Chapter Twelve: About to Strike It Rich

When Blackfeather requested to have his handcuffs removed, the three men inside the detention room exchanged uncertain glances.

Resentment value from Wang Lang +20…
Resentment value from Zhang Wu +20…
Resentment value from Chen Yang +20…

So little, and so uniform—was there something wrong with this system? Blackfeather wondered what might be malfunctioning just as the Liu brothers, lounging outside, watched the detention room with amused expressions.

Would they dare? Earlier, Blackfeather had dominated the cell; Black Tiger, having been dealt with outside, entered only to become a cushion for Blackfeather—forced to flatter him with a smile. Black Tiger was a well-known figure in their underworld, ruling the urban villages, yet here he dared not utter a word in protest against Blackfeather’s arrogance.

This could only be due to some ability. The police, too, seemed to have noticed Blackfeather’s talents, though they hadn’t said so openly. Blackfeather had always been cooperative since being brought to the station—something he himself didn’t recall, but which the officers and the Liu brothers, who had arrived earlier, certainly did.

Moreover, despite Blackfeather’s harsh treatment of Black Tiger in the cell, the police hadn’t intervened, clearly observing him in silence—perhaps even trying to befriend him. Blackfeather didn’t much care whether they had the courage to unlock his handcuffs; if he wished, he could still find a way out. He could return to his life—but he couldn't just leave. He still wanted to find Uncle Liu’s killer.

He was in danger himself; could the system be lying to him? Unlikely. If he were the murderer, he would certainly silence any witnesses. Though he had no real idea who the killer was, he knew such a person would show no mercy. Someone who could take a life so lightly could hardly be trusted to spare another—one might sooner believe the sun would rise in the west.

The three policemen stepped out of the detention room and spoke briefly in low voices. In the end, the short one nodded—he was apparently their leader. The tall one entered with the key and unlocked one side of Blackfeather’s handcuffs. The short one hauled in Liu Dali and tossed him inside.

“Try it with him,” he said offhandedly.

“I’ll tell you everything I know about the Teddy Gang—their venues, their influence… I’ll tell it all…” Liu Dali pleaded.

“Big brother, don’t! If you spill everything, we’ll be in trouble!” Liu Xili shouted from outside. He hadn’t expected his brother to surrender so quickly, but on second thought, he supposed he’d react the same way in such circumstances.

They had seen Black Tiger’s state: a feared crime lord reduced to docility, letting Blackfeather sit on his belly and humiliate him without protest—just a dumb grin. Perhaps he was faking it, but who could be sure Blackfeather didn’t have some method to deprive a man of his senses?

Blackfeather flexed his wrist and smiled, a smile that sent chills down spines. His chubby face and bristling beard only made him look more sinister.

Heavens above!

Liu Dali wanted to cry out, but lost consciousness before he could. Blackfeather placed his hand on Liu Dali’s shoulder and saw a jet-black armored demonic claw rest there. A fine thread shot from Liu Dali’s shoulder and quickly wound around Blackfeather’s middle finger. Unlike before, this time the threads were so numerous they nearly enveloped his finger completely, and still hadn’t stopped coming.

Blackfeather was speechless, but swiftly snapped the threads.

A crisp snap—just like before.

[Luck thread acquired. Please consume immediately.]

The system’s prompt sounded.

Liu Dali’s eyes rolled rapidly—he was already deep in a dream.

The three policemen watched, entranced.

Of the three, only the short officer heard the sound of Blackfeather breaking something; the other two didn’t even hear that. All they saw was Blackfeather place his hand on Liu Dali’s shoulder, withdraw it, and then Liu Dali’s eyes began to roll uncontrollably.

“Big brother!” Liu Xili called helplessly from outside.

It’s over! Would he be next?

“Quiet,” barked the short one, turning his gaze back to Blackfeather.

Such terrifying power—he felt a chill. What if one of them had been touched by Blackfeather just now? He didn’t dare imagine.

But then, if Blackfeather worked for the police, if in pursuit of a criminal he managed to touch the suspect’s shoulder and render them docile and compliant—what a practical force that would be.

Now that more and more people were awakening powers, one couldn’t judge criminals by old standards. If a criminal with powers resisted arrest, there would surely be casualties. If Blackfeather could infiltrate and silently strip them of consciousness, perhaps that would be the best method.

At this moment, the short officer had made up his mind—he must recruit Blackfeather into the force.

…

Blackfeather, however, paid no heed to the others’ reactions. As soon as Black Tiger found Uncle Liu’s killer, the system would get him out—sooner or later, he’d leave this place. The system prompt had already sounded twice.

This thread, he knew, had to be swallowed, though he was reluctant. The first time he’d gained a decent bonus; the second, only a useless memory that had caused him to lose track of Yi Ren planting trees.

Who knew what this time would bring? The word “luck thread” suggested it stole others’ fortune, but his own experience felt more like a lottery—the reward depended on chance. The first prize had been the best, the second not worth mentioning. What would it be this time?

Blackfeather was uneasy. If he refused, the system would force him to take it.

[Please consume immediately.]

The third prompt sounded.

Blackfeather swallowed the thread.

The three officers saw him turn away, shoving something into his mouth—instantly on alert.

“Hey, put your hands down!” the short one shouted.

Blackfeather ignored him. He wasn’t in control now—while swallowing the thread, he would briefly lose consciousness, though he remained aware of his surroundings, just unable to respond.

The previous threads had been short, so the effect hadn’t been obvious. But this one was so damned long it was still unwinding from his finger in coils.

The short officer drew his gun, aiming at Blackfeather, wary of some sudden burst of power.

Blackfeather lowered his hand swiftly—the system sensed danger and intervened, leaving him in a hazy state.

He cursed inwardly—the system was invading his consciousness again.

Still, the thread continued to unwind toward his mouth, making him look as though he were slurping up a noodle wrapped around his finger.

But no one else could see the thread.

At that moment, Blackfeather absorbed a flood of Liu Dali’s memories: his childhood, his first heartbreak, some secrets of the Teddy Gang, and finally, a vision of a chest full of jewels hidden in the mountains.

“I’m about to strike it rich,” Blackfeather thought, his face blank with astonishment.