Chapter 178 Kitchen 3 Eagle Catches Chickens Eagle Catches Chickens...
You walk to the door leading to the food preparation room, the place where Went's friend disappeared.
That place should have led to the bright cafeteria lobby, where students would sit down to eat after getting their food. At the very least, you could see some of it from the light inside. But now, behind the door was a complete black hole that swallowed up all the light, devoid of any human presence or sound.
You stood by the door, hesitated for a moment, and then reached your hand inside.
It's icy cold. How should I put it... The most sudden chill you've ever experienced is when you're shopping in a supermarket, your back to your friend, playfully joking around, and suddenly you find yourself in front of the freezer section. That icy cold air unexpectedly grabs your arm, and you shiver, which wasn't originally a problem.
The cold here feels more like the illusion of a part of your body being silently ripped away. An emptiness.
You abruptly pulled your hand back, goosebumps rising on your palm.
There's no need to look for any more clues. A picture flashes through your mind: if you walk in, you might be sucked into space and never come back.
The girl has vanished completely; she's the same no matter where you look. And don't even think about finding a way out from here.
"I can't leave," you murmured.
It's instinct.
This door may seem like an exit, but it doesn't belong to your level. You don't know where it leads, but you know it's definitely not the real world inside the school.
You turn your head and take another look at the entire kitchen.
It's actually quite large here: a dozen or so stoves, five large refrigerators, a row of sinks along the opposite wall, a whole row of metal shelves, and several buckets of expired condiments piled up in the corner. The ceiling is quite high, yet it's still tinged with a yellowish-gray hue from the cooking fumes. Upon closer inspection, it's even a little... damp.
There's a feeling that something is living here in a damp way.
Bed bugs in the corners, pathogenic mold everywhere... and so on.
This is the place; there must still be clues hidden here.
Without a doubt, otherwise—that door wouldn't have "swallowed" your warmth as you approached. If there's no door, then there must be another exit. Telling this to others is also a way to determine if your thinking is flawed.
There will always be a way for people to leave, so after you have exhausted all the impossible answers, try to make connections, and you will always find a new breakthrough. If you try again, you will succeed.
Right now, your thoughts are like a broken pot lid, steaming and unable to mature.
You look up at the ceiling.
Cafeteria lady.
Those few monsters that "appear at irregular intervals." They can freely travel between different areas and spaces, even right under your noses.
So, you're trapped here, while they're allowed to "move freely."
Got it!
You suddenly recall three points in time when they appeared:
The first time was when you found hair on the cutting board and in the corner that resembled unusual meat—the monster seemed to have "sniffed out the clues." The second time was when you opened the freezer door and found frozen dog meat; then the woman walked in carrying a dog carcass, completing a deterrent and inspection. The third time, just now, was when you entered the food preparation area and just opened the pot lid to see what was inside...
“They didn’t appear randomly,” you say, clapping your hands.
Meiling looked at you nervously from the side: "What do you mean?"
"They are part of the system here."
You explain the situation here as if you're cracking a game—and isn't it a game? There are even cabinets for you to hide in and inexplicable "countdown" hints.
"The appearance of the middle-aged women is a 'warning.' They are not here simply to kill; they are here to maintain the 'stability' of this space."
Everyone was too afraid to speak, listening intently to what you were saying. You gestured with your hands, speaking faster and faster: "Every time we get closer to the truth, the regulators—the stability maintainers here—use the most violent methods to make us retreat. It's like logging into a website that you're not allowed to use; the deeper you go, the more pop-up windows warn you of 'dangerous webpage ahead,' precisely because you're about to succeed."
Meiling understands your thought process best and immediately asked, "So...we shouldn't look for any more clues?"
But how can you leave without looking for clues? Everyone is looking at you with this question in mind.
“We already have enough leads.”
Your gaze sweeps over every detail of the house again: pots, stoves, spice racks, sinks piled high with plates, and the indistinct oil stains on the floor.
Yes, you wanted to know the truth about the cafeteria, and haven't you already found out the truth about the cafeteria secretly cooking dog meat? The rest is no longer something you can find here.
Because it's a paradox.
If you don't uncover the truth behind the cafeteria's deceptive practices, you pose no threat to this space, and you won't find any opening. You'll be forever trapped in this small, hopeless situation. It's so small—frankly, completely transparent—what more could you possibly be looking for?
But if you actually try to uncover the truth about eating dog meat, it will trigger a "monster chase"—which is practically a video game—you mutter to yourself, then secretly slap yourself: how did I really become a "liuzi" (a derogatory term for someone who is easily manipulated), even my thoughts are starting to be a jumbled mess.
However, this does remind you that while previous special scenes also gave you a sense of sandbox games, none have ever felt as "designed" as this one.
Coincidences are probably just manipulations of some kind of "copycat consciousness," varying only in degree. Shake your head to bring your wandering thoughts back on track.
In short, the situation is now even worse; the last reaction from the closet tells you that you have nowhere to hide now.
"So, continuing this research will lead to a dead end," you said.
Hearing you say that, everyone's expressions were quite interesting. Even Meiling, who was most supportive of you, assessed the atmosphere and didn't respond. She just winked and told you that she understood.
You are immersed in your own world, but a voice echoes in your mind.
"There is always a glimmer of hope in a dead end."
If it's a master's words.
You almost forgot that this filthy, foul-smelling old man does indeed possess some skill. When he used his distorted and crooked Bagua diagram to divine your impending doom, he left behind this ambiguous clue.
You start to seriously consider the word "dead end".
What constitutes a dead end?
You thought for a moment, took out your phone, and suggested, "Let's take as many photos as possible here."
"Huh?" Meiling was taken aback.
“What’s the use of just finding clues? We need to at least preserve some evidence and cause some damage to truly deter these rule-breakers… We’re getting closer to the truth,” you said with a smile.
“Bapaliao! (Are you crazy!)” Went suddenly shouted.
"We came here with you to play house, and now that my friend is in trouble, instead of telling us to be more careful, you're doing this reckless thing. What exactly are you trying to do??"
She had been quiet all along; I never expected her to have an attack at this time.
“She ran off on her own, how can you blame us?” Meiling retorted without backing down.
You really want to say that you don't have much time left, but even if you maintain a temporary peace, if you can't unite, the final consequences might be even worse than those of the girl who ran away.
And since you know a little about them, you remain silent, only anxiously counting numbers in your mind.
Mei-ling and Wen-te argued fiercely for about a hundred minutes, then they went up to each other and hugged.
They were just venting.
Went already harbored deep resentment over her friend's death, but she had no one to blame but herself. It wasn't until you presented her with a dangerous option that she finally found an opportunity to vent her pent-up anger.
Meiling was also feeling frustrated. No matter how much she trusted you, when her life hung in the balance, how could she not feel anger and regret amidst a mix of emotions? But she wouldn't lash out at you when someone attacked her friend, so since Went provided such an outlet, she just jumped into it.
"I'm sorry," Minte said curtly, using the language of flowers.
You squeezed her hand without saying much. You two made up.
Everyone then took out their phones and began collecting evidence as you instructed.
The moment the shutter was pressed, you heard a slight gasp.
It's Wentworth.
She still felt a pang of guilt. Standing beside everyone, her gaze fixed on the door that had once "swallowed" her friend, her knuckles turning white. She forced herself to hold back her emotions, took deep breaths, and finally pulled out her phone to join the others.
You walk over and whisper, "She's not someone you can find alone, Went. We're in the same boat."
She pursed her lips, shook her head, and said with a hint of self-deprecation, "Yes, if we die like this, we'll see her."
“No, it won’t,” you say to Mint.
The team regrouped, taking photos one by one and recording information one by one. They took pictures of every wall, every pot, and every corner that might cause a huge uproar.
You found a plastic bag, so you simply took a piece of meat and sealed it.
Then, you flipped over the stew pot in front of you.
"Thump."
The pot slammed heavily onto the ground.
"Thump—thump—"
They've arrived.
From some unknown place—from the dark corner of the kitchen, the end of the corridor, or even next to the stove you just checked—six or seven canteen aunties and uncles filed out, each carrying a knife, a spatula, and an iron pot, their faces contorted in a ferocious and terrifying expression.
Alright, the boss battle is here.
"Run!" you yelled, grabbed the still-dazed girl, and pushed Minte as they dashed into the nearby dishwashing area.
Since it fits the game's setting so well, if you treat it like a game, then you're really too familiar with the formula.
First, hide in a cabinet; that's the most basic hiding method. If there are no cabinets to hide in, then the chase begins.
Fortunately, there's a large table here—a workbench.
Anyone who enjoys playing games knows that this kind of terrain means that if you circle around the table, you can leave the "monsters" behind.
Even if there aren't any real monsters here, most of the strong and muscular kitchen staff are quite large, while you teenagers are as agile as monkeys. They might not be able to catch you!
"Walk around the control panel on the central island!" you shout. "Don't worry, they're definitely slower than us!"—You almost blurted out the technique for fighting elite monsters.
Mei-ling was the first to rush out after you, followed by Wen-te—for a moment she hesitated, her mind wandering again, and you even heard her murmur a question: "Huh? They…"
Without turning around, you rushed over to block her view: "Don't get distracted!"
You ran frantically around the control panel, the middle-aged women swaying as they chased after you. The blade gleamed coldly under the incandescent light, and the sound of it hitting the edge of the control panel made your eardrums ring.
"Ahhh!" a girl screamed.
Then you all started screaming.
This is so relaxing!!
You guys started yelling and screaming as you walked the old lady around and around... No, slow down this time, or you'll catch up with her!
Eh...
That doesn't make sense.
If you look closely at the older women's movements, they are actually very stiff and repetitive. It doesn't seem like they have a strong desire to kill you at all; it's more like they're just putting on a show for you.
You suddenly stop.
Meiling bumped into your back and cried out, covering her nose.
You stand on one side of the control panel, and opposite you, the middle-aged women also stop, panting.
They still held their knives up, but their bodies seemed to be shrinking back.
If you look closely, you actually seem to be in a similar situation to them.
As you slowly put down the knife you'd casually grabbed from the preparation area, the disfigured aunties seemed even more hesitant.
At this moment, Minte finally spoke up: "I...I understand."
Look at her.
"What do you know?"
Because Wente acted somewhat emotionally earlier, he's a little insecure about expressing his opinion now. You should quickly nudge Meiling and get her to say something nice, so Wente doesn't continue to doubt him. Meiling rattled off a whole bunch of things.
Went finally relaxed his brow, first clasped his hands together in front of the older women, then extended a finger and pointed at their faces.
"Have you noticed the patterns on their faces?"
This is of course the first thing you see, but at first you just think of it as dirt outlined by oil, sweat and wrinkles, and you could even say it is a very common manifestation of alienation of locals.
But now, with Went's reminder, the more you look, the more you realize something is a little strange—it's not dirt, but lines that have been carefully drawn.
The colors of blue, red, and black intertwine, flowing down the bridge of the nose, brow bone, and cheekbones in a wave-like pattern. It looks like some kind of strange mask, or perhaps...stage makeup.
Minte slowly uttered a few words, and Meiling's eyes widened. After you shook her, she quickly translated for you: "Nana's expression of shock, the Ghost King's fear... This is our traditional masked dance!"
You looked confused.
“Nana is the ghost wife Nana—well…it’s a traditional story! She would put on this kind of makeup after her husband discovered she was a ghost to express his fear, and the ghost king’s fear is similar. Anyway, in our traditional masked ballet, this pattern doesn’t represent anger, it represents ‘terror.’” Meiling grabbed your arm and shook it wildly.
“We misunderstood. They weren’t trying to kill us; they were trying to scare us away. They must have been terrified themselves!” Mei-ling said, turning to talk to Wen-te for a while, and the two of them nodded vigorously at you.
Huh? Your head is spinning.
Minte added, "That's an old-fashioned performance technique: the more terrifying the facial makeup, the more timid the character. For example, when the Ghost King is defeated, this kind of pattern is painted; similar patterns are used for situations like 'the fairy's terror.' We believe that different emotions also represent the soul flowing to different places."
Then look at the older women. If you stop moving, they will stand still. The patterns on their faces are indeed as Wentworth and the others said. The more you look at them, the more they seem to be crying or pleading, not purely malicious.
You begin to recall the route of the chase.
You were running around the control panel. But because you were much faster than them, you were actually chasing them to some extent after the third lap started...
At first, they charged at you with knives—yes, that's how it started. They charged in with all their might, and you scrambled to dodge and run. But later, because you were young and agile, weaving through several rooms and losing control of your speed a few times, you ended up "chasing" them. Several little girls ran wildly around the kitchen island, while the older women, panting, couldn't keep up. They even nearly bumped into kitchen utensils a few times, retreating in a panic, their eyes growing increasingly suspicious.
You never thought of this angle.
In this scenario, you, who have the evidence and have smashed up the kitchen, are the ones on the offensive.
Oh no, the real "monsters" might not be them at all.
Or rather, they... are just people trapped in the "kitchen." Or, people who are simply following orders.
Put down the knife in your hand.
Slowly, tentatively. You're not sure if it's wise to do this, but you need to confirm some things.
The older woman across the street also stopped.
She held a spatula, her oversized apron still stained with undried liquid—it looked like blood, sauce, or perhaps just broth. But you saw her expression change—her face, twisted and complex, was completely unlike a natural human, with only arched eyebrows, large eyes, and a raised corner of her mouth.
The highly saturated colors melted away, making the shock and terror in the features outlined in black even more pronounced.
Went whispered in your ear, "The pattern on her face is 'Ling Tong Kai,' which is the face of a terrified monkey. In the ballet, it indicates that the character has encountered something incomprehensible, and it is only drawn when the character is in a state of confusion."
Who are they afraid of? You.
They fear you as much as you fear them. It's not just that you possess evidence that could cost them their jobs and ruin their reputations; isn't it also because, in this timeline, you've become the "ghosts" in their eyes?
You appear out of nowhere, search everywhere, cause damage, and then hide.
From their perspective, wouldn't it seem like the kitchen utensils were moving out of thin air, the door was being opened and closed, the contents of the freezer were out of order, and the bloodstains hidden in the corner that hadn't been washed away were being wiped aside?
After they appeared, you immediately hid in the closet, so they couldn't see you at all, only sense the unusual activity—like experiencing a mysterious ghost story. No wonder they were initially just looking around suspiciously, but later tried to launch a strong counterattack.
But you clearly saw an older woman give a strange smile earlier—oh dear, how silly! If their appearances can be distorted to such a misleading degree in this space, isn't it reasonable that their other expressions are also distorted to the point of causing you to misunderstand?
That makes sense!
But this also suggests the most likely possibility—the older women are not evil spirits here; they are simply guarding some kind of taboo, and your "discovery" has touched the edge of that taboo.
So who is it? Your previous approach was half wrong, so you need to find a new approach.
No, that's not just half wrong.
You slowly turned around, your gaze falling on the metal cabinet you regarded as a safe house.
All your ideas are based on the premise that you came here to uncover the truth about the cafeteria, and as a common element in games, you naturally assume that the lockers are used to hide from the patrolling aunties.
Of course, it did indeed achieve that effect.
So, why can a closet be a safe house? You haven't thought about that before.
The presence of a metal cabinet in the kitchen is so jarring. And since the women aren't illogical evil spirits, why didn't they just open the cabinet and take a look from the start? There's no doubt that she was looking through the cabinet.
It seems true that the cabinet will eventually lose its hiding power. But why?
The older woman is scared. Not scared of you.
They projected their fear onto you, but the real source is—
You approach it. It's stained with grease and in a dilapidated state. You've opened and closed the door several times, and now you realize the hinges are almost broken. But that doesn't matter.
You gently wiped the depths of the cabinet with your sleeve. After you wiped away the layer of oil, all that remained were dark red rust stains, mottled and uneven.
But look closer—your eyebrows lifted slightly.
That's not rust, that's blood.
The blood had dried and blended with the rust, looking like an old stain. But if you look closely enough, you can distinguish the different shades of blood, as if it were bloodstains from different times layered together.
When you lightly touch it with your fingertip, it's surprisingly sticky.
Let's reorganize our thoughts.
In other words, the cabinet is terrifying to the older women, so they immediately check it. But as more and more strange things happen (from you), even a clay figure has some temper, and they will pick up their weapons, open the cabinet, and see what's going on.
What's in the cabinet? Dogs that were illegally captured? Are they themselves afraid of killing and eating dogs? Is it because of their Buddhist beliefs?
"This isn't right," you murmured.
"What's wrong?" Several girls gathered around.
"This cabinet is too big." Your throat is dry.
Yeah, didn't you know from the beginning? Didn't you know its purpose as soon as you saw the cabinet?
"This cabinet is for storing people."
The moment you say those words, you feel a wave of fear wash over you.
It was a chill more instinctively creeping than the cold sensation on the back of your head caused by someone chasing you. You quickly pulled your hand back, only to feel a dampness under your sleeve.
It's red.
It's blood.
Fresh blood.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
You look down—and the blood that had dried up over the years seems to come back to life, seeping out!
You immediately stepped back, even stumbling a few steps. You were about to slam the cabinet shut when, just then, several pale fingers squeezed out from the gap in the cabinet.
Then several severed hands emerged frantically from the crack, and the cabinet door was removed.
In fact, there is no need to do this, because they are twisted with an unseeing look on their faces, swaying and stretching like white noodles, trying to grab you!
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