Chapter 74: Three Months. We Can Wait.

by cnwebnovels

My last excursion into the real world had been cut short by Pu Liuqian’s sudden appearance and the patrol team’s pursuit. On top of that, I still needed to wait for the base to finish building my new body for going outside, so for the time being I could only go back into the virtual world and explore there instead.

If Feng Du hadn’t confiscated my virtual code-body, I would have liked to spend a few more days in the virtual world—at least until my parasitic host was finished—before returning to reality. But the stench inside the Eighteen Levels of Hell was too foul to bear. I couldn’t wait that long.

After leaving Mother, I went to Uncle’s research base to check on the parasitic host being grown for me. It had basically taken shape—about eighty percent of the work was done, and an AI was now running systematic optimization on its brain.

I’d once asked Uncle why he couldn’t just use the modified bionic person I’d used before. Why bother growing an entirely new parasitic host? Such a hassle.

When Du Xiaoran and I stole the data from the Quantum Research Institute, I’d used that kind of modified bionic person, and I’d found it perfectly serviceable—smooth to operate, no different from my own body except in appearance.

But Uncle told me that for ordinary purposes, a modified bionic person worked fine. They used them themselves for dangerous work often enough, mostly because they were cheap. But that kind of body came with real limitations—shape-shifting and force-of-consciousness projection, for instance, simply didn’t work through it. A parasitic body grown from one’s own genes, on the other hand, was identical to being reborn as oneself. It was, in effect, an extra life. Whatever abilities the original person had, they could use in full.

I understood.

It wasn’t only a matter of cost. It was a matter of capability, and of safety.

So while waiting for my body to finish growing, I went back to riding cheap parasitic pigeons out into the world, wandering more than a few times—and running into Du Xiaoran’s parasitic pigeon along the way.

It puzzled me how Du Xiaoran managed to hop back and forth between the two worlds so freely. Going in and out of reality and the virtual world cost money each time, didn’t it? Twenty points a trip wasn’t cheap. And why did he keep turning up wherever I went? Calling it coincidence, with no purpose behind it, simply didn’t add up.

And yet, in dealing with him, I never sensed even a trace of malice. We were both elite people, after all, and same-frequency sensing ran both ways between us.

Speaking of my same-frequency sensing—only after this trip through the virtual world did I realize how much stronger mine was compared to other elite people’s. Otherwise there was no way I could have fought King Qinguang to a draw with weak rank-five force of consciousness against his rank ten. My unusually strong same-frequency sensing had carried me through it. Even if someone else knew exactly how I’d countered him, they still couldn’t have pulled it off. Just as Uncle said—strength and intensity were positively correlated.

This ability was the very first one I’d ever gained. From sensing Zhu Zhaojie’s thoughts while cheating on an exam, all the way to harvesting force of consciousness in the Eighteen Levels of Hell, my same-frequency sensing had carried far more of the weight than anyone realized.

Because of that, I went specifically to ask Mother where this sensing had come from, and why mine seemed so different from everyone else’s.

Mother told me I’d had it since birth. She’d only been afraid that using it too early would let others—especially the Sweepers—discover it before its time, so she’d helped shield it. It wasn’t until my classmate Meng Ran’s death alarmed the Sweepers into screening every student that this ability of mine was accidentally triggered by their scanning equipment.

Same-frequency sensing was an ability exclusive to elite people. But unlike everyone else, I hadn’t relied on a Wisdom Capsule to get it. I asked Mother about that too. All she said was: everything has its cause and effect.

I knew she wasn’t willing to say more, so I let it go.

Du Xiaoran’s reaction to what I’d gained in the Eighteen Levels of Hell could only be called envy.

He said that while making money mattered to him, it wasn’t the thing he wanted most. Raising his force of consciousness was—after all, that was something money couldn’t buy.

Du Xiaoran wanted to drag me back into the virtual world. He offered to pay for my entry ticket if I’d put in a word with Feng Du, so he could go harvest a little force of consciousness in the Eighteen Levels of Hell too—even weak stuff would do, and he’d pay for it.

Listening to him, I nearly laughed. “Dream on. My code-body’s stuck down there in Hell, immobilized, courtesy of Feng Du. If you go, you’ll be going in as a prisoner. Anything else, you’ll have to arrange yourself.”

Baffled, Du Xiaoran asked, “Then why is Feng Du so good to you?”

“Better ask him yourself,” I said. “Wait, don’t you know him too? If he weren’t backing your Dusk Bar, would it even still be open?”

Du Xiaoran shook his head. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m a little scared of him, actually. Word is his rank’s absurdly high. Even inside the Shadow Pavilion, he’s—”

He held up a thumb, then added, “Pu Liuqian calls him Uncle when she sees him.”

“Really?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That day you actually told me to go rob his City Lord’s Castle. Made me think he was nothing special, and I cursed him out to his face right then and there.”

Du Xiaoran looked shocked. “You dared curse him out? Nobody saw, right? Otherwise you’d be dead for sure. Then again—think about it. Is it possible cursing him out is exactly what got him to warm up to you, to look at you differently? Honestly, I’ve never even heard of him offering Pu Liuqian a chance like that.”

I gave a soft scoff. “That’s because Pu Liuqian can’t stand the stink down in the Eighteen Levels of Hell. You think she wouldn’t jump at it if she could?”

Once the conversation reached that point, Du Xiaoran let it drop and suggested instead, “How about the two of us pull another job soon—lift some data from another research institute?”

I thought it over. “No rush. That stuff isn’t going anywhere. Besides, I’ve noticed—every time I make a move, someone comes hunting me. It’s cutting into my time to actually enjoy this world.”

That perked him right back up. “You should’ve said so. I know every corner of this place. Why don’t I take you to Ouluo City? It doesn’t have as many old-style buildings as Hua City, but it’s a lot more modern, and there are more pretty girls too.”

“Forget it,” I said. “If I go, I’ll go alone. You’re not a girl—dragging you along would just be boring. Even as a tour guide, you’d only be in my way. I really just want to wander wherever I feel like, free and easy, looking around at whatever catches my eye.”

Hearing that, Du Xiaoran didn’t push further—just told me to ping his alt account if anything came up.

Leaving that chatterbox behind, I set off flying toward Ouluo City.

Ouluo City sat more than a thousand kilometers from Hua City. It took me several days of flying to get there. Along the way I had no choice but to eat insects—well, what did they expect, sending a pigeon.

Between the two cities lay mostly desert and mountains, with hardly any dwellings. The rare buildings I did pass drove me off the moment I got close—infrasonic waves, or laser lock-ons—scaring me straight back into the air. I guessed those were probably research facilities. Across all that desert and mountain terrain, I saw almost no one on the roads, and few flying vehicles either.

Like Hua City, Ouluo City was a floating city, though it hovered at a somewhat greater altitude—likely owing to its more southerly position.

By the time I finally reached the skies above Ouluo City, dusk had settled in. Watching the sunset from that height was far more magnificent than watching it from the mountains above Liutan Town—there was almost a hint of the Ziyun Heavenly Palace in it.

Within the city, I spotted plenty of security dogs and patrol cats, along with things like Sky Eyes. I paid them no attention this time. I was only here to see the sights, after all.

With no curiosity showing, I drew no notice from the Sky Eyes or the patrol cats either.

As dusk deepened toward night, I landed to rest on the windowsill of an apartment partway up a building.

The city lights came up, ten thousand windows glowing at once, brilliance scattered everywhere. Flying vehicles streamed through the streets and alleys, brighter than Pingdu City back in the Mundane World, and busier by the look of it. But if you paid attention to the streets themselves, you’d notice how few pedestrians there were—a city with all the light but none of the warmth of ordinary human bustle.

Ouluo City’s architecture leaned more modern and avant-garde than Hua City’s—towers like transparent crystal, buildings shaped in every strange form imaginable. I even spotted one flexible structure that kept shifting its shape as I watched.

The Gothic and Baroque faux-antique spires were mostly clustered in the southern district—the city’s commercial and tourist quarter, from the look of it.

Then, suddenly, a loud crash sounded from the apartment where I was resting. I turned and looked in through the window to see an old woman had toppled from her bed onto the floor, struggling and failing to rise. The household’s robot nanny was busy in the kitchen making dinner.

I waited a good while. No one else seemed to be home. Blood ran freely down the old woman’s face as she kept trying, with great difficulty, to sit up.

I had no choice but to find a window left half-open, squeeze through it, and fly toward the kitchen, cooing as I went.

The robot nanny, seeing me fly in, took me for a stray pigeon and grabbed a towel to shoo me out. I had no choice but to speak up. “Your mistress has fallen. Go help her, now!”

Only then did the robot nanny snap out of its daze and rush toward the bedroom.

I flew after it to watch.

The nanny got the old woman up and settled her onto the sickbed. I looked at her arm and saw a long gash there, so I called out to the robot to fetch the medicine kit, then told it how to apply the ointment, seal the wound, and bandage it properly.

The old woman noticed I wasn’t an ordinary pigeon and said, “Thank you. Who are you? It’s been so long since I’ve spoken with anyone.”

I was about to answer when I turned and caught sight of a family photo hanging on the wall across from her bed. The woman standing behind the old woman in that photo was, unmistakably, the very rank-ten woman whose force of consciousness I had nearly harvested down in the Eighteen Levels of Hell—Wei Liuqing.

What a coincidence. So the old woman was her mother.

I still remembered that name. “Are you Wei Liuqing’s mother?”

The old woman came alive at once. “You—you know my Liuqing? Is she all right? I haven’t seen her in over half a year. Where is she?”

“She’s fine,” I said. “She’s working on her own in the virtual world right now and can’t come out for a while. But I can tell you for certain—three months from now, she’ll be home.”

“Oh? Three months?” the old woman said. “Good. Good. We can wait that long.”

“The man and the child in the photo,” I said. “Why haven’t I seen them?”

The old woman glanced up at the photo. “You mean Liuqing’s husband, Zhang Zirui, and their child? Zhang Zirui is dead. The child was sent back to the adoption home.”

That threw me. “Wait—don’t elite people not die? How could Zhang Zirui have died?”

The old woman looked at me. “Aren’t you from the Elite World yourself? It’s not that elite people don’t die—everyone dies when disaster comes for them. It’s only that most elite people can transfer their consciousness into a parasitic host, or be reborn through stem cells. But all of that takes money. We don’t have that kind of money. We’re edge people. You understand edge people?”

“I do,” I said. “I’m an edge person too. Is that why Wei Liuqing risked going into the virtual world to earn money?”

“Yes,” the old woman said. “She wants to bring her husband back. Zhang Zirui’s consciousness is stored in the system now, and every month there’s a storage fee of one achievement point. The system’s already sent two notices demanding payment. If a third one goes unpaid within half a year, the system will wipe it clean. After that, Zhang Zirui will never come back.”

Half a year. No wonder the old woman had just said three months was something they could wait out.

A sudden unease crept over me, cold sweat and all. If I had actually gone through with harvesting Wei Liuqing’s force-of-consciousness insight that day, I might have unwittingly killed her husband, Zhang Zirui, along with it.

Wait. That wasn’t right.

Weren’t elite people supposed to be immune to illness?

So what, then, was wrong with this old woman?