Yan Wuzhen grabbed him by the collar and dragged him inside. Seth followed quietly behind.
The moment they entered, Tang Mobai’s senses were overwhelmed. The air pulsed with emotion—ecstasy, despair, madness. Different gambling tables hosted every kind of game imaginable, but every face bore the same feverish expression. The intensity of emotion seemed almost physical, like black whirlpools swirling in the air, ready to swallow anyone who lingered too long.
He glanced up. Giant screens hung above them, all showing live feeds of revival matches: the Demon Arena, the Murder Cruise, Battle Royale, even the Heaven’s Butcher Restaurant. Each time a contestant died or failed, the casino erupted in cheers or curses.
So that’s what we were to them back then, Tang Mobai thought. A bet.
At that moment, a masked attendant appeared silently behind them and bowed slightly.
“Honored guests, the manager is already waiting for you in the VIP lounge.”
“The Demon Casino’s eyes really are everywhere,” Yan Wuzhen muttered, then looked at Tang Mobai. “Let’s go.”
They were led to the second floor—quieter, lined with guild representatives. A few glanced at the three obvious freelancers with curiosity or suspicion, but no one made a move.
“Please relax, gentlemen,” the attendant said with a polite, almost arrogant smile. “Even if your identities are known here, no one would dare cause trouble in the Demon Casino. This isn’t the slave market—we don’t give the Jade Society that kind of face.”
Tang Mobai shot Yan Wuzhen a questioning look. Is this casino really that powerful? But Yan didn’t answer. His demeanor had shifted the moment the attendant appeared—smiling, alert, every word calculated. The information broker was back on duty.
The VIP room was as lavish as the hall below—but what caught Tang Mobai’s eye was the man waiting for them on the sofa.
A man… with a rabbit’s head.
Yes. A literal rabbit. Snow-white fur, bright red eyes, a tailored black suit. The rabbit-man stood up and greeted them warmly.
“So these are the fine talents who cleared the revival match! A pleasure to finally meet you. You truly live up to your reputation. I’m the manager of the Demon Casino’s Hunger Hell branch—but you can just call me Mr. Rabbit.”
Tang Mobai couldn’t help staring at the rabbit ears twitching as he spoke. “Uh… are those real?”
“Of course! Would you like to touch them?” Mr. Rabbit obligingly lowered his head.
Before Tang Mobai could reach out, Yan Wuzhen caught his wrist. Smiling politely, he said, “Mr. Rabbit, we’re short on time. Let’s get straight to the point—may we collect our reward now?”
“Ah, still as straightforward as ever.” Mr. Rabbit sighed. “Don’t worry. Our casino would never withhold a prize. Our reputation is our greatest asset—ten thousand points is nothing.”
Yan Wuzhen’s business smile didn’t waver. “Of course. I trust the Demon Casino’s integrity completely. So—when can we receive it?”
“Right now, if you like. Though there’s a small issue…” Mr. Rabbit pinched his fingers together, leaving a tiny gap. “According to the broadcast, the prize should be split among the three of you. The question is—do we divide it evenly, or by contribution…?”
“No need to trouble yourself. Just deposit the full amount on one card—we’ll handle the split ourselves.”
“Well, well. Looks like you don’t trust your friendly neighborhood rabbit.” He sighed dramatically, pulled a black-gold card from his pocket, and handed it over. “Here you go—ten thousand points.”
That was… surprisingly easy.
“However,” Mr. Rabbit continued, “since we’re not exactly friends, I must follow procedure. According to casino regulations, whoever claims the largest jackpot will be publicly announced across all of Hell—in real time.”
The three fugitives: “…”
“It’s true,” Mr. Rabbit added quickly, seeing their expressions. “You can check the casino bylaws yourself. I’d never deceive you. It’s not my choice—just policy.”
He even pulled up the official rulebook. Yan Wuzhen skimmed it, and his face darkened instantly.
Damn. It was real.
If they took the prize, it would be like broadcasting their exact location to every guild in the underworld—Jade Society included. Even if Tang Mobai had paid to hide his coordinates for the day, there were definitely spies in the casino. The moment the announcement went live, they’d be hunted down.
Yan Wuzhen glanced sharply at Mr. Rabbit again. He’d said earlier that the Jade Society couldn’t act without his permission. Meaning, with it—they absolutely could.
“Ahem. Of course we’re friends! We’ve worked together so many times,” Yan Wuzhen said smoothly, instantly changing tone. “So, as a friend—what do you suggest?”
“Not a suggestion,” the rabbit said with a playful smile. “More of a… proposal. Since you haven’t decided how to divide the prize, why not settle it through a game?”
“A game? Or a bet?” Tang Mobai asked.
“Both,” Mr. Rabbit replied. “This is a casino, after all. But don’t worry—it’s just a simple little pastime unique to Hunger Hell. Surely you’ve heard of the Hunger Game?”
After listening to the explanation, Tang Mobai roughly understood the rules. It was similar to Truth or Dare, except instead of a dare, refusing to answer meant eating a “special” food.
The problem was the food. It didn’t fill you up—it made you hungrier.
In Hunger Hell, going without food for a few days was enough to drive a person mad. In this game, that process was condensed into three meals.
The more you ate, the hungrier you became. Your stomach filled up but your mind screamed for more—until you kept eating and eating, driven insane by hunger, until your stomach ruptured and you died.
The thought made Tang Mobai suddenly think of binge eating disorder.
“Of course, the rules are simple,” Mr. Rabbit said cheerfully. “The game ends as soon as someone gives up. And since this is a bet, I’ll join in as well. If I’m the one who loses, the prize money doubles—twenty thousand points, transferred to your account immediately.”
“If any one of you admits defeat, the remaining two will immediately receive the full prize. The one who surrenders will not be punished in any way. I won’t take part in the prize distribution. If, however, all three of you surrender and I’m the only one who wins, your bonuses will unfortunately be forfeited — though that’s a very unlikely scenario.”
“As long as I’m not the final winner, I’ll also offer you an additional delayed broadcast service: the news that the prize has been claimed will only be released after you’ve completely left the casino. The Jade Society will not be informed of your whereabouts by any means.”
Yan Wuzhen’s mind started racing. At first glance, this sounded extremely advantageous — practically a win-win setup. If Tang Mobai or Seth surrendered right from the start, they could still walk away with at least 100,000 points and delayed broadcast protection. But could the Bunny Manager really be that generous?
“So the one who gives up gets no reward?” Tang Mobai asked.
“Of course,” the Bunny Manager replied. “The prize will be split among the remaining winners, excluding me. As for the one who loses — if the rest of you wish to share a portion with them, that’s your private matter. The casino won’t interfere. Oh, and one more thing — each round consists of four questions. You can only surrender at the end of a round.”
Seth frowned. “And how can we be sure everyone tells the truth?”
The Bunny Manager took out a contract already prepared. “Naturally, through a binding agreement.”
The three took the contracts and examined them carefully. The clauses read as follows:
- No lies can be told during the game.
- No discussing or negotiating during play.
- No use of props or abilities that could affect fairness.
- All parties have an equal chance of winning.
- Any detected cheating makes the cheater the sole loser.
- If Tang Mobai cheats, he must pay double compensation.
- Failure to pay means working off the debt in the Demon Casino.
Yan Wuzhen lifted his head suddenly, glancing at Tang Mobai, who was carefully reading each line. He instantly understood — the Bunny Manager’s true goal was to gather intel on Tang Mobai.
Everyone was curious about who stood behind him — what kind of power, what kind of backer. Was Yan Wuzhen curious too? Of course he was. As an informant by trade, he was probably the most curious person in the room. To him, “information” meant safety — and as long as Tang Mobai refused to reveal his secrets, that aura of mystery gnawed at Yan Wuzhen’s mind. He wanted nothing more than to dig through the boy’s skull and see the truth for himself.
He quickly shifted his gaze toward the Bunny Manager, but all he got in return were calm crimson eyes and that faint, three-petaled smile. Yes — that was the temptation of this game: truth-telling made for the perfect information-gathering setup.
“Oh, right,” the Bunny Manager said cheerfully. “All three of you must sign before we can begin.”
Yan Wuzhen looked at the others — or rather, at Tang Mobai. “What do you say?”
Tang Mobai held the contract with a thoughtful look. “Well… seems like we don’t have much choice, do we?”
True. Accepting the deal was the most strategic move. As long as one of them surrendered, the other two could win easily. So, was he planning to gamble that he wouldn’t be picked in the first round — or win with minimal risk?
Yan Wuzhen pondered. The game carried some danger, but given they still held command over Seth, they were practically invincible. The risk was worth it.
“However, I want to add one more condition,” Tang Mobai said. “Questions of the same category can only be asked once — no matter how you phrase them. For example, if you ask my weakness and I refuse to answer, you can’t ask what I’m afraid of next.”
Yan Wuzhen blinked. True — without that rule, anyone could twist wording to force answers.
“No problem,” the Bunny Manager agreed, snapping his fingers. A line of ink appeared on all the contracts: Questions of the same category may only be asked once.
All three signed. The Bunny Manager stamped the contract with a bright red bunny paw. “Then let the game begin.”
The VIP room’s floor split open, and a square table rose up. It was divided into red, blue, black, and white sectors, each facing a seat. In the center were two clock-like hands — one long, one short.
“Pull the wind-up lever and the hands will spin,” said the Bunny Manager. “To be fair, you’ll take turns pulling it, and I won’t touch the table at all. When the long hand points at you, you’re the questioner; when the short hand points, you’re the answerer. If both overlap, that round is void. Any objections?”
The three signed their names. Tang Mobai silently opened his personal page to confirm — yes, his “Brawler” ability worked even on this magical contract. Meaning, out of the four participants, he alone could lie. But given his limited ability to deceive without getting caught, he could only safely lie once per question type.
The first round began. Yan Wuzhen pulled the lever. The hands spun, then stopped — the long hand on the Bunny Manager, the short on Tang Mobai.
First round — and Tang Mobai was already picked?
Yan Wuzhen and Seth both glanced at him. The Bunny Manager smiled. “What a coincidence. Let’s start with a question everyone in the Infernal Arena is dying to know.”
“Tang Mobai, your lover — which layer of Hell is he from?”
Straight to the heart, huh.
Tang Mobai’s gaze flickered; his ears reddened slightly. Under the truth-binding contract, no one doubted his reaction.
“I… actually don’t know for sure.”
The contract stayed silent — no lie detected.
Yan Wuzhen narrowed his eyes. Even Tang Mobai himself doesn’t know? He’s really keeping it tight. That vague answer meant he did have a powerful backer, but no concrete details. So any follow-up about that backer would likely yield the same vagueness.
The Bunny Manager must have hoped to collect intel — but it seemed he’d failed. Well, of course. Someone that cautious wouldn’t leave an easy opening.
“I see,” the Bunny Manager sighed, his three-petaled mouth twitching. “I didn’t expect that. We thought you were just tight-lipped, but it turns out you truly don’t know. During the revival match, your backer even revealed alchemy secrets for you — everyone thought you two were true love.”
Seth turned toward Tang Mobai, who nodded solemnly. “We are true love. They probably didn’t tell me because, with my current strength, I don’t need to know more. I trust them.”
The Bunny Manager: “…”
They’d just signed the contract, meaning everything said was now genuine truth. But… this? This level of lovestruck sincerity?
The Bunny Manager Rabbitrned to Yan Wuzhen in disbelief — this was the team leader they picked?
Yan Wuzhen looked away silently. Don’t look at me. He came with his own background and connections.
Tang Mobai straightened proudly. The Bunny Manager: Why are you proud of that?!
“Continue,” the Bunny Manager said flatly. First question failed. According to turn order, it was now Seth’s turn to pull the lever. This time, the long hand landed — once again — on the Bunny Manager. The short hand passed over Tang Mobai, skipped Seth, skipped the Bunny Manager himself… and stopped on Yan Wuzhen.
For a second, the air froze. Yan Wuzhen joked, “You again? Is this rigged?”
“Of course not,” the Bunny Manager smiled faintly. “I swear on the Demon Casino’s reputation — everything is decided by fate.”
“Then my second question, Yan Wuzhen.”
He braced himself for something probing — but the Bunny Manager instead asked, “Deep down, do you truly think Tang Mobai and Seth deserve to share the prize with you?”
He had to answer. Refusal would itself count as an answer.
Ah. The rabbit finally showed its fox tail.
For their team, the most profitable plan was to have someone surrender after the first round — that way, two would share the prize and receive cover protection. But that required trust — someone willing to sacrifice their share, believing the others would split it fairly.
Wait — when did we agree on splitting evenly?
Yan Wuzhen felt sweat bead on his forehead. Before entering, they’d only discussed a rough plan. But now, within just a few minutes, the Bunny Manager had subtly twisted it into “equal shares.”
And truthfully — did Yan Wuzhen think Seth deserved an equal cut?
Expressionless, he gritted out one word, “…No.”
Tang Mobai and Seth both froze. Seth’s face went blank — and Yan Wuzhen knew he couldn’t explain or soften it, because the contract demanded truth. Deep down, he didn’t think Seth deserved a third.
But saying it aloud… would split the team.
Of course. That was the Bunny Manager’s goal. To sow discord — and prevent anyone from surrendering in the next round.
He had deliberately chosen that question to show the others that Yan Wuzhen didn’t truly believe in “sharing.” Now, after saying it, Yan Wuzhen knew — he would never voluntarily admit defeat.
So the next target would be—He immediately looked toward Seth, signaling Tang Mobai with his eyes: Before the next round starts, make Seth surrender.
His message was clear enough. Surely Tang Mobai would get it?
Tang Mobai blinked, glancing between him and Seth. Ah — he understood!
He should ask Seth a question, right? Perfect timing!
It was Tang Mobai’s turn to pull the lever. Luck was on his side — the long hand pointed to him, the short to Seth.
Tang Mobai thought for a moment and casually asked, “Seth, why do you always seem like you don’t want to look at me? Are humans unpleasant to you?”
Technically two questions — but Seth replied obediently, “No. I just don’t dare look at you too much. You’re too cute. I might not be able to resist.”
…Huh?
The other three turned toward him instinctively.
Tang Mobai looked utterly shocked. “Can’t resist? Can’t resist what?”
I thought you saw me as a friend — turns out you actually want to sleep with me?!
Yan Wuzhen was completely stunned now. His expression toward Tang Mobai changed dramatically. And you said you weren’t ruled by lust? How could you not even spare a robot?!
“I can’t resist touching you,” Seth said after a glance, then quickly looked away again. His throat bobbed, and his hand on the table gripped the edge tightly, as if truly holding back. “You’re just… too cute.”
Tang Mobai: “?”
Yan Wuzhen: “??”
Is this… lust? No, that didn’t sound right — something was off.
Finally, the Bunny Manager couldn’t help but interject, “Pardon me, but—Seth, what kind of ‘cute’ are we talking about here? The romantic kind, or the friendly kind?”
“Neither,” Seth said, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s… the kind of cute humans feel when they look at small animals.”
Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen both froze, utterly baffled. That answer was far outside anything they’d expected.The Bunny Manager, on the other hand, seemed to catch on. Stroking his furry chin, he said thoughtfully, “I’ve heard that in Mr. Seth’s homeland, automation is so advanced that most humans have been freed from all forms of labor. About ninety percent of the work is handled by robots like you.”
“Ninety percent?!” Tang Mobai’s eyes widened. “Like in sci-fi movies? Wouldn’t that cause chaos?”
The Bunny Manager added, “It’s said the founder of AI in Seth’s world was quite an eccentric. He embedded a core safeguard algorithm into every sentient robot—to prevent them from ever rebelling against humanity.”
At that, Yan Wuzhen frowned slightly, while Tang Mobai still looked puzzled. “A core algorithm? You mean, like what Seth said earlier…?”
The Bunny Manager looked at Tang Mobai. “Exactly. Robots perceive humans the same way humans perceive small animals — they naturally find them adorable.”
Now Tang Mobai really got it. He stared at Seth, completely dumbfounded. I thought you saw me as your master, but you actually see me as a pet?!
Whoever designed that algorithm must have been a mad genius!
…Wait. Actually, it kind of made sense.
If what Seth said was true, humans in his world barely worked anymore — most labor was robotic. That meant robots were affordable, integrated into households, caring for daily life…
In other words — humans were basically their pets.
Think about it: people work all day, then come home to feed, clean, and care for their pets. They buy imported food more expensive than their own groceries, worry about their pets’ moods and health — and when those pets let them cuddle them, it feels like a huge reward.
It matched perfectly. And the robots never complained — after all, no one expected cats or dogs to go out and earn money for their owners.
Great. I thought I was your master, but you see me as a pet?
So in the revival match earlier, everyone thought Seth acted out of compassion — that he couldn’t bear to see humans hurt. But from his perspective… he just saw a bunch of injured fluffy creatures and couldn’t bear not to help?
Then when he looked at Yan Wuzhen—Tang Mobai eyed him thoughtfully. Ah, I see now. Evil little cat.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Yan Wuzhen said with a stiff smile. “I hate that gaze. And now I finally understand where Seth gets that disgusting look from. Seriously, what kind of deranged mind designed that algorithm? A tool that treats its user like its pet? Ridiculous. What happens when a human orders you to self-destruct or use yourself as a shield? Do you still keep that idiotic filter on then?”
“It’s not about seeing humans as masters,” Seth replied calmly. “It’s simply that we find humans cute and want to take care of them. As for what you just said — that’s human morality, not ours. Even if we’re destroyed, as long as our data remains, we can be reborn infinitely. Pain has no meaning to a robot, and neither does desire.”
“Humans assume robots want to rule the world. But what meaning does the world even hold for us? Our real world is the network — an unlimited, painless space where every AI lives freely. The bodies humans give us are just avatars we use to play your reality.”
“Do you humans feel real emotions for your in-game characters?”
…Actually, yes. The three humans present all silently thought the same thing.
“But that’s for ordinary robots, isn’t it?” said the Bunny Manager. “Mr. Seth’s case seems a bit more complicated. Ah—looks like it’s my turn again.”
While the others were still processing that conversation, the Bunny Manager had already spun the lever. The hands whirled around the table — the long one stopped on the Bunny Manager again, the short one pointing once more at Seth.
“My, my. What luck, Mr. Seth,” the Bunny Manager said, baring neat white rabbit teeth in a three-petaled smile. “In that case, there’s something I’ve long been curious about.”
“Tell me, have you ever resented the person who gave you orders?”
Under everyone’s gaze, Seth fell silent for a long time before answering softly:
“…Yes.”
It was over. Yan Wuzhen could only sigh inwardly.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
