Chapter 90: Blast

On the high-definition screen, Annie's vote count surged rapidly, soon surpassing Leonardo to become number one.

Removing the fuel from under the pot—how terrifying.

Several players wore expressions as if they'd seen a ghost, all guessing Annie's move was likely inspired by the real-world case of Carol v. Trump.

On April 25, 2023, Carol, a 79-year-old American female writer, filed a lawsuit at the Federal Court of Manhattan, New York, accusing former U. S. President Trump (then a New York businessman) of forcing sexual acts upon her in the 1990s inside a department store dressing room.

Despite the excessive passage of time, the lack of crucial physical evidence, and Carol's own vague recollection of the exact date—she could only remember it was roughly mid-1990s.

But since she filed a civil suit, not a criminal one, the jury ruled that Trump bore some responsibility and must pay Carol two million dollars in sexual assault damages and three million dollars in defamation damages.

(Under U. S. law, criminal cases of this type require clear physical evidence; civil cases require only unanimous jury opinion to impose judgment.)

Trump was furious with the outcome, repeatedly made public statements belittling Carol, and on January 16 of the following year was again ordered by the Manhattan Federal Jury to pay Carol a total of eighty-three million three hundred thousand dollars in defamation damages and fines.

Watching her vote count rise alone to the top, Annie sneered inwardly. Evidence? What the hell do I need evidence for? Setting aside the facts, aren't you still responsible?

Rumors cost nothing to spread; refuting them exhausts you. The one falsely accusing you knows better than you how falsely accused you are. This whole thing was made up on the spot by Annie—how could Irwan possibly produce evidence?

Even if Irwan produced photos or other physical proof showing he hadn't been in Boston two years ago, Annie could instantly retract and say perhaps she'd misremembered the timing due to prolonged psychological trauma—maybe it was three or four years ago.

'This isn't a courtroom, where the burden of proof lies with the accuser. Even in a courtroom, the Carol case stands as precedent—still enough to manipulate the audience into judging Irwan guilty.'

Annie's mind churned, yet her face maintained an expression of fear, pain, and terror.

'You'

Irwan, the Indian-American hunk, was livid. In the real world, he was a second-generation Indian elite immigrant whose parents were both Silicon Valley executives, and he himself belonged to the relatively fair-skinned Brahmin caste. His looks were no less than Leonardo's.

He also possessed the skill called 【Sutra of Love】, which temporarily boosted his physical attributes and charm after yoga practice—giving him a clear advantage in this dating reality show.

Yet Annie's devastating false accusation completely shattered his plan—he was now on the defensive, trapped in an endless cycle of self-exoneration.

Whatever he said in front of the camera now was useless; rational defense would be seen as sophistry;

Admitting guilt and begging forgiveness would be seen as insincere;

Using violence would be interpreted as rage-fueled desperation, revealing his true nature;

'You wanna play this game? Fine, let's die together!'

Irwan's face twisted with fury, his hands shook, gripping a pair of ornate fist-swords as he charged straight at Annie.

Sprinting at full speed, Irwan moved like a blur, the blades of his fist-swords slicing through air with a shrill whistle.

'Help!'

Annie screamed like an ordinary person, clamping her eyes shut. She had already stepped back several paces; now she sidestepped perfectly, slipping behind Leonardo.

'Fuck!!!'

Leonardo cursed inwardly—Annie had played a masterful trick of diverting the blame. If he pretended to be slow to react or dodged, the audience would see him as incompetent and cowardly, inevitably costing him popularity in the rest of the reality show.

'Annie, you'll pay for this!'

Leonardo gritted his teeth and reluctantly pulled a two-handed greatsword from his backpack, blocking Irwan's strike.

At the same time, he slightly smirked, feigning calm detachment, and said coolly, 'Mr. Irwan, please show some gentlemanly conduct.'

'Help her? You die too!'

Irwan's eyes bulged with rage; his right hand pushed forward, locking Leonardo's greatsword, while his left hand shot out like a phantom, stabbing straight for Leonardo's neck.

Leonardo's expression didn't change; he gripped the hilt and dragged it rightward, using the counterweight at the pommel to smash Irwan's wrist. If it landed, it would shatter the wrist bones, rendering the fist-swords useless before they reached their target.

Irwan knew he couldn't take the blow head-on; he instantly changed tactics, turning the thrust into a horizontal slash. But that fleeting moment of hesitation was seized by Leonardo, who stepped back half a pace, placing himself at the ideal distance for the greatsword's full power.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

Their weapons clashed at high speed; the battle's shockwave swept through the living room, smashing tables, chairs, and benches into splinters.

This bloody brawl further boosted live-stream viewership, surging past two million to reach two million three hundred thousand.

The screen was instantly flooded with a barrage of comments.

【Yes! Kill him! Kill him!】

【I want to see rivers of blood!】

The Black woman, Harley, didn't want to get involved in the fight; she immediately stood up, feigning shock and helplessness.

Jin Huiying also realized the situation and shouted from where she stood, 'Stop fighting, both of you!'

Her acting was so convincing she actually burst into tears.

'Both of you are this good at acting? Brilliant. I won't watch the Oscars this year without you.'

Li Cheng, watching from the corner, muttered inwardly—this wasn't the time to do nothing, but he didn't want to intervene, so he could only…

'Stop!'

Li Cheng raised his 170 Straight Knife, lunged forward two steps, then suddenly reversed the blade as if struck by a rebound, turning pale and staggering backward several steps, spitting blood from his mouth.

Little Red Riding Hood rushed over anxiously: 'Master Pi Fu, are you alright?!'

'I'm fine—just old injuries from escorting a group of vegan/environmentalist/animal-rights/transgender/depressed/childhood-trauma/ethnic-minority/disabled/terminal-illness/overweight orphans across the wasteland to their guardians, fighting alone against a dozen mutated beasts.'

Li Cheng wiped the blood from his lips (actually from biting his inner cheek) and sighed with regret.

Harley and Jin Huiying exchanged wary glances—wait, outside is a wasteland, where did so many politically correct buffed orphans come from? And what's this nonsense about veganism and being overweight? Are you fucking eating plants every day?

This guy named Pi Fu is just as good at bullshit and acting.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

On the TV screen, the countdown for this round ended; several mechanical arms simultaneously retracted their cameras and boom mics, transforming into cannon shapes, aiming downward and firing metallic rods with force.

No one knew what principle the mechanical arms' fire-control system used, but it locked onto and tracked Irwan's high-speed movement perfectly. Four rods pierced his shoulders and thighs simultaneously, pinning him to the floor like an insect specimen.

The mechanical arms, still smoking faintly, ignored Irwan's screams of pain, grabbed him roughly, and dragged him toward the door.

Bang!

The door opened automatically; the mechanical arms hurled Irwan violently out into the deep darkness.

His screams faded farther and farther, until a heavy thud echoed, followed by the roar of some beast, then absolute silence.

The door slowly closed under the action of the damper.

Mechanical arms retracted their long poles and pulled out vacuum cleaners, floor scrubbers, and other tools, cleaning the messy room like housekeeping staff. Some even retrieved glue and wooden panels to fill the large holes in the floor and reattach shattered ceramic ornaments.

The repair work proceeded swiftly and orderly, and the broadcast speaker in the corner of the ceiling activated, its voice still the same emotionally charged, deep narration.

"Aha, it seems our post-apocalyptic dating reality show, 'Oh No! I'm Surrounded by Beauties/Guys,' has its first eliminated contestant—Mr. Irfan failed to secure enough votes and is sadly out. Next, we'll give the remaining contestants two hours of rest to return to their rooms and recuperate. After two hours, we'll proceed with the talent showcase segment. Now, a quick commercial break."

The livestream cut off. On the TV screen, all contestants' vote counts reset to zero. Irfan's avatar turned gray and white, with a massive red "WASTED" stamped across it.

The next round requires three million trending searches.

'Something's off.'

Will, the Black handsome guy, narrowed his eyes. This reality show eliminated one person per round, yet the trending requirement kept rising—this made no sense. As the number of contestants decreased, the show's natural explosive moments should have diminished.

Unless someone artificially manufactured conflict to force explosive moments.

"Annie, right?" Leonardo sheathed his two-handed greatsword and glared coldly at Annie. "I'll remember you."

"Don't be so cold, handsome."

Annie blinked dramatically, feigning vulnerability. "Aren't I just thinking of everyone? If we don't hit the trending target, all of us get executed. Besides, I boosted your support rate—you and I can still team up in the next round."

"Hmph."

Leonardo, too lazy to waste words, turned to leave. Others, unwilling to associate with the venomous beauty, also exited the living room, exploring the villa.

The villa covered a vast area: besides the living room, master bedroom, secondary bedrooms, kitchen, game room, makeup room, and walk-in closet, it also had an indoor pool, indoor gym, private cinema, and parking lot. Yet through the windows, only darkness stretched beyond.

Leonardo entered a bedroom, shut the door, rubbed his aching shoulders, then suddenly grinned and burst into silent laughter.

Stupid woman, thinking she eliminated a rival—she doesn't realize she's digging her own grave.

"Stupid?"

At the same moment, Little Red Riding Hood, exploring the villa with Li Cheng, asked in genuine confusion, "Why does Master Pi Fu call Annie stupid?"

"Because she truly is."

Li Cheng toyed with his nuclear lighter, casually saying: "She falsely accused Irfan of sexual crimes, eliminating him while crafting a persona for herself as an 'abuser of survivors.'"

Now, in future game segments, any contestant targeting her risks being seen as 'harming the weak.' Viewers will also be more inclined to cast sympathy votes for her.

From a purely round-by-round perspective, Annie's strategy makes sense. But she overlooked one thing: the mission briefing stated this show's purpose is to sustain human civilization."

Little Red Riding Hood frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"Ignoring Western political correctness, sustaining human civilization requires at least both genders, right? The mission briefing and TV ads never mentioned cloning, artificial humans, or anything like that."

Li Cheng said: "Therefore, the last survivors of this show must be one man and one woman—or multiple men and multiple women."

"Under these conditions, what do you think is the most advantageous situation for an individual?"

"The most advantageous situation…"

Little Red Riding Hood tilted her head, then understood. "Only one person of my own gender!"

"Exactly."

Li Cheng smiled faintly. "The fewer people of your own gender, and the more of the opposite gender, the better for you. If only one person remains of your gender, you become impossible to lose."

In other words, the core of this reality show isn't about cross-gender drama—it's about same-gender competition."

Annie's actions have actually trapped herself."

He pushed off the wall, leapt onto the table, and reached up to unscrew the mounting nuts of the ceiling track.

Hum!

A mechanical arm instantly extended from the track, holding a small LCD panel with a red "×" symbol, and boomed in a mechanical voice: "Contestants must not interfere with or damage the camera system. Consequences will be borne by the violator."

"Sorry, occupational habit. I'll be careful next time."

Li Cheng quickly withdrew his hand, his expression sincere.

The mechanical arm paused, then silently retracted.

Tsk. Watching so closely—afraid contestants will figure out how the camera system works?

Li Cheng squinted, pulled several metal cans the size of paint buckets from his backpack, each threaded with wires, and stuck them to the villa's walls with tape.

As he stuck them, he kept watching the mechanical arms on the track.

"Uh…"

Little Red Riding Hood stared, eyes wide, voice trembling: "Are those… bombs?"

"Yeah, homemade IEDs." Li Cheng replied casually.

IED, short for Improvised Explosive Devices, comes in many forms, using materials including but not limited to discarded grenades, artillery shells, civilian detonators, fertilizer, etc. Common in real-world asymmetric warfare, they're a weak side's weapon against armored units and infantry.

These explosives were all handcrafted by Li Cheng: he studied related books, bought materials from the Slums, and assembled them in the Bone Corridor.

He handcrafted them not only to hone practical skills, but because a popular theory on player forums claimed that the Arena, to some extent, counts any "external items" in a new player's backpack as part of the player's own strength—thereby increasing mission difficulty.

This prevents new players from filling their backpacks with ten or twenty single-man thermobaric explosives and blasting monsters the moment they appear.

But if a player handcrafts weapons, ammunition, drones, or vehicles, those aren't counted as "external items."

During this time, Li Cheng studied theoretical mechanics, material mechanics, structural mechanics, soil mechanics, fluid dynamics, ammunition engineering, and explosive technology—not only learning to build IEDs, but also military demolition.

All IEDs can be triggered via shortwave signal, and all are placed on the villa's load-bearing walls—if Li Cheng is eliminated, he has no qualms about blowing up the entire villa to test the show's producers' reaction.

Social worldviews, life philosophies, and values evolve rapidly with the environment. Before 1954, the United States enforced racial segregation; by 2020, the Black Lives Matter movement erupted—only sixty years apart.

From the scrolling comments on the TV screen, the outside world is at least the 22nd century, having endured nuclear war, post-apocalyptic chaos, and the rebuilding of civilization. Logically, moral and value systems should have undergone radical transformation. Yet viewers' tastes haven't strayed far—Annie's false accusations still work.

This itself is abnormal.

(End of Chapter)