Zhou Ke raised the gun and pressed it against his temple.
The barrel was cold, and he felt the icy touch against his skin.
Five empty chambers remained, with one bullet loaded.
The odds of firing it were one in five—20%.
Not terribly high, but luck was unpredictable. A single shot could still be lethal.
Zhou Ke closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Click.
He exhaled softly.
Second shot.
Nothing.
After all, 20% wasn’t that bad. He couldn’t be that unlucky.
Zhou Ke rolled his shoulders and moved to hand the gun to the figure across from him—
Then the examination hall’s system chimed abruptly.
[Beep! Emergency question issued!]
[The student currently holding the gun must complete a minor task before transferring it!]
[Failure to comply will result in another self-inflicted shot!]
An emergency question?
Complete a task to pass the gun?
...
“We’ve got a live feed from the classroom!”
After a few quick maneuvers by Zhuang Xingyao, a large screen flickered to life, broadcasting the deadly examination in real time.
“Russian roulette was supposed to be the school’s standard luck-based test…”
“But now, the gun’s been swapped for a real one. If the bullet fires, someone will die.”
Zhuang Xingyao muttered under her breath, a trace of unease in her voice.
It wasn’t that she particularly cared about the examinee’s life—but this second round of testing was her responsibility.
No fatalities had ever occurred during freshman evaluations before. If something went wrong now, she’d be the one held accountable.
At this moment, every freshman in the school was glued to the screen, watching the life-or-death game between Zhou Ke and the Skull Society’s assassin.
When Zhou Ke’s first shot turned out empty, Professor Chen Yun let out a long breath.
“A student dying on the first day of testing would be a catastrophic educational incident.”
Then, the screen displayed the [Emergency Question] prompt.
“An emergency question? Professor Chen, was this part of the plan?” Zhuang Xingyao looked up.
Professor Chen Yun frowned, her eyes locked on Zhou Ke’s figure on the screen.
“Absolutely not. The luck test is purely about chance. So…”
“This emergency question must have been planted by the assassin.”
...
Inside the examination hall.
An emergency question?
Zhou Ke furrowed his brow as he read the blackboard.
Why was he the only one being forced to do an extra task?
Was this still part of the luck test?
A penalty for the unlucky?
[Emergency Question:]
[Within the 5-second time limit, locate a ‘red’ item and place it at the center of the desk!]
[Countdown: 5…]
A red item?
Just find something red and put it on the table?
Simple enough—except…
Zhou Ke’s eyes darted across the classroom. The space was stark and utilitarian.
Desks, chairs, the gun… all gray. Not a trace of red in sight.
[4…]
He couldn’t leave his seat to search.
The initial rules had been clear: attempting to stand would trigger the hidden blade behind him to strike.
He wasn’t keen on testing his reflexes against a knife.
Even if he could search freely, there was no guarantee he’d find anything red.
Zhou Ke’s gaze shifted to the black-clad figure across from him.
Beneath the shadow of the hood, the assassin’s lips curled slightly.
[3…]
Something was wrong. This exam was all wrong.
Because… this was supposed to be a [Luck] test.
The emergency question had nothing to do with luck.
And singling him out like this violated the test’s fairness entirely.
[2…]
No time to dwell. Survive first, think later.
A red item… a red item…
Truthfully, Zhou Ke had already thought of one. He just didn’t want to use it.
But as the seconds ticked away, he had no choice.
Without hesitation, he raised a finger to his mouth—
And bit down hard.
[1…]
Expression unchanging, Zhou Ke withdrew his bleeding finger.
Calmly, he placed it at the center of the desk. A drop of blood fell.
Blood was [red].
[Red item detected. Task complete!!!]
Zhou Ke wordlessly handed the gun to the assassin, then asked:
“You didn’t seem surprised by the emergency question.”
“And your voice doesn’t sound like an 18-year-old’s. Care to explain why you’re hiding your face?”
...
“Whew, that was close!”
Zhang Yang slapped his chest in relief as Zhou Ke narrowly escaped danger.
“Don’t die on me, man! I finally made friends with a genius—I was counting on copying your homework!”
Professor Chen Yun pulled a handkerchief from her LV bag, dabbing her forehead.
“Thank goodness… Of course the student I picked would pull through.”
Zhuang Xingyao remained silent, her eyes fixed on Zhou Ke.
When she saw him bite his own finger without flinching, solve the emergency question effortlessly, and call out the assassin’s disguise, her eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Zhou Ke… just who are you?”
...
Back in the examination hall.
The Skull Society assassin ignored Zhou Ke’s questions. He took the gun and, without hesitation, pressed it to his own temple.
Four chambers left. One bullet. 25% odds.
Click.
Third shot.
Empty.
Zhou Ke’s frown deepened.
Too calm. The assassin hadn’t hesitated at all.
Was it possible… he already knew where the bullet was loaded?
“I’m not a student,” the assassin said abruptly.
“But this isn’t personal. I’m just following orders.”
Zhou Ke’s grip tightened as he took the gun back.
Again, he pressed it to his temple.
He had no choice—the blade behind him twitched, ready to strike if he broke the rules.
“You’ve tampered with the exam’s parameters, haven’t you?”
“So, what’s your mission?”
Zhou Ke asked quietly.
Three chambers. One bullet. 33% chance of death.
High enough that the next shot could be the end.
Without pause, he pulled the trigger.
In that split second, he saw the assassin’s eyes—cold and murderous beneath the hood.
The assassin whispered three words:
“Kill you.”
Click.
Fourth shot.
Empty.
The assassin sighed, disappointment heavy in his voice. “Pity.”
Zhou Ke set the gun down slowly, never breaking eye contact.
“So… you’re an assassin. And if I’m not mistaken, the classroom’s safety protocols have been disabled?”
“If the bullet had fired, I’d really be dead?”
The assassin tilted his head, revealing half his face—one cruel, predatory eye locking onto Zhou Ke.
"You're quite clever. But... being too clever can be a bad thing."
"I think I’m starting to understand why 【that person】 wants you dead."
Zhou Ke ignored the black-clad assassin’s words and simply handed the pistol over.
But the other side didn’t take it.
Because...
【Beep—Another surprise test question incoming!】
The system voice rang out again.
he colors of other people’s emotions. Light red meant anxiety. Gray meant exhaustion. Orange meant excitement. Yellow... meant repression. At the same time, he could gain unlimited control over one of those colors. Pale cyan: relaxation. Using this ability, he started offering “two-yuan hugs,” spending an afternoon exchanging emotional-color experiences with others. Then came his final female customer of the day— a girl whose emotional color was pure black... —— A week later, Xu Chuan had become skilled at using pale cyan—Relaxation—treating it like a bottle of menthol balm whenever he needed it. That was when he discovered he had unlocked another unlimited emotional color: Purple, the color of fear. So these emotional colors refresh every week? Fine, I take it back—I’ll never call you useless again... —— Much later, after Xu Chuan had accumulated countless emotional abilities, one night, he suddenly found himself inside someone else’s dream. There, he could use the emotional colors he possessed to paint. And in her dream, he painted her a shower of pink shooting stars, spreading across the depths of the night sky...
uld barely embark on the path to immortality. Just as he was on the verge of death, his golden finger awakened. No matter whether it was poison, drained blood and vital energy, diminished lifespan, or any other physical debuff caused by paying a price—once midnight passed, everything would be refreshed. From then on, whenever someone asked what kind of person Chu Ran was, the answer was simple: Forbidden arts that other cultivators dared not learn? Chu Ran would learn them. Prices that even demonic cultivators dared not pay? Chu Ran would pay them. Lifespan that even righteous cultivators dared not burn? Chu Ran would burn it. All the blood essence in his body? Take it. Want both his hands and feet? He would cut them off and send them to you. You say he’s finished? He wasn’t built to sit idle. You think he’s gone mad? No—he was simply waiting for midnight. From that day onward, Chu Ran would respect neither Heaven nor Earth, bow to neither gods nor ghosts. He had only one wish: For midnight to arrive a little sooner.
ions, keeping it grounded and realistic】 After quitting his job, office worker Su Yang accidentally binds with the "Enjoy Life System." As the name suggests, simply by indulging in life's pleasures, he can earn random rewards from the system—no need to spend money on beautiful women or grovel before anyone. Just enjoy, and the money follows, making it all about effortless fun. The system comes with a scanning feature, allowing him to establish a favorability bond with women rated 85 points or above. Every 20-point increase in favorability unlocks additional rewards. After suffering through over twenty years of hardship, Su Yang trembles with excitement, his dull eyes suddenly gleaming with newfound hope. "Enjoy life? How hard could that be?"
end. Thus one must continue to cultivate, and become a saint or great emperor, in order to prolong one's life. Chen Xia, however, completely reversed this. Since his transmigration, he has gained immortality, and also a system that awards him with attribute points for every year he lives. Thus between the myriad worlds, the legend of an unparalleled senior appeared. "A gentleman takes revenge; it is never too late even after ten thousand years." "When you were at your peak I yielded, now in your old age I shall trample on you." - Chen Xia
