Chapter 37: The Hunger Games (3)
Yan Wuzhen tilted his head to look at Tang Mobai, but Tang Mobai wasn’t looking at him — he’d turned to Seth instead.
“By the way,” Tang Mobai said, “I’ve actually been curious for a while. Seth, that seed of yours — is it the seed of a real plant?”
He was referring to the item Seth had taken from the infirmary during the Revival Game — the one he was willing to trade his own eye for.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“It was given to me by my creator,” Seth replied. “He hoped I could make it sprout. But I’ve tested it — it’s dried up inside. Technically, it’s already dead. So I’ve been trying to find a way to make a dead seed sprout again.”
The two of them spoke casually — just an ordinary bit of small talk on the surface — but the tense atmosphere in the room gradually eased with each exchange.
Manager Rabbit didn’t seem to mind the interruption. In fact, he looked quite at ease, watching them chat with the air of someone who already had everything under control.
Meanwhile, under the table, Tang Mobai was still pressing on Yan Wuzhen’s thigh — and since they clearly had no unspoken coordination, he simply started writing on it.
Inside Lost Paradise, demons from different worlds could communicate freely — no matter how different their languages or scripts, they could always understand one another perfectly.
At first, Yan Wuzhen didn’t react to Tang Mobai’s movements. He remembered there was a rule forbidding players from discussing the questions with others, and he wasn’t sure if this kind of covert communication would count as breaking it. But a few seconds later, he felt a kick against his shin. He finally reacted, glaring irritably — only to meet a pair of calm amber eyes.
“It’s fine,” Tang Mobai was trying to say.
The Brawler’s ability was a total loophole in the contract — not only did it force him to tell the truth, but the contract itself wasn’t even really bound to Tang Mobai. Even if they were caught cheating, Tang Mobai could just tear up the contract and walk away.
Ahem. Of course, doing something that underhanded would probably earn him a permanent spot on someone’s hit list, so Tang Mobai preferred not to expose his ability unless absolutely necessary — it was far more useful that way.
Yan Wuzhen took a deep breath, his eyes flickering uncertainly before they landed on Manager Rabbit’s smiling, three-petaled lips. After a brief silence, he asked a neutral question — while tightening his grip on Tang Mobai’s hand beneath the table, silently conveying the intel he’d just figured out.
Of course, he knew perfectly well that attacking one another was also part of Manager Rabbit’s plan — the whole game was designed to drive a wedge between them. But sometimes, cutting your losses and walking away was the smartest move a gambler could make.
That much…
Yan Wuzhen looked deeply at Tang Mobai. Do you understand? he thought. If they quit now, they might lose Seth — but at least they’d keep all their winnings. If they kept going, though… even he couldn’t predict what might happen next.
*
Third question round: Manager Rabbit asked, Yan Wuzhen answered.
“Among the people here,” Manager Rabbit asked, “if you were in a life-or-death crisis and had to abandon someone, in what order would you give them up?”
Yan Wuzhen pressed the bell — and, for the first time, ordered food.
A question like that would destroy any team. Every adventuring group secretly had their own survival hierarchy, but it was an unspoken rule — something no one ever said aloud. Once it was said, no one would ever trust each other again.
*
Fourth round: Tang Mobai asked, and Manager Rabbit answered. By this point, Yan Wuzhen had mostly given up on his earlier idea of forcing Rabbit to eat the food.
Still, when Tang Mobai opened his mouth, Yan Wuzhen’s expression twitched uncontrollably.
“Manager Rabbit,” Tang Mobai asked, “you must’ve had a full-body cosmetic surgery, right? Do you like the way you look now?”
“Oh~ you mean the new Charm Demon Aesthetics Clinic program — full follicle reconstruction and beast-mimicry surgery!” Rabbit replied brightly. “If you’re interested, I can recommend it. Mention my name and you’ll get 20% off. I’ve always thought you looked a bit like a puppy, Mobai — you’d be perfect for the ‘Sunny Dogboy’ mod that’s trending right now.”
“…Who the hell would that even appeal to? Furry fans?” Tang Mobai broke into a cold sweat and quickly waved it off.
Beside him, Yan Wuzhen suddenly frowned.
Tang Mobai’s question was, technically speaking, two questions — the first was more of a conjecture, while the second was the real one. Yet Rabbit had only answered the first.
Was that a mistake? Or did Rabbit think that by answering “yes, voluntary,” he’d already implied the answer to the second — making it unnecessary to respond?
These thoughts flashed through Yan Wuzhen’s mind in seconds. But seeing that Tang Mobai didn’t seem bothered, he concluded it was probably just a slip of the tongue.
*
When the fourth round ended, Manager Rabbit looked around. “So, before the next round starts — anyone want to surrender?”
“If you’re going to cut your losses, now’s the time,” Yan Wuzhen’s voice murmured beside Tang Mobai’s ear. Tang Mobai turned to look at him — and met those dark, inscrutable eyes, clearly hinting at something.
But when Tang Mobai looked into them… he saw nothing.
“Seems no one’s backing out,” Rabbit said cheerfully. “Then let’s begin round four.”
*
First question: Yan Wuzhen asked, Tang Mobai answered.
“Do you know what you just missed?”
“I know.”
“You’d better,” Yan Wuzhen said dryly.
He was starting to lose heart. After all, there were no live audiences in Lost Paradise, no outside help, no hints. That miraculous success from before had been a one-time thing.
Without any external assistance, Tang Mobai was just an ordinary newbie — the kind who wouldn’t even pass a beginner’s trial. It was his own fault for expecting too much.
But did Tang Mobai understand? If the game continued, Rabbit’s next main target would undoubtedly be him.
And as Yan Wuzhen predicted — after several more rounds, it became clear that Tang Mobai was the team’s center. Spider was there because of him; Seth, likely the same.
That made things simple for Rabbit — take down Tang Mobai, and the team would collapse.
*
Next round: Rabbit asked Yan Wuzhen, “What’s the one thing you’ve done that you least want Tang Mobai to know?”
Yan Wuzhen closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them with calm fatigue. “I lied. I killed someone from my hometown.”
Tang Mobai couldn’t help glancing at him — but this time, Yan Wuzhen didn’t look back. For the first time, he avoided Tang Mobai’s eyes.
Two more rounds passed.
Then Rabbit turned to Seth. “If your base programming were tampered with by an enemy, would you obey and kill Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen?”
“Yes.”
Yan Wuzhen wasn’t surprised. It was like watching a blade slowly fall — and the tragedy was, he seemed to be the only one who realized it.
Rabbit had clearly done his research. He knew Yan Wuzhen’s paranoia, Seth’s mechanical nature, and Tang Mobai’s history in the Revival Game.
Every sharp question was like a scalpel, slicing into the team’s weakest points — dragging every potential conflict into the light before it could ever heal.
Round after round passed. Seth had eaten once; Rabbit twice. Now, all three of them had eaten.
*
Sixth round, second-to-last question:
Rabbit’s red eyes gleamed as he turned to Tang Mobai. “Looks like things are about to get even more interesting,” he said with a twisted smile. “Tang Mobai, I actually watched your livestreams.”
Tang Mobai blinked. “Uh… you’re not about to ask for an autograph, are you?”
“Not exactly,” Manager Rabbit chuckled. “This next question isn’t just for the game — it’s also personal curiosity. After hearing everything that’s been said so far… in a crisis, would you still trust these two enough to give them your back?”
Yan Wuzhen closed his eyes. He knew it.
Manager Rabbit had given up on prying intel about the mastermind from Tang Mobai — so now his questions had shifted. The real goal was to tear them apart.
And, in truth, he was succeeding.
He’d pinpointed their weak spot perfectly: Yan Wuzhen and Seth didn’t get along. Without Tang Mobai, they never would’ve teamed up. All he had to do was shatter Tang Mobai’s trust, and the whole team would crumble.
Tang Mobai’s answer was simple.
“Yes.”
Yan Wuzhen’s head snapped up. Even Seth looked over.
Tang Mobai scratched his head, his expression calm and steady. “What’s so weird about that? It’s not like I don’t know who you guys are.”
They were all people who’d crawled out of the junkyard. Tang Mobai had never expected anything more from them than that.
He turned back to Rabbit. “Your questions are all trust traps. But we’re just a newly formed team — what trust foundation do you think we’d have? I accepted them as teammates, so I accept their flaws. And I’m no better — if there’s a crisis, I’ll prioritize my partner first. Everyone has flaws. I’m not going to be a hypocrite about it.”
“After what we went through in the Revival Game, I’m willing to give my back to Seth and Yan Wuzhen — and accept their imperfections, as long as they don’t cross my moral line.”
Given the contract’s constraints, his words had to be the truth.
His gaze was steady, unwavering.
The trust trap that Rabbit had spent six rounds carefully building — collapsed in an instant.
Yan Wuzhen couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Seth’s fingers twitched, but this time, his eyes didn’t avoid Tang Mobai’s.
Rabbit’s smile vanished. He sighed softly. “Seems we’ll be here all day, then.”
Tang Mobai grinned. “All day? Nah. We’ll finish soon. Because my next question for you will be— ‘You’re out of resurrection chances, aren’t you?’”
It was phrased as a question, but his tone made it a statement.
Yan Wuzhen and Seth both turned sharply toward him.
Rabbit raised a brow. “Confident, aren’t we?”
Yan Wuzhen’s mind spun rapidly. Now that he’d broken free from Rabbit’s psychological traps, the rabbit’s earlier behavior throughout the game replayed in his head — and the realization hit him all at once.
Tch. They’d been played. That damn rabbit.
“No wonder you made it this far as a manager,” Yan Wuzhen said with biting sarcasm. “I almost gave up myself.”
Manager Rabbit blinked innocently. “Oh? Is that what you think?”
“Otherwise, why don’t you pick a food item again?” Yan Wuzhen sneered, his pitch-black, sharp eyes coldly fixed on Manager Rabbit. “Do you dare?”
Choosing food again would mean a third time for Manager Rabbit — and without a resurrection skill, he would surely die.
Seth’s face twisted in disgust. He looked from Tang Mobai to Yan Wuzhen and back before realizing, “He’s bluffing?”
“Smart,” Yan Wuzhen said coolly. “Because if it were me, and I had more than five good cards, I’d play recklessly. If I had two or three, I’d use them carefully at key moments. But if I only had one…” He looked deeply at Manager Rabbit. “I’d play it immediately.”
“Bluffing is a classic trick for people like us. Once you control the mood of the entire table, you become the only dealer in the game.”
“When Tang Mobai asked your XP earlier, you chose ‘food’ for the most meaningless answer. You were provoking us, showing off your confidence. I should’ve realized it sooner.” Yan Wuzhen frowned in frustration.
Manager Rabbit murmured, “Actually, that wasn’t a meaningless question…”
“Besides,” Yan Wuzhen sighed, “a resurrection skill that strong is just absurd. Seth confirmed that you had stopped breathing — it was a true resurrection skill. Even if it requires prior food consumption as a condition, you’re still too overpowered. If you could use it more than twice, there’s no way you’d just be a manager of the Demon Casino.”
Not all demons in Hunger Hell had to perform missions in other worlds. Some were “internal management staff,” responsible for maintaining the operations of buildings within Lost Paradise. Their dungeon-entry rate was far lower than normal explorers. To become one required passing an extremely difficult test — conditions varied, but one rule remained: Lost Paradise never wasted powerful beings with innate talents.
“All of that,” said Manager Rabbit softly, “is just your speculation.”
“Yes,” Yan Wuzhen admitted, leaning back and relaxing completely. “Because there’s no way to confirm it. But that’s fine. We’ve got plenty of time — and plenty of rounds left.”
At this point, Tang Mobai, Yan Wuzhen, and Seth had each only eaten once — meaning they still had multiple chances to make mistakes. After Tang Mobai broke the chain of suspicion, none of them cared about Manager Rabbit’s questions anymore.
One way or another, the manager had lost.
Manager Rabbit let out a faint sigh, then looked at Tang Mobai. “How did you figure it out?”
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “So you admit it—”
Manager Rabbit interrupted him, shaking his head. “No, not for the reasons you mentioned. I’m not surprised you saw through me — we’re the same kind of person. What does surprise me is that… you were the first to say it.”
He looked meaningfully at Tang Mobai. “It seems you’re not as simple as everyone believes.”
Yan Wuzhen rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, are you still trying to sow discord?”
Manager Rabbit chuckled, zipping his lips with a gesture. “Alright, I’ll shut up.”
When the round ended, he admitted defeat readily.
“I concede. You win.”
The game ended. Manager Rabbit handed over three point cards — and, of course, the promised delayed broadcast service.
Tang Mobai asked, “Can I pack some of this food to take with me?”
Manager Rabbit blinked in confusion. “You can, but… why?”
“Uh, just want to study it,” Tang Mobai said. “It’s interesting — something that looks like food but induces hunger.”
“Oh.” Manager Rabbit remembered that the man’s backer had a keen interest in alchemy. “Yes, that’s actually a byproduct of culinary alchemy — a failed one.”
“Failed?” Tang Mobai thought of the rules of Hunger Hell. “So the original goal was to counteract the hell’s hunger rules?”
Manager Rabbit only smiled faintly. “You should go now.”
The casino’s attendants personally escorted them out — a VIP treatment that drew stares all along the corridor. Many onlookers assumed they were representatives from a major guild with business ties to the Demon Casino.
Once they exited into the safety zone, Yan Wuzhen finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. He slung an arm around Tang Mobai’s neck. “Alright, spill it — how did you figure it out?”
“You sent me the intel, didn’t you?” Tang Mobai said helplessly.
Yan Wuzhen nodded. “True.”
When Manager Rabbit resurrected for the first time and ate again, Yan Wuzhen had secretly tested him with his ability — because no matter how mentally strong a gambler was, after dying once, fear and anxiety had to appear.
But Manager Rabbit showed nothing.
That hesitation nearly made Yan Wuzhen surrender. Looking back, even though surrendering would’ve preserved their gains, it would have fractured their team — and that was likely the manager’s real goal.
He never meant to reclaim the bounty by winning. His purpose all along was to divide Tang Mobai’s group. That explained why his questions targeted the team’s core vulnerabilities rather than forcing individual concessions.
“I was mostly guessing,” Tang Mobai said. “This game was never really about winning — it was about exploiting weaknesses through conversation. He knew everything about us, while we knew nothing about him. The only way to balance that information gap… was through Original Sin.”
“You once said that desire is the one thing evil can’t hide,” Tang Mobai continued. “I think Original Sin is the one weakness demons can’t conceal.”
Yan Wuzhen remembered — he had said that during the resurrection round. But Manager Rabbit’s sin was Gluttony; how did that connect to his weakness? Even when forced to choose food, it didn’t seem to affect him that much.
Seth spoke up. “Gluttony’s weakness… isn’t it just appetite?”
“That’s what I thought at first too,” Tang Mobai said. “But when I questioned him, I noticed that gluttony might relate more to binge-eating disorder. Remember when I asked if he liked his current self? He avoided the question.”
Yan Wuzhen and Seth recalled it — yes, that happened. But if he didn’t like himself, why make himself that way?
“Because he hates his true self even more,” Tang Mobai said quietly. “If pride contrasts with humility, and envy lives beside narrow-mindedness — then the side effect of gluttony is disorder and self-loathing.”
Many people think gluttony is driven by greed for food, so it belongs under ‘avarice.’ But that’s not true. Most binge-eaters don’t eat because they want to.
They eat because they’re anxious, insecure, or despairing — forcing themselves to find cheap affection through food. It’s emotional chaos manifesting in the body — a twisted thought of, ‘I’m already ruined, so what’s the point?’
That self-loathing releases dopamine during the downward spiral, forming a vicious feedback loop.
Gluttons can’t escape their addiction to that guilty pleasure. Gluttony isn’t just craving food — it’s craving the chaotic pleasure that comes after losing control. Food is just one medium of that pleasure, but in Hunger Hell, where food is prohibitively expensive, gluttons must find other ways.
Hence — the thriving gambling industry.
Yan Wuzhen murmured, “So that’s why cosmetic surgery and gambling both attract so many gluttony-types…”
“Everything in Lost Paradise — every facility, every layer of hell — exists to amplify sin,” Tang Mobai said, glancing back at the glittering Demon Casino. “We grow strong because of our desires and sins… but we’ll also fall because of them.”
“No matter how many cards he had, Manager Rabbit would’ve played them all at once. Caution is restraint — but gluttony always spirals out of control.”
Whether it’s overeating until your stomach bursts, or throwing out all your cards in one move — it’s the same thing. Losing the brakes. Knowing it’s wrong, too risky — yet unable to stop, spiraling down until you hit the limit.
But Manager Rabbit’s behavior didn’t match that. After his first resurrection, his tone became more cautious and his questions more aggressive — a change that caught Tang Mobai’s attention.
“Of course,” Tang Mobai shrugged, “if I guessed wrong, I’d just surrender again.”
“You sound like you understand gluttony really well,” Yan Wuzhen said.
“I don’t understand gluttony,” Tang Mobai replied. “I understand binge-eating disorder. Some depressive patients develop it as a comorbidity. I’ve met one before.”
That kind of understanding didn’t come from “just one case,” Yan Wuzhen thought — but he didn’t press. Instead, he pulled out the point card Manager Rabbit had given him.
Tang Mobai blinked, just as Seth pulled out his own card too.
“Take it,” Yan Wuzhen said. “Your goal isn’t just escaping the Jade Society’s hunt, right? Between the healing potion and that takeaway food… Don’t tell me you plan to eat it again.”
Tang Mobai pouted. “Was I that obvious?”
Yan Wuzhen snorted, punched him lightly in the chest, and walked ahead into the alley. Seth clapped Tang Mobai on the shoulder and followed. Tang Mobai turned back once more, gazing at the dazzling casino — its neon lights shimmering across the pavement. Inside, cheers and curses mixed together, fortunes made and lost every second.
Behind him, near a trash bin, a man recently thrown out of the casino was scavenging desperately — red-eyed from hunger, shoving half-rotten food into his mouth, even moldy bananas and spoiled meat sauce.
Inside the alley and outside it — two different worlds.
A pitiful sight, but Tang Mobai knew that feeling from experience.
When a person is starving, reason vanishes. Rising neuropeptide Y levels flood the brain, fueling aggression and desperation. In such a state, anything becomes possible.
“When granaries are full, people know propriety; when fed and clothed, they understand honor.”
If even basic hunger isn’t satisfied, where could morality come from?
Lost Paradise deliberately breeds starving beasts — so that when they’re unleashed, their rage falls upon all who can’t resist.
After a moment, Tang Mobai turned and stepped into the alley’s shadows.
*
Inside the Demon Casino’s VIP lounge, Manager Rabbit sat alone on the sofa. The blood on the floor hadn’t yet been cleaned. He calmly finished a normal meal — stopping precisely at eighty percent full — then took out a special communication device to report to his superiors.
“Oh? You lost?” The voice of a young boy on the other end carried a note of surprise.
“Yes,” said Manager Rabbit evenly. “I suspect Tang Mobai is far more complicated than he appeared in the resurrection match.”
“Or maybe, little bunny, you just misunderstood him?”
“That’s possible,” the manager admitted calmly. “This round cost us two hundred thousand points. Also, for some reason, Tang Mobai took a portion of the game’s food with him.”
“Food? The special kind used in the Hunger Game?” The boy’s tone turned thoughtful — making the manager slightly uneasy.
“…Was that not supposed to leave the casino?”
The “Hunger Game” was one of the Demon Casino’s signature attractions in Hunger Hell. The food used in it was also part of their business — but outside of the game, no one ever wanted that cursed food that could never fill one’s stomach. Cases of it being taken out were almost unheard of.
“No, this seems kind of interesting. Keep an eye on what they’re doing — but don’t go out of your way to help them, and don’t treat them as enemies either.”
“Understood.”
*
Ideal Hell.
The VIP suite here resembled the one in the Demon Casino of Hunger Hell, but it was far larger and even more luxurious.
Inside, a blue-haired boy wearing a custom white suit hung up the phone. His once-sleepy posture shifted instantly, and he smiled pleasantly at the man sitting across from him — a man drenched in sweat.
“Shall we continue, dear president of the Giant Hammer Guild?” he said softly, then tilted his head. “Oh, wait — no, I should say former president now, shouldn’t I? After all, your entire guild just lost to me.”
The man across from him was trembling with rage, sweat pouring down his face. The veins on the back of his hand bulged, and his bloodshot eyes glared like a cornered beast. If not for the Hell’s rule that prohibited direct harm between residents, he likely would’ve lunged across the table by now.
“So?” The boy’s tone was light, teasing. “Do you want to continue? Or give up?”
“Continue!” the man shouted instinctively. Everything he’d built — his guild, his achievements, his pride… No, he couldn’t lose them all here!
But… he had nothing left to wager.
“Oh, but you do,” the boy said gently, his not-yet-mature voice falling somewhere between male and female — but to the man, it now sounded like a snake’s hiss. Resting his chin in his palm, the boy smiled.
“For example… your real-world coordinates.”
The man’s head snapped up, eyes wide in shock.
“Well?” the boy asked, eyes gleaming. “Do you want to bet?”
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
