[Reboot Volume] Chapter 237: The Hidden Corner

Two days later—Friday afternoon—all the public classes had concluded. Mo Xing, along with the other students, submitted their “Course Selection Forms.” For theoretical lessons, he chose Professor Long Lian, and for practical training, he opted for Instructor Tian Qi. After all, these two were his original mentors and were somewhat familiar to him. He had attended classes by other instructors as well, who were quite competent, but he preferred to stick with mentors he knew better.

Those past two days had been rather interesting. On Thursday morning, after finishing the theory class, Professor Long Lian asked everyone not to leave and pulled out a stack of forms from his backpack—the “Course Selection Forms.” At first, no one knew what they were for. Later, it became clear that this was the only class distributing these forms; other courses didn’t hand them out. Any freshmen who missed that class would have to apply to the Academic Affairs Office to obtain one.

In other words, it was a covert attendance check.

Those who didn’t get the form were marked as absent and had credits deducted when they went to the Academic Affairs Office. Without the form, students couldn’t register for courses.

The poor souls who missed out were truly unfortunate.

“Enough of that. There are more important things to do tonight,” Mo Xing said, stretching to ease his soreness. That morning, Zhang Zhihao had put him through “strength and balance training.” Mo Xing had expected weightlifting or something similar, but it turned out to be carrying water buckets: one in each hand, running without spilling a single drop. If any water spilled, he had to start over.

It looked tough—and it truly was.

He succeeded after three tries, only for Zhang Zhihao to nod approvingly and say, “Not bad, but you went over the time limit by five minutes. One more round!” Mo Xing felt crushed but ran again, panting heavily when he reached the finish line. Zhang handed him breakfast as a “reward.” Though he finished on time, a few milliliters of water had spilled, meaning he had to add an extra training session the next morning.

He ate breakfast with a sense of woe, waved goodbye to Zhang Zhihao, and dragged his weary body off to theory class.

“Mo Xing! Mo Xing!”

Hearing his name, Mo Xing snapped back to attention and saw Captain Huo and several campus security officers standing before him.

“Captain Huo, you’re here,” Mo Xing said, scratching his head, suddenly remembering he was at the school gate.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. You seemed a bit distracted,” Captain Huo chuckled, then pointed at Mo Xing’s attire. “That outfit fits well.”

“Not at all. What’s the plan, Captain?” Mo Xing asked. He was wearing a business suit, handed to him earlier by Zhang Zhihao on Captain Huo’s orders, meant for the upcoming anti-bandit operation.

“Put on these sunglasses and come with me to the sewers,” Captain Huo smiled.

“The sewers? What kind of mission is this? Are we exterminating bandits or fixing plumbing?” Mo Xing was puzzled.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Captain Huo replied.

Moments later, at an abandoned flight training ground, Captain Huo and his team pried open a manhole cover. Others prepared Mo Xing with makeup and tools.

“Won’t I suffocate down there? Or drown?” Mo Xing asked, fastening an ornate rat-shaped badge to his chest—a special pass for the sewer.

“Don’t worry. There are plenty of vents, and the water’s mostly dried up. You won’t be in danger, just be careful of the others down there,” Captain Huo assured him, handing over a pack of cigarettes.

“Smoke? I’m underage,” Mo Xing waved it off. Surprisingly, the pack looked authentic, with only a few unreadable letters differing from those back home.

“Haha, little brother, you’re joking. These aren’t ordinary cigarettes; each contains a tracker,” Captain Huo laughed.

“A tracker? They have that here too?” Mo Xing was amazed.

“Yeah, it’s late,” Captain Huo glanced at his watch and slipped the pack into Mo Xing’s jacket pocket.

“Prepare for action!” Captain Huo commanded.

“Yes, sir!” the soldiers responded.

Mo Xing nodded and, with their help, descended the sewer stairs.

Peering into the pitch-black space below, he took a deep breath.

“Sewer, here I come!”

After a while, Mo Xing landed on the ground, sweeping his flashlight around. Not far away, several oil lamps flickered—someone had lit them.

“Mo Xing! If you see the lights, just follow them,” Captain Huo’s voice echoed from above.

“Got it!” Mo Xing called back.

“Good luck!” came another voice, reverberating through the tunnels.

Mo Xing proceeded along a rusty, moss-covered path. Rusted iron pipes dripped water sporadically.

“Drip, drip—”

The corridor was quiet except for footsteps and dripping water. The sewer’s stench was overwhelming; only near the oil lamps did he catch a faint whiff of fresh air.

“Beep, please verify identity—”

Suddenly, a voice emanated from the wall, startling Mo Xing. The oil lamp’s flame shifted to a bluish-green, and a pair of yellow eyes gleamed from the darkness.

The Rat-Eye Mechanism.

He had recently learned from the campus security that this was the gate control to the sewer’s second level—identity verification was required to open it.

Mo Xing clutched the rat-shaped badge on his chest, allowing the faint light from the mechanism to shine upon it.

The badge reflected a dazzling light back. The wall rumbled, shaking dust into the air. Mo Xing quickly covered his mouth with one hand and brushed away the dust with the other.

“Verification failed. Second-level space opened,” the mechanism announced.

Campus security had explained that this system’s messages were intentionally inverted: passing the identity check triggered a “verification failed” message and opened the second level; failing the check triggered a “verification passed” message and opened the third level.

The third level was a trap, while the second was the genuine hidden space. This deception had claimed many unwary intruders.

Mo Xing exhaled in relief, dusting off his clothes, and stepped inside.

The second level was noticeably brighter. Numerous exhaust fans hummed along the walls. Faint sounds emanated from down the corridor.

He recalled the intelligence briefing: encountering spear- and shield-bearing guards here was normal—they were gatekeepers who allowed passage to the true “underworld” if one showed proper identification.

Sure enough, at the corridor’s end lay a dozing gatekeeper, a peculiar scent of cologne wafting about him.

“*Ahem*,” Mo Xing coughed deliberately.

The guard jolted awake, eyeing the well-dressed young man. Spotting the rat badge on his chest, he relaxed.

“Ah, a VIP! I failed to recognize your stature,” he said respectfully.

“Why the look of panic?” Mo Xing smirked, rehearsing the role of a young, cold yet proud tycoon as Captain Huo instructed. Though the tone wasn’t quite perfect, it sufficed.

“Allow me a word, esteemed guest,” the gatekeeper smiled sincerely. “Besides full attendance pay, we also have performance targets.”

“Oh?” Mo Xing raised an eyebrow.

“The West Gate I guard sees few visitors monthly. It’s dull, and full attendance alone doesn’t pay the bills,” the guard sighed.

“But seeing you here brightens my day,” he smiled again.

“I understand. Let me in,” Mo Xing said, pulling a few gold coins from his wallet and handing them over.

The guard pocketed the coins with gratitude and gestured, “Please.”

The gate silently opened, shooting a brilliant beam of light. Mo Xing squinted and stepped forward.

What lay before him was astonishing: a grand chandelier hung overhead, a red carpet edged with ornate patterns stretched out beneath it, and black wooden tables filled the floor. At each table, sharply dressed men played cards. Waiters weaved through the crowd carrying beers. Several bald, stout men smoked large cigars, their expensive watches gleaming—a clear display of wealth.

An underground casino.

“Sir, is this your first time here?” the gatekeeper asked with a smile. “Would you like a tour? We have excellent services here.”

“Um, yes, it’s my first time...” Mo Xing hesitated, then quickly corrected himself, “First time alone. Usually, friends bring me. I know the business well enough. I’ll just look around; you don’t need to follow.”

“Very well, I’ll take my leave,” the gatekeeper bowed deeply and departed.

Mo Xing exhaled quietly. Captain Huo had warned him to keep his identity secret and to embody the demeanor of a wealthy young master. His startled expression earlier nearly blew his cover, but he managed to recover.

The casino stood over twenty meters tall, with three floors. The ground floor was the main hall—the one he had just seen. He was currently on the second floor—a circular balcony with four doors, likely representing the cardinal directions. The third floor, he guessed, was probably a VIP lounge or the casino owner’s office.

He looked up. That level resembled a birdcage suspended from the ceiling, enclosed by translucent glass; he couldn’t see inside. The staircase to the third floor was heavily guarded by fierce men.

“Better take a look downstairs,” Mo Xing muttered, rubbing his neck and stretching before descending.

“Hey, buddy! You lost again!”

“Guess I’m just lucky.”

Two men conversed at a table: one bald and stout, the other lean with a thick beard.

The bald man downed a glass of liquor in one gulp.

“Hey, you spilled your drink again,” the thin man teased.

“Ah, what a shame,” the bald man burped. “But no worries—I’ve got plenty of money!”

“Hey, buddy,” the thin man leaned in, pointing, “looks like someone over there is watching us.”

“Oh?” The bald man frowned, scanning the room. He spotted a young man in an expensive custom suit, a pristine white scarf around his neck, shiny black leather shoes, and carefully applied makeup. His indifferent gaze seemed to look down on the others at the table.

“Interesting!” the bald man said, slapping the button on the table.

A neatly dressed waitress promptly appeared.

“Sir, may I assist you?”

“You, bring that handsome fellow here,” the bald man said after a pause. “And another dozen drinks.”

“Right away!” the waitress replied eagerly.

Mo Xing was scanning the room. Captain Huo had shown him wanted posters and instructed him to find these individuals in the sewer and find a way to deliver the cigarettes to them. He had memorized their distinct appearances—the scar-faced man, Ma Dongmei, the bald fat one...

“Sir! Sir!” a waitress called, snapping Mo Xing out of his thoughts.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Someone is requesting your presence over there,” she said warmly.

“Ah?” Mo Xing’s heart skipped a beat. Had his gaze been noticed? No, he must remain calm, or he would lose his composure. Captain Huo had assured him there was no mortal danger.

“All right, take me to them,” he said, feigning composure.

“This way, please,” the waitress said.

Mo Xing took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and followed her.

This should be fine.

It had to be.