Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Another week has passed.

The global list of most immoral people has been released in public beta version 2.0.

The update package is less than 200 MB, and for users in most countries and regions, the system will refresh silently in the background for no more than one minute.

The organization rankings in version 2.0 have undergone significant changes.

The top scorer in the new version has surpassed the combined score of the second to tenth place teams, and... well, it could even be multiplied by three.

The main change comes from a new feature added to the app: Fact Tickets.

Less than ten minutes after the update, preliminary analyses from various institutions and media outlets flooded the trending searches.

The Geneva Conflict Observatory's analysis is the most concise: "Over the past year, the Gaza Strip has produced a massive amount of verifiable records of humanitarian disasters, each corroborated by images, coordinates, eyewitness testimonies, and institutional reports. Under the fact-based vote mechanism, all of these records have been activated."

A statement made on social media by a former senior official of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs was widely cited: “When the fact-based voting mechanism increases the weight of sources, it is not hard to understand why Israel’s ranking has soared. In the past year alone, more than 200 UN aid workers have died in Gaza, and every death has a full internal investigation report.”

The BBC World Service's analysis, repeatedly cited by media outlets worldwide, was far more direct than usual: "The 2.0 list is essentially a re-weighing of facts. A vote based on facts can have a weighted score thousands of times higher than a purely emotional outburst. Shooting at children, shelling crowds waiting to receive food, bombing ambulance convoys, systematic blockades of international aid transit points—all the facts that have been repeatedly recorded but never investigated have regained weight in version 2.0."

Al Jazeera's follow-up headline was shorter but went further: "Evidence doesn't disappear, it just gets recalculated at some point."

However, the Israelis no longer have time to care about these analyses.

Less than three minutes after the app was updated, Zhang Qiliang appeared in the sky above Jerusalem.

The Israeli leadership received the warning immediately.

The entire city had already seen Zhang Qiliang's flight path in the news.

The air raid siren didn't sound because it was completely pointless.

The streets were packed with people; some were holding up their phones, some were kneeling on the ground, and some were just standing with their heads tilted back.

At the emergency meeting, the Secretary of Defense asked only one question: "Can we stop it?" The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff slammed down all the intelligence assessments from the past two months on the table.

Zhang Qiliang acted just as decisively.

In the fourth minute, Zhang Qiliang lifted the parliament building.

In the fifth minute, Zhang Qiliang flew to the Presidential Palace and pulled out the President, his staff, cabinet members, and everyone else like shaking out a sack, stuffing them all into the Parliament Building.

In the sixth minute, Zhang Qiliang flew to Tel Aviv, and also took all the commanders of numerous military bases, including Adari.

The entire process was observed by diplomatic missions of more than a dozen major countries around the world stationed in Israel.

Telephoto lenses were mounted behind the windows of the embassy, ​​people were standing on the roof of the consulate and live-streaming on their phones, and some daring local employees even rushed into the street with selfie sticks.

The images were transmitted around the world via satellite signals and 5G networks, and every frame was incredibly clear.

In the eighth minute, Zhang Qiliang and the parliament building he was carrying flew to the area of ​​Gaza where resistance continues.

The Gaza Strip is naturally overjoyed.

People poured out of the ruins, ran out of the alleys, and rushed out of every house that still had a roof, heading towards the orange line.

Some people were live-streaming on their phones, some were firing shots into the air, and some were kneeling on the ground with their foreheads touching the ground, repeatedly chanting the same name.

When Zhang Qiliang landed, the crowd had already filled the ruins on both sides of the orange line.

The parliament building was gently placed on the open ground, its concrete base crushing the layers of cracked asphalt beneath it with a dull thud.

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers. Some people raised their guns above their heads, muzzles pointing skyward. The sounds of gunfire and shouts mingled together, making it impossible to distinguish which was a gunshot and which was a shout.

Leaders of several armed factions were already waiting at the landing site.

They wore camouflage uniforms of different colors, some with long beards, some with short beards, and some with plaid headscarves draped over their shoulders. Their appearances were all different, but their expressions were exactly the same: a kind of bewilderment, as if they had been struck by something huge and unattainable, and did not know how to react.

A middle-aged leader was the first to come forward.

He was of medium build, with a neatly trimmed beard and no rank insignia on his shoulders.

The middle-aged leader stopped two steps away from Zhang Qiliang, placed his right hand on his chest, and bowed slightly: "Envoy, we have been waiting for you. We didn't know you would come, but we have been waiting."

Behind the middle-aged man, the crowd chanted "angels," "saints," and "God is great." Some people couldn't utter a word; they just opened their mouths, tears streaming down their cheeks, washing the dust off their faces into deep furrows.

Another, younger commander stepped forward.

He was probably only twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. His stubble was still sparse, but he had dark circles around his eyes, as if he hadn't had a full night's sleep in a long time.

He walked up to Zhang Qiliang and bowed deeply as well: “Sir, we…we don’t know what to call you…Thank you, thank you for finally coming here.”

The crowd erupted in cheers again, louder and longer than before.

Someone started singing a very old song with lyrics that roughly translate to "My land will not be taken away."

The song echoed among the ruins, carried far away by the wind on both sides of the orange line.

Meanwhile, dozens of people at the front of the crowd, wielding various weapons, surged toward the parliament building.

Some of them carried rifles, some held machetes, and some picked up steel bars and broken bricks from the ground.

Their eyes were red. Some were shouting "Open the door!", some were shouting "Chop them up!", and some were already trying to smash the glass door with the butt of their guns.

The glass was bulletproof, and the butt of the gun only left a few white scratches when it hit them, but that did not stop them.

They kept smashing, smashing harder and harder, smashing more and more frantically.

"Drag them out!"

"A blood debt must be paid in blood!"

"God has seen this! Today is the day of reckoning!"

Zhang Qiliang raised his hand.

A gentle wall of energy emanated from his palm, and a faint, almost transparent membrane of light appeared around the building.

It looked incredibly gentle, but everyone who rushed to the entrance of the Parliament building was stopped.

When they hit the light membrane, they didn't hear any sound, but found that they could no longer take even one more step forward.

People turned to look at Zhang Qiliang; the madness on his face hadn't faded, but it was now mixed with confusion.

"Envoy?" a young man holding a machete asked, puzzled. "What are you doing? We're here to help you complete the final step."

Another, older militant pointed his gun down, spread his hands, and spoke with a more humble tone, but with the same bewilderment: "Your Excellency, the people inside have the blood of our children on their hands. We have waited for this day for far too long... Why won't you let justice be served?"

One of the leaders standing in the front row turned around. He was one of the first people to greet Zhang Qiliang. At this moment, he had a cautious expression on his face, as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and offending this benefactor who had come from nowhere.

He handed his gun to the person next to him and took two steps toward Zhang Qiliang with his hands empty.

“Messenger, we understand. You never take a life… You are right, the blood of the wicked is not worth staining your hands… Let us do it, we are rough men, we are not afraid of getting dirty.”

Closer still, an older elder spoke up. His voice was hoarse, but his tone was extremely respectful: "Holy One, your gaze should not be tainted by such things... Please look away for a moment. In just a few minutes, we will arrange everything in an orderly manner."

Zhang Qiliang neither confirmed nor denied these acts of thoughtfulness.

He withdrew his hand, turned his head, and looked at the elder closest to him: "Would you mind introducing yourself?"

The elder was taken aback.

He was in his fifties, with a white beard, wearing a dark robe and a checkered headscarf draped over his shoulders.

He nervously cleared his throat, subconsciously straightened his collar, and then spoke.

“I am an elder of the Salah al-Din Mosque and a guardian of the Jabalia community… a devout warrior who resolutely defends his homeland. My name is Yusuf Hassan Jamal.”

Zhang Qiliang nodded: "So, you're one of the meat-eaters in this area?"

Carnivores? Is this the leader's Eastern expression?

The elder had no time to think about all that. The conversation between the two had already drawn thousands of eyes around them, and the mobile phones raised around them were transmitting this historic moment to the entire Gaza Strip... no, to the entire Arab world!

Yusuf's blood boiled, but he tried to control himself and keep his voice steady: "I really hope... to be able to take on this responsibility at such a momentous time... It would be my honor."

Zhang Qiliang's gaze swept past him, across the faces of the armed men behind him, and then returned to his own.

"Would you mind telling me what the people inside did?"

Damn, you've already ranked it as the number one on the list, do you still need to ask me?

But this could also be a form of political disavowal or ideological statement by Quedexia. The elder thought about it more carefully and replied in a low voice:

“They are killing us, killing our children, killing our parents, killing our brothers and sisters. They are razing our houses, blowing up our schools, turning our hospitals into morgues. They are flooding our tunnels with seawater and shooting bullets into our ambulances. They are blocking our skies and seas, blocking all our escape routes.”

"The most heinous thing is that they always pick the easy targets. They dare not face our soldiers; they kill women queuing for water, children running out of school with their textbooks, and grandmothers crouching on ruins searching for their limbs. Their missiles are aimed at the unarmed, and their bulldozers crush those who cannot fight back. This is their rationale: to point weapons at the weak, to write battle reports as victories, and to call massacres self-defense."

“They are strong, we are weak. So they kill us, for decades, until they themselves have lost count of how many they have killed. And when we fight back, they call it terrorism. That’s their understanding of fairness.”

“Okay, I understand,” Zhang Qiliang nodded. “So, you’ve been fighting against such crimes all along, and you’re determined to fight to the very end?”

Yusuf straightened his back and nodded calmly.

“Okay,” Zhang Qiliang said, “Count me in…wait a moment at the door.”

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang raised his hand.

At the entrance to the Parliament building, an invisible air barrier appeared with a gap, just enough for a person to pass through sideways.

Yusuf looked at the crack, composed himself, and walked over.

The crowd around him spontaneously made way for him, and someone touched his shoulder reverently, as if transferring all their strength to him.

“Oh, right,” Zhang Qiliang suddenly said.

Yusuf stopped and turned around.

Zhang Qiliang raised his hand.

The next instant, the automatic rifle on Yusuf's shoulder flew steadily into Zhang Qiliang's hand.

“You don’t need to bring this,” Zhang Qiliang said. “You are a steadfast warrior, not a criminal who bullies the weak and kills the unarmed.”

Yusuf looked at Zhang Qiliang, his lips moved, but in the end, he didn't say anything, turned around again, and walked to the gap.

Zhang Qiliang shifted his gaze away from him and faced the crowd again.

Who will be the next predator?

“There are 167 inside,” he said. “You still have 166 spots left.”

166 They

Zhang Qiliang's gaze swept across the area, and some people subconsciously stepped back, some subconsciously avoided his eyes, and of course, some subconsciously took a few steps forward.

Zhang Qiliang's gaze did not linger on anyone.

He waited quietly.

Ten seconds, half a minute, one minute.

People's eyes began to move.

People's eyes shifted to those standing at the front, surrounded by the crowd; those who usually walked at the front of the line; those who stood at the highest point when speaking on the ruins; and those whose hands were watched by everyone when distributing relief supplies.

Some people lowered their arms from their chests, some coughed and then swallowed it back, and some turned their heads to look at the people next to them before turning back.

The first person to step forward was a young man, not yet thirty, with a thick beard. He was the one who had rushed to the front trying to smash the building's windows.

He looked around and noticed that everyone was watching him. He shoved the gun into the arms of the person next to him, raised his chin, and strode toward the gap. When he passed Zhang Qiliang, the young man paused, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just bowed slightly.

The second was a clergyman, in his thirties, who was always surrounded by the crowd in the middle.

He closed his eyes for a moment, moved his lips, and recited a very short passage of scripture.

Then, the clergyman opened his eyes, took off the checkered headscarf draped over his shoulders, folded it, handed it to the person next to him, said something in a very soft voice, and the person next to him immediately had tears in his eyes. The clergyman patted the person's shoulder, bowed slightly to Zhang Qiliang, and also stood next to the gap.

The third was a commander with a pistol at his waist. He kept staring at Zhang Qiliang's face, as if trying to find some answer in it. He looked for a long time but found nothing.

The commander smiled, took off his gun and threw it on the ground, then walked towards the building without looking back.

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth... many people followed one after another.

Some people kissed the scripture and gently placed it in a clean spot; some called out to those behind them, "Take good care of Mom"; and others said nothing, just walked towards the building with their heads down, as if going uphill, each step heavy.

Regardless of their inner thoughts or the consequences of entering the building, the gazes from all directions made it very clear to the carnivores present that retreating or continuing to hesitate would have no worse consequences than entering the building directly.

“There are 27 people now,” Zhang Qi counted, and then took out his phone to check. “It’s 9:17 now. Warriors who haven’t arrived yet, please hurry up. I’ll give you half an hour.”

The crowd immediately began to move.

Some people suddenly turned around and ran into the alley, pulling out their phones to dial numbers as they ran, shouting into the microphone so loudly that the entire ruins could hear them. Some people pulled out numbers they had saved in their contacts but hadn't dialed in a long time, tapping the screen several times before finally getting the right number. Several young people even jumped onto the partially collapsed floorboards next to them, standing at the highest point and shouting names in different directions towards the surrounding streets.

There were also at least three-digit numbers of people who, without hesitation, removed their guns and daggers and walked briskly toward the building.

Zhang Qiliang waved his hand: "You guys are no good."

"You're talking about the Warriors."