“Guests, you have already finished your meal.”
The Head Chef stood in the center of the Main Hall, his hunched figure casting a long shadow under the crystal chandelier overhead.
“Thank you for your business. I am closing the shop; please leave.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the heavy, ornate bronze doors rumbled open on their own. Outside, the Black Mist surged. The night wind poured in, causing the tablecloths in the Main Hall to flap loudly.
No one moved. Everyone was frozen in their seats, looking at one another.
‘Are they really letting us go?’
It was too strange. First, they were tricked into coming inside and forced to eat those deadly things. Some died, while others were scared half to death. In the end, after finishing a basket of Meat Buns… they were just letting everyone go?
No one dared to believe it. What if the moment they stepped out the door, those Red-clothed Waitresses stabbed them in the back?
Suddenly, a figure appeared at the entrance. Wang Ziming leaned against the door frame, tilting his head to look inside, his face full of confusion. He had been prepared to crouch outside all night, but the door had suddenly opened, and the people inside were actually still alive and well.
“…Wait, you guys aren’t dead?”
A survivor inside was also looking at him. “Wang Ziming? You’re not dead either?”
The two sides stared at each other. Wang Ziming instinctively rubbed his buttocks, which were still throbbing with pain, his expression complicated.
‘Did I get kicked for nothing?’
Had the Head Chef never intended to kill anyone from the start? Then what was the point of his previous psychological gamble where he had staked his life?
‘Was I just a smart-aleck who suffered for nothing?’
Wang Ziming’s mouth twitched as he forced himself to swallow the frustration welling up inside. Forget it. As long as he was alive. If you couldn’t figure out the thoughts of a Weirdness, then it was better not to try.
However, as Wang Ziming looked at Mu Yingying and Little Frost, he had a faint suspicion. These two women and their Rusty Bicycle were not simple.
In the Main Hall, still no one dared to be the first to leave.
“Let’s go, Auntie Frost, Auntie Ying,” White Night said. She felt that the Head Chef did not seem like the type to go back on his word.
Little Frost stood up. With one hand on the handlebars and the other on the seat, she pushed White Night’s Rusty Bicycle toward the door. Her steps were not fast, but they were steady.
Mu Yingying followed beside her, still gripping the Steel Pipe. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, and she only relaxed slightly after confirming that no Waitresses were blocking the path.
The Head Chef stood where he was, with no intention of giving chase. The three of them walked through the Main Hall, passed the porch, and pushed the bicycle over the threshold.
Nothing happened. No traps, no ambushes; the heavy doors remained open quietly. They had really made it out.
Seeing Little Frost and Mu Yingying walk safely out of the hotel, the crowd finally snapped.
“Go, go, go! Leave quickly!”
They stood up in a swarm, scrambling and crawling toward the door. Someone tripped over a chair, but they didn’t even brush off the dust after getting up; they just bolted. Someone rushed to the door and looked back one last time to confirm no Waitresses were chasing them before they dared to take a deep breath.
In just thirty seconds, the Main Hall was cleared. Only a mess of plates and empty golden chairs remained in the hall.
The crowd scattered across the open space outside the hotel, still shaken. Someone couldn’t help but whisper.
“What on earth is the background of those two women?”
“Didn’t you see? The Head Chef’s attitude toward them was completely different. He even specially made buns to bring over to them.”
“Could they have some kind of relationship with that Weirdness?”
“Shh… don’t talk nonsense… keep your voice down. But it really is strange. They went in with a Rusty Bicycle and came out completely unscathed.”
Whispers spread through the crowd, and eyes drifted toward Little Frost and Mu Yingying, intentionally or otherwise. Little Frost didn’t bother to pay them any mind. Mu Yingying waved her iron pipe at a man who was staring at her. Her scarred face twisted into a fierce smile, scaring the man into quickly turning his head away. Seeing how fierce she looked, the others didn’t dare discuss it anymore.
White Night heard the chatter but didn’t take it to heart. What concerned her was something else.
The Black Mist outside had not yet dispersed. The thick Black Mist still shrouded the surrounding streets and ruins, making it impossible to see one’s own hand. There was a small area around the hotel where the mist was suppressed by some power, making it thin enough to barely see the road, but further out was nothing but a pitch-black mass.
“The mist hasn’t dispersed; we can’t leave,” Little Frost said, her gaze sweeping over the surroundings.
“Let’s wait nearby for now.”
Mu Yingying also saw the situation. She jabbed her Steel Pipe into the ground and leaned against the frame of White Night’s bicycle.
Right then, White Night perceived movement behind them. She looked back. The Head Chef was standing at the hotel’s entrance. He hadn’t come out; he just stood inside the threshold, his hunched figure silhouetted by the lights of the Main Hall behind him.
He raised a hand toward White Night and slowly waved. It was as if he were saying goodbye.
White Night was stunned for a moment. Before she could respond, the ground beneath her feet suddenly shook.
*Rumble…*
A low vibration came from inside the hotel, like something massive was snapping. Everyone felt it.
“Is it an earthquake?” someone cried out in alarm.
On the hotel’s exterior wall, a thin crack began to spread from a second-floor window frame, rapidly expanding. Tiles began to fall. At first, it was just a few scattered pieces, smashing into powder on the steps with a *clatter*.
Immediately after, large sections of the wall decorations fell away, revealing the grayish-black brick structure beneath.
“Run! Get further away!”
The crowd retreated in a panic, scrambling to put some distance between them and the building. But they didn’t dare run too far. This small suppressed area around the hotel was the only place without Black Mist; running out could mean facing the attacks of unknown Weirdness.
Little Frost pushed the bicycle back a dozen meters, with Mu Yingying following closely. Mu Yingying held the Steel Pipe horizontally in front of her, staring warily at the crumbling building.
The hotel was collapsing. The magnificent exterior walls peeled off in chunks. The crystal windows on the second floor shattered, with glass shards raining down like needles. The massive pillars of the porch snapped in the middle and crashed down, gouging deep pits into the ground and kicking up clouds of dust.
The third-floor balcony, along with its iron railings and flower pots, detached from the wall entirely and smashed to pieces upon landing. That giant crystal chandelier also plummeted from the ceiling, making a piercing shattering sound as crystal fragments flew in every direction, reflecting the last bits of light through the dust.
*Boom, boom, boom.*
The building collapsed floor by floor. The Head Chef stood in the Main Hall from beginning to end, without moving a single step. Debris from the falling ceiling hit his shoulders, but he did not dodge. A broken crossbeam fell from above his head, but he did not flinch.
He just stood there, head held high, watching as the once-grand dome shattered piece by piece. There was no fear on his face, only a sense of melancholy, as if he had long expected this moment.
*Rumble!*
One last thunderous sound echoed. The main structure of the hotel collapsed. Reinforced concrete poured down, burying everything. Smoke and dust billowed up, causing everyone to cover their mouths and noses as they repeatedly backed away.
As the dust gradually cleared, everyone finally saw the scene before them. The hotel was gone. The once brightly lit building had turned into a massive pile of ruins. Rubble, broken rebar, shattered tiles, and glass shards were piled into a small mountain.
But it wasn’t over yet. The ruins were shrinking.
The rubble and broken walls slowly collapsed toward the center. Rebar twisted, and concrete was ground into powder. All the debris was being compressed, squeezed, and condensed by an indescribable force.
The area of the ruins became smaller and smaller, yet the density at the center grew higher and higher. The pile of ruins that had originally occupied half a street shrank bit by bit before the horrified eyes of the crowd, condensing into a three- or four-meter-high Black Giant Stone.
The surface of the giant stone was as black as ink. Its texture was so dense that not a single crack could be seen, making it look like some kind of mineral that didn’t belong to this world.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of blood. White Night saw it. Beneath the giant stone, a person was being crushed.
The Head Chef.
His entire body was pinned down by that Black Giant Stone. Blood seeped from his seven orifices, and his face was contorted. His hunched back was pressed flat against the ground.
But he wasn’t dead. Those hands, covered in scars and calluses, were still moving. His withered fingers clawed into the cracks of the rubble, his nails torn and bloody. The muscles in his arms were taut like steel cables beneath his skin, every vein bulging and throbbing.
He wanted to get up. He was desperately trying to push himself up from beneath the giant stone. A faint light shimmered in his pitch-black eyes, revealing a will that refused to be extinguished.
But the giant stone didn’t budge. Every time he used all his strength to lift a tiny gap, the stone would press down again—heavier and more vicious.
Blood seeped out from the bottom of the Black Giant Stone. Bright red, drop by drop, it merged into a stream that spread along the cracks in the ground. The intense smell of blood filled everyone’s nostrils.
White Night was in a Soul State, but she was still dazed for a moment by the intensity of the scent. Then, the memories came.
Strange memories appeared in the minds of everyone present. They belonged to the Head Chef. Broken fragments of memory, filled with pain and regret, flooded into their minds along with the pervasive scent of blood.
This was the Head Chef’s tribulation. If he couldn’t overcome it, everyone present would likely die within these painful memories.
The Black Bowknot that White Night had been clutching turned slightly hot, emitting a faint, dark glow, as if warning her that danger was approaching. But the critical moment hadn’t arrived yet. She unconsciously tightened her grip on the bowknot as the Head Chef’s memory fragments poured into her mind.
***
The Head Chef was an orphan. He had no name and no roots. He survived by picking up leftover buns and drinking dirty water from ditches. When he was tired, he slept under bridge tunnels; when he was hungry, he fought with wild dogs for food.
In the winter of his seven-year-old year, he fainted from hunger at the back door of a Steamed Bun Shop. When he woke up, half a warm meat bun was stuffed into his mouth. It was the first time he had ever tasted food so delicious.
A white-haired old man crouched in front of him, cursing while feeding him the bun. “You little brat. You’re so hungry you didn’t even know to knock. How unlucky would it be if you died in front of my shop?”
The old man’s surname was Chen. He was the owner of this Steamed Bun Shop, and the townspeople called him Master Chen. His wife was dead, and his daughter, Chen Qiao’er, was still young. He spent his whole life looking after this shop, kneading dough and mixing fillings every day to steam buns.
Master Chen not only took him in and taught him to read, but also taught him how to knead dough. He loved learning all of it.
“Your fingers are long. You’re good material for pinching pleats and making buns,” Master Chen nodded as he looked at the first crooked bun the boy had made. “Kid, learn and practice more.”
So he practiced. He got up before dawn to knead dough until his arms were too sore to lift. Blisters formed on his palms, which then broke and turned into calluses; when the calluses wore off, new ones grew.
Three months later, the buns he made were even rounder than Master Chen’s. Half a year later, an old customer tasted a bun he had steamed and was stunned for a long time before asking Master Chen, “Old Chen, has your skill improved lately?”
Master Chen chuckled and tapped the boy’s head with his tobacco pipe. “It’s not me; it’s this little brat.”
He had talent. He had an intuition for cooking. With the dough in his hands, the proofing time was perfect to the second. His seasoning for the fillings was just right. His control over the heat on the stove was entirely based on feeling. Things that took others three years to learn, he mastered in one.
Master Chen saw it all. While he scolded the little brat for getting cocky, he secretly began to teach him even more. He no longer taught him just about buns, but also the techniques for stir-frying, stewing soup, braising fish, and curing meat.
From simple home-cooked meals to the grand banquet dishes for the town’s weddings and funerals, Master Chen broke down his decades of skill and fed it to him bit by bit.
He absorbed everything frantically. A few years passed, and that tiny Steamed Bun Shop could no longer contain him. He began to ponder new dishes and experiment with various methods. The restaurant had more and more customers, and its reputation spread further and further.
The Steamed Bun Shop became a small restaurant. The small restaurant became a hotel. The hotel grew larger and larger until it became the most magnificent hotel in town.
Master Chen retired. Every day, he sat in the corner of the kitchen smoking his dry tobacco, watching the young man run around directing the entire kitchen. Occasionally, he would laugh and curse that the little brat had done well for himself, but most of the time, he just smiled.
His Junior Sister would secretly cast admiring glances his way, which he saw clearly. He would also giggle foolishly from time to time and work harder to cook and earn money. He wanted to wait until he had saved enough money to tell his master that he wanted to marry his master’s daughter, his Junior Sister.
He would peek at his Junior Sister, his eyes full of yearning for the future. During those days, he was in high spirits and full of hope.
But then, that person arrived.
One afternoon, the hotel had just finished the lunch rush, and the kitchen was being cleaned up. The Senior Brother from the front hall rushed in, drenched in cold sweat. He was a steady person who rarely panicked like this.
“Junior Brother, a guest came in outside. He says he wants to order food. He says he’s starving.”
“Then just make it.”
“But that man… he looks scary.”
He wiped his hands and walked out, seeing the man sitting in the corner of the Main Hall.
Thin. He was abnormally thin. A well-tailored suit hung on him, as empty as if it were on a clothes hanger. His cheekbones and collarbones protruded sharply, and the joints of his wrists were clearly visible. His skin was tight against his bones, with not a trace of flesh to be seen.
Yet the fabric of that suit was high-quality. His leather shoes were also fine and polished to a shine; he didn’t look like someone who couldn’t afford a meal. What made people uncomfortable were his eyes. They were deeply sunken into his sockets, yet they were extraordinarily bright, glowing with a faint, eerie green light that was full of greed and hunger.
The man looked up at him and pulled his mouth back into a smile. A sharp, piercing voice rang out, sounding like nails scraping against a blackboard, making one’s skin crawl.
“Hungry… so hungry.”
“I am so very hungry.”