Chapter 840: Chapter 804: Gu Mian’s 108 Ways to Die
Although 007 was now wearing the face of an Upper Class Person, the expression seemed somewhat out of place on her face.
At this moment, she had already slowly pushed the first ballot into Gu Mian’s ballot box. There seemed to be an automatic scanning device at the voting slot, and the box emitted a "ding" sound—each time a ballot was cast it would produce this sound.
glanced at the number of ballots in Gu Mian’s box through the palm-sized voting slot, estimating roughly three to four hundred ballots in there.
Only the top fifty could advance, and the lowest-ranked candidate currently advancing had eight hundred and twenty-three votes, with the count continuously rising.
Although Gu Mian was like a popular candidate among the Upper Class, with passersby instinctively voting for him, this number of votes was far from enough to secure his advancement. He had to do something to attract more attention from the Upper Class.
She pondered as she slowly pushed another ballot into the voting box before her, trying to prolong her time here to think of a strategy for Gu Mian.
"I can bet that if I were to climb the ladder, once I reach the exact height where I could fall to my death, the ladder would coincidentally break, or perhaps the hot air balloon above would explode due to quality issues." In that instant, Gu Mian had envisioned two possible causes of his demise.
Climbing the ladder was absolutely out of the question.
whispered, "I also think it’s not a good idea to climb the ladder. Even if you don’t make it to the top fifty, you can still enter the venue for the second and third stages. Crazy Tower Chief has extra Upper Class identity cards, and if you can’t advance, you can directly masquerade as an Upper Class member to enter the audience seating."
007’s suggestion was indeed the simplest and most convenient option, allowing Gu Mian to bypass the layers of "preliminary rounds" by using an Upper Class identity to proceed directly to the final stage.
However, using an Upper Class identity directly might introduce some uncertainties.
The audience seats for the final stage were still a distance away from the stage, and if the host decided to suspend Lu Yi far above, only the lower-class contestants might be able to approach closely. If Gu Mian were in the audience, when he attempted to use the [108th Key from the Mysterious World], he might be unable to take Lu Yi away due to the distance.
Participating in the contest as a lower-class identity was the safest option.
By this time, 007 had finished voting and stepped aside to let Chu Changge cast his vote.
Chu Changge moved slowly too, casting his vote with one hand and adjusting his glasses with the other: "The number of permits appearing is increasing."
Since 1062 started, the remaining permits emerged like bamboo shoots after a rain.
More and more contestants descended by hot air balloon, only to face the "physical challenge."
It’s worth mentioning that, up until now, not a single person had succeeded in taking their permit onto the stage.
Some permits were even torn during the frenzied grabbing; contestants fought so recklessly that they seemed to forget their actual goal, focusing only on the act of snatching.
The scene was chaotic, with lower-class individuals banding together to fight among themselves, while the Upper Class weaved through and enjoyed watching the show put on by the lower-class.
Contestants lifted their fists to pummel their peers, yet none dared to strike the Upper Class. The Upper Class walked among the disorderly, tumultuous crowd with their heads held high, enjoying their special privileges, as if they were the purest lotuses emerging from the mud.
In the center of a square filled with lotuses and mud, someone finally resorted to deadly force—one lower-class participant drew a sharp, prepared wooden stick from their pocket and stabbed another.
The stabbed person let out a shrill cry, unwillingly falling to the ground with eyes wide open.
Among a group of unarmed contestants, there was someone, 1195, who had come prepared.
1195’s physique was already taller than most of the lower class, and now armed, the others were no match.
Driven by self-preservation, the lower-class people avoided competing with 1195 and instead dived into the crowds struggling for permits.
The people around him scattered.
bent down to retrieve the tightly clutched permit from the corpse’s hand.
While bending over, his spine let out a faint cracking sound—a lingering injury from previous food fights in the housing district. Whenever it rained or he bent over, severe pain gripped his waist, and even the slightest movement produced a faint sound.
This was a massive vulnerability.
If anyone discovered this weakness, he’d never ever manage to secure the food he needed to survive. Others would target his fragile waist when competing for food, and before long he would collapse from hunger.
So he was always cautious, guarding that secret without revealing it in front of others.
Even now.
The scuffle must have involved some bones cracking, as amidst the chaos, someone’s random punch landed on his waist.
That punch made him feel as though his vertebrae had shifted, and he might have heard a crisp sound from his waist, but he wasn’t certain it was genuinely coming from his body.
The pain, however, was definite.
The agony in his waist was severe, and bending down to pick up the permit had exacerbated the existing injury.
Yet, he didn’t let it show one bit, only stiffly raising his leg, clutching the bloodied stick, and stepping towards the stage.
Other contestants, fearing the weapon in his hand, dared not cause trouble for him.
Thus, 1095 smoothly made it to the host’s stage; before going up, he intentionally pocketed the stained stick, perhaps worried it might negatively impress the Upper Class.
The moment both his feet hit the platform, he sighed in relief.
Here, the danger was genuinely eliminated, and no one would rush up to snatch away the permit.
In thinking this, his perception of the aching in his waist lightened.
But what about ’speeches’? 1095 had a vague understanding—it involved addressing a crowd.
He didn’t know how to begin or how long he should speak.
Afraid of displeasing the audience, he hesitated into a short-term bewilderment.
In reality, his worry was unnecessary. When he drove his carved stick into another contestant’s body, the Upper Class had already noticed him.
He was the first to turn a killing tool against a peer, and to actually kill them.
Compared to him, the other contestants’ struggles were mere squabbles.
1095’s vote count had long started climbing sharply. The moment he stepped onto the stage, the screen showed his votes surpassing the previous first-placed contestant, although he remained unaware and concerned about his likability.
He hesitated a long while before barely crafting a suitable speech in his mind.
Both his hands tightly gripped the hems of his patched clothes, feeling the coarse friction against his palms.
He smoothed the edges of the patch repeatedly thrice before cautiously speaking: "I am 1095...I won’t let you down, please...cast your vote for me, thank you..."
Never once did he raise his gaze toward the Upper Class below, not daring to meet their eyes, feeling unworthy.
This was 1095’s first speech in his life, concluding in a concise sentence.
Upon his words’ completion, Teacher Slaughter wore a slightly puzzled look, seemingly confused by why he didn’t continue speaking.
Seeing the uneasy bow of 1095’s head, Teacher Slaughter realized his "speech" had finished.
The lower-class speech indeed was uninteresting, luckily I prepared this ladder game, avoiding the naive approach of neighboring housing districts letting the lower-class queue up for speeches. Teacher Slaughter found it boring inside, but still led by clapping his hands.
After all, this was his event, though the lower-class speech was dull, he had to boost the atmosphere.
Fortunately, some audience members enjoyed seeing contestants’ timid expressions—1095’s speech didn’t disenchant the audience, on the contrary, his votes continued climbing, almost reaching fifteen hundred, leaving the second-placed contestant behind.
Teacher Slaughter watched the rank on the screen with satisfaction, but soon realized something amiss—a different contestant’s rank was suddenly surging upwards rapidly.
In a blink at rank 97, suddenly gaining over a hundred votes, he moved to rank 62!
With each audience member allowed only two votes, this scenario indicated over fifty people simultaneously cast into his ballot in that leap.
Teacher Slaughter thought his eyes were deceiving him.
But the next moment, he noticed it wasn’t a mere optical illusion, as the contestant propelled once more, gaining over two hundred votes and advancing into the top fifty.
