Chapter 584

Putting down the mouse, Li Cheng called out Hui Yu and went to Louchai Street.

Today, the dome’s artificial weather system switched to overcast rain; fine strands of pure water drifted down, pattering against the colorful surfaces of umbrellas.

The street was packed with vehicles and pedestrians; dim golden lights glowed in the leisure bars, where a goblin pianist, wearing glasses and a bow tie, sat upright, playing elegant melodies for the full clientele.

Just one wall away lay the bloody arena, where two players, wearing helmets with neural tubes plugged into the back of their heads, controlled grotesque bio-engineered monsters through thought alone, fighting to the death in a confined space. Flying flesh and blood triggered waves of roaring cheers from the surrounding spectators and gamblers.

“Kind sir, madam, have pity on me—I haven’t eaten in three days...”

A short, purple-skinned subhuman with four eyes, sitting by the roadside as if paralyzed and wrapped in tattered rags, whispered a feeble plea, shaking a metal bowl containing a few coins toward Hui Yu.

Before Hui Yu could react, two steel golem guards, each two and a half meters tall, blew sharp whistles and stormed over with batons in hand.

The purple-skinned subhuman’s face twisted in panic; it pushed off the ground with both hands and fled on legs absurdly long compared to its squat frame.

It was clearly not a player, but one of the groups the Louchai Street Neighborhood Committee now found deeply troublesome: illegal immigrants.

Players, on average, were billionaires; ten thousand game coins equaled over a hundred million in the real world—no matter where you placed them, they were high-net-worth individuals.

To earn money—and primarily to recycle game coins—multinational conglomerates from Europe and America had, from the very founding of Louchai Street, used living-space containers to bring in a large group of ordinary people, hiring them as basic workers: casino dealers, hotel and restaurant staff, financial accountants, lawyers, ride-share drivers, and the like.

All of them had signed long-term contracts with the company, undergone professional training, and were theoretically meant to be uniformly managed and strictly controlled, just like Korean workers sent to the U.S.

But after seeing too much of the players’ glamorous lives, they began to believe that transcendent power could change fate, that they could rise above others, become the ultimate elite—or find ways to escape corporate control, secretly staying in Louchai Street; or seduce players to become their patrons; or, with hardened resolve, band together in groups of three or five, armed and driving off-road vehicles, venturing deep into the killing fields to scavenge trash in hopes of striking it rich overnight.

This was the first source of illegal immigration; the second came from artificial lifeforms created by major guilds.

What the Prometheus Union and GS Biotech launched—the service-type bio-androids, approved by GOC’s Ethics Committee.

Commercial bio-androids had no gender, no pain, no fear, and a lifespan of only one year.

Because the basic service-type bio-androids were fully functional and reasonably priced, many new players around Lv5 bought one as a personal assistant.

After downloading and installing paid update packages, they could serve as part-time butlers, fitness coaches, chefs, nutritionists, and physiotherapists.

Many players, before earning their qualifications, had been ordinary workers who had never experienced such thoughtful, meticulous service. Some socially anxious shut-ins developed strong emotional attachments to the bio-androids.

Prometheus subsequently launched a series of upgrade packages, installing more nuanced emotional modules, more lifelike eyes, skin, and internal organs, even full reproductive systems.

As for pricing: the Plus upgrade package cost 500 game coins, the Pro package 700, the ProMa package 1500, and the Ultra package started at 3000—enough to hire the Evil Science Alliance to implant artificial souls into the bio-androids.

Besides bio-androids, the Evil Science Alliance also had its signature goblins.

These goblins were commonly modified into handsome men and beautiful women, working in bars, nightclubs, and KTVs under the Evil Science Alliance’s banner.

Originally, this behavior—treating non-human beings as mere objects—drew widespread criticism from forum do-gooders, cited as further proof of the Evil Science Alliance’s cruelty, rivaling even the Laughing Troupe’s depravity.

Yet survey results revealed the goblins were actually quite satisfied with their current lives—if they were in another world, they’d be treated like stray dogs and kicked to death by heroes; here, working in an Evil Science Alliance KTV, they could sneakily snack on customers’ fruit platters, even earn wages and enjoy full medical insurance covering teeth and eyes.

Compared to bio-androids and goblins with little awakened free will and loose supervision, the real headache was familiars.

Led by the Thousand-Throated Beast, many guilds actively bred and reproduced transcendent creatures: land birds, wyverns, alu cats, ogres, shape-shifters, and more.

When a player died unexpectedly, their familiar had nowhere to go; familiars with subhuman stature and self-awareness would remain in Louchai Street, becoming illegal immigrants without player qualifications.

Like the purple-skinned, short subhuman just now.

Theoretically, the Louchai Street Neighborhood Committee was only responsible to players; it could easily impose curfews, destroy all unclaimed transcendent creatures, or round them all up and dump them in some remote, desolate corner of the killing field—“humanely released,” just like American middle-class parents told their kids their pet was sent to a countryside farm for treatment (in reality, crushed into 2D by passing vehicles).

But on one hand, the committee didn’t want to be too ruthless; on the other, there were indeed cases where players vanished for weeks, declared dead, only to return alive after enduring great hardship, trapped in some obscure corner of the killing field.

Those who could afford to rent an apartment in Louchai Street and keep one or several familiars were undoubtedly mid- to high-tier players. Handling their familiars without consent was simply inappropriate.

Also, the strange creature Li Cheng had rescued from the Dark Biological Theme Park long ago was another successful case of illegal immigration.

Fortunately, the killing field was vast beyond measure; the high-intelligence killing field biological settlements were far from Louchai Street. Ordinary humans on Earth couldn’t sneak into the killing field without a player’s escort, so the Louchai Street Neighborhood Committee had no fear of waking up one day to find millions of illegal immigrants arriving en masse, knocking at the gates.

The fine rain continued; Li Cheng held his umbrella, his thoughts drifting.

Passersby recognized him and Hui Yu, dared not point or whisper loudly, but murmured quietly or secretly pulled out their phones—the forum’s rumors spread fast; everyone knew that in the past 24 hours, global network fluctuations, a major blackout in San Francisco, and the destruction of thousands of satellites had all seemingly been linked once again to the Pifus.

“Sigh, it’s hard being a person, harder being a woman, hardest being a famous woman.”

Hui Yu sighed aloud, yet the corners of her mouth refused to droop.

Li Cheng frowned slightly; he wasn’t used to being photographed and stared at. He immediately pulled out his phone, opened the music player, and played the opening track of The Lion King: “Circle of Life.”

This move left many passersby exchanging glances; one hesitantly asked softly, “What’s he doing?”

Another passerby, wearing a cucumber-shaped head cover, shrugged. “The Lion King is a Disney movie—any video with Disney’s original soundtrack can’t be uploaded to video sites, or it’ll be forcibly taken down, probably.”

Another pedestrian wearing a cucumber mask shrugged. “The Lion King is a Disney movie, and if any video contains Disney’s original soundtrack, it can’t be uploaded to video sites—it’ll get forcibly taken down, probably.”

Before he finished, Li Cheng casually pulled two homemade down jackets from thin air, each adorned with Mickey and Minnie ears, covered entirely in labels from Vision China—prompting everyone nearby with knowledge of the situation to feel a sharp, cringing discomfort—

Brother, if you’re wearing that outfit, you definitely can’t upload the footage to any site.

The two oddballs walked toward the Starforge Anvil, and before reaching the door, they saw a blue-and-white armored vehicle,

dual-axle four-wheel drive, emblazoned with the GOC logo, slowly come to a halt.

By player standards, this armored vehicle, made of special steel plates with windows thick enough to withstand rocket and armor-piercing rounds, was unquestionably a top-tier luxury car.

Bang—the door opened, and eight well-dressed, handsome men and beautiful women stepped out (the armored vehicle clearly had built-in space-folding tech), each wearing white silk gloves and polished leather shoes, their expressions solemn. Zhao Zijing led the group, cradling an antique rosewood box.

Thud—the car door opened, and eight well-dressed men and women stepped out (the armored vehicle clearly had built-in spatial folding tech), each wearing white silk gloves and polished leather shoes, their expressions solemn. The familiar Zhao Zijing walked at the front, cradling an antique-style rosewood box.

Hui Yu stared, dumbfounded; had Li Cheng not been standing beside her, she’d have thought he’d sacrificed himself heroically against the Phase Demon for human civilization, and GOC had come to deliver his ashes.

Hui Yu stared, dumbfounded. If Li Cheng hadn’t been standing right beside her, she would’ve thought he’d sacrificed his life heroically against the Phase Demon for human civilization—and that GOC had sent a representative with his ashes.

Li Cheng’s eyebrow twitched. JD.com had more than just self-pickup and JD Express—it also offered Jing Zun Da: pay 49 yuan, and a deliveryman in a suit with gloves would arrive in a new-energy vehicle, presenting a solemn, elegant black box at your door.

“Mr. Pifú, thank you for your tremendous support of our Global Occult Alliance’s work...”

Zhao Zijing’s tone was grave; since the forum already knew the Pifus were behind the global network disturbance, she openly acknowledged it as a model case of cooperation between the GOC and civilian forces, preventing the public from succumbing to wild speculation.

Flowery speeches followed one after another, effectively a diplomatic GG.

Since GOC had generously gifted Shi Shi’s artifact, Li Cheng couldn’t fall short; he took a deep breath and said, “Shoulders bear justice, swords cleave treachery. GOC has always stood on the front line against threats to human civilization. It is because of your courage in forging ahead, carving new paths, that we civilians can safely chase winds and waves, racing toward the horizon...”

Since the Global Supernatural Alliance had generously gifted Shi Shi a relic, Li Cheng couldn’t fall short. He took a deep breath and murmured, “Shoulders bear the Dao’s weight, swords cleave treachery. GOC has always stood on the front line against threats to human civilization. It’s because you forge ahead, carving paths through thorns and opening new heavens, that we civilian players can safely chase winds and waves, racing toward the horizon...”

Are you studying for your postgraduate entrance exam?

Zhao Zijing struggled to keep her expression composed, solemnly handed the box to Li Cheng, deliberately slowing her movements so her colleagues could film it for promotional material.

GOC still had some integrity here—its promotional materials were mostly genuine; they wouldn’t produce something as utterly abstract as “Seven-Year-Old Maomao: I Thought I’d Never Eat Xibei Again,” making you wonder what the hell they’d put in their kids’ meals to cause withdrawal symptoms.

Once the box was delivered, Zhao Zijing lowered her voice to Li Cheng: “The Special Affairs Bureau also thanks you for your support.”

“No problem, we’re all bros.”

Li Cheng waved his hand, striking a grateful pose.

Ah, back when Zhao Zijing first encountered the Pifus during the [Electricity Reversal] mission, the Pifus were still lower-ranked than her; now, though their levels were close, their power gap had widened by an entire order of magnitude.

Zhao Zijing felt a faint pang of awe—before GOC’s team finished taking photos, loud shouting erupted from inside the Starforge Anvil: “Impossible! Absolutely impossible!”

A tall, blond, blue-eyed transcendent with wings on his back stood before the Starforge Anvil’s vending machine, face twisted, eyes bloodshot, as if deeply insulted.

Li Cheng paused, used his Bluetooth receiver to pull up the store’s surveillance footage, and understood what had happened.

This player, named [Haistain], Lv20, belonged to the European Heavy Industry Guild, possessing the same mutant ability as the Angel from X-Men: flight via wings, firing feathered blades, and healing diseases with blood.

Haistain had just, alongside his guildmates, entered a medieval fantasy scenario with multiple races; using his own strength, his blood-healing ability for religious propaganda, and his diplomatic maneuvering, he successfully ended decades of war among the various principalities (though their total area was barely the size of the Yinglunsandao), hailed as an angel descended to earth.

Haistain knew the Starforge Anvil offered forging services—if a relic carried sufficient historical weight, it could produce perfect-quality items and skill scrolls in bulk.

So he pushed himself: deliberately delaying his mission objective, he spent his time seducing the queens, princesses, and empresses of every fantasy kingdom on the island.

Under the guise of “God loves humanity,” he made the rulers (including lizardmen, yakshas, ghouls, harpies, and mole-men) bear his offspring, proving the divine bloodline spread across the world, ending human warfare.

The entire process was far from pleasant—it required immense courage, downing dozens of bottles of hard liquor just to face a lizard princess weighing two or three hundred kilograms.

After completing his conquests, Haistain returned to Louchai Street, solemnly removed his own sperm ducts and testicles, preserved them in formaldehyde, and brought them to the Starforge Anvil.

These two testicles weren’t ordinary ones—they were the Egg of Benevolence and the Egg of Righteousness, contributed heroically to the great peace of the medieval fantasy world.

According to the Starforge Anvil’s relic recovery standards, they were unquestionably worthy of forging into perfect, even higher-quality items.

“Why do you claim these two testicles have no value?”

Haistain’s face twisted in rage; he slammed his action camera onto the counter with a bang. “It has footage inside—do you want me to play it?”

The onlookers instinctively stepped back half a pace; except for the Indian player, whose face lit up and who quietly clenched his fist and nodded, everyone else’s pupils dilated in shock.

Though the first survival rule for players was to be ruthless toward enemies—and even more ruthless toward oneself—this Haistain was truly a wolf among wolves.

The crowd couldn’t help whispering, wondering why the Starforge Anvil refused to accept the formaldehyde jar—he’d accepted the corpse of an unnamed body from a Berlin basement before.

“Sir, please remain calm. Our store has always been fair and honest, treating young and old equally.”

The AI inside the vending machine spoke calmly. “The sole reason for rejection is that the contents of this formaldehyde jar hold no significant historical value.”

The onlookers couldn't help whispering, puzzled why the Star-Casting Anvil wouldn't accept the formalin glass jar—his own shop had even accepted a corpse in a Berlin basement whose name he refused to disclose.

"Sir, please remain calm. Our shop has always been fair and honest, treating young and old alike."

The AI program inside the vending machine stated calmly: "The sole reason for rejection is that the contents of this formalin glass jar contain no significant historical value."