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When you begin to blame human nature, you forget the existence of the elephant.
Lin Sanjiu stared at her own hands, repeatedly reciting this sentence in her heart. In recent days, she had secretly harbored resentments, feeling that these newcomers who hadn’t experienced life and death with her couldn’t withstand the test, and quickly showed their true colors. But now, as she sat weakly in a corner, immobilized, she suddenly felt gratitude and relief. Thankfully it was these people.
If Han Suiping hadn’t died, or if those who entered the game with her happened to be Maxin or even Bohemia, could she ensure that they wouldn’t end up in the same predicament? What would she have done then?
And could she herself have avoided it?
Perhaps humans are such creatures that they can only possess goodness in an environment that allows for it. Blaming someone for not retaining their humanity is like blaming a certain bacteria for not surviving in temperatures above 100 degrees – it’s simply not the environment in which it can thrive. She might be lucky, akin to a heat-resistant bacterium, but even such bacteria have their limits.
Thinking deeply, maybe humans, aware of this, have spent millennia slowly transitioning from barbarity to civilization.
Ji Shanqing’s silhouette constantly hovered beside Nu Yue. Glancing at the wall’s timer, six hours had passed. Her gaze shifted quickly away from the sentence next to the timing digits.
“Please explain within an hour why the fields were damaged.”
According to Silvan, the game hadn’t given up; it had resumed its mental exercises. The game probably recognized that they had remembered the elephant’s existence. When they thought of the chief culprit that placed them in this situation, the grievances, discontent, and animosities they harbored against each other over the past few days had been suppressed and gradually faded.
“I’ll answer the question,” Silvan insisted, despite his pain and weakness. “Don’t worry about it.”
As the hour neared its end, he answered, “Unforeseeable circumstances, similar to natural disasters, destroyed the fields.”
Everyone in the room heard his response. But after some thought, Lin Sanjiu realized that Silvan’s answer was specially crafted. He didn’t directly state “natural disaster” because that answer, aligned with the game’s will, would once again force them to overlook the elephant’s existence. However, unforeseeable circumstances similar to natural disasters met the question’s requirement yet immediately reminded them of the elephant that had taken lives one after another.
The question reluctantly disappeared. She expected a barrage of questions to follow, but to her surprise, everything halted. Half a day passed, and the wall remained empty.
The elephant slowly took a couple of steps, probing its trunk into the vacant food trough, seeking something before stopping. It turned, its body covered in human eyes, each one scanning as if trying to scrutinize every individual’s face, searching for reasons why the tax hadn’t been paid today.
In truth, they could no longer pay the tax. The tax collector, Jian Sheng, was lying beside Silvan, his breathing erratic. nobody knew how much longer he would last.
“If you can hold on till tonight,” Lin Sanjiu told him, “I’ll give you three food balls to keep you alive till tomorrow. If you can last until the game ends, we’ll treat you.”
Asking Ji Shanqing to access Nu Yue’s data had already been a significant burden for him. After discussing with the grand prize, Lin Sanjiu realized that having him access Jian Sheng’s data wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded. Ji Shanqing was currently just a thin strand of his original consciousness, and this consciousness was quickly running out of energy. If he were to vanish from excessive strain, Han Suiping and Nu Yue would disappear along with him.
Miraculously, Jian Sheng persevered for another six hours after hearing that promise. Although, nobody, including Lin Sanjiu, who didn’t want to admit it, wished for him to hang on.
In retrospect, this was another domino effect caused by the elephant’s devastation.
“We have to start the strike immediately,” Silvan said. He didn’t need to use the field fallowing excuse anymore; everyone knew avoiding the production of food balls meant someone was to be starved. “The fields have been damaged, and with the loss of the tax collector, we can’t accumulate food balls.”
Out of the sixty-four food balls, many were crushed. Yet, if they collected all fragments, it could still be consumed. The issue was that they, including Jian Sheng, needed 18 food balls daily. Their stock would only last for three days, falling short of Ji Shanqing’s estimate of four to five days by a considerable margin.
After all the considerations, shouldn’t Jian Sheng be the one to go?
Interestingly, every action of the elephant within this room seemed to inevitably lead to life-or-death decisions among them.
No one protested Lin Sanjiu’s promise. Aside from recognizing that the elephant was the root of their problems, there was likely another reason: everyone, including Lin Sanjiu, realized that without immediate medical attention, Jian Sheng wouldn’t survive the day. If he and Nu Yue didn’t die, the rest of the group would indeed face a grave predicament.
Even she knew that rather than being a promise, it was more of an act of compassion.
Despite Jian Sheng’s tenacity, so much so that it worried many, he eventually passed away quietly just past ten in the night. Silvan reached out to close his eyelids and sighed.
“If he had succeeded,” Silvan whispered out of the blue, “he would’ve become either a hero or a tyrant in this room.”
No one responded for a moment. Horst and Louisa, seeming to have come to some realization, remained silent. Ji Shanqing continued to access Nu Yue’s data, whose breathing was becoming fainter and weaker. Only Lin Sanjiu exchanged a distant look with him from across the room, offering a weak, bitter smile.
The first day of the strike concluded with the deaths of Nu Yue and Jian Sheng.
Since they were forced into a sudden strike, everyone had already consumed one or two of the day’s rations. As a result, the consumption of the sixty-four food balls began only in the afternoon of the strike day, buying them an additional half-day. According to the grand prize’s calculations, they could last almost five days. With this shaky reassurance, they ushered in the second day of the strike amidst weakness, fatigue, and hunger.
The elephant looked like usual, leisurely strolling around the room and occasionally pausing to search for food in the trough. It had yet to show signs of weakness.
After a period of silence, the text on the wall started appearing again.
“There is currently a vacancy for the tax collector position. Those willing to take on this duty, please register to become a candidate.”
The message hung on the wall for a while, met only by everyone’s silence.
“The new tax collector will receive 20% of the food ball allocation.”
Still, no one responded. Some sat, some lay, occasionally glancing at the elephant in the center of the room. Everyone waited for a sign of its weakness.
“Those who cultivate fields will gain ownership. Once the field doubles, the produce will also double.” Below, there were detailed measures on how to cultivate the land.
To this, Lin Sanjiu could only scoff. They had lost three people before finally deciding to challenge the elephant. Being told there was a way to double their field and produce at this point only made them even more resolute in their non-cooperation.
On the third day of the strike, the elephant’s activity diminished. It no longer roamed aimlessly. Instead, it mostly stood still beside the food trough. The frequency at which its trunk swiped inside the trough increased, and its actions seemed more impatient — its trumpeting startled everyone on several occasions.
The text on the wall never stopped, but everyone had closed their eyes. After three days of surviving on the bare minimum, no one had the energy to utter even a word. Lin Sanjiu finally understood why, in documentaries she had watched before, starving African children would let flies land on their faces without shooing them away. All energy, focus, and even consciousness seemed to be fading into darkness. Everything external became utterly unrelated to them.
In this game, various effects were accelerated and intensified; based on their stamina, they shouldn’t have reached the brink of survival so quickly. On the fourth day of the strike, Lin Sanjiu spent more time in a daze and less in clarity. The day seemed to pass easily because, with a blink, more than half a day would be gone.
She couldn’t fathom how Silvan managed to hold on. Not only did he persist, but he also continued to oversee and distribute rations. Everyone could only take three food balls while he kept the rest, ensuring no one consumed them due to a lack of willpower.
When the strike finally reached its fifth day, the elephant slowly moved. It had been standing in a corner, seemingly trying to conserve energy by staying still. It had been like this for days, and people had almost stopped paying attention to it — so when they heard the dull thud of the elephant’s foot, everyone opened their eyes.
The elephant wobbled as it took a step. Just as it was about to take another, it finally gave in to exhaustion and, with a swaying motion, crashed heavily onto the ground. The room trembled from the impact, and dust filled the air. Lin Sanjiu, summoning her strength, managed to sit up. She watched as the countless eyes covering the elephant blinked a few times and then, as it lost consciousness, slowly closed. The myriad of white eyeballs with black pupils finally disappeared from the room.
Silvan’s gaze settled on the wall behind Lin Sanjiu.
“When it can’t see… an exit appears,” he said hoarsely. “Look.”
–
Phew.
This was probably the arc I spent the most time editing to make more sense, along with the Lava hospital basement one.
(Please tell me you guys somewhat understand it better now.)