Chapter 255 Chapter 249 How to Survive
Five years after the demon’s arrival.
Ji Ma lay on the wide red bed, holding a fat orange cat, the weight creating a dent in the soft mattress.
She suddenly opened her eyes, the faint golden light of her pupils shining in the darkness.
It was a nightmare that had attacked her, waking her up.
Logically speaking, Ji Ma should not have nightmares. She might be the least tormented person in the world today. Anyone who caused her even a little pain, even just a minor “offense” or “displeasure,” would invoke her revenge, without a trace of resentment carried into the next day.
Was it guilt? After all, many people had died because of her, and many were still suffering.
But Ji Ma had long since stopped feeling sympathy for others. Perhaps it was when, three centuries ago, she used an axe to chop through one body after another. Perhaps it was when she decapitated a begging head, presenting it as a trophy.
Ji Ma was confused as she pulled her hand from Li Anxi the cat’s body, got off the bed, and walked barefoot to the balcony, sitting on the marble railing.
The night breeze blew through her black hair as a few maids carried lanterns and patrolled the night. The balcony was quiet, only the sound of insects chirping.
With the help of the night wind, Ji Ma’s mind began to clear.
She figured out why she had nightmares.
George.
Beautiful women always think that because of their beauty, their enemies will spare them.
Fortunately, Ji Ma had both a big chest and a sharp mind.
She recalled the past, when faced with the supernaturally beautiful Miss Green Dragon, George had killed her with a single sword strike as she begged for mercy.
When faced with a dark elf female knight who hoped to turn to the light, George beheaded her.
Not a bit hesitant.
Ji Ma couldn’t remember their names, but she recalled the taste of their blood.
Let’s assume George would come to Earth… no, never mind, it’s better to assume he is standing at the door to my bedroom right now, politely knocking three times, which was the last sound I heard before my death.
Ji Ma thought.
What should I do?
Beg for mercy and swear to present my true name with both hands?
“Heh.” Ji Ma couldn’t help but laugh at herself.
Perhaps I could pretend to be merciful, gamble that George truly loved me, that he liked my tail, thereby giving him a way out, giving me a chance for redemption?
Ji Ma glanced at her gorgeous palace. In the darkness, the lantern’s light outlined the maids’ beautiful faces and figures, half hidden in darkness, half illuminated by the hazy light.
So beautiful.
The butterflies in Ji Ma’s stomach began to flutter again.
Should I give up everything—my wealth, power, and sex—and run to a harsh and desolate world to be his dog, helping him bite others?
Ji Ma continued to think.
But death was terrifying; having already lost, what else could she do?
As Ji Ma pondered, for some reason, she recalled when she was still a weak, fragile, and incapable… mortal, having watched many worldly stories.
In those stories, the villains often died because they had a bit of conscience, wanted to turn good, and didn’t act ruthlessly enough. For example, her beloved younger sister, who fell for the protagonist. Or perhaps, they were tormented by their conscience, suffering internally.
In Ji Ma’s view, these villains failed because they weren’t evil enough.
“Ha, using stories made by others to guide my real actions has no difference from going on Zhihu and listening to their bragging to make plans,” Ji Ma mocked herself and began to think pragmatically.
She pulled out her phone and reviewed historical records once more.
Decades ago, humanity fought a global war.
The casualties were so severe that Ji Ma found it hard to believe that peace-loving humans could kill so many of their own kind.
She was very interested in the fate of the losers. She noticed that America was one of the victors, competing with another human force before the Iron Curtain fell.
America did not judge many guilty individuals. In terms of sins, Ji Ma even thought they were worse than herself, yet many of them were not dead; some even continued to hold government positions.
“They have value in rewriting the narrative,” Ji Ma murmured to herself, “and executing justice comes with a cost that mortals cannot afford.”
Thinking of this, a new term trending on Huaxia’s internet popped into her mind: “united front value.”
She vaguely felt she had found an answer, opened her phone, ran to Zhihu, and searched for “united front value.” She read numerous comments, many of which complained.
What about blood donors who, when needing blood, found that regulations plainly stated that certain groups had priority for blood.
There were also employment markets for certain groups with good treatment, low competition, and job availability, as well as rent subsidies and living expense support.
Honestly, Ji Ma couldn’t understand why everyone was so angry.
She, currently, didn’t grasp the significance of job positions or the monthly subsidy of fifteen hundred.
Therefore, she had to run to her computer to better understand what “united front value” meant.
After reading many discussions and articles to grasp the concept more fully.
She remembered with disgust when she was a pathetic mortal, brushing up on interview questions every day in university, trying to secure a position. After graduating, she couldn’t enter a big company and had to use a small company as a stepping stone, struggling for a considerable time before finally getting into a large firm.
During that time in the big city, her expenses were meticulously accounted for, yet no one sent her a monthly subsidy of fifteen hundred.
Ji Ma mockingly said, “Working hard like a bull, plowing the field yet having no… value…”
Although she still couldn’t quite grasp the specific meaning.
But Ji Ma felt that if she served others by doing “good deeds” and worked hard for them, the outcome would probably be the same as in her last life.
A profound feeling of disgust surged within her.
Thus, Ji Ma conceived an evil idea; she planned to tread the path of wickedness to the end.
“If killing me is tantamount to killing thousands, tens of thousands, even millions, or tens of millions of mortals,” Ji Ma mused aloud, “then… who would dare to kill me?”
Ji Ma immediately became energetic, ambitious, and started making plans.
Over the years, she had been scouting for witch candidates, so within six months, she gathered enough witches for her terrifying plan.
An unprecedented desecration ritual commenced.
She strengthened the curse, drawing countless American lives and those of other mortals toward her.
Ji Ma tightly clasped her hands, inserting one life thread after another into her soul and body.
So greedy, yet so terrified. Like a miser shoving gold coins into his pockets, or a drowning person collecting life-saving straws.
As a result, some witches reached their limit and fainted on the spot.
Some witches cried out, “Enough, enough, Master.” Others put on a submissive act.
But Ji Ma, who was gently affectionate to the witches, sternly reprimanded them, forcing them to endure.
The ritual was very successful; lifelines intricately connected to her body.
Ji Ma stood among the fainted witches, patted her chest with satisfaction, feeling that the vitality within her had increased.
Of course, she also knew this was an illusion.
She must not let her guard down and go to face George, or she could die, probably not even escaping the essence in the Dream Temple.
Ji Ma silently reminded herself.
She bound mortal lives with her own, with the straightforward effect of dying together—emphasizing a shared life and death bond.
With this protection in place, Ji Ma, after calming the witches, eagerly went to bed for a restful sleep.
But after sleeping for two hours, she suddenly woke up again.
What if George didn’t know about this and killed her with a sword before giving her a chance to speak?
Ji Ma quickly ran to the computer to search for precautions.
Eventually, she devised a series of preventive measures, including a one-click mass email to broadcast the truth.
She also created a bracelet for her wrist called the “Cradle System,” which, with a single button, would let the world know that a multitude of people would die together with her.
Additionally, Ji Ma did not plan to sit idly by.
She smoothly connected with American military industry.
“Everyone always says that the American military is number one,” Ji Ma stated, “now is the time to prove it; I need a cannon that can fire long-rod armor-piercing rounds—one that a person can carry.”
“I know… I know… but clearly you don’t understand what I mean. The people I refer to are not the same as the ones you speak of.”
“Right, right, you’re so clever, good,” Ji Ma said. “Its specific power is still being calculated; I have reason to suspect it could flip a tank.”
Beside her, a bald man was vigorously lifting a large mass of metal.
“Plans have changed; the metal I bought isn’t heavy enough; it can at least support something weighing five tons.”
“Okay, I’ll bring it to the scene for testing.”
“Fine, I’ll use divination to check the position of that guy flying the plane into the building.”
“Whatever, you can announce it if you want; the choice is yours. Whatever you say, I’ll follow,” Ji Ma said. “This is my deal for you, so make it happen right.”
“Don’t test my purpose.”
…
…
Eleven years after the demon’s arrival.
George’s report at Huaxia’s higher-ups stirred up intense debate.
Many believed the current situation was quite good. Demon King Ji Ma was traveling the world, finding maidservants, cursing those who foolishly offended her.
Although she was openly trampling on the progress of human civilization, allowing the country that wrote “All men are created equal” to officially document “inequality.”
No matter what, it was still better than the death of millions or even billions.
“She’s playing with women today, building three palaces, and has created a chaotic mess in the cultural and entertainment industries, running amok,” an elder almost shouted, unable to hold back: “What if tomorrow she gets bored and wants to see us humans clash with swords; must we obey her?”
Of course, the opposing side was not swayed.
Finally, for reasons of caution.
The organization arranged for George to go aid the poor, to see whether his so-called benevolent law could truly protect the people, and what the effects would be.
Thus, George became a poverty alleviation cadre, bringing Little Ji to a poor village nestled between mountains.
Such poverty.
Little Ji couldn’t help but frown in front of George.
The road was muddy, and having rained, her little shoes were caked in mud.
George, however, was unfazed. He wore leather shoes and didn’t dress formally; his clothes looked much like those of the villagers.
Little Ji said, “Is the organization making things difficult for you? They truly are, so timid they don’t dare to bet.”
“It’s not their fault,” George replied. “The root culprit is her.”
