Chapter 110 Live Broadcast 4 Victory Celebration Banquet

You put your phone in your pocket, and a faint, metallic smell fills the cold air. It's almost too pungent.

Anna stood not far away, watching you quietly with a smile that resembled yours.

A few bears that hadn't fallen asleep paced around her, occasionally sticking out their noses to sniff her, but quickly walking away, as if instinctively sensing something unusual.

You approach slowly, your feet crunching softly on the snow.

As you approached, Anna tilted her head slightly: "So you've been wary of me all along. You've been careful from the very beginning. You didn't expose yourself easily, and you didn't want to appear on camera. Even when you interacted with the bear, you were guiding the camera to focus on me first."

Her words were devoid of resentment; they sounded more like those of a scholar observing the self-defense responses of an experimental subject.

You don't answer, you just watch her quietly.

But in your heart you're thinking: This person has incredible composure. It's the first time you've encountered a "local" who remains so calm and collected despite being in dire straits.

Or is she also an "outsider"? It doesn't seem like it...

Anna smiled again, but there was no warmth in her eyes.

"How interesting...someone like you..."

She murmured words you couldn't understand, as if she were intoxicated by a passion that belonged only to herself.

You keenly sensed a kind of affection emanating from her.

But it wasn't just ordinary liking, nor was it the curiosity a normal person has for another person; rather, it was more like a twisted and intense obsession.

—It's as if you carry something she's always longed for.

You feel a chill creep up your spine to the back of your head.

"Are you alright?" You shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Finally, you can observe this person quietly and calmly, and you realize that her gaze is too calm, too pure, and too detached.

You chant in your heart, "You are a special person..." to cool down that creepy feeling.

Snowflakes drifted down onto Anna's shoulder.

She didn't shake it off; she just stood there quietly.

The wind blew strangely, as if countless people were calling out something in the distance.

You look up and see the clouds in the sky beginning to part.

Extremely thin, silvery-white lines hung down from the sky, like giant spider silk, slowly reaching towards the ground.

You see those silver threads—piercing through the bears, piercing through the snow.

Reach out and touch it; your skin is easily penetrated.

These are... tiny, faintly glowing streams of numbers?

You stare in disbelief. What is this? When did you travel into The Matrix?

That's not important. The key point is that all these numbers are directed at Anna, while ignoring you.

Then look at Anna. She seemed to have known this moment would come all along, and showed no panic. Instead, she tilted her head back slightly and closed her eyes.

Silver threads wrapped around her limbs, shoulders, and neck, gradually lifting her off the ground.

Anna slowly opened her eyes, and in those eyes, she saw you.

Only deep curiosity and obsession.

Her voice, carried intermittently by the wind, came: "You...are really...good."

She smiled, a strange sense of satisfaction appearing in her eyes.

There will be other opportunities... We will meet again...

The digital optical link tightened abruptly.

Anna's body was deconstructed, peeled away layer by layer from the shell to the bones, turning into countless tiny data points.

There was no blood. There were no screams of pain.

They simply disappeared silently and meekly into the wind and snow.

The last shadow on the snow was erased, as if she had never existed.

You stood there, the wind and snow hitting your face, the cold biting to the bone, and you couldn't come to your senses for a long time.

After you realize what has happened, all you feel is a deep sense of unease.

You look up at the sky, which has returned to normal, and slowly piece together the truth in your mind:

As you feared, this live stream was not an ordinary sightseeing show from the beginning, but a trap.

"Online cultural and tourism live streaming" is a "travel method" for the public in the digital age.

The anchor who introduces scenery and culture in the cloud is naturally a "tour guide".

The general rule is that it's best to join a tour group when traveling in Los Angeles, and bad things can happen if you can't find a guide.

What if you were a tour guide?

These strange and unusual things are what attract tourists.

These numbers represent the "audience" on the other side of the screen.

A sudden itch ran through your heart, and cold sweat dripped down your back.

This time I'm really scared.

You only considered the potential pitfalls of this job, but you didn't anticipate it would be this way. What if, by a moment's hesitation, you stuck to appearing on camera yourself, or you didn't provide sufficient guidance so the audience didn't perceive Anna as a "guide"?

Even after answering your aunt's call to "pick up my nephew for a nice meal to celebrate today's successful live stream," you were still somewhat absent-minded all the way to the restaurant.

This is a lively and authentic old tavern.

The gray brick building had a mottled tin sign hanging at the entrance, with something crookedly written on it.

"Oh, this is called 'Bear Land'." Your auntie, whose eyes hadn't left the sign, immediately told you what it meant.

Why is it a bear again? You have a bad feeling.

Pushing open the door, a heavy smell of vodka, stewed meat, and damp wood hit you.

The tavern was bustling with noise.

The diners inside were gathered around a large table, chatting and laughing loudly; they looked like a family. The staff were busy serving dishes and refilling drinks.

Your appearance immediately drew everyone's attention.

They patted you enthusiastically on the back and pushed you to sit at the large table in the center. The auntie announced with a loud laugh, "Our little star has arrived!"

Amidst a chorus of cheers, someone has already started pouring wine into your glass.

It's vodka, clear and pungent.

You awkwardly nod and accept the drink, whether you want to or not.

One of the general rules for copying: You cannot refuse someone's toast.

You're not afraid of drinking, but you're afraid of being forced to drink. Once you're drunk, your behavior will be out of control, and you'll bring trouble upon yourself.

With a quick glance, the workaholic spirit awakens. Fine, these kinds of drinking parties aren't difficult for you anyway.

You pick up your glass, take a shallow sniff of the vodka, and quickly recall the strategies you've prepared for such occasions.

—It feels like only three months have passed in your ordinary corporate life, but it feels like half a lifetime has gone by.

First, you can't directly refuse a toast, but you can cleverly use excuses like "I drink quickly" or "I'll toast others first" to finish your drink and use the environment to mask how much you've drunk.

Before the others speak, stand up naturally and raise your glass.

"Thank you all for taking care of us!" you say first in a soft tongue, then shout loudly in broken but clear Losian, "Zawas (For us!)"

Amidst cheers, you looked up—

He only let the vodka lightly touch his lips, then with a large movement, poured most of it into a wad of napkins hidden in his sleeve.

Hehe.

You're a pro at dodging alcohol.

The movements were swift and efficient, and no one noticed amidst the laughter.

You immediately start pouring drinks for the people around you, clinking glasses and creating a bustling atmosphere.

Anyway, every time it's your turn to drink, you maintain this "proactive" attitude: first, you smile and toast others, then drink very little yourself, secretly reducing the amount of alcohol in your glass by taking advantage of the crowd and noise.

Your aunt sits next to you and hands you a piece of rye bread covered in butter.

Her eyes were subtle, as if she were smiling, yet also confirming something: "Eat something, don't just drink alcohol, it's bad for your health."

It's just bread. You thought for a moment, then without much hesitation, took the bread, took a bite, and said, "It's alright, Auntie. We're all about enjoying ourselves at the drinking party. Here, Auntie, let me toast you."

You actually drank that cup.

Your generous gesture made your aunt beam with joy, and she got up to help you fend off drinks.

Fortunately, although my aunt is not entirely trustworthy, her behavior still aligns with that of a family member.

But some people at the table still egged them on: "Come on, little girl! Three more drinks in a row!"

"A three-cup toast is a tradition. Only those who can down three in one go are true friends," your aunt explained in a low voice, now she couldn't help you avoid drinking anymore.

All eyes are on you.

You had no choice but to pick up your cup and say, "Of course," your voice as steady as a nail.

You drank each glass very quickly, swallowing half a glass and spilling most of it. You also choked and coughed a lot because you drank too fast.

The people around you burst into laughter and celebrated by banging on the table. No one noticed your little gesture—or perhaps they simply didn't care.

Drinking is all about saving face. Besides, this isn't a business meeting, so they won't be trying to make things difficult for you. Just play your part well and make them feel like they've been given plenty of face.

You despise drinking culture in your heart.

It was indeed very lively.

After a few rounds of drinks, the firelight from the fireplace inside the tavern illuminated the wooden ceiling, while snow quietly piled up outside.

Amidst the steaming heat, your aunt winks at you mysteriously: "Today we have some delicious food that you can't get in the Flower Kingdom."

She spoke solemnly and discreetly, as if it were something worth commemorating. The people around the table smiled and looked at you, their eyes holding a hint of expectation, or perhaps concealing some unspeakable excitement.

You smiled and nodded, outwardly compliant and curious, but inwardly a sense of unease crept in.

Soon, the small door to the kitchen was pushed open, and a cook wearing an old-fashioned apron pushed a food cart in.

The food cart was covered with a heavy cloth, emitting a rich aroma.

When the cloth was lifted, a large chunk of stewed, glistening black meat was piled on the silver plate. The meat was firm and rich in fat.

If there's anything wrong with it, it's that beneath the intense spices, there's still an indescribable, never-before-smelled fishy or musty odor.

The meat was divided into pieces and distributed to the guests.

The owner of this kind of private kitchen-style pub especially likes customers who can create a great atmosphere in the store.

For example, you just finished a toasting performance that made everyone drink heartily.

You were assigned the largest and thickest piece, which was supposedly the neck meat.

"Come on, try some! It's authentic bear meat, very nourishing!" Auntie patted your back. Then, seeing your forced expression, she laughed mercilessly, "Our little darling isn't afraid of this, is she?"

Look down at that piece of meat.

The skin is brownish-yellow with slight cracks, but when cut open, the inside is a strange pinkish-white, dripping with oil and with distinct fibers.

If you didn't know it was bear meat, it would look more like a piece of pork with thick skin and lots of tendons.

However, once cut open, the extremely strong muttony smell was even more unbearable.

Even with the thick layer of seasonings covering it up—clearly, this restaurant suffers from the common problem of any foreign cuisine other than Chinese cuisine: it's not flavorful at all!—there's still a nauseating metallic smell hitting your nose.

You feel an inexplicable nausea rising in your stomach.

Everyone's eyes are on you. They're smiling and urging, "Eat up!"

"Just one bite, just one bite is enough!"

If I had to say, those gazes weren't malicious.

They were just making a ruckus for no reason, like any drunkard who's gotten high.

But their eyes were bright, staring at you like a surveillance camera on their flushed, drunken cheeks.

Alas, if I refuse now, I fear I will immediately violate some rule that I am not yet aware of.

It's just a piece of meat, so let's eat it.

Gritting your teeth, you pick up your knife and fork, cut off a small piece, fork it up, and put it in your mouth.

The meat was piping hot, the fat slid down the tip of the tongue, and it was incredibly elastic when you bit into it. Your mouth was filled with a sticky, gelatinous texture, mixed with strange spices and a fishy smell.

Surprisingly, it wasn't bad...

You chew once or twice, then force yourself to swallow.

My throat tightened, and the flesh slid down.

A burst of enthusiastic laughter erupted from all around.

Your aunt pats you on the shoulder: "How is it? It tastes good, right?"

You gave a stiff smile, and taking advantage of the moment when everyone's attention was slightly diverted, you quickly grabbed a napkin, pretended to wipe your mouth, and secretly spat out the small piece of meat that you hadn't completely swallowed.

If there's nowhere to put it, quickly wrap it up and stuff it into your pocket.

The movements were swift and efficient; no one noticed, right? You pricked up your ears, waited nervously for a moment, and then felt a little relieved.

—It's precisely because it's meat that you can't eat it!!

You looked down again, reached into your pocket, and glanced at the piece of meat.

A thin, broken piece of rope was clearly stuck in the chewed meat fibers.

You recognize that kind of rope.

Isn't this the bell used to tie bells to bears in the bear enclosure during the day?

When tied around a bear's neck, it just looks unusually thin; viewed alone, it looks like a small necklace.

Your stomach suddenly cramps.

You knew then that this couldn't possibly be bear meat.

Even the bears in the bear enclosure…

The origin of this meat is worse than you can imagine.

I don't want to think about it anymore.

But there was still a large piece left on the plate.

If you look around, you'll see that everyone still has some left on their plates.

These people were wolfing down their food, scooping up the stew and tearing into chunks of meat, like a pack of wild beasts eating.

This is really bad. You feel caught in a dilemma.

If the meat isn't shared with everyone, it means that just tasting a couple of bites as a formality, and not finishing it might not be a big deal.

But judging from the current situation, even if I eat something and have leftovers, I will be different from everyone else.

This isn't the first time you've encountered this situation. It's basically just some rules like "don't waste the restaurant's good intentions" or "don't leave food uneaten, it's impolite."

But if you keep eating... you don't know what kind of abyss you'll be dragged into.

The aunt was still trying to persuade him, saying, "It's such a rare treat to try something new. Besides, bear meat is very nutritious. Young people need to eat more to stay healthy during the winter!"

She smiled, her lips smeared with greasy stew sauce, and as she spoke, her teeth were still grinding the meat.

You feel nauseous and your scalp is tight.

We'll have to resort to the same old tricks.

While responding to your aunt, you cut off a piece, put it in your mouth, puff out your cheeks, and pretend to chew carefully.

While raising his glass and wiping his mouth, he quickly spat the meat into a tissue and hid it in his pocket.

One piece, two pieces, three pieces.

The pocket grew heavier and heavier, emitting a strong fishy smell, as if it might attract the attention of something at any moment.

You're just glad you wore a lined sweatshirt with pockets—you have to take off your heavy coat and hang it by the door before you go to a restaurant.

The dinner party was finally coming to an end.

The fire in the fireplace burned brighter and brighter, and everyone's face—including yours—became increasingly red. Whether from the alcohol or the firelight, it was hard to tell.

Anyway, you felt a bit dizzy, like you were lacking oxygen.

Clap clap clap!

Several loud claps silenced the crowd.

You follow everyone's gaze and look over there. The tavern owner comes out carrying an old lyre and begins to strum the strings.

The crisp notes floated in the air.

People were laughing and humming, and for a moment the atmosphere was relaxed, but a little too relaxed.

You felt inexplicably nervous, but you could only try to decipher your aunt's expression and force a silly smile.

The plate is already empty, and you don't know where to put your hands. If you're distracted and accidentally slip your hand into your pocket, you'll bump into the remaining meat…

It's soft and fluffy, and a little warm...

Well.

You casually placed your hand on the back of the chair, secretly hoping to leave quickly.

Suddenly, the rhythm of the lyre changed, becoming rapid and lively.

The boss started singing a strange song with lyrics you couldn't understand.

All I know is that everyone started humming along to the rhythm or clapping along.

The owner sang and played music as he walked between the tables, interacting with diners from time to time.

Everything was fine until the next second—

A seemingly honest man was suddenly grabbed and pulled up!

The boss looked very imposing. He lifted the man upside down by his feet and placed him on the table, hanging him upside down like that.

With her other hand, she pulled the chair away. A large chunk of meat, carelessly tossed about, was revealed under the table!

The atmosphere instantly became tense, and some locals started shouting in a very rude tone. The boss was even more furious.

You couldn't understand what the man was saying, but it wasn't hard to guess that he was begging for mercy.

But it didn't work.

He was pulled down like an animal, his head snapped open—

The shopkeeper's beagle puppies darted out and bit off his head!

Blood splattered, and the crowd cheered.

You were terrified, and a chill ran through your body.

Your smile was about to burst, so you had to whisper to your aunt, "...What is he singing?"

Your voice is trembling!

The aunt's face was calm, her gaze fixed on the firelight before turning to you.

She said slowly, "Where is the meat in the melodious lyre?"

Your heart is pounding, and your arms have somehow slipped off the back of the chair. You're hunched over with your hands in your hoodie pockets, your fingers clutching a greasy bundle of tissues.

Meat.

Location.

You look down and can almost feel the chunk of meat hidden in your pocket wriggling.

what to do?

The boss is holding a lyre, playing and humming as he goes, and he's almost here.

She crossed the table and approached step by step.

Your throat is so dry from nervousness.

Why don't we just eat all this meat?

What punishment can be discussed later? We need to get through this hurdle first!

Just thinking about it makes your stomach clench like a fist, punching your flesh from inside.

If we don't eat now, it will be too late!

Eat, shall we? Eat…

It's really too late.

The boss has come to your side.

She's still singing.

Looking at her face, you wonder if it's because you're about to suffocate and hallucinate, but you actually think the boss looks very kind and gentle.

Xiao Ming, Xiao Fang, Xiao La Tamara… Your pupils dilate violently, your mind goes blank, and you start flashing back to everyone you met in the dungeon.

It's too late.

The next second I'll be grabbed and torn apart like that person.

However--

The boss stopped, tilted his head slightly, and then left with a smile.

You almost collapsed into the chair, drenched in sweat.

With trembling hands, you forced a smile and asked your aunt again, "...What is she singing now?"

This time, my aunt smiled, her eyes filled with kind lines.

She said slowly, "The lively lyre, her flesh, in her warm belly."

Auntie patted your back and said with a smile, "Not wasting food is a good virtue of our Flower Kingdom. Good child, keep eating."

You lower your head.

A warm, greasy substance seeped out of the pocket on his stomach.

You're like someone carrying a dying thing.

Nausea and despair churned in your stomach, but you still picked up the glass, smiled, and took a sip of vodka, letting the strong liquor burn your stomach lining, temporarily suppressing the fishy smell from your fantasy.

The firelight flickered, the fireplace crackled, and the laughter in the tavern returned in full force.

You were finally allowed to go home by your aunt.

Everything that happened today was a bit too lucky.

That works too. It's the law of conservation of luck.

You haven't had any luck since you arrived in the Los Kingdom instance, so this is some kind of compensation.

Without even taking off your clothes, you throw yourself onto the bed. Because you're dressed warmly enough, you don't have the energy to pull the blanket up to cover yourself, so you simply leave it on and fall into a deep sleep.

In your dazed state, you hear some sounds.

The sound was as delicate as the wind, mixed with the dull crunching of snow being trampled underfoot.

You open your eyes to find the dormitory shrouded in darkness, the rumbling of the radiator sounding particularly jarring.

There was another noise—it came from outside the window.

You stare blankly at the frost-covered window, half-asleep, and get up, walking barefoot onto the cold floor.

Outside the window, in the distant snow, a dark figure stood alone.

You thought you were seeing things, so you quickly rubbed your eyes.

But the shadow moved.

Step by step, I slowly walk towards you through the deep snow.

The snowlight couldn't illuminate her outline; only her bulky figure and swaying shadow could be vaguely seen.

You hold your breath, and your palms are sweating.

Who is it, in the middle of the night? You're obviously thinking of your old roommate.

etc.

No, it's a bear.

It walks upright, its body swaying clumsily, but its head is held high.

Get closer, and you can finally see its face clearly.

A wet, dusty face. There seemed to be a smile on his lips, but his eyes were empty.

It slowly raised its hand and waved at you.

He looks just like a real person.

But it just so happens to be a bear.

You stood frozen in place, motionless, with only the pounding of your heart in your chest.

It made its way through the thick snow, step by step, getting closer and closer.

You suddenly come to your senses, push off backward with a jolt, slip, and knock over the chair.

Snap—

A crisp sound rang out in the cramped dormitory room.

You wake up with a start.

That's when you realize you're still in the bear farm.

That makes sense. If the frequency of hypnotizing wild animals can put you to sleep, why can't it?

Rubbing my eyes, I was surrounded by an impenetrable darkness.

Did you really sleep for so long?

A cold wind rushed into your collar from behind, and you shivered as you hugged yourself tightly.

But the more they walked, the more confused they became, and there was endless snow under their feet.

In the distance, something is slowly approaching.

It was the sound of creaking footsteps.

You look back and see a huge thing.

A bear.

But it's too strange.

It walks upright, like a human.

Wearing a worn-out down coat, with a face hanging around his neck...

A face with mangled flesh, wide-open eyes, as if struggling on the verge of death.

On that face, your features were clearly visible.

The bear lowered its head, twirling the human skin between its fingers and patting it gently, as if it were patting a newly purchased, beautiful item.

It grinned, its mouth splitting to its ears, revealing strands of red blood clinging to its fangs.

With each step it took, it left a trail of crimson footprints on the snow.

Run!

You turned and ran wildly, your footsteps treading on the deep snow, your breath turning into white mist.

But it's like a closed circle; no matter which direction you run, you can see it out of the corner of your eye—

That bear always followed you slowly and patiently.

You try to call for help, but no sound comes out even though you open your mouth wide.

Only the piercing barrage of comments swished around my ears:

Stop running away!

Don't be afraid, it's here to pick you up.

Become a part of it.

[Host, it's time to go home]

You slipped and fell to the ground.

The snow collapsed from all directions, like countless cold hands gripping your limbs.

You were woken up by the urge to breathe.

Now you're really awake.

She was still wearing the coat she had worn when she got home yesterday, and she was also wearing a snow boot.

You were probably struggling too much in your dream, and the sheets were trampled into a mess by this dirty snow boot.

I'm impressed.

I did manage to avoid drinking a lot last night, but I still have a hangover. My head is throbbing, and I have to wash the sheets.

You complain, but you still resign yourself to your fate and get to work.

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Author's Note: Tiger is about to board the plane, and Meng is writing like crazy without sleeping... (By the way, Tiger tried bear meat sausage, and it gave me diarrhea... I can only say that the human diet is just too extensive...)