Chapter 177: All Black

Zhao Zijing's power system is psychokinesis; her direct destructive capability isn't outstanding, but she excels in low energy consumption, wide range, and integrated offense-defense, making her a jack-of-all-trades.

She waved her hand to open the hatch remotely, retrieving repair tools from the bottom compartment. First, she used a water gun to clean off residual corrosive liquid, then repaired smaller pits and depressions with fiberglass cloth and resin.

For larger holes, she cut steel plates and rewelded them.

Mendoza and the others stayed quietly inside the cabin; they had just seen through the surveillance screen the scene of insects swarming the deck—ordinary people wouldn't survive long in such an environment.

"Come over here."

Li Cheng snapped his fingers, summoning everyone to gather, then pulled out thirty sheets of 【Death Prediction Notebook】 and distributed them to the others, "These papers predict possible death scenarios each of you might face in the near future. Guess how you'll die."

Midnight Howl desperately ignored the remark, took the white paper, and gasped upon reading the item description: "Divination tool? And such low cost?"

Other divination methods could foretell fortune or misfortune, glimpse death, but either consumed enormous energy or required long preparation—nothing as convenient as 【Death Prediction Notebook】.

Zhao Zijing's heart stirred: 【Death Prediction Notebook】 only consumed sanity points, meaning ordinary people could use it.

She could easily imagine super-rich individuals with severe anxiety over their safety willing to pay huge sums to hoard these sheets, using one before every private flight.

This also indirectly explained why Zhao Zijing found no records in the GOC database of Master Pi Fu joining any guild—【Death Prediction Notebook】 was like a golden egg-laying hen; with such a lucrative item, joining a guild was unnecessary.

After receiving paper and pen, everyone immediately felt an invisible force controlling their arms, compelling them to rapidly scribble.

Shhh-shhh-shhh—

When the scribbling ended, the results were strangely peculiar.

Of the thirty sheets, twenty-four were completely blacked out, revealing nothing.

The remaining six depicted scenes: Miles, the Black youth, his head exploding out of nowhere; Katherine, the London girl, severed at the waist; Midnight Howl and the Bandaged Man drowning in water; the Bandaged Man shattered by an energy fluid; the Crimson Racer vomiting his internal organs; Zhao Zijing exploding to death.

"Wah—I don't want to die," Katherine whispered, staring at the lifelike drawing, her face pale, tears welling.

"The divination drawings merely reveal possible future outcomes—they don't mean those futures are inevitable."

Zhao Zijing offered a casual reassurance, her fingertip brushing the paper as she frowned, "These six death methods are understandable—the killing field is inherently dangerous, anything could happen.

But why are the other twenty-four sheets completely black?"

"There are a few possibilities,"

Li Cheng thought carefully and said, "a. Everyone has a high chance of dying in absolute pitch-black darkness.

b. The divination effect is being blocked by something.

c. We're being assassinated by a massive army of Black assassins clad in black, wielding black swords."

"These Black assassins grew up in lightless coal mines, eat nothing but black rice cakes, use black smartphones to swipe black credit cards, play Black Myth: Wukong, are hired by heartless bosses, and rode black taxis all the way here, right?"

The Crimson Racer sighed, rubbing his chest and abdomen, his mind filled with the image of himself vomiting his organs.

The cabin fell into a solemn silence; knowing your own death method wasn't a light matter.

Beep—

The tablet in Zhao Zijing's hand beeped—the drone she'd deployed had found an exit.

The entire city was actually inside a rectangular enclosed space, ninety kilometers long, seventy kilometers wide, and one kilometer high. All four walls were made of an unknown cement-like material.

At the city's end stood twelve semi-suspended giant drainage pipes for discharging water, corroborating the players' earlier guess—that the dam indeed periodically released floodwaters.

"The 【Guidance Radar】 indicates we enter the seventh pipe."

Zhao Zijing pressed her lips slightly; the pipe ahead was as wide as a riverbed, large enough for the exploration vessel to navigate, "Prepare for impact."

The four ordinary people hurriedly put on life vests; Midnight Howl, knowing he might drown, added two more.

The exploration vessel rode the waves into the pipe; the autopilot maxed out engine power to prevent veering and colliding with the walls.

The pipe had no lighting installed; Li Cheng took out several spotlights from the 3D storage and had Zhao Zijing weld them to the front and rear of the hull.

After completing this, the players waited in silence for over half an hour. The pipe stretched endlessly ahead, the scenery repeating like a looping GIF—only the laser rangefinder revealed the pipe was shifting imperceptibly downward and to the left.

It was unbearably boring; Li Cheng stretched and said, "Keep watch here—I'm going to the toilet."

"Mm, go ahead."

The Crimson Racer replied absently, then watched Li Cheng gesture, pulling out a roll of toilet paper and a vintage yet brand-new porcelain spittoon, heading toward the stern.

"Wait—what are you doing?" The Crimson Racer gasped, "There's a toilet on the ship!"

"I know," Li Cheng said matter-of-factly, "This is about protecting my personal privacy."

"Pooping in the open air isn't privacy at all?!"

"Superficial," Li Cheng sneered. "This mission gives us 48 hours—eating, drinking, defecating, urinating are unavoidable. And excrement and urine concern players' lives.

Urine can reveal your physical condition; the vast number of human cells in feces can directly detect DNA, pinpointing your real-world identity and letting them 'open the box' offline.

In the early days of the Killing Field, many wild players were captured by national agencies and multinational conglomerates due to their urine, feces, hair, blood, fingerprints, or bodily fluids.

Now, it's the fourth year since the Killing Field descended; technology is far more advanced—who knows what those tech maniacs, like the Demon Scientists' Alliance, could do with DNA?

Downward curses, voodoo dolls, poison spells, or cloning humans from cells.

Someone as handsome, charming, elegant, and brilliant as me? Countless organizations will want to clone me."

Yes, like the Qinglong Mountain Royal Sanatorium and Saint Elizabeth Psychiatric Hospital.

The Crimson Racer winced, Zhao Zijing looked baffled—Master Pi Fu's words were utterly absurd, yet oddly plausible.

In truth, Li Cheng was bored and wanted to stir up some chaos to lighten the mood; second, he was tired of standing and wanted an excuse to sit down.

Suddenly, the spotlight at the bow extinguished without warning, plunging the surroundings into dimness.

Midnight Howl instinctively called out, "Brother Pi Fu—"

"Not me."

Li Cheng's expression turned grim; he dropped the toilet paper and drew a rusted cleaver from thin air, "We've got company."

In the next instant, the stern spotlight, deck indicator lights, drone power lights, cabin LCD panels, and even the emergency exit glow signs—all light sources simultaneously went dark, plunging the entire pipe into utter blackness.