Chapter Twenty-Two - 'What is this Host Being Narcissistic About
The air was thick with the chaos of the barrage, but Su Ming'an's focus was solely on the pleading eyes of the few in front of him.
To the side, Yang Changxu wanted to say something, but thinking of the dying old Qin, he realized he had no right to advise anyone to give up a life and so he kept silent.
"Why, everyone clearly wants to live. I know it's shameless, I don't want to force you like this, but... but..." Aman said, her tears unwillingly emerging at the corners of her eyes: "But... I don't want to see my companions die! Why, why... when we could all sacrifice the advanced tasks for the sake of protecting the people, do you, so young, only care about those points—the points for a Perfect Pass? Are they really that important to you!"
"Points are very important," Su Ming'an suddenly spoke up, his eyes darkening into the ink of the gradually quiet night.
After capping the bottle in his hand, he gazed at the woman tear-streaked face.
"Everything is important," he said.
"It's still all for those rewards..." Aman whimpered, lifting her eyelids to see his eyes burning like dark fire, momentarily stabbing pain into her blurred eyes.
His figure gradually vanished under the straying night, leaving only those still glowing eyes.
Facing her gaze.
...How dare you look at me like that!
Aman clenched her teeth, anger surging in an instant.
So selfish...
...You're so young, you've never lost a companion—you clearly don't understand anything!
Her heart's wild thoughts melded into one, licking her heart like fire, gradually smothering all rationality.
Then, she thought of an idea—if words couldn't make the person in front of her give up, then just forcefully take the antidote! After all... in the end, she could compensate him for whatever, this is the Apocalypse, her actions are justified in order to save lives...
Aman was never quite righteous, and once she couldn't get what she wanted, her thoughts quickly aligned with the game.
Her hand danced to her waist in an instant, the gleam of a dagger flashing—
"Aman!" Yang Changxu's voice came from behind, tinged with panic.
Her body pounced like a cheetah, that hand stretched out directly, reaching for the lifesaving antidote just within reach—
"Shua!"
A cold light slowly emerged before her eyes.
Those indifferent eyes still watching her in the silence.
Aman felt a ringing surge in her mind, a heavy, suffocating emotion suddenly rising in her chest, leaving her gasping for breath, her gaze momentarily shifted—
Her arm, holding the dagger, suddenly flew up like a kite, vividly blood-splattered, scattering beautiful droplets of blood.
Chocolate bars scattered like fireworks.
The black-haired girl, coldly watching her, poised her sword at her throat.
"Talk too much," she bit down hard, the chocolate bar making a crisp "crack" sound, exceptionally loud in the silent room.
That sword light, chillingly instant like snow:
"The next stroke will kill you."
...
The next moment, the barrage exploded across the screen.
"Aman—!" The man cried out in an almost pitiful wail, as Aman toppled, unable to cope with the pain of losing her arm, and fainting.
"Aaah—you!!" The young man with a buzz cut, his eyes completely red, bellowed, his rage uncontrollable, grabbing a stick and charging recklessly forward.
Yuanyuan's gaze was slightly cold, her sword raised, her vision completely locked on him.
"Crack!"
Suddenly, an extremely loud sound erupted at the moment of high tension.
Yang Changxu fiercely slapped the young man.
His face filled with pain as he withdrew his hand, now reddened, leaving the bewildered young man covering his face with a vacant look.
The young man's somewhat stiff gaze slowly sank, settling on Aman lying in a pool of blood on the ground. Then, extremely weakly, extremely slowly, as if all the strength had been suddenly drawn from his body, he knelt down, his forehead touching the ground, sobbing.
"Why... why has it come to this...
We just, just wanted to save people, that's all..."
He lay on the ground, as if he could never stand again, emitting a cry like that of a wounded beast.
"I'm sorry." Yang Changxu stepped forward, his movements incredibly heavy, bowing deeply to Su Ming'an: "It's our failure to know our place, our ingratitude, and still using such a despicable method to coerce you, it's our fault. Yang Changxu was saved by you once, this life is yours, you may use it however you wish..."
"Go find a way to save this woman," Su Ming'an said, turning around: "If you want to live, to earn points for all of humanity—there are Blood Bottles and Hemostatic Bandages in the store, it's still not too late."
Yang Changxu straightened up, his gaze blankly lingering on Su Ming'an's departing silhouette.
Su Ming'an, with a wary Yuanyuan in tow and clutching the half-empty bottle of antidote, took steps that felt increasingly heavy, descending into the shadows of the staircase.
As he stepped outside, the persistent smell of blood in the air finally lightened slightly, followed by a gradual dispersal of the oppressive atmosphere.
At the supermarket's entrance, a gentle moonlight quietly prevailed.
Su Ming'an let go of Yuanyuan's hand, tucked it into his pocket, and walked into the night in an instant.
Under the congealed moonlight, his figure was stretched exceedingly long.
In the top right corner, the frenzied arguing in the barrage had merged into a mess, with supporters and opponents unceasingly at loggerheads, but Su Ming'an's eyes never once drifted there; his gaze, somewhat tranquil yet profound, stared into the distance.
A faint smell of blood drifted in the wind, and in the distance, the non-human screams of zombies arose.
...It hardly seemed like a good place to express poetic or picturesque sentiments.
Yuanyuan, wiping her sword, approached from behind and looked at him.
"Turn off the livestream," she said. "It's depressing here."
She received no response from him.
Under the moonlight, his eyes, infused with moonlight, were serene.
"Do you know why I started the livestream?" Su Ming'an asked.
Yuanyuan blinked.
"The spotlight effect," Su Ming'an said, looking at her with a smile, "The despair of the masses brings even greater despair. And everyone is currently in such a situation.
Humanity is in chaos; communications are completely severed; people can't even find their own relatives.
In such a disordered large group, for a leader to emerge, aside from basic abilities, there's something else needed—the spotlight.
Under the spotlight, everyone's eyes are fixed in one direction, naturally forming a focal point. At that point, the leader's every word is clearly conveyed; the will and ideas of the public are also naturally driven by the herd mentality and dependency."
He paused slightly, looked up steadfastly at the streetlight as if gazing at hope:
"—If we want to lead such a desperate group toward a common goal... we need to establish a clear and firm objective."
Yuanyuan blinked again.
She could see his eyes...always so clear. His gaze was too bright, too dazzling, making it easy to overlook the pain hidden behind them.
But she had watched him grow up, so she was sensitive to even these subtle emotional shifts.
The other... didn't seem as agitated as he appeared.
On the contrary, he seemed to be deliberately acting excited for someone, as if to deceive someone.
"So, I hope," Su Ming'an looked at her, "if everyone is a lost ship in the sea, I hope... I can be their compass, the person under the central spotlight—and the always stable lighthouse."
"You will be," Yuanyuan said.
His words seemed profoundly meaningful, but the pretense in his expression gave rise to a bizarre sense of absurdity deep within.
It came with an overwhelming pressure.
Like a churning pool of magma, ready to erupt with intense heat, yet quickly fade to a permanent stillness after a brief dazzle.
And she, would not let him become an eternal extinguished fire.
The comments were filled with [Is this host narcissistic?][A beacon for everyone, is he worthy?][Who does he think he is?]at that time.
Su Ming'an just calmly looked into Yuanyuan's eyes.
...He knew he looked strange right now, boasting about winning continuously.
But this act was his way to confuse the organizers.
[Number One Player]was a freshly matured teenager, a student who hadn't outgrown his adolescent impulses, a common human suddenly entering this fantastical world. For someone like him to suddenly become the [Number One Player], he ought to act proud, arrogant, and full of responsibility.
In fact, that was the image he was establishing.
That way, he might keep the secret of his ability to rewind death from the organizers, and why he knew it was critical to achieve a Perfect Pass.
[A naive adolescent, wanting to lead everyone, wanting to win to the end—what a perfect answer.]
Before the final outcome was revealed, he was willing to be such an enthusiastic adolescent.
In times like these, no one was luckier or unluckier than anyone else.
Mission compels one to forge ahead against all odds.
"—I'm tired."
Yuanyuan suddenly yawned, her eyes glistening slightly.
She got up, dragging her sheathed sword along, didn't bother with whatever Su Ming'an had to say next, and shuffled toward the nearest house.
"Going to sleep," she announced, then walked off on her own.
Su Ming'an glanced at the darkened second floor of the supermarket, then, carrying a potion in one hand, quickened his pace to follow her.
...However, this image also had its own purpose.
Now that he had acquired the skill of rewinding death, becoming an existence different from the powerless players, he was the one with the highest likelihood of perfectly passing to the end among all players.
He would certainly stand till the end and wouldn't lose eligibility due to death. Therefore, he hoped to gain the trust of others to lessen obstacles in his own road to a Perfect Pass.
He had at least achieved the opportunity to become a [Chess Player], not just a single-dimensional [Chess Piece], transparent and manipulable.
And during this period, any spectator or player's glances or words…would not affect him in the least.
To redeem Zhai Xing, a game wagered on Destiny.
Even if what awaited him was still powerless Despair, the hope he experienced along the way—was his reliance as a mere human, not to be assimilated.
Let it be abnormal, if abnormal it must be.
...
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