Infinite flow, but I submit myself

Manster: “You better show some respect, don’t forget that you’re the one taking the qualification test right now!”

“It’s exactly because of troublemakers like you that no one has ever successfully advanced through this revival match!” Qiong’s face darkened as she looked directly at the demons surrounding her. “Do you all really want to keep going like this? Every time you try to make things difficult for me now, one day, that same action will come back as a bullet aimed straight at your own forehead—unless you’ve completely given up on the hope of leaving this place!”

The noise from the audience didn’t cease, and the sneer on Manster’s face only grew more pronounced. Yeah, everyone knew these big-picture truths, but the structure of the arena and the path of original sin had long turned them all into isolated islands incapable of trust. Words alone could never shake the hearts of these demons.

But Qiong never planned on convincing them with words alone.

She kicked open the bundle at her side, and a flood of shining silver coins spilled out. Tang Mo Bai was stunned—just from the looks of it, there had to be at least five or six hundred coins.

How was this even possible? Was she a hoarding rat or something?!

And what she did next pushed the atmosphere to its climax.

She tossed every single one of those coins out in all directions—without keeping a single one for herself!

The arena instantly fell into chaos. People scrambled to snatch up the coins, even breaking into small-scale brawls. Tang Mo Bai hesitated at first, but when he saw that even Yan Wuzhen bent down to grab some, he quickly followed suit, stuffing a few handfuls into his pockets.

Before the skirmishes could escalate into full-blown battles, several individuals at the center of the commotion suddenly let out screams, clutching at the collars around their necks before collapsing onto the ground.

“Silence!”

A black-robed figure in the arena looked toward the audience. His voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it carried with an undeniable authority, ringing in everyone’s ears. “If this happens again, all unauthorized gains will be confiscated.”

The audience immediately fell into dead silence. Only now did they remember—on the other side of being gladiators, they were nothing more than slaves.

“You,” 009 said coldly, addressing Qiong, “do not cause another disruption like this, or the qualification test will be stopped immediately.”

Qiong raised her hands in mock innocence. “I wouldn’t be able to do this a second time anyway. As you’ve all seen, that was everything I had.”

Manster frowned. “Are you insane? Just giving up like that?”

“I’m not insane—I’m simply completing the qualification test as intended. Those coins were my answer, my trust, and my investment,” she said calmly. “I think there’s no better ticket to a conversation than this.”

Perhaps the sheer weight of the coins had spoken for itself—even Manster, who had been actively trying to stir trouble, sat back down in his seat, watching Qiong’s struggle unfold.

“It’s almost laughable. Out of all the revival matches that have taken place, this is the only qualification test that’s been laid out in the open from the very start. It’s the most direct, the simplest, and at the same time, the most difficult. No one has managed to pass it in over a decade,”

“Because what traps us here isn’t the revival match, nor is it the Lost Paradise itself—what truly keeps us chained down are the demons within our own hearts. Greed, envy, wrath, and pride. And the worst part is, we’re the ones who bring them out in each other!”

Some members of the audience nodded in agreement, while others scoffed—not because they disagreed, but because they found it ridiculous that Qiong would say something so obvious out loud.

“I know you won’t let someone who’s about to escape from the mire go free, even if I throw myself at your feet and beg,” she raised her voice, “so I’m begging you—begging you to use those useless brains of yours for once, and think smartly!”

The audience stared at her in stunned silence. Wait—was she mocking them? Mocking the very people holding the votes?

Yes, she was. And she wasn’t holding back.

“Even if you’re selfish and greedy, even if your heads are full of nothing but mush, even if you only think with your lower halves, at least consider this situation! Do you really want to stay in this shithole forever, getting trampled on like livestock? Do you really want to remain slaves, to be exploited, plundered, and crushed under the boots of those who look down on you?”

“Even the filthiest rats, when trapped in a box awaiting death, will build a rat-ladder to send one of their own to the top,” Qiong scanned the room, her voice filled with contempt. “Are you telling me we’re worse than rats? Or are you admitting that you belong in this garbage dump, that there’s no other place in the world fit for you? In that case, why not go earn a certificate in proper trash sorting while you’re at it?”

…Wow.

Tang Mo Bai was speechless. Even Yan Wuzhen couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, I always thought she just relied on her backers, but it turns out she does have some skill—and a knack for riling people up.”

“In simple terms, you just want us to go easy on you and give you a shot?” Manster smirked.

“It’s not about me getting a shot,” Qiong said evenly. “It’s about you giving yourselves a shot.”

…Huh? That confident?

“I’m the third-in-command of Spire. I have a gladiator win rate of over 90%. Most of the soul coins hoarded here over the years are my earnings from battles. On top of that, I have my guild’s backing. I swear on Spire’s name—if you vote for me today, anyone who successfully clears the revival match in the future will receive an 80% discount at all Spire-affiliated shops, and a personal favor from me.”

Her voice was unwavering. “Who here can offer better conditions than me? If I can’t pass this test, do you think any of you will have a chance in the future? Do you think hope will ever exist for any of you?”

The arena fell into dead silence.

“Lost Paradise has six levels of Hell. The upper layers control the lives of those below them. Everyone says the sixth layer, the Hunger Hell, is the lowest, the most hellish, the hardest to endure. No—they’re wrong. This place is. This is the true Seventh Hell.”

Qiong’s voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of a storm brewing beneath the ocean’s surface.

“A revival match only means something if there’s hope. Without hope, this place is nothing but a landfill, a cesspit. The high-level demons trample the lower levels, and the lower levels trample us. Without hope, this place is nothing but stagnant, dead water. We are all just fish waiting to be gutted.”

“So I am not begging you. You must let me pass.”

“Now,” under the blood-red moonlight, her scar twisted like a living thing, exuding a near-demonic charm, “make your choice—embrace hope with me, or drown in despair?”

Gulp.

Tang Mo Bai swallowed hard. He’d only been here for two days, far less than the veterans who had endured this meat grinder for years. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of resonance with her words.

This place was a quagmire, a pit of human depravity. Stay too long, and you’d become numb to it, like a frog boiled slowly in water, only realizing too late that escape was impossible.

He thought back to his fight with Xiu Wei Yi, to the emotions surging through him in the arena. Those vague thoughts, now pulled into clarity by Qiong’s words.

Desire—the thing you want most, the thing you would do anything to achieve.

Even Yan Wuzhen had stopped smiling. The entire audience was restless.

And then, the votes were cast.

Tang Mo Bai, of course, voted yes. Not just because Qiong’s words had moved him, but because he had realized—if no one became the first to pass this trial, then no one ever would.

And, well, he also really wanted to see Yan Wuzhen eat his own words.

The votes were anonymous. No one could see who voted for what.

As the countdown ended, all eyes turned to the platform where Qiong stood.

The crimson moon cast its light upon her, as if she were the protagonist on a grand stage.

Success?

Or failure?

Everyone anxiously awaited the result—Tang Mo Bai, Yan Wuzhen, the bearded man in a corner of the audience, all silently anticipating a moment that could change the entire atmosphere of the gladiator arena.

Then, the result was announced…

The moonlight gradually faded from Qiong’s body. She lifted her head and gazed at the audience—the slaves, the slave owners, the spectators who were little more than a backdrop. Everyone was watching her, silently staring at the massive screen that had just displayed the result.

[Vote count below 60%. Trial failed!]

A suffocating silence spread across the arena.

“Heh… hahaha!” The silence was abruptly shattered by laughter, and the one laughing was none other than Qiong, who had already jumped down from the platform.

She wiped away the tears that had formed from laughing too hard and calmly said, “Looks like I’ll have to keep fighting alongside you trash forever.”

“No matter the time or place, it seems demons never have the right to be saved.”

The livestream chat erupted in excitement, but those present remained silent, watching as she walked away.

Tang Mo Bai exhaled slowly, yet his heart felt as though a heavy stone weighed upon it, refusing to grant him relief.

To be honest, he had thought she was going to succeed. At the very least, he doubted he could have done better.

But just as Qiong had predicted—if even she failed, who else could possibly succeed? Was there any hope of resurrection left?

“In the past, it’s not like no guilds tried to rescue people,” Yan Wuzhen spoke again. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Tang Mo Bai could hear a faint sense of disinterest in his tone. “There have even been guilds like the one behind you, sending people in to investigate the origins of alchemy.”

“But no one has ever been rescued from here. No eliminated contestant has ever been promoted out of here. This is the one place where the pass rate is an absolute 0%.”

“So now you understand, don’t you?” Yan Wuzhen’s tone was light but firm. “You were deceived. The people behind you never intended to pull you out of here.”

Tang Mo Bai turned his head in confusion. Huh? What did this have to do with him?

He struggled to make sense of the conversation and finally connected the dots—Yan Wuzhen seemed to believe that the organization backing him was similar to the one supporting Qiong. He assumed he had been sent in with a purpose, most likely related to alchemy, as the chat had speculated earlier.

Tang Mo Bai was about to open his mouth to clarify when he suddenly noticed a familiar ID in the livestream chat sending a string of encrypted characters.

[Maintain the disguise. Neither confirm nor deny. Time is up.]

So, he shut his mouth.

Yan Wuzhen noticed his hesitation and felt even more convinced that his deduction was correct. The chat also assumed that Tang Mo Bai’s silence was due to direct orders from his backers, forbidding him from revealing any intelligence.

Given Tang his performance in the arena so far, as well as his “minor violations” within reasonable bounds, it was almost certain that he had a powerful force behind him. Coincidentally, Yan Wuzhen had encountered some high-level hell secrets during his time in the Lost Paradise.

Unlike the lower levels of hell, where most demons operated alone and guilds were rare, the third layer and beyond were practically ruled by guilds. Only guilds had the qualifications to monopolize large-scale apocalyptic worlds, and the competition between them was fierce.

The Jade Guild was well known for specializing in alchemy products—a fact every resident of the Lost Paradise was aware of. Those who knew that this world was the birthplace of alchemy were neither few nor many, but countless demons had tried to enter and investigate, only to fail and die without exception. With the limitations of the Lost Paradise preventing greater demons from descending to lower layers, the Jade Guild had risen to prominence, and over time, no one dared to challenge their monopoly on alchemy anymore.

But now, it seemed that things had changed during Yan Wuzhen’s time in hiding.

He carefully observed Tang Mo Bai’s expression, growing more certain of his theory.

However, the person who had been sent in appeared to be completely unaware of the power struggles between major guilds. Based on Yan Wuzhen’s observations so far, he wasn’t faking his ignorance.

He was genuinely clueless.

He hadn’t even ignited his Fate Path yet—there was no way any guild would have taken him in.

He was just a disposable pawn, a probe sent in to test the waters. The people behind him probably never expected him to achieve anything. He was merely a tool, a convenient way to further explore loopholes in the resurrection match’s rules.

Such a tragic fate, such a cruel truth—would Yan Wuzhen hesitate to reveal it? Of course not!

Not only would he reveal it, but he would tear apart the last sliver of hope in his heart. Only when he fully understood the nature of his predicament would he break. Only then would he succumb to despair. Without his greatest advantage—his composure—he would be vulnerable, an easy puppet for the information broker to manipulate.

“So, do you understand your situation now?” he smirked. “You were used. They never told you the truth, did they? This resurrection arena is impossible to clear. You were nothing but a pawn they pushed forward.”

Yan Wuzhen undoubtedly had a mesmerizing voice. He paid close attention to every inflection and tone, ensuring that his words dripped with a sticky, entrapping allure—like a spider weaving an imperceptible web around its prey.

From the very moment he approached Tang Mo Bai, the spider had been weaving, waiting for the increasingly tempting prey to fall into his trap.

He watched every subtle change in his expression, every reaction, expecting anger, despair, betrayal. But to his surprise, Tang Mo Bai showed none of these emotions.

Instead, he remained calm and unwavering, as if the revelation had no impact on him at all.

Yan Wuzhen’s smirk slowly faded. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you,” Tang Mo Bai replied. “I believe that I can’t pass the trial in three days… but I also believe that they won’t abandon me.”

Yan Wuzhen blinked in disbelief. “What?”

“Also, you’re wrong. I might not understand everything, but I came here willingly. No one forced me, and there was no manipulation involved… As long as I can do something for them, I will. We don’t need such schemes between us.”

Yan Wuzhen’s smile finally disappeared entirely. He scrutinized Tang Mo Bai’s face, searching for any sign that he was just putting on an act for the sake of the livestream.

But there was none. Ta. His expression was calm and determined—there was no trace of betrayal or agony. Swearing by his professional instincts, he could tell that this was his genuine belief.

What the hell.

This guy is a complete lovesick fool.

He almost lost his composure. “Have you even considered what will happen to you in three days?”

“I’m not stupid. Of course, I know,” Tang Mo Bai scoffed. “And I also know—that’s exactly what you want.”

“If I don’t want to be torn apart by the others in three days, my only choice is to duel you. Preferably in front of a large audience, so that when I lose, all the popularity and hard-earned coins I’ve accumulated will go straight to you.”

From the very start, Tang Mo Bai was the bait he had deliberately thrown out.

Using mystery to lure the gamblers. Using his reputation to make other gladiators suspicious.

He had manipulated both groups—the former into betting recklessly, the latter into doubting their own actions.

And all of it was for the sake of devouring the carefully fattened, irresistibly tempting bait that was Tang Mo Bai.

Even Xiu Wei Yi was just a failsafe, a means of testing Tang Mo Bai’s trump cards. Now, he had some idea of what to expect. He would be prepared for the next match and would likely avoid any duel format that allowed weapons.

Step by step, tightening the net until the butterfly could no longer flutter, until freedom was completely lost.

Yan Wuzhen—the information broker—was a spider who wove webs from secrets and human nature, patiently waiting for his prey to step right into the center of his trap.

“So, now that you know I have backing, will you be scared enough to cancel your plan?”

Still dazed, he heard Tang Mo Bai suddenly ask.

“Of course not,” he snapped back, regaining his composure. “I’m already on the run from the guilds—why would I let go of a meal this fat?”

“Good,” Tang Mo Bai nodded. “Because I really want to beat you up.”

[You have received a duel challenge from Tang Mo Bai. Do you accept?]