Most of the forum posts discussing Bai Liu ended in flame wars.
The argument usually centered on the fact that Bai Liu had been given a spot in the [Core Promotion Slot] last time, and whether he actually deserved it.
Many players believed Bai Liu was weak and relied entirely on petty tricks, making him unworthy of such a valuable promotion slot. Others thought that since Bai Liu had gotten the slot, then he had gotten it—what did whether he deserved it or not have to do with anyone else?
After watching several of these flame wars unfold, Wang Shun summarized the attitude of most players who disliked Bai Liu in one phrase:
His virtue did not match his position.
The last person to spark such a large-scale debate over whether he deserved his place had been Du Sanying during his rookie period.
Du Sanying had a luck value of one hundred. No matter what he did, everything went ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) smoothly. Points poured into his account as if they cost nothing, making countless players green with envy. Every day, people cursed that trash like Du Sanying, who relied on luck to win, had no right to exist and would sooner or later die in the game.
Some people argued that Du Sanying did have strength, and that his personal skill was extremely powerful.
But most of the time, that argument would be immediately shot down with:
If he’s so strong, then let Du Sanying’s luck value drop to zero first. Then we can talk about strength.
The situation only improved later, after Du Sanying firmly secured a spot in the top three of the Rising Star Rankings. Once that happened, fewer players dared to openly offend him.
And now, Bai Liu had a luck value of zero and had climbed onto the [Core Promotion Slot] through sheer logic and ability—yet this group of people still found him irritating to look at. They still thought he was unworthy.
It seemed “virtue” was never the real issue.
The position was.
As long as someone climbed into that place, no matter who it was, they would be deemed unworthy. As long as the person who climbed up wasn’t them, people could always find flaws, magnify them, and parade them around for everyone to see.
Wang Shun shook his head and stopped listening to the surrounding discussions.
But looking at the wall of small televisions in front of him, he found himself caught in the same struggle.
Which stream should he watch?
The Puppet Master’s small television had pay-to-view enabled.
Mu Shicheng’s small television had pay-to-view enabled as well.
Although Du Sanying was ranked third on the Rising Star Rankings, his games were usually lacking in dramatic tension, so the loyalty of his paying audience was only average. Because of that, Du Sanying’s stream had never enabled pay-to-view.
As a newcomer, Bai Liu naturally had not enabled it either.
However, even though Bai Liu’s stream was free, his viewer count was far lower than Mu Shicheng’s or the Puppet Master’s, let alone Du Sanying’s.
Du Sanying’s popularity had always been extremely high, and his stream was free. This time, with three “gods” gathered in one game and the topic value exploding, nearly every player unwilling to pay had flooded into Du Sanying’s viewing area.
From a distance, Du Sanying’s viewing area was packed with heads, so dense it looked as though his audience was an entire order of magnitude larger than Mu Shicheng’s and the Puppet Master’s.
Even the three puppet players under the Puppet Master, such as Li Gou, had decent popularity because they were being carried by a big shot like him. Their numbers were much higher than Bai Liu’s.
Only Bai Liu’s side was deserted.
Unable to bear the sight, Wang Shun sighed and walked into Bai Liu’s viewing area.
When several major players collided in the same game, most viewers could barely keep up with their streams alone. Who would bother paying attention to a newcomer?
It was only natural that Bai Liu’s traffic had been drained away, leaving him neglected.
[301 people have liked Bai Liu’s small television. 170 people have bookmarked Bai Liu’s small television. 210 people are watching Player Bai Liu’s small television. No one has charged points to Player Bai Liu’s small television.]
[Player Bai Liu, please work hard! Your number of likes is only one percent of the player with the highest overall data among this round of “The Last Train to Blast Off” players: Du Sanying!]
“Du Sanying’s likes are already at thirty thousand, and the game only just started...” Wang Shun sighed from the bottom of his heart.
Seeing that Du Sanying had instantly obtained the first promotion slot and left this sub-section for the central hall, Wang Shun sighed again and gave Bai Liu a like.
“Come on, Bai Liu. Don’t fall into the Nameless Zone...”
——————
Du Sanying stood outside the platform, almost pressing his glasses against the train ticket as he stared at the destination printed on it.
He muttered to himself, “That’s strange. Why are the starting station and terminal station the same...”
Behind him, the LED clock on the platform had already jumped to a countdown of [00:10].
The moment the timer entered the final ten seconds, the entire station went dark.
One second later, the lights came back on.
But they were no longer the normal white light of day.
Instead, a dim red glow flickered overhead.
The subway station became a web of red and black. The lighting made the entire place look like a darkroom used for developing photographs.
At the end of the tracks, a train with glowing red headlights roared out of the deep, dark tunnel. It hurtled into the station like a red-eyed beast eager to devour its prey, then slowly stopped in front of Du Sanying.
The female voice of the subway broadcast announced in a mechanical, icy tone:
“Passengers on board have arrived at the terminal station, Antique City. Passengers whose destination is Antique City, please exit the train. This train is about to begin its next round of operation. Passengers departing from Antique City, please board now—Passengers on board have arrived at the terminal station, Antique City. Passengers whose destination is...”
Along with the broadcast, the train doors slowly slid open in front of Du Sanying.
The stench of burnt flesh rushed out with the gust of wind stirred up by the train’s arrival. The thick, charred smell of an explosion flooded Du Sanying’s nose, making him cover his mouth and cough several times.
Du Sanying looked up at the Line 4 subway train he was about to board.
Under the flickering lights, the train was empty one moment, the handrails inside swaying desolately.
The next moment, it was packed with all kinds of passengers whose faces were blurred, looking exactly like a subway during rush hour in a major city—so crowded that Du Sanying could not squeeze in at all.
Behind Du Sanying, the red LED clock hissed and jumped to [00:05].
That jump seemed to be a signal.
All the air-conditioning vents in the subway station suddenly stopped operating.
The temperature throughout the station began rising rapidly. The subway speakers started to melt and drip like candles. The female voice of the broadcast became warped and drawn-out before finally getting stuck on a strange syllable—
[44444]
It repeated over and over again.
Du Sanying guessed it had probably been trying to say Line 4.
The passengers around him, who had also been waiting to board, began walking slowly toward the train.
Their figures flickered eerily beneath the flashing red-and-black lights.
As they walked, several of them suddenly burst into flames with a whoosh, turning into corpses burning fiercely from head to toe.
The skin on the faces of these burning “passengers” was scorched and split open by the fire. The blackened edges curled outward, revealing pale yellow human fat melting beneath. Grease dripped to the ground like butter.
Their limbs spasmed and contracted in the smoking heat, emitting pungent black smoke. Yet they seemed completely unaware that they were burning and continued walking into the train.
The train gradually filled with charred corpses.
Some sat. Some stood. Some hung from the handrails. Some leaned against the subway doors.
The flames melted the plastic handrails, and the softened plastic dripped onto these “passengers” like cream. The subway windows made sharp cracking sounds under the high temperature, while the passengers kept their heads lowered, staring at cell phones burned badly enough to expose their circuits, as though utterly unaware of the terrifying scene around them.
If not for the raging flames on their bodies, which showed no sign of going out, they would have looked just like ordinary, exhausted people taking the last train home.
[System Prompt: Player Du Sanying, please board the train immediately.]
“No way...” Du Sanying was a little speechless. “What is wrong with this game? A boarding kill right at the start? This car is burned to this state. If I go in, won’t I turn into human barbecue?”
The viewers in front of Du Sanying’s small television were all laughing.
“A boarding kill, I’m dying! Don’t worry, it won’t kill our little parrot!”
“Little parrot, have some faith in your luck value! Maybe once you get on, the fire on the whole train will go out!”
“Wait, that’s not right!! Look carefully! There are people on the train who aren’t burning! There are players on the train!!”
“Holy shit! Who’s that badass? They actually got on already! Aren’t they afraid of dying?!”
Among the countless blackened, charred passenger corpses stood a fair-skinned man in a white shirt and suit pants.
He looked like an ordinary office worker and was currently turning his head to speak calmly to someone beside him.
The person he was speaking to had a lollipop in his mouth and looked like a university student, both hands stuffed into his pockets. He lowered his head slightly and tilted it closer, bringing his ear near the office worker as though listening to him speak.
As he listened, the college-student-looking player with the lollipop raised an eyebrow and revealed a malicious, ill-intentioned smile. Paired with his attractive features, it was especially striking.
On a train filled with smoke, fire, and withered pitch-black burned “passengers,” these two overly normal passengers with outstanding looks were impossibly eye-catching.
Du Sanying’s viewers instantly exploded.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!!! It’s Mu Shen!!! Mu Shen is so handsome!!!”
“Damn, who’s that office worker player? He’s so calm.”
Mu Shicheng looked at Bai Liu, who had changed back into his original appearance, and found it somewhat amusing.
“Why did you switch back again? Done pretending to be clever?”
“The broadcast has already started. Naturally, I changed back to seduce the audience.” Bai Liu straightened the cuffs of his shirt and said shamelessly, “Humans are visual creatures. Since I have a decent face, of course I should make good use of it to earn money.”
“But there’s another reason.”
Bai Liu glanced sideways at Mu Shicheng.
“So the Puppet Master, who’s coming to catch me, can find me a little more easily.”
The smile at the corner of Mu Shicheng’s mouth tightened slightly. He gave an irritable tsk.
“Bai Liu, are you seriously planning to use yourself as bait to lure Zhang Kui out? His strength is solid, and his skills are extremely powerful. That plan of yours has too many loopholes. Even with my cooperation, we might not necessarily succeed in killing—”
“Shh.”
Bai Liu pressed his index finger to his lips.
His eyes were fixed on the LED countdown clock outside the train, which had reached [00:01].
In a low voice, he said, “The countdown is about to hit zero. A player is about to come aboard.”
“Do whatever you want.” Mu Shicheng leaned against the train door with his arms crossed, utterly speechless. “The one most likely to die in that plan is you, not me. I don’t care.”
He glanced at Bai Liu.
“As long as you’re willing to throw your own life away.”
