All Down to Luck

Late December. The night at the foot of the snow mountains was bone-chillingly cold, the wind howling through the woods like slashing blades. A moon hung in the sky, mottling the forest in black and white. In the freezing night, not a single insect chirped. Wu Xu sat in silence. Wrapped in an old, thick black padded coat, he sat in a concealed spot roughly three hundred meters from the cliff where the Eldest Miss and the others were hiding. He was resting, but his senses remained alert to everything around him. He didn't find it bitter. Life had always been like this, unchanging, leaving him nothing to compare it against. In all the life he could remember, this was the first time he had ever left that secluded clan village. No one had ever told him that his eyes were clear and bright, a rarity among grown men, nor had anyone ever told him what life was truly supposed to be like. Yuan Qing had come by earlier to check on the situation and express some concern, giving him some wound medicine that he claimed was very advanced. Wu Xu had accepted it and thanked him, but once Yuan Qing left, he still treated his wounds with the old medicine he had brought himself. Yuan Qing seemed to have wanted to chat and get closer to him, but because Wu Xu rarely spoke or replied, the conversation never took off. *Right, the spear. I definitely have to get the spear back,* Wu Xu thought. *But I might not be able to beat that man. Just by standing there, he scared off all those men in headwraps.* At the thought, he looked down at the two dead iron scimitars resting beside him. It felt utterly unfamiliar. Remembering the scene from earlier—how that man had asked if he knew how to use a saber before taking his spear away—Wu Xu felt a pang of indignation, but then couldn't help letting out a wry, faintly bitter smile. He knew how to smile, of course; he just rarely did so in front of others. *Unless I ambush him, maybe I could try... but he didn't take the chance to kill me back then.* *What kind of person is he?* Wu Xu had read a few books: ancient texts teaching loyalty and propriety, as well as old manuscripts handwritten with ink and brush within the clan. According to the teachings he had received, the things installed in his body and source energy itself were part of a path of cultivation for which he ought to feel deeply grateful—because one day, terrifying entities clad in black armor would descend upon the world. Everything the clan had done over the past several decades was to prepare for that day. When the time came, only those who cultivated and those sheltered by the clan would survive. Earlier, Yuan Qing had asked him what his degree of source energy fusion was. Wu Xu had shaken his head—not out of concealment, but because he genuinely didn't know. He didn't even know what "degree of fusion" meant. In Wu Xu's memory, there was only a day when he was thirteen, when he and several children of roughly the same age were taken to undergo a horrifying surgery. Right after the surgery, source energy was pumped straight into every one of them on the spot. Those who endured and survived lived on to cultivate; those who couldn't simply died. Source energy was precious, and very few people could cultivate—that was what the clan leader had said. The reason Wu Xu had accompanied the Eldest Miss out this time was that the clan had run out of source energy. The elderly clan leader had sought out an old acquaintance from long ago to secure this opportunity. Therefore, their greatest goal on this trip was source energy. That was what the clan needed. Yet in Wu Xu's own heart, there was actually something else he wanted now. He desperately wanted a radio. Desperately, truly. A few days earlier, on the road here, he had sat in the car while Yuan Qing got out to buy supplies. Behind the counter of that little shop sat an old man, and in front of that old man sat a radio. People spoke from inside the radio, and it played beautiful songs. ...... In a larger cave, the black spear was propped across the entrance, draped with a tarpaulin they had brought along to block the wind. Following the path and directions Han Qingyu had laid out, everyone had entered in such a way that the bushes outside looked completely undisturbed. After that, Han Qingyu had burned charcoal elsewhere, carried it over, and covered it with grass ash so that no light would leak out. His practical survival skills were astonishingly abundant. The group used the tips of their knives to skewer meat, roasting it as they gathered around the charcoal fire and chatted. Han Qingyu had just made a decision: for the next few days, he didn't plan on staying hidden like this anymore. He was going to go out and "scavenge scrap." Those had been his exact words, which roughly meant looting corpses wherever people were fighting. Originally, Han Qingyu hadn't intended to bother with such loose scraps. Coming into the trial ground, his mind had been set on getting his hands on two metal blocks—that would be worth more than anything. However, after happening to loot once today, he had realized two things: First, he seemed to be one of the trial ground's great demon kings. If he didn't participate in the fighting and only looted corpses, usually no one would fight him to the death. Second, no matter how much was left inside, so long as it was picked up for free, every single source energy block could bring immense joy. There were over six hundred people here, constantly clashing and slaughtering each other. Where else would he ever find such a wonderful place in the future? The conversation turned to the events of the day. "Was that guy in black really that strong?!" Because he hadn't seen it in person, He Tangtang felt a bit disappointed. Imagining one man with a spear blocking an intersection and holding off more than twenty people all on his own, he even felt a trace of yearning. What a valiant warrior. Too bad he had lost his spear now. "Then what about his teammates?" He Tangtang asked as the thought struck him. "Didn't see any," Han Qingyu said, shaking his head. He took a bite of roasted meat, found it wasn't fully cooked through, and put it back over the fire. "Actually, he ought to be even stronger than what we saw," Shen Yixiu said from the side. "He's still wearing a third-generation apparatus. Its source energy efficiency is lower than the later models... and because it's connected internally via surgery, they say any injury sustained in battle causes far greater damage to the body." Rusty Sister had mentioned the internal surgical connection of old-model apparatuses before, saying that the generation of the Corps Commander and Shen Fengting still bore surgical scars from when their gear was eventually upgraded. It was the sort of sensation that gave one chills just thinking about it. "Does that mean it directly rattles the internal organs?" Yin Caixin asked with a creeped-out expression and tone. "Internal organs—like the kidneys?" Han Qingyu made a cringing face as well. The first organ that came to his mind wasn't the heart, because the first time he had ever touched a three-dimensional apparatus in his life, he had helped Lao Jian hook up the kidney-level connection point on an eighth-generation apparatus. The impression had remained vivid ever since, leaving him with the feeling that combat capability was powered primarily by adrenaline. "Kid... kidneys?" Yin Caixin turned her head, looking utterly lost. "Of course it's the kidneys," Wen Jifei chimed in. "Haven't you ever heard that ancient saying of ours?" Yin Caixin: "What saying?" "'Kidney failure is common soldier's fare.'" "Oh, I think I've heard that one," Yin Caixin pondered for a moment. "Huh? And then?" "It means that people who fight often easily damage their kidneys," Wen Jifei explained. Yin Caixin nodded. "Oh." She made a mental note of it. The others beside them were desperately holding in their laughter. Han Qingyu couldn't very well expose him to her face, so he could only think to himself: *Once this trial ends, I just hope Yin Caixin never comes to Huaxia.* The next morning, the group left the cave to wash up and keep watch by a snowmelt mountain stream not far around the back of the mountain. A sudden cry of alarm came from Yin Caixin. Soon, everyone saw it: a corpse bumping against rocks as it drifted downstream. Its fatal wound was still bleeding. It looked like the person had died in battle only moments ago and tumbled into the mountain stream. Realizing they had just washed their faces in that stream water, everyone felt rather disgusted. Except for Han Qingyu. He hauled the corpse over and popped open the war box. "Haha! Even like this, I managed to pick one up." Then he began searching the body. "A pity." Failing to find any spare energy on the corpse, Han Qingyu was slightly disappointed and planned to search upstream along the river. "Wait, higher up is just the snow mountain. Why would they go up so high to fight?" Just as Wen Jifei finished asking— *Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack...* The sound of a helicopter echoed clearly through the sky. Holy crap. An airdrop had arrived. "Quick, let's go!" Han Qingyu took the lead and broke into a full sprint. By the time they reached the scene, the drop was already complete and the helicopter was heading away. At least fifty or sixty people were facing off at the site. Among them were members of the Self-Preservation Faction as well as Azure personnel from various nations. Tempers seemed to have flared; no one was willing to back down. Apparatuses were already activated, and blades were even drawn. To some of them, obtaining a metal block in the Alphonse family's trial ground was not just a practical gain, but an honor. In short, their motives weren't pure enough. Someone like Han Qingyu was very pure: all he wanted was source energy blocks, without giving a damn about honor. "What's going on here?" Smiling, Han Qingyu shouted as he approached. Walking beside him, Yin Caixin immediately repeated his question in English and French. Seeing Han Qingyu appear, some of the crowd looked visibly displeased. "The airdropped metal block happened to fall into that hole." A Huaxia team was also present, and someone helpfully explained, gesturing toward a snow hole in the ground. The hole wasn't large, and probably wasn't deep either, but it was pitch-black and hard to see inside. Han Qingyu tried to step closer. Instantly, dozens of blades were pointed at him—some from the Self-Preservation Faction, and even some from various nations' Azure forces. Young people were just too impetuous, fighting over momentary pride. "This isn't good, is it? If a melee breaks out, how many people are going to die?! Some of you are Azure comrades-in-arms—instead of chopping down Great Spikes, you're hacking at each other here?!" Han Qingyu spoke with an indignant expression, and Yin Caixin translated with equal passion. "Don't let yourselves be incited by undercover Cleansing Faction infiltrators," Han Qingyu warned. In truth, everyone understood the reasoning. The problem was that no one was willing to yield, and there was no immediate solution. Han Qingyu frowned and pondered carefully in front of the crowd for a moment before saying, "How about this? I'll make a proposal that keeps the peace: let's leave it to luck." Once Yin Caixin finished translating, nearly everyone present turned to look at him, jabbering away in all sorts of languages. They seemed to be waiting for him to explain. "Each team sends out one person to lie around the edge of the hole in a circle. One, two, three—everyone reaches in together..." Han Qingyu gestured as he explained. "Whoever grabs it gets to keep it. How about that? All down to luck, without hurting anyone's feelings." Having spoken, he offered a friendly smile and looked around at everyone present. Perhaps precisely because he looked too friendly, a foreigner suddenly stepped forward from out of nowhere, brandishing the blade in his hand and shouting at Han Qingyu. In a situation where friends and foes were indistinguishable, Han Qingyu wasn't sure of his allegiance. He turned his head and asked, "What did he say?" Yin Caixin: "He said, why should everyone listen to you? Besides, you clearly arrived late." "Oh." Han Qingyu turned toward the foreigner. Right in front of him, he drew his blade and swung. *Smack.* With the flat of his blade, he slapped the man across the face, sending him flying backward through the air. With that single strike, the entire field froze. It wasn't a sneak attack—it was simply fast, precise, and deliberately restrained. Han Qingyu sheathed his blade, swept his gaze across the crowd, and said in a deep voice: "Because if we must settle this with blades, I have the best chance of being the last one standing."