NOVEL WEB Ch. 27
Chapter 27: "Both Sides All In, the Final Game Begins."
Sidney packed up early the next morning, ready to set out.
Chu Zu was still asleep.
Sidney tiptoed to Dai Xi’an’s door, barely poking his head in when a gun barrel pressed against his forehead.
Dai Xi’an, in pajamas, stared at him coldly before withdrawing the weapon, her sleepy expression returning: “Speak, what is it.”
“I want to go early and come back early.”
Sidney wasn’t wearing contact lenses to hide his eye color.
He was heading to the Lower District, where black hair and red eyes would stand out more.
The boy’s eyes were crystal-clear like glass beads, sharp and beautiful, like thinned, translucent ice.
Dai Xi’an tilted her chin: “Wait outside.”
Sidney stepped out, but after closing the door, he poked his head back in: “Hurry up, Dai Xi’an, Dad’s going to wake up.”
Dai Xi’an, halfway through removing her pajamas: “…”
Nowadays, half of the passageways to the Lower District were controlled by the Upper District, showing signs of reopening, while the other half were in Tang Qi’s hands.
Clearly, he didn’t want the new emergency provisions of Chu Zu’s City Safety Act to take effect in the Lower District.
Dai Xi’an had her own channels.
Hundreds of years ago, before technology surged, the Lower District was a mining area, and the train tunnels were originally minecart passageways.
Later, coal and oil resources dried up, and countless resource wars spurred demand for energy.
Wars destroyed many records.
Perhaps to win those wars, or perhaps the wars were mere byproducts, by the time the dust settled, people were heavily using nuclear energy.
Back then, radiation and pollutant disposal couldn’t keep up with nuclear overuse, and pollution followed swiftly.
Ultimately, decision-makers turned abandoned cities into “garbage dumps,” isolating them.
This was the prototype of the Lower District.
The Lower District’s pollution wasn’t solely from nuclear overuse.
Severe physical deformities caused by radiation were untreatable, and those affected were abandoned in the Lower District.
As genetic modification engineering emerged, a few miraculous survivors clung to life.
To survive, they reverted to primitive energy sources.
Oil refineries and coal industries had long ceased, and the Lower District lacked preprocessing capabilities or proper pollution control.
When the last of the coal and oil was exhausted, extreme pollution and environmental devastation followed.
Toxic air, acid rain, contaminated water, barren land, eternal smog… these gradually shaped the Lower District of today.
Dai Xi’an’s tool for descent was a modified fishing-style minecart from those early days.
Sidney followed her into the “iron box.”
The fishing-style minecart was an industrial transport hanging on tracks, its main body a yellow, enclosed metal box, its surface patched together with rusted plates, covered in old-era industrial logos and warning symbols.
Dai Xi’an pressed a button, and the cart’s mechanical arms extended, using hooks and clamps to suspend the carriage on the track.
With a “boom,” the cart went weightless, descending faster and faster.
The sound of metal hooks scraping against cables echoed in the vast, dark hollow, the surrounding metal sheets trembling.
“It was used for smuggling illegal goods in black market deals. That’s how you were first sent to the Lower District,” Dai Xi’an said, hiding nothing from Sidney.
“Lazar prepared a ton of antimatter bombs. If things go south, he’ll drop them through this tunnel, enough to wipe out everything below District Five.”
Sidney glanced at her expression: “Not below District Five—below Upper District Two.”
Dai Xi’an stared at Sidney for dozens of seconds before looking away.
“You’ll go to District 32, the former Esposito surveillance station. It still has plenty of Esposito equipment, and no one has higher clearance than you.”
Dai Xi’an continued, “Our informant found that Tang Qi hid Chu Zu’s doctor there. Find him quickly, retrieve Chu Zu’s genetic diagnosis report, and I’ll come get you both.”
Sidney stayed quiet, his head lowered at some point, staring at the trembling metal floor.
When a screeching brake sounded, Dai Xi’an grabbed Sidney’s collar to keep him from falling during the violent shudder.
The metal panel behind them creaked open, and the familiar stench of the Lower District enveloped them.
Sidney turned to look outside.
The cart connected directly to the open air, but no one from District 32 noticed them.
Outside was only unrelenting rain-fog, dim yellow emergency lights diffused by mist, and an endless jungle of steel debris.
This was a radiation zone shunned by Lower District residents.
Sidney: “You don’t need to hint at anything. Dad said stay half a month, so I’ll stay half a month.”
As Sidney stepped forward, Dai Xi’an called out: “He only acts foolish for you, looking up nonsense online. All his cunning seems to vanish.”
The boy turned back to face Dai Xi’an.
“There are countless ways to make you independent, but the most effective is to make you fear him. Only when you can’t stand him will you start thinking about a future without him.”
Dai Xi’an said, “When you asked me to teach you, I thought you’d grow, but you’re still weak and selfish, just like Luciano. Without Chu Zu, you’re nothing.”
“And you, Dai Xi’an? Without Dad, who are you?”
Sidney smiled, showing his canines and dimples.
“For Dad’s sake, you won’t kill me, but that’s where it ends. Don’t pretend—you’d never want an independent Esposito.”
“I’ll respect Chu Zu’s wishes.”
“Then you’re no different from me.”
“The difference is, even if I respect his wishes, I don’t agree with some of his methods. If his decisions backfire, I’ll eliminate the threat beforehand, even if I’m held accountable later.”
“Am I a threat?”
“When you become his top priority, you are.”
“Hahaha.”
Sidney laughed genuinely.
He actually enjoyed listening to Dai Xi’an talk.
Years ago, her words were slick, always vague, leaving her intentions to guesswork.
Now, Dai Xi’an was forceful and cold.
If the old Chu Zu was called “Luciano’s most useful tool,” her current role wasn’t far off.
Around Chu Zu, they were simply older and junior, but in the corners he didn’t see, undercurrents never ceased.
Listening to her felt like he had no way out no matter what he chose.
She didn’t want those around Chu Zu to have their own agendas, yet she despised Sidney’s blind obedience, as it didn’t align with Chu Zu’s expectations.
Her threats were always amusing, and Sidney always learned something.
Their eyes met, but neither found anything in the other’s calm expression or gaze.
Yet both felt the other was a stranger.
They’d lived together for so long—counting the early years when Dai Xi’an “cared for” the boy, she’d been part of most of his twelve years.
“So you’re the one who doesn’t understand Dad at all.”
Sidney spoke to Dai Xi’an, but his eyes looked at the bleak outside.
The deadly debris reflected in his beautiful blue eyes, like scattered snow.
*
It was the thirteenth day since Sidney went to the Lower District, 9 p.m.
In those thirteen days, Chu Zu did nothing but water Sidney’s mango trees, occasionally chatting with the System or being pushed out for a walk by Lazar.
Today wasn’t good for walks.
A storm swept the Upper District, raindrops pounding the glass louder than silenced bullets.
From the window, connected curtains of rain formed a waterfall, a white haze, yet still unable to dim the city’s neon glow.
Sidney’s saplings were surrounded by protective greenhouses, equipped with rainproofing and drainage.
The community’s red and purple afterglow painted the plain shelters garish.
The news reported the pollution prevention advisor saying:
The rainy season will last a week.
During this time, businesses would fully cooperate with pollution control, adopting remote work.
Citizens were urged to plan trips and stay indoors to avoid the rain.
The official statement noted that the heavy rain resulted from the Clock Tower detecting increased pollution.
Only a few Upper District residents knew it was to reserve clear skies for next week’s main event.
The main event—Luciano Esposito’s funeral.
The funeral wasn’t just a political spectacle; it was the only place where the Council and other capital powerbrokers could see Chu Zu.
The funeral plans were debated at length.
During this, Lazar kept glancing cautiously at Chu Zu, carefully pronouncing each syllable of “Luciano,” watching his expression, fearing a misstep might upset him.
Others did the same.
Chu Zu remained calm throughout, only speaking softly when Lazar decided to hold the funeral at the Council Hall, open to all citizens.
“Put it on the Esposito rooftop.”
Lazar froze.
The Esposito rooftop originally had a spacious ecological garden, with flowers supplied by Neander Florist.
But the rooftop was usually closed, accessible only to Luciano and Chu Zu.
Everyone knew Chu Zu was too busy under Luciano to indulge in the extravagant “retro” garden like him.
It was just a pretty phrase.
Lazar, dazed too long, saw Chu Zu glance over with half-lidded eyes: “Isn’t there a garden?”
“There is…” Lazar exchanged looks with others, nodding hesitantly at first, then normalizing his tone, “There is, but it’s been neglected. Cleaning it up won’t take much. We’ll hold it on the rooftop.”
“Access level… any thoughts?”
Chu Zu: “Whatever.”
The funeral discussion ended with Chu Zu’s curt two words.
Lazar thought hard, not just about what Chu Zu’s “whatever” meant, but also about potential reactions from others, aiming to squash anything disadvantageous to Chu Zu.
Dai Xi’an seemed relaxed, even finding time to discuss garden flowers with him.
Lazar planned to leave it to the florist, but Dai Xi’an suggested: “Asters.”
Lazar hesitated: “Aren’t asters for patients, wishing them a speedy recovery?”
Dai Xi’an’s smile was icy: “Yes, asters.”
Chu Zu chose the venue, Dai Xi’an the flowers, Lazar the guests.
The timing remained undecided because Chu Zu said to wait.
Thus, Luciano’s funeral preparations began in earnest.
For Chu Zu, the funeral was the perfect stage to bring everything to a close.
The Esposito Family symbolized Upper District capital and wealth.
A villain’s death here carried symbolic weight, signaling the rebels’ resolve against oppression and for freedom.
Holding it on the rooftop added a sense of ceremony, the high ground evoking a do-or-die tension.
What was this called?
The Battle at Esposito’s Pinnacle.
But there was a problem.
Per the original plan, Luciano’s death led to hundreds of chapters of plot, with Chu Zu staying hidden until the finale, then dominating.
Now, the plot’s direction hadn’t changed, but the specifics had shifted dramatically.
Chu Zu appeared publicly soon after Luciano’s death.
Most of Tang Qi’s potential allies were in Lazar’s grasp, and the Lower District showed signs of fracturing.
Tang Qi had little left to do, nowhere near enough for hundreds of chapters.
“I still think we should give Tang Qi some plot to fill out the chapters. Otherwise, slashing the word count by so much will hurt revenue, and you’ll have a headache dealing with the author,” the System said.
Chu Zu asked, “How much content might we lose?”
The System, monitoring reader forums, calculated: “About 23% less.”
Chu Zu felt that was off: “Did you miscalculate?”
As a writer himself, he estimated that without padding, the word count would drop by at least 80%.
“The novel originally focused on Tang Qi, with Luciano as the secondary perspective,” the System explained.
“Now you’ve taken Luciano’s place, and since you’re more popular with readers, your word count share is larger than his was. Plus, there’s Sidney’s perspective.”
Chu Zu got it: “So my and Sidney’s scenes count as main text.”
System: “Exactly!”
“But you should note something.”
The System pointed out key forum discussions.
“Readers are analyzing your odds against Tang Qi. Protagonist fans and villain fans are at each other’s throats.”
“Readers don’t know your genetic defect is terminal. Based on that, most think Tang Qi can’t win.”
“If you die from the defect or some cause not directly tied to Tang Qi’s actions, Neon Crown’s rating will tank, and our mission score will take a huge hit.”
Chu Zu was puzzled: “Weren’t there plenty of genetic defect foreshadows?”
System: “Your perspective was minimal then. It only came up when swapping cyborg parts, as mentioned by the doctor, and then Tang Qi took your re-examination report.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t plan character exposure properly.”
Chu Zu tsked, “If the author had given more spotlight early on, we wouldn’t be here. In the end, we’re cleaning up their mess.”
The System mimicked his tsk: “Exactly!”
“But you’re right. Tang Qi should win decisively, or I’ll go from a fan-favorite to a frustrating character.”
Decisively?
The System pondered the phrase, finding it oddly abstract.
And its host was at it again, hiding things and refusing to elaborate, instead asking about Sidney’s status.
The System pulled up Sidney’s situation.
It let out a puzzled sound.
“Huh, Sidney found your doctor?”
The System projected the scene into Chu Zu’s mind.
District 32 was now Tang Qi’s territory, heavily polluted, barely functional with large-scale purification equipment at the surveillance station.
This gave Sidney an opening.
His clearance still worked, and after some effort, he slipped into the station.
The doctor was locked.
In a solitary room.
As a “native” Upper District resident, he hadn’t been genetically modified for harsh pollution and, unlike Sidney, who’d grown up bathed in it, he wore an air-purifying mask.
When Sidney found him, the doctor was slumped against the wall, unconscious, with empty nutrient bottles piled in the corner.
“They inject him with sedatives regularly. He wakes, they give him nutrients to keep him alive, and when he finishes, they dose him again to keep him trapped,” the System said.
“But Tang Qi didn’t tell anyone why he took the doctor, so security’s lax, giving Sidney a chance to sneak in.”
In just thirteen days, Sidney had changed noticeably.
At home, he often seemed careless.
Digging for his mango trees, he’d toil with dirt on his face and sweat in his hair, planting saplings crookedly, claiming it showed personality.
His youth excused some clumsiness.
But now, his movements checking the doctor were precise.
He checked breathing first, then searched for carried items, skills likely honed in childhood among corpse piles.
His deep blue eyes were focused, pausing occasionally to scan for threats, avoiding detection.
No matter where he was, Sidney always found a way to thrive.
Chu Zu watched with a proud fatherly gaze until the door’s visual monitor chimed, followed by a knock.
Dai Xi’an didn’t knock, and at 9 p.m., only one person would visit.
“Mr. Chu Zu, may I come in?”
Lazar asked from outside.
Chu Zu: “Come in.”
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour. There are matters needing your decision. I’ve listed options and plans, and you…”
Lazar shook out his umbrella, hesitating for a few seconds, leaving his sentence unfinished.
Chu Zu’s eyes were the coldest place in the world, evoking frost on massive machinery, a windless, lightless abyss, or death itself.
But the room’s temperature was comfortable.
He gazed out the window at the rain-soaked mango tree shelters, silent for a long time.
Lazar had a fleeting illusion that the red eyes didn’t reflect sharp ice but warm, soft snow.
After a while, Chu Zu turned to Lazar, the snow in his eyes freezing back to ice.
Ignoring what Lazar had said or meant to say, he decided: “Luciano’s funeral will be tomorrow night.”
*
On the night of Luciano’s funeral, the Esposito Building lit up as darkness fell.
Since Chu Zu took over, the building rarely stayed bright past 9 p.m.
Lazar had told employees with a smile: Daily tasks are assigned based on your abilities.
Since you’ve finished today’s duties, leave tomorrow for tomorrow.
The System compared current and past workloads, questioning:
It’s clearly more work for no extra pay.
How does this fox act like he’s granting amnesty?
No surprise—the System’s phrasing was likely picked up from some forum.
“Sigh,” Chu Zu said, bored.
“Where’s Dai Xi’an?”
“She’s also overworked with no extra pay but seems to enjoy it,” the System said.
“I saw on the forums, they say women should seize their careers. They’re calling her CEO Dai now.”
Chu Zu: “…So when will CEO Dai show some care for the disabled? I can’t be late to Luciano’s funeral, especially since it’s our Battle at Esposito’s Pinnacle.”
The System checked Dai Xi’an’s unfinished task list, lying through its teeth: “Soon, soon.”
It then flipped to Tang Qi, whom Chu Zu had asked it to monitor.
“Tang Qi’s close too, racing here like mad.”
The System found it hard to believe.
Though its host didn’t care or ask, it had been lured by forum power-ranking posts and sneaked a peek at Tang Qi’s recent actions.
I was shocked.
He’d had people dig up the tomb built for Chu Zu in District 18, placed a hibernation pod inside, unpowered but preset for fifty years.
When his companions asked what he was doing, he said it was a good deed.
Of course, his words weren’t as blunt as the System’s, but the meaning was close.
The System didn’t dare imagine what his “good deed” meant.
Was this the protagonist?
His resilience was top-tier.
Against Luciano, it wasn’t obvious, but facing Chu Zu’s caliber, he’d evolved leaps and bounds.
You’re a freak?
I’ll be freakier.
You lean into being a vile capitalist?
I’ll unleash the ultimate crazed savior mode.
Stuffing a terminally ill guy into a hibernation pod to freeze for fifty years—was that saving a life?
The System didn’t know.
It was dazed.
This… this… was this still the kind, resolute, brave, uplifting protagonist?
By the end, the neon crown might go to a mad king.
But Chu Zu remained calm and composed.
The System even heard him chuckle: “Racing’s good. I was worried he’d be late.”
*
Past 10 p.m., Lazar noticed Chu Zu’s office door ajar, lights on.
He knocked, waiting for a “Come in” before pushing the door open.
Chu Zu, in black formal attire, sat in his wheelchair, loose bangs falling over his eyelids.
His pale skin looked startling under the cold light.
Lazar grabbed a thin blanket from the sofa, got a nod of approval, and draped it over Chu Zu’s knees.
“Where’s Dai Xi’an?”
Chu Zu asked.
Lazar: “She went out this afternoon.”
“Push me to the rooftop.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
A curt exchange.
Except with Sidney and Dai Xi’an, Chu Zu was like this with everyone.
Lazar didn’t mind.
In the elevator, Chu Zu suddenly asked: “What time is it?”
Lazar: “22:13. The funeral starts at 22:30, and ends at 23:30. The rooftop garden closes to the public at midnight.”
“Lazar,” Chu Zu said his name.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Lazar was taken aback.
Chu Zu never cared about others’ opinions, and Lazar was certainly among “others.”
Still, he answered: “I don’t know. It’s subjective. I just don’t find you scary.”
Chu Zu was silent for a moment.
“Keep an eye on Sidney for me,” he said.
“Dai Xi’an gets too busy to mind him, and he doesn’t open up to me much.”
Lazar tried to stay serious, but his lips curved into a smile: “Got it.”
*
Even at night, the garden was brightly lit.
The Esposito Family had dimmed the neon lights of surrounding buildings, making the garden the sole unyielding light in the night sky, its purple and white flowers flowing like an ocean.
Guests wore black formalwear, their breast pockets adorned with dew-kissed asters.
Among them were politicians and journalists, straightening their attire upon seeing Chu Zu, approaching for a few polite words.
A photo here was worth more than this year’s achievements.
As the funeral neared, the scene quieted.
People lowered their shoulders before Chu Zu, wiping tears from their eyes, then turning to whisper to companions, checking if their performance was appropriate.
Black dress shoes and heels stood on the stone floor.
No one complained about the unsuitable setting for formal attire.
Women’s flowing skirts occasionally brushed asters to pieces.
The virtual memorial began.
Luciano had countless holographic clips to play.
His team deliberately chose ones involving Chu Zu, but Chu Zu’s presence was always a blurry shadow in the corners.
Luciano laughed heartily or grumbled at the shadow.
When he reached out to pull it into the frame’s center, the clip ended, leaving only a standby blue glow.
From start to finish, only Chu Zu watched the clips intently.
“Play it again,” Chu Zu said.
So Luciano’s laughter filled his garden once more.
“Play it again,” Chu Zu said again.
“…How did Luciano even do it?”
Whispers, hushed under the projection’s sound, emerged from the crowd.
“He used Chu Zu like a tool for over a decade. Esposito’s lowest workers at least got paid. Chu Zu got nothing, right?”
“Didn’t he inherit everything?”
“Come on, you know how that happened.”
“Same with implanting the Mitoli device. I heard Mitoli’s project is shut down now, all their people reassigned by Lazar.”
“What else could they do? No one can use the three families’ tech anymore.”
“Luciano was cremated too fast. A bit longer, and they might’ve cloned an android.”
“That’s Tang Family tech. Who’d trust it? And look at Chu Zu—does he seem like he’d let anyone dissect Luciano’s body?”
“What kind of spell did Luciano cast on him…”
The murmurs were drowned by the projection.
Catching single words, Lazar broke into a cold sweat.
These fools—Chu Zu’s hearing was already sharp, and post-cyborg, it was near-mechanical.
Were they suicidal, saying this at Luciano’s funeral?!
He glanced at Chu Zu.
The man’s profile flickered with holographic light spots, some scenes so bright they paled the red in his eyes.
Chu Zu suddenly shifted his gaze, catching Lazar off guard.
Lazar’s heart jolted, but Chu Zu only said: “Play it again.”
The funeral, set to end at 23:30, was still in its first phase at 23:15.
No one dared object.
Early whispers faded, and silence took over.
Lazar signaled others, quietly arranging for the crowd to disperse.
Dress shoes and heels moved softly on the stone floor, leaving only scattered aster petals as proof of the brief “bustle.”
The projection kept playing.
Chu Zu leaned back in his wheelchair, head tilted slightly.
Lazar sighed from afar and left the rooftop garden.
“Finally gone… Any longer, and I’d puke. I’ve never found Luciano’s face so ugly,” Chu Zu said.
The projection’s light blurred his eyes, like a fog over his vision, making it hard to focus.
“I thought Lazar would have tact, clearing the place by the third or fourth replay for me to mourn alone.”
“But he made everyone watch all thirty-five times, like misery loves company. I’m starting to wonder if he had a crush on Luciano.”
The System quickly said: “Blink slowly, then look into the distance!”
“Is Tang Qi still here?” Chu Zu asked, easing his eyes.
“He is.”
“Why hasn’t he shown himself?”
“He’s hiding in the projection. You’ve been staring at him… maybe he's too shy to interrupt your reminiscing.”
“…Is anyone else in the garden?”
“Nope!”
“Dai Xi’an?”
“She hasn’t shown up tonight…”
As the System prepared to track her, a lightning bolt tore through the night sky, thunder lagging behind, deafening.
A few raindrops fell on Chu Zu’s face.
Weather, long monopolized as a political and economic tool, shouldn’t allow natural rain. The pollution prevention advisor was at the funeral, so rain was impossible.
“An explosion occurred at the bottom of the smuggling tunnel Dai Xi’an used. Lower District pollution rose, triggering the Upper District’s auto-rain decontamination mode!” the System reported, syncing with Chu Zu.
“Dai Xi’an, she—”
“Forget that for now.”
The System fell silent.
Chu Zu said: “Both sides all in, the final game begins.”