Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 49: After Tomorrow

In their eyes, they no longer saw their own kind. The companions they had once lived with day and night now seemed like their enemies. The wolfhounds threw all their strength into the fray, tearing and snarling; blood soaked their fur, dripping onto the ground in steady streams. Chaos reigned inside the cage, yet Zhao Wuji remained utterly unconcerned. He stood as leisurely as ever, as if he were truly watching a play. How could this be?! Berken felt as if all the strength had been drained from his body. He glared intently at Zhao Wuji, as if regarding him as his lifelong nemesis. He clenched his teeth, and his fists—already creaking—tightened even further. At that moment, his twisted mind began to take hold once more. This time, Alan was truly overjoyed—to see such a perilous situation end in this manner. Was it really all thunder and no rain? Alan felt elated inside and, for once, let out a rare smile. Berken caught a fleeting glimpse of the scene, and the gloom in his eyes deepened, as if they were about to spill tears. “Unbelievable!” Max exclaimed inwardly. He had thought this Zhao Wuji was beyond saving long ago, but he never expected him to let him witness such a miracle. Anyone capable of creating a miracle must be no ordinary person. Max believed this deeply—he had believed it for the past ten years. Time flowed second by second—both quickly and slowly. The boxers’ faces were filled with mixed emotions; at this point, words like “resentment” and “frustration” could no longer begin to describe their state of mind. Should they cry? Should they laugh? Who was it who asked a question just now—about whether, inside the cage, you do anything other than defend yourself? I remember Max even joked about it, saying it included taking a nap. Oh my God! Who was laughing back then? Well, now the joke has become reality—it’s as if they’d slapped themselves in the face. It stings—it really stings! Anyone who mentions “the darling of the heavens” now will have me on their back! After a fierce battle, only a handful of the wolfhounds in the cage remained—and they all died at the hands of their own kind. Zhao Wuji, leaning casually against the barbed wire fence to rest, opened his eyes, glanced at the blood covering the ground, and shook his head slightly. He turned to the crowd outside the cage, taking in every expression on the boxers’ faces. “Heh.” With a cold chuckle deep in his heart, Zhao Wuji turned away from them. Max’s guess had been spot on—the scene unfolding before him was, of course, all because of Zhao Wuji. Setting aside his past life, even in this one alone, who knows how many people have died at his hands. That killing intent, that malevolent aura, had long since seeped into Zhao Wuji’s very marrow and soul. It was just that, under normal circumstances, Zhao Wuji kept that aura well hidden within himself; when he first entered the cage, he had only let a sliver of it escape. This had led to the current situation: at first, the wolfhounds dared not approach him, but now, under the influence of the potion and with no outlet for their aggression, they had turned on one another. In truth, even without the serum, Zhao Wuji could have made them turn on each other—he need only have released a bit more of his malevolent aura to drive them mad. At that point, even humans, faced with such an aura, would likely choose to take their own lives! Finally, only one wolfhound remained. This wolfhound first let out two howls, then began wandering aimlessly in circles. Suddenly, as if driven mad, it charged violently toward the iron cage. A mournful howl. It was dead—it had taken its own life. Everyone present was stunned. How could this happen! Is that how it ends? Zhao Wuji straightened up from the barbed wire fence, as composed as when he’d entered, and slowly walked toward the iron gate. “Open the gate.” Zhao Wuji’s tone was calm, yet it carried an air of absolute authority. The guards hesitated, casting fierce glances at Max. Max’s face was somber; his eyes were closed, and it was unclear what he was thinking. Suddenly, he opened his eyes. “Open the gate,” he commanded, looking at the guards. The guards obeyed his command and immediately opened the door. “That’s not fair!” came a voice, full of grievance, almost sounding like a whimper. Indeed, it was a tough break for them. They’d fought tooth and nail, only to have someone else take their place—someone who hadn’t even broken a sweat and had even had a chance to catch his breath. Where is justice? Max didn’t care who had spoken; he simply kept a stern expression and said, enunciating each word clearly, “He did very well. There were no violations. He did indeed stay in the cage for ten minutes without taking any defensive measures. If any of you are dissatisfied, why don’t you try doing it just like he did?” No one dared to utter a word. Were they really supposed to go in alone and face dozens of wolfhounds? As for what they’d just witnessed, they’d rather believe it was a fluke—but as for whether that fluke might happen to them, no one dared to guarantee it wouldn’t. As soon as Zhao Wuji stepped out, Alan rushed over, patted him on the shoulder, and said, “I never would’ve guessed! You’ve got a trick like that up your sleeve—that’s absolutely amazing.” Just then, an unexpected figure appeared—it was Berken. Berken’s face was now full of sincerity—gone was the ferocity from moments before, replaced by a warm smile. “No. 105, I really admire you. Let’s be friends!” Berken held out his hand—though no one noticed the marks left by his fingernails digging into the palm just moments ago. But Zhao Wuji noticed. He looked at Berken with a half-smile and said something that left the others completely baffled. “You must have had a hard time holding back, didn’t you?” Zhao Wuji smiled just as faintly, but did not extend his hand. Berken stood there with his hand outstretched, his face flushed with embarrassment, before sheepishly pulling it back. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.” Zhao Wuji shook his head slightly, ignoring the remark, and walked right past him. Just as Zhao Wuji brushed past him, a flicker of fire flared across Berken’s entire eye, and the thick veins on his forehead bulged. As Zhao Wuji passed him, his footsteps faltered for a moment before he continued on his way. In that split second, his keen perception detected that Berken’s heart rate had suddenly spiked. “I hope he isn’t looking to die,” Zhao Wuji sneered inwardly. Max stood ahead, watching Zhao Wuji with a strange expression. “You did very well,” Max said calmly. “Thanks for the compliment,” Zhao Wuji replied indifferently. Max stared at Zhao Wuji for quite a while before finally shaking his head. “You’re different from him—truly different.” Zhao Wuji smiled. “Of course I’m not like him. I am who I am—one of a kind.” “Let’s hope so.” Max turned away, leaving Zhao Wuji with a broad, imposing silhouette. Zhao Wuji found a spot to stand; as before, there was no one around him. Now, the boxers’ attitude toward him was even more distant than it had been earlier. Zhao Wuji, of course, didn’t care, but Alan stood by his side, making small talk with him here and there. Max walked to the front of the group of fighters and surveyed them from above. “Fortunately, you’ve survived. Unfortunately, this is only the beginning,” Max said coldly, his sharp gaze scanning the expressions of the boxers below. No one dared to speak or make a move; the guards with the request forms were watching them coldly. “Now, I’ll allow you to eat your fill and get a good night’s sleep. After that, you’ll embark on your journey to hell.” Max waved his hand dramatically. A huge, long table was carried in by the guards. Immediately afterward, all manner of food was carried onto the table. Roast pork and lamb, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, their golden-brown surfaces glistening with oil, filled the air with an irresistible aroma. A large bowl of steaming stew, its surface still bubbling gently. Amber-colored caviar was evenly spread across small plates. There were also large chunks of meat stewed directly in earthenware pots, with a long fork simply left in the broth—boxers could spear a piece whenever they wanted and eat to their heart’s content. Bottles of strong liquor, their corks removed, filled the air with their aroma. This was clearly a wild party—hardly what one would expect before embarking on a journey to hell. With a cheer, the boxers pounced, ignoring the grease on their hands as they grabbed food and ate. No one held back—after all, they weren’t paying all that money every year for nothing. Zhao Wuji, of course, wasn’t about to hold back either—especially since one of the few hobbies in his life was fine dining, and in this lifetime, having resolved to experience life to the fullest, he placed even greater emphasis on savoring every moment. First, he picked up a roasted lamb, its surface sprinkled with salt, pepper, and cumin. Zhao Wuji took a small knife and gently scored the surface of the golden-brown lamb skin. With that single cut, he sliced through the crispy, charred skin, revealing the tender, smooth meat beneath. Steam and aroma billowed from the slit, the fragrance lingering intensely before Zhao Wuji’s nose. Zhao Wuji followed the cut with his knife, slicing off a neat, large piece of lamb. Immediately afterward, with lightning-fast hands, he sliced the piece into thin strips, picked up a fork, speared a piece, and popped it into his mouth. Instantly, the tender meat melted in his mouth, leaving a lingering aroma on his palate. Beside him, Alan was wolfing down a large chunk of black pepper steak; thick black pepper sauce dripped from the corner of his mouth, making him look rather disheveled. That day, all the boxers ate with great enjoyment; they temporarily put everything else out of their minds and threw themselves wholeheartedly into the feast. No one knew where tomorrow would take them.