23: Chapter 23 Obeying Orders in the Gray Alley, the Cripple's Price

The scorching wave of the Fox Fire's explosion followed closely, swallowing the screams of the pursuers along with the rubble at the alley entrance.

Chen Fan held Little Bean and plunged headfirst into the darkness capable of devouring light.

Inside the tunnel, a heavy odor mixed with rust, mold, and decay rushed out, almost suffocating.

It was narrower than expected, barely allowing one person to pass stooping over. Icy water droplets seeped from the damp stone walls, constantly dripping onto Chen Fan's shoulders.

He shielded Little Bean in his arms with one hand while steadying himself against the wall with the other, fumbling forward step by uncertain step.

The faint beam of the flashlight swept across the wall, revealing densely packed etchings.

These were not meaningless graffiti, but lines of desperate writing—the final testaments left by countless New Players using fingernails, pebbles, and even their own blood.

"Safety Zone No. 117 is a trap! The food is poisoned!"

"Don't go to the clinic on West Third Street, the doctor will steal your kidneys!"

"The System is lying, there is no clearing the stage, only death..."

These distorted writings seemed like silent cries from countless wronged souls, revealing the city's bloodiest truth.

Chen Fan's heart grew heavier. This was not a sanctuary, but a massive tomb. They were merely searching for a passage within the tomb that had not yet been blocked by bones.

Just then, Little Bean convulsed violently in his arms, his small body taut like a fully drawn bow.

His eyes were tightly shut, his face pale as paper, and painful whimpers escaped his throat.

"Little Bean?" Chen Fan's heart tightened, and he immediately stopped walking.

Little Bean did not answer, but unconsciously stretched out his small hand, his slender fingertips scraping desperately against the slick wall.

His movements were fast and bizarre, carving out crooked symbols that resembled some primitive and frenzied sacrificial totem.

Finally, his fingernail left a deep bloody gash on the stone wall, and he squeezed out a few broken, hurried syllables: "Don't... don't trust the Cripple... he... will betray you..."

As soon as the words fell, Little Bean went completely limp, passing out in Chen Fan's embrace.

Chen Fan's brow furrowed, his heart feeling as if it were clenched by an invisible hand.

Betrayal?

This warning was too bizarre, instantly putting him on extreme alert.

At that very moment, around the corner ahead, a dim, pale yellow light ignited without warning, dispelling a sliver of the darkness.

A thin, stooped figure leaned against the wall, an old, flickering pipe in his hand, its pungent tobacco scent instantly overpowering the moldy smell of the tunnel.

"Newcomer?" the person asked, his voice hoarse as if two pieces of sandpaper were rubbing together.

He leaned on a cane polished smooth from use, one trouser leg hanging empty—it was the 'Cripple' Little Bean had warned about.

Old Cripple coughed violently, his stooped body like a candle flickering in the wind, spitting a mouthful of dark, reddish-black phlegm onto the filthy ground.

He raised his cloudy eyes, his gaze locking precisely onto Chen Fan's waist, greedily licking his chapped lips: "If you want to live, you have to pay. Gold coins are useless here; I accept tea."

He extended his withered fingers, pointing at the canteen at Chen Fan's waist: "'frost moon Red,' personally brewed by Boss Su, using the first meltwater from the peak of the snow mountain outside the city. I can smell it. Give me three sips, and I'll trade you a path to survival."

Chen Fan's pupils contracted slightly.

This Old Cripple not only knew his identity but was even perfectly aware of the details of Su Shuang brewing the tea.

He remained silent for a moment, weighing Little Bean's warning against the current desperate situation. Finally, he unscrewed the canteen, poured out half a pot of lukewarm tea, and handed it over.

Old Cripple snatched it away, drinking greedily like a wild dog starved for days, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.

After three sips of cold tea, he let out a satisfied sigh, and a flash of sharpness actually appeared in his cloudy eyes.

"Good tea..." he smacked his lips, then lowered his voice and spoke extremely quickly: "That madman Iron Spine has already mobilized the 'Extermination Squad.' Twelve high-tier Bronze level fighters, well-equipped. They will completely lock down this block in two hours and clear it out inch by inch using sonic detectors. You killed his confidant, Bone Breaker, and stole that bracer; you've already incurred the wrath of the masses."

"But..." Old Cripple changed the subject, his voice dropping even lower, like a whisper, "In the Gray Alley on the west side of the city, there is a 'Ghost Line Path.' It's a forgotten sewage pipe that leads directly to the abandoned platform of the Old Subway Station. That area is an absolute blind spot for the monitoring system. Once you enter, the monitors can never scan you again—the premise being, you need a 'Silence Token' to pass the entrance to Gray Alley."

"Where is the token?" Chen Fan immediately pressed.

Old Cripple grinned, revealing a set of yellowed, black teeth: "It's in the hands of White Mask. There's only one way to see him—go to the dueling arena in the abandoned factory and win one match."

Just then, the unconscious Little Bean convulsed again. He suddenly clutched his head and let out a piercing scream: "The sound! That sound is laughing! It says... it says you won't last until tomorrow!"

Chen Fan immediately held him close, soothing him softly.

Using the residual light of the flashlight, he was horrified to discover that a patch of fine, blood-colored lines had appeared on Little Bean's smooth nape. The lines intertwined, and their pattern was exactly the same as the crack deep within his own soul!

A terrible thought struck him—this omnipresent 'System' wasn't just harvesting them, the chosen New Players; even a special child like Little Bean, who could hear its whispers, had been branded with a mark of death!

A faint gleam flickered before Chen Fan's eyes; the sound transmission talisman left by Su Shuang had been activated.

Su Shuang's phantom flashed by, leaving only an urgent message: "There's a tracking curse on the bracer. Unless you chop off your arm, you can't take it off! It can only be covered by a special item... I'm figuring out a way to bring you tea..."

Chen Fan gripped the lingering bell at his waist, his knuckles turning white from the force.

A tracking curse... another trap.

He couldn't drag Su Shuang into this anymore.

The abandoned boiler room was filled with rolling heat; it had been converted into a bloody dueling arena.

Chen Fan covered half his face with a piece of ragged cloth and registered under the alias 'Wandering Boxer.'

His opponent was a burly man nicknamed 'Iron Shell,' wielding a sinister chain hammer and covered in knotted muscles.

"Dong!"

The gong sounded.

Iron Shell roared and swung the chain hammer, creating a fierce gust of wind.

However, Chen Fan, as seen through his eyes, vanished like a phantom.

The next second, an irresistible massive force struck his lower ribs, the intense pain instantly robbing him of the ability to breathe.

Immediately following, a second heavy blow landed precisely on his hammer-wielding wrist, sending the chain hammer flying.

For the third strike, a palm was already pressed against his throat.

Three moves. The entire arena fell silent.

Chen Fan released his grip; he hadn't struck a killing blow.

He coldly surveyed the crowd, his gaze finally landing on the figure wearing a silver mask on the high platform.

White Mask stood quietly on the platform, like a lifeless statue.

He slowly raised a hand and announced in a tone devoid of any emotional fluctuation: "The victor may ask me one question."

"How do I obtain the Silence Token?" Chen Fan looked up directly. His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly echoed throughout the entire boiler room.

White Mask seemed to chuckle softly, the voice under the mask carrying a hint of amusement: "Very simple. Two choices. One, kill the three strongest gladiators under my command, and the token is yours. Or... two, in front of everyone, tell me the secret behind your one-hundred-percent critical hit trigger."

As the words fell, the entire crowd erupted in an uproar!

Countless greedy, jealous, and crazed eyes instantly focused on Chen Fan.

The secret of the critical hit was a supreme treasure capable of elevating any player to instant success!

Chen Fan met the gazes capable of killing, the corner of his mouth curling into an icy arc.

He turned around and walked toward the exit without looking back, leaving only one sentence: "I'd rather try to force my way through the Ghost Line Path."

As he left the dueling arena, Little Bean, who had been clinging tightly to his side, suddenly tugged at his coat sleeve and whispered fearfully in a voice only the two of them could hear: "That White Mask... his heartbeat... it's beating backward.'"

Late at night, cold moonlight filtered through the gaps in the tunnel ceiling, illuminating a small patch of ground.

Old Cripple silently reappeared and tossed a rusty iron box at Chen Fan's feet.

"Take this."

Chen Fan opened the iron box. Inside lay a rough metal plaque engraved with a few blurry symbols.

"This is not the Silence Token." Chen Fan saw the falsehood immediately.

"Of course not. That's White Mask's lifeblood; no one can get it." Old Cripple grinned, revealing a cruel expression. "This is something I tinkered with before—a high-frequency jammer that can block the monitor's scanning signal... thirty seconds.'"

He held up three fingers: "Only thirty seconds. Enough time for you to hold that child and rush into the entrance of the Ghost Line Path at top speed, reaching the subway station area. After that, whether you live or die is up to your own fate."

"Why are you helping me?" Chen Fan gripped the iron box, his gaze sharp.

Old Cripple fell silent, a complex and unreadable emotion flashing in his cloudy eyes.

He dropped his cynical facade and murmured: "I took your tea because... you remind me of my son. When he first arrived in this city, he was like you—refusing to believe, refusing to yield.'"

Chen Fan was startled, but he saw Old Cripple's crippled leg trembling slightly under the moonlight. Beneath the worn trouser leg, a section of prosthetic leg flashing with metallic luster was exposed.

On that cold metal, a line of small characters was clearly engraved—'Vanguard Squad · Punishment Group.'

In the distance, the heart-pounding blue beam of the monitor, like the gaze of Death, slowly swept across the alley entrance where they were hiding once more.

Little Bean, curled up in the corner, shivered, muttering in a dream-like state:

"It's changing the rules... it's learning from you..."