Chapter 51: Food Preparation Room

A torrent of thoughts swirled through Qin Linge’s mind, each one clawing for attention.

Was she safe?

Were her companions safe?

And what in heaven’s name had they just stumbled into?  

The terror of that moment clung to her like a shadow, unshakable.

She’d fled the horrific scene, yet the image from the first-floor lobby burned behind her eyes—a grotesque vision she couldn’t unsee.

Beneath the administrator’s drab coat, a skeletal frame had moved, draped in human skin like some macabre costume.

The thought alone twisted her stomach.  

It was a sight that shattered her understanding of the world, as if reality itself had been torn apart at the seams.  

The calm and safety she’d once taken for granted lay in ruins, fragile as ash, ready to crumble at the slightest touch.  

Her mind was a storm of chaos, emotions spiraling beyond her control.

Her body moved on instinct, trailing the others to the second floor, but once there, she froze, caught in a fog of indecision.

Her thoughts refused to settle, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty.  

She lingered in place, the world blurring around her, until a cold realization hit—she’d lost her teammates.  

Xu Dengming, Dong Shaodan, Lin Yunhui, Fang Jialing—they were gone, vanished into the crowd or worse.

Jin Zhiran had been missing since morning, a fact that gnawed at her.

Though they weren’t close, the absence of familiar faces left her with a hollow ache, a sense of being utterly alone.  

The monstrous administrator hadn’t followed them to the second floor, and for now, the interns seemed safe.

Some fled upstairs without a backward glance, seeking the refuge of their rooms.

Others lingered in the second-floor hall, their faces pale as chalk, eyes darting as they weighed their next move.  

The hum of conversation faded, and the patter of rain outside mingled with the mechanical whir of the kitchen beyond the hall.

The sounds wove together, deceptively ordinary, lulling the surviving interns into a fleeting illusion of normalcy.

For some, it stirred thoughts of Yu Wu.  

Unlike the enigmatic administrator, whose face remained a mystery, Yu Wu was a known quantity to many of the senior interns.

Qin Linge herself had crossed paths with her before, their interactions brief but memorable.  

A question flickered in Qin Linge’s mind, faint and unformed—why had the administration chosen Yu Wu to oversee the dormitory?

Did she have any grasp of the nightmare unfolding around them?  

In the heavy silence, Qin Linge’s gaze fell on another senior intern standing among the crowd.

His brows were knit tight, but as she watched, his expression hardened, resolve settling over him like armor.  

“I’m going to check the kitchen,” he declared, his voice cutting through the stillness.  

If the administrator was a distant, untouchable figure, Yu Wu was the opposite—someone they saw often, spoke to, knew.

She’d always seemed normal enough, if a touch aloof, and she could hold a conversation.

That made her a beacon of hope in this madness.  

Besides, the dormitory offered no food beyond the second floor, and their meager stash of snacks wouldn’t last.

The kitchen was a necessity, a destination they couldn’t avoid forever.  

The others wavered, uncertainty etched into their faces, but no one turned away.  

The senior intern strode toward the kitchen, where an unlocked door bore a simple sign:

“Working. No entry for unauthorized personnel.”  

He pushed it open with a creak.  

Inside was a kitchen frozen in time, its dated fixtures bathed in the cold glow of overhead lights.

Cooking robots moved with mechanical precision, their motions eerily methodical.

The sole human presence was Yu Wu, clad in a chef’s uniform, her figure stark against the sterile backdrop.  

She turned at the sound of their entry, her eyes narrowing as the shaken interns spilled into her domain.

Her displeasure was palpable, a silent reprimand.  

Hands tucked into her pockets, her voice drifted from behind her mask, sharp and cold as the fluorescent lights.

“Unauthorized people shouldn’t be in the kitchen.”  

A crowd pressed forward, eager to speak with Yu Wu, but Qin Linge was pushed to the edges, unable to break through.

She settled for hovering at the doorway, craning her neck to peer inside.

Her eyes caught a sheet of paper taped to the wall, scrawled with work rules and schedules.  

According to the list, Yu Wu’s days began at 4:30 a.m. and didn’t end until 9:00 p.m.  

Even with breaks, it was a grueling routine, a relentless grind.  

The paper’s final lines stood out: one for staff—”To ensure food safety and hygiene, change into clean chef uniforms promptly.”  

And one for outsiders—”To ensure food safety and hygiene, unauthorized personnel are prohibited from entering the kitchen.”  

Qin Linge’s gaze skimmed the words, barely registering their weight.  

At the front, the senior intern was pleading with Yu Wu.

“There’s a monster out there, like the one at reception. If you don’t get it, just think of it as a danger we can’t handle. The signal here’s terrible; we can’t reach the administration. You run the kitchen—surely you know when food deliveries come? Can you tell us?”  

His words were a jumbled rush, but Yu Wu’s face remained impassive, her tone as frigid as her stare.  

Even if she understood, the interns’ fear and urgency slid off her like water off glass, leaving no mark.  

Clad in her chef’s uniform, she repeated her warning with mechanical precision.

“Unauthorized people shouldn’t be in the kitchen.”

Then, as an afterthought, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Despair settled over the interns.

Unlike the hostile administrator, Yu Wu wasn’t aggressive, but she offered no lifeline either.  

She was like a machine, programmed to respond only to specific prompts, indifferent to their plight.  

Emergencies weren’t her concern, and her detachment was a wall they couldn’t breach.  

The senior intern pressed on, undeterred.

“Who delivers food to the kitchen? Can you at least tell us that?”  

“When we finish our articles, we give them to you, right? Who do you hand them to? How do you contact them?”  

His questions met only silence, Yu Wu’s gaze as unyielding as stone, regarding them as little more than pests buzzing in her kitchen.  

The senior intern licked his dry lips, his voice growing hoarse, barely a whisper now.  

“Hey, you—”  

A companion nudged him sharply, her voice trembling with fear.  

He turned slowly, and in her wide, terrified eyes, he saw a reflection—a face swollen and red, as if every drop of blood in his body had rushed to the surface.  

The face was his own, yet alien, its familiar features distorted by an unnatural hue.  

He blinked sluggishly, unaware of the horror creeping over him.

His gaze dropped to his hands, now a vivid, unnatural red.  

His companions, too, had turned the same crimson shade.  

It felt oddly unremarkable—they’d come here together, so why wouldn’t they share the same color?  

When the intruders’ voices finally fell silent, Yu Wu turned back to her work without a second glance, sorting ingredients with practiced efficiency.  

Even with robotic assistance, preparing meals for so many was no small task.  

Yu Wu was busy, but content.

This job—food, lodging, a steady paycheck—was exactly what she’d wanted.  

The administration had given her this role, and alongside kitchen duties, she occasionally handled extra tasks, like assigning work to interns.

The kitchen was her sanctuary, free from the complexities of colleagues.  

But the world had a way of throwing surprises at her.

Today, she faced an unexpected chore.  

The kitchen demanded fresh, hygienic food, and with dinner approaching—it was already 3:30 p.m.—Yu Wu needed to clear out the waste cluttering her workspace.  

Why did garbage always find its way here?  

She reached for her cleaning tools, her movements calm and deliberate, and turned to face the writhing red masses on the floor.  

To her, they resembled animal organs—living, pulsing, grotesque.  

Her eyes swept the room, landing on a familiar girl at the doorway, staring in mute horror.  

Their gazes locked for a fleeting moment, and the girl flinched, averting her eyes as if scorched.  

Yu Wu noted that the girl’s feet stayed outside the threshold and said nothing.  

Dinner was nearing, and she had to move quickly.  

At the kitchen’s entrance, Qin Linge stood frozen, staring at the eight interns blocking her path.  

Her mind struggled to reconcile what she saw—could these things still be called human?  

It had started with their skin, then their eyes and hair, until even their clothes had taken on the hue of spoiled meat.  

Now, six human-sized heaps of “liver” lay sprawled before her, grotesque and surreal.  

It all unfolded so naturally, yet her mind was torn in two.

One part screamed at her to run, to flee this nightmare, while another whispered that this was normal—just kitchen waste, soon to be cleared by the diligent staff.

There was nothing to fear.  

Qin Linge took a trembling step back, then another.  

She retreated into a nearby storage room, collapsing into a crouch, knees drawn tight to her chest, curling into the corner as if she could disappear.  

The storage room door hung ajar.

After a time, a rich, meaty aroma drifted from the kitchen, thick and cloying.  

Pots crowded the stove, and Yu Wu moved between them, slightly frantic.

Steam from a bubbling pot of broth forced the lid askew, and the liquid spilled, trickling across the floor and down the steps.  

The once-clean tiles grew slick with grease, stained by the spreading broth.  

Dong Shaodan and Xu Dengming, exhausted from dragging Fang Jialing to the second floor, leaned against the wall, catching their breath.  

Xu Dengming inhaled deeply, her adrenaline fading, leaving her muscles aching for rest.  

Willpower alone had carried her through the climb, though the three had nearly tumbled down the stairs, their feet slipping on the slick steps.  

Something about it felt off—Xu Dengming hadn’t noticed the stairs being so treacherous on their way down.  

At last, they reached the second-floor hall, a wide, open space connecting the building’s three levels, perfect for keeping watch.

Xu Dengming straightened, steadied her breathing, and said, “Let’s rest here for a bit before heading to our rooms.”  

The hall felt safe, for now—a fragile reprieve in a world turned upside down.