Chapter Seventy-One: The Arena of the Undead

Blood had already transformed into countless red lotuses of varying sizes, swirling around Mu You. The crowd quickly surged back, giving him a wide berth, terrified that his madness might spill over onto them. Almost at the very moment the lotuses emerged from the mist of blood, a piercing chill, laced with an icy, bone-deep murderous intent, exploded forth. Even Mu You himself was taken aback, turning to look at An Ruxiang. Her already disheveled hair now flew wildly, and her delicate features twisted and warped under the haze of killing intent. She trembled, staring fixedly at a point on the display screen. When Mo Han turned and revealed the eight instructors, the fragrance within An Ruxiang erupted as if detonated, surging out in violent waves; even the red lotuses beside Mu You flickered, fading in and out.

“You two have lost your minds! On the very first day, you want to make the instructors remember you, or become the target of every condemned prisoner? Usually, you’re the ones controlling the situation—what’s gotten into you today?” Wan Yancang hissed angrily, never imagining the two would lose control so publicly.

Mu You and An Ruxiang ignored Wan Yancang. The only reason they remained motionless was because this was merely Mo Han’s projection; even if they used all their strength, they could not touch a hair on his head.

“Big brother, please don’t act! Miao You senses there are many, very strong people here—some as powerful as you, some even stronger. And those eight instructors in the video—none of them are your match. Calm down! Among those eight, one already harbors murderous intent toward you!”

Mu You reluctantly lifted his head, his icy gaze locking onto the eight instructors, just as two murderous glares collided with his in midair. One belonged to a nearly two-meter-tall, blond, condemned prisoner, hands hanging below his knees, arms as thick as thighs. His hostility toward Mu You seemed innate, growing more brazen in their stare-down.

He was the infamous Right Tyrant, former condemned of the thirteenth floor of Building A.

Mu You had never interacted with him, let alone offended him, but since he served Mo Han, the old dog, he now had a reason to see him as a mortal enemy.

The other gaze came from the judges’ side—from that girl called Nuonuo, whom Mu You had seen earlier in the electronic mechanical watch.

Her murderous intent was peculiar—not fierce nor bloodthirsty, but tinged with a hint of regret and calm acceptance. She opened her mouth toward Mu You, bit the air, chewed a few times, then spat it out, giving him a sly smile.

That little girl was undoubtedly a freak; the enormous cleaver on her back, as tall as herself, looked wholly unbalanced.

These two oppressive stares poured over Mu You like buckets of cold water, clearing his feverish mind. The blade of endurance hovered above him; now, all he could do was endure.

Taking a deep breath, Mu You turned to comfort An Ruxiang, but she waved him off, closed her eyes, and gradually calmed herself.

“My darlings, it’s been so long! Mu You, little one, how are you faring here with Uncle Mo?” Mo Han adjusted his glasses, smiling in a strange way. He quickly leaned close to the camera, addressing Mu You.

Mu You’s feet happened to rest atop Mo Han’s enormous nostrils; he returned a mysterious smile, nodding, “Uncle Mo’s place is actually pretty good!”

Mo Han seemed to have anticipated this answer. He laughed heartily, as if he’d found a beloved new toy, utterly satisfied. “Excellent, excellent! In the days to come, you’ll enjoy yourselves even more. Now I declare: the Paradise of the Condemned—‘Perfect Academy’—is officially open! Ruohuan, play the music!”

Mo Han raised his hands, snapped his fingers, and instantly, rich, full violin music poured in from all directions. Only then did Mu You notice, in a nondescript corner of the screen, a girl stood—only her upper body visible. Beneath her wave-like curls, her delicate face was adorned with a sweet smile; the dazzling gloss on her lips added a touch of youthful joy. Her nimble fingers danced merrily across the strings, the lively, soaring melody echoing overhead.

It was all so stirring. Most of the male condemned prisoners noticed An Ruohuan; while not bewitched, they were deeply drawn to her. Yet Mu You observed that the instructors beside Mo Han looked upon An Ruohuan with shock and fear, while An Ruxiang, next to Mu You, as soon as the music began, withdrew her ever-present mysterious fragrance entirely into herself. Her expression was dark and terrifying, yet eerily calm, free of emotion. When Mu You looked at her, An Ruohuan turned and gave him a mournful smile; behind that smile, Mu You sensed a resolve as fierce and relentless as his own—a vow never to rest in this lifetime.

Applause cascaded like waves; everyone was awed by An Ruohuan’s exquisite, masterful playing. The applause grew in intensity, until someone even whistled.

“That little girl must be wild in bed!”

“Yeah, with that face, she’s got to have a great body—enough fun for half a year!” The two whistling men exchanged lewd grins, continuing their crude banter.

An Ruxiang suddenly spun around, her emerald eyes flashing fiercely, but nothing happened, and she turned back. Yet Mu You distinctly felt her murderous intent in that moment.

“You smell good—are you wearing perfume? Come here, let me sniff.”

“Get lost! What kind of man wears perfume? You’re desperate for a woman, huh? But your scent… Did you switch to ladies’ soap?”

“No…”

The two immediately sniffed each other like dogs, unaware that deep in their nasal passages, countless tightly clustered buds of Borra flowers had sprouted. Just a single tiny bloom was enough to fill their senses with fragrance; now, their airways held tens of thousands, greedily absorbing their life force while releasing a neurotoxic, deadly aroma.

After the music faded, the side platforms separately displayed the images of each instructor, while the three platforms directly ahead showed three structural diagrams.

“Perfect Academy is divided into three systems. There are no classes, no quizzes. The only requirement is—survive the ‘exchange activities’ organized by the academy… and participate in the ‘Arena of the Dead’ one year from now! You don’t need to pass—just surviving counts as passing the A-level assessment. If you pass alongside the instructors, you jump two ranks at once and become S-level condemned prisoners. The reward: five million points!”

When Mo Han announced the reward, the crowd was silent—not the expected excitement. What did “no need to pass, just survive equals promotion” mean? These prisoners, all survivors among the condemned, knew the Paradise of the Condemned well. That phrase was not leniency—it was a veiled death sentence.

What he meant was: the difficulty of the game is simply impossible.