Chapter Forty-Nine: Passing the Test

All along, he had neglected one crucial point: it was a test of intellect. He had focused solely on escape, but by the time he realized this, it was already his ninth attempt. If he failed now, only one chance would remain.

Yang Fan didn't exit through the front door; instead, he quietly slipped out the back, avoiding the initial wave of zombies. At the end of the corridor, to the right was the staircase, to the left a stone wall, and ahead a window—the stairwell window. His first instinct was not to take the stairs, for no matter which way he went, it would end in failure; the timing was simply impossible.

If he possessed seventeen times the abilities of an ordinary person, he might manage, but now with only triple the strength, facing a horde of zombies was utterly hopeless.

So Yang Fan placed his hopes elsewhere. Peering out the window, he saw the world outside. He was on the eleventh floor, about fifty or sixty meters up—quite high. The wind howled fiercely. He calmly observed and finally spotted a power line. Glancing below, inspiration struck.

He took off his outerwear, twisted it into a rope, fashioned a makeshift pulley as he had seen in films, secured it to the wire, and then—slid down.

The rapid descent brought a sudden sensation of weightlessness that made him uneasy, but Yang Fan did not forget where he was. He managed to control his fear, focused on the ground below. In less than thirty seconds, he was nearing the ground, quickly balanced himself, and used his shoes to scrape against the wall, reducing the impact.

In that brief moment, Yang Fan's potential surged, and he landed safely, unharmed.

Checking the time, ninety-eight seconds remained. He could leave this place with ease. Now, he needed to scale the city wall. However... sharp barriers topped the wall. Attempting to climb over them would leave him riddled with wounds.

"Stay calm, stay calm," Yang Fan told himself, searching for a way out. The area was tightly sealed, offering no escape. Suddenly, he noticed something—a manhole cover to the sewer. Instantly, he understood. Then—

Boom!

"Ninth death. You have one more resurrection left."

It was the system's cold, merciless voice for the ninth time. One more failure would mean defeat. When Yang Fan opened his eyes, he wasted no words. He exited through the back door. Before leaving, he searched for a wooden stick, then dashed out. As before, he removed his clothes, twisted them together.

He slid down again, more skillfully this time, sustaining no injuries. Upon landing, three minutes remained. Yang Fan rushed to the manhole cover, pressed it down with the stick, and exerted all his strength to pry it open. After several attempts, he succeeded.

With only one hundred and twenty seconds left, Yang Fan jumped down without hesitation, suffering minor injuries. The sewer was four or five meters deep, and a foul stench enveloped him. He realized he had no flashlight.

But quickly, Yang Fan released his energy—the red aura instantly illuminated the space. In that moment, he tapped into triple his usual intellect. The crimson glow revealed filth, rats, and pervasive stench; anyone else would be poisoned after a short while.

Yang Fan regretted leaving his clothes outside. Had he kept them, he could cover his nose. Now, he had to use his hand.

With only sixty seconds left, another crisis arose: two paths, left and right, and he had no idea which to take.

In a sewer, one end is always blocked, the other open; it was common knowledge. If he chose wrong, he would be doomed, for he had not yet escaped the fifty-meter radius.

"Stay calm, stay calm..." Yang Fan urged himself. After ten seconds, he began to observe, enduring the unbearable stench.

Suddenly—

A breeze swept through, carrying the foul odor. Yang Fan was startled, then quickly moved left. The wind came from the right, carrying faint sounds. Clearly, it was blowing outward, so Yang Fan, trusting this reasoning, fled left.

Ten!

Nine!

Yang Fan moved faster and faster, like a blaze in the dark tunnel.

Five!

Four!

Three!

Still no exit. He sighed inwardly but didn't stop running, thinking, "Dropped three levels and lost five thousand apocalypse coins. What a scam."

Two!

No path...

Just as Yang Fan was about to give up, at the critical moment, the system's voice sounded.

"Congratulations on passing the intelligence test in easy mode. Due to excessive deaths, you have no chance for a treasure chest. Next is the fivefold intelligence test. As before, you have ten lives. Please begin..."

Yang Fan guessed correctly—the passage was on the left. As the system's voice faded, the scene instantly changed...

—

Next, there was a survival game testing intellect. Seven or eight people. Each night, one would be killed—it could be him or someone else. He had to catch the real killer while the police remained alive. All his abilities were weakened to below average, except his intelligence, which was five times that of a normal person.

Now Yang Fan finally understood the nature of this test: it was about gradually unlocking human potential. For himself, it went from triple, then fivefold, sevenfold, then tenfold, fifteenfold, seventeenfold, twenty-fourfold.

This method didn't guarantee complete activation, just a simple enhancement. Choosing medium difficulty activated half, high difficulty activated 80%–99%, and the terrifying extreme was 100%.

Next, Yang Fan would endure all sorts of hardships...

—

On the third day, Yang Fan's mind was nearly overwhelmed, but at the last moment, he found clues and completed ten simple intelligence tests. What followed was mastery of combat.

A foe twice as strong as him attacked, and after hours of being beaten, Yang Fan realized he was being taught fighting techniques. He continued to endure...

On the fifth day, Yang Fan won. With the body of an ordinary man, he defeated a brute twice his size using basic combat skills. In peacetime, this would have taken at least a month. In this virtual space, energy could be restored endlessly; in real life, fighting for an hour would leave him exhausted.

After forty-eight hours, Yang Fan had memorized important fighting techniques.

Next came mastery of reconnaissance—a task demanding both mental and physical effort. It took Yang Fan four days to achieve basic proficiency...

Then came mastery of battle, which was easier thanks to his initial fighting skills. Unexpectedly, he endured another three days and nights of abuse before passing. Only then did he realize: battle and fighting were different.

Fighting meant victory; battle meant survival, no matter what. One was merciful, the other ruthless, using every possible method. Fortunately, this stage had no life limit; otherwise, with his initial skills, he'd have been instantly eliminated.

This stage could only be failed by giving up, otherwise, after twenty days, it counted as failure.

Next was mastery of firearms. This was straightforward: first, learning about the machinery, then basic handling, ensuring nine out of ten shots hit the intended target. For moving targets, half was sufficient; for fast targets, hitting was passing.

Two days for basic mastery.

Finally, came cold weapons...

——————

(The third update... An early wish for everyone a happy National Day. There will likely be another chapter tonight, or one after midnight. Since recommendation votes exceeded 200, here's an extra update!)

......

(Tomorrow is National Day... Only learned about it in the group chat. Was quite happy at first, then, well... On National Day, I'm just at home writing alone. Can't compare to other authors my age—some are traveling in Tibet, some in Inner Mongolia, some on seven-day tours. I guess I'm just a nobody, not much to reflect on. I want to work hard; while they travel for National Day, I'll write more. A minimum of 6,000 words daily, plus one extra chapter for every 100 recommendation votes, and another for every 500 member points. I'll do my best! I have you all! I love you!)