Chapter Sixteen: The Legendary Deliveryman’s Alias

“Another delivery.”
Niuma glanced toward the door.
The hatch was pushed open again, and that bony, skeletal hand slowly reached inside.
“I’m curious—is it really just a hand?” Liu Zheng asked.
“No idea. Why don’t you pull it in and find out?” Niuma egged him on.
“I’ll wait until my brain turns inhuman before trying that.”
“Pft.”
Niuma snorted and ignored him.
Liu Zheng picked up the new order slip.
“Dish: One Fishman Family Bucket.”
“Address: Building 4, Apartment 606, Crazy City, Green Laurel Park.”
“Time limit: One hour.”
He checked the map; at his current speed, it would take about half an hour.
A seemingly simple order, just like the first one.
“By the way, boss, how do I know when I can deliver physically?”
With his strength now, he shouldn’t have to be as cautious as before.
“No way. Even I can’t be 100% sure.”
Niuma shook his head.
“If you can negotiate, negotiate. If not, just damn well do it. In this bloody restaurant, don’t expect to live to retirement.”
It said lazily.
“All right.”
Liu Zheng shrugged.
After checking the order, he headed straight for Dale Gao.
From a distance, he could already hear the chainsaw-like twitching song of the French sycamore.
“Aux armes, citoyens!”
“Formez vos bataillons!”
“Marchons, marchons!”
A tree singing the Marseillaise, and solo at that—quite the romantic flair.
Liu Zheng chuckled inwardly but found his steps unconsciously keeping time.
The heavy hooves stomped on the asphalt like war drums echoing through the street.
The French sycamore seemed to notice and sang even more passionately.
“Qu'un sang impur!”
“Abreuve nos sillons!”
When he reached the black soil nearby, Dale Gao waved all its branches, bringing the performance to a perfect close.
“A fine accompaniment makes my roots spin, love comes from the Fr... HOLY SHIT!”
The French sycamore turned toward Liu Zheng, its features twisted in shock.
“That last line wasn’t French, was it?”
Liu Zheng’s eyes were unfocused.
“Swearing has to be in English. Wait, how did you end up like this?”
Dale Gao was stunned.
“I ate raw black goat kid sashimi and drank Hell Rock Cola, and this is the result.”
He shrugged his tentacles.
“Haha, serves you right for stealing my cola.”
Dale Gao laughed heartily.
“Hey, we’re business partners at least—have some sympathy.”
Liu Zheng rolled his eyes.
“I don’t even have a heart, let alone sympathy. Have you lost your mind too?”
The French sycamore rolled its eyes.
“Heh. Fine, I’ll just keep the stuff for myself.”
He turned, making to leave.
“Wait, you brought moss?”
Dale Gao asked, surprised.
“Moss? What caliber is worth trading for a Paradise Island double vacation voucher?”
Liu Zheng sneered.
“Really?”
Dale Gao’s eyes widened.
It knew the value of the Paradise Island double vacation voucher well. To trade it for a drink, the beverage had to be a top-tier rarity.
In an instant, dozens of legendary brews flashed through its mind.
“Watch closely.”
Liu Zheng opened the liquor box, then quickly closed it.
Though just a moment, the French sycamore caught sight of the vivid red blood wine inside.
“La vache! Quick, show it off in my mouth!”
Dale Gao screamed.
Green saliva dripped from its lips onto the black soil.
“Can you even afford this?”
Liu Zheng said dismissively.
“Foolish human, my wealth exceeds your imagination.”
Dale Gao retorted disdainfully.
“Don’t try to fool me with worthless stuff. You know I only value what’s useful to me.”
He emphasized.
“Well...”
Dale Gao was troubled.
Although it was a native, it didn’t have many collections of this caliber, and even fewer suitable for Liu Zheng.
Should it bring out that thing?
Dale Gao hesitated. It had paid a high price to obtain it, far more valuable than a bottle of wine.
Moreover, it was a limited edition Vlad III.
To miss out on this level of vintage would be a betrayal of its noble French bloodline.
“Putain, it’s a deal!”
The French sycamore declared fiercely.
A tree root burst from the ground, holding a storage box before Liu Zheng.
Inside was a neatly folded yellow vest.
“Name: Legendary Deliveryman’s Vest.”
“Type: Item.”
“Quality: Perfect.”
“Effect 1: Increases all attributes by 50 during delivery.”
“Effect 2: Immunity to most rationality loss during delivery.”
“Effect 3: Deals true damage to most targets during delivery.”
“Can be taken out of the instance: No.”
“Note: You can only choose between bad reviews or survival.”
Fierce—utterly fierce.
Liu Zheng stared at the yellow vest, his expression even more ravenous than the French sycamore’s upon seeing the wine.
An utterly luxurious effect, with stats off the charts.
This was no mere item; it was straight-up a cheat code.
“Well? Enough to trade for your wine?”
Dale Gao said smugly.
“Enough. I just wonder how you got this.”
Liu Zheng asked.
To become a legendary deliveryman, the strength must be no weaker than Niuma’s.
With the vest’s boost, overpowering the French sycamore should be no problem.
“Don’t ask what you shouldn’t.”
Dale Gao said unhappily.
“Come on, bro, what’s there to hide?”
Liu Zheng coaxed.
“Who said I’m your bro? It was a Valentine’s Day gift from him.”
Dale Gao gave him a disdainful glance but revealed the truth.
“Valentine’s Day gift?”
Liu Zheng looked at its rough bark and its old-man subway phone face.
“He thinks so; to me, it’s just trash.”
Dale Gao snorted.
“Trash? What trash?”
His astonished gaze roamed the French sycamore’s trunk before settling on its mouth.
“Oh.”
Liu Zheng seemed to understand everything.
“Enough talk. Here, have a drink.”
Before Dale Gao could react, he took out the limited edition Vlad III, pouring it onto the roots.
“Slow down, slow down—do you know the meaning of wine tasting?”
The French sycamore said tenderly, quickly extending more roots to catch the spilled wine.
Moments later, the entire bottle was emptied.
“Quel pied!”
Dale Gao sighed in satisfaction, feeling as though every chloroplast in its cells was cheering.
“Pleasure doing business.”
Liu Zheng put away the yellow vest and turned to leave.
He hadn’t finished the order and had no time to indulge in drunken antics with the French sycamore.
After walking a dozen meters, Liu Zheng donned the vest, which automatically adapted to fit him perfectly.
A warm current flowed through his body, filling him with newfound power.
He swung his tentacles forward; four slapped the air with such force it sounded like a furious wind, rivaling industrial fans.
“If only summer came with a bucket of ice, who wouldn’t be dizzy from this breeze?”
He thought proudly.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay like this in reality—otherwise, he’d either be dissected or turned into sashimi.
Stopping his whirlwind, Liu Zheng sprinted forward.
The scenery blurred past him like a game’s unfinished textures.
His cane, shaped like a human bone, jabbed into the ground, sparks almost flying.
“Hm?”
Suddenly, he halted.
From a building to his right-front, he sensed a gaze filled with malice.
The hostility was so dense, it stood out among all the covert stares.
Squinting, he approached the three-story building.
As he neared, the malice deepened.
Yet at the same time, the gaze seemed to retreat.
“Afraid, are you?”
Liu Zheng paused, then grinned widely, baring sharp teeth.
He raised his tentacles and unleashed a furious barrage against the heavy rolling door.
The thick shutter groaned under the assault, the building trembling as if shivering.
“Peeping, huh? Got the guts to come out and fight face to face?”
Liu Zheng shouted madly.
Soon, the rolling door collapsed under his one-sided assault.
Inside was pitch black, with only a flash of phosphorescent light.
“Rationality loss immunity succeeded.”
The system prompt flashed swiftly.
“Thought you were so scary, turns out you’re all just cowards afraid of the strong.”
He looked around contemptuously.
No one responded; many lurking eyes vanished quietly.
“Tch!”
He spat a foul, bloody mouthful of saliva and continued toward the delivery address.