Chapter 142: The Immortal's Lethargy and Morning Wrath

Though the examination hall was located within Jiang City, the path to it was rugged and treacherous.

Walls, floors, ceilings—all were corroded by mold and overrun with creeping roots. Strange blossoms bloomed here and there, turning the already cramped lower city into something resembling the dim, dank sewers beneath an alchemist’s workshop.

The bulky, misshapen creatures lurking about were mostly pollution-born mutants, their bodies laden with heavy metals and a cocktail of toxins.

Despite their terrifying appearances, they were generally not aggressive; they attacked only when provoked, otherwise simply proliferating wildly in suitable environments to claim territory.

In this era, the phrase “pig-faced” no longer necessarily referred to humans or animals.

Some of these beings glowed eerily, even possessing a strange beauty, making them far more dangerous.

Whether their light was radioactive, chemical, bioluminescent, or electrical, most were predators incapable of self-nourishment, using their glow to lure prey—plants or animals alike.

There were also bizarre hybrids: plants that bore clusters of eggs instead of fruit; animals whose fur had been replaced by patches of wild grass—these chimera-like creatures were now common.

Gene transfer between flora and fauna, once an exceedingly rare natural phenomenon spanning hundreds of millions of years, had been explosively accelerated by rampant pre-disaster genetic engineering. The subsequent cataclysmic evolution acted like a mint added to soda—once it started, it was uncontrollable.

As a result, post-disaster textbooks could no longer classify organisms by cell walls, autotrophy versus heterotrophy, producers versus consumers, or even mobility.

Take, for example, the lethargic creature sprawled out ahead—the “Cactus Sloth.”

If you called it an animal, it was a sloth covered in green skin and sharp spines, often sleeping soundly for days or even over ten days straight, basking in the sunlight.

But if you called it a plant, it was a walking, jumping, and even vocal entity—especially when disturbed during sleep, it was like a berserker, willing to break every spine on its body or even perish alongside its attacker just to unleash its fury upon waking.

“So, who on earth thought it was a good idea to put this thing in the exam hall, and then pretend it was a hostage?”

Occasionally, the large screen would cut to the audience, where muffled chuckles were heard.

Watching the athletes dash across the field was thrilling, but everyone equally enjoyed seeing players fall into water or the ball collide painfully with sensitive spots.

While the audience delighted, the examinees were in distress.

They glanced at the slumbering “hostage” label hanging grandly around the Cactus Sloth’s neck—“Hostage, 5 points.”

At first, some were excited by the prospect, but after a moment’s reflection, most shook their heads in resignation and walked away.

The exam rules required the hostage to be safely escorted to the exit.

The sloth weighed two or three hundred kilograms and was covered in spines; it was nearly impossible to move it without waking it, but once awakened, it would surely throw a tantrum, making safe escort impossible.

It was essentially a ticking time bomb.

Unless a group worked together, but multiple people meant fewer points per person, and a larger group was an easier target—just breaking a few spines would be enough to make everyone suffer.

Several students who knew each other circled the sloth reluctantly, like admirers around a sleeping beauty, but eventually shook their heads and left.

Those five points were tempting but unattainable—unless...

Then, a group saw Ye Chao and his tank-like buggy approaching.

Without even observing, they began casting spells immediately upon reaching the Cactus Sloth.

First, they summoned the shape-shifting mech—the shield set.

Then, bending down to touch the sloth, just as it slowly opened its eyes sensing something amiss, a cage forged from psychic alloy suddenly constricted around it—the Druid’s Entangling Bind.

Capture successful!

The sloth finally awakened, hissing and thrashing, pushing, ramming, and biting.

Though formidable and stronger than a three-star human of the same rank—sometimes twice as strong—the psychic alloy bindings rendered it powerless, barely breaking a few spines in frustration.

Ye Chao, clad in armor, effortlessly plucked every hair and tossed the creature into another vehicle.

A six-legged all-terrain vehicle.

Though called a buggy, it was even larger than the tank buggy.

Like an insect, it crawled, carrying the struggling sloth back to the exam entrance, claiming the five points.

This was the shape-shifting mech, version 1.42.

Those five points seemed tailor-made for Ye Chao—target asleep by itself, no tricky strategies needed; weight, spines, bad temper—all irrelevant.

The crowd fell silent once more.

During the arena match, to counter the proctor’s sudden restrictions, Ye Chao had ingeniously created a shape-shifting mech.

At that time, everyone was amazed, instinctively thinking that was his limit.

Never did they expect that when facing Chang Kongxin, he would produce a single-person tank;

when faced with the Cactus Sloth, he would bring out a six-legged buggy...

One might have thought the proctor’s restrictions were meaningless, but in reality, they mattered greatly, limiting Ye Chao’s score from 300 to 100.

The limitation was only on paper—hidden beneath was his true capability.

So, Ye Chao, how many Fire Seed vehicles do you actually have?

Why do others have single Fire Seed weapons, but you have an entire arsenal?

==========

In the virtual space.

In a nondescript corner of the Quality Square.

Seven or eight students sat in a circle, watching various live feeds of mixed martial arts broadcasts.

At this moment, almost all footage showed Ye Chao riding a mech, leading Chang Kongxin, and dragging the Cactus Sloth, accompanied by commentators who seemed overly full and desperately needing a bathroom break.

Obviously, through some means of monitoring the square’s large screen and gathering information on other contestants, Ye Chao was not the only one doing this.

“Our plan… is it still on?” Qu Shitu, ranked seventh, felt his legs weaken.

Seeing the target person like a Doraemon, pockets unfathomable, pulling out all sorts of bizarre gadgets, anyone would feel weak-kneed.

“You still have that afro but are so timid... Afraid before even meeting him?” Jing Xin, with a face as bright as the moon and eyes like stars, scoffed.

“Having an afro is about having electricity, it has nothing to do with courage…” Qu Shitu felt wronged.

“What’s there to be afraid of? Just do it!” Song Baojian waved his gloves, fearless.

“Exactly!” Tang Lin and Liu Xiaoyi spoke almost in unison, brimming with fighting spirit.

Jing Xin, with his wide face and small eyes, looked down on Qu Shitu again: Look, even the girls say so, how can you be shy?

Qu Shitu blushed deeply, lowered his afro, and fell silent.

Jing Xin surveyed the team he had assembled—

Himself, ranked third, behind only Xu Tiange and Ye Chao on the leaderboard;

Qu Shitu from Second High, timid but capable, ranked seventh;

Jiong Xiaoyi from Fourth High, quiet and unassuming, ranked ninth;

Song Baojian from Fourth High, hot-tempered and confrontational, ranked thirteenth;

Tang Lin from Second High, a cute girl with a broad forehead, ranked eighteenth;

Liu Xiaoyi and Liu Xiaoya, twin sisters from Fourth High, one literary and one martial, one active and one calm, ranked twenty-third and twenty-fourth;

and Fu Long’er, Tang Lin’s follower from Second High, ranked forty-ninth.

Eight people, all three-star, most within the top thirty—a formidable force together. Could they not take on Ye Chao and Xu Tiange?

Of course, theoretical strength was one thing; actual encounters were another. Therefore, morale needed bolstering, and unity maintained.

“Do you know… what our greatest advantage is?”