Chapter 179 The Kitchen 4: It All Feels Like a Dream
You take the knife and cut off the hand that's about to grab you.
A pale, delicate hand fell to the ground, rolling like a fish. Everyone who didn't want to see it saw it, and screams erupted, chaos ensued!
You treated the cabinet as a "safe zone," but it turns out this is the source of all evil! You need to take a closer look.
No, you are not being controlled. You are fully conscious, truly conscious. If you could cut off those two hands, you could cut off a few more. Right now, all you want to do is see clearly what's going on inside the cabinet.
Meiling and Huimin, seeing you stunned, pulled you back and dragged you directly from the cabinet to the other side of the room.
No, don't stop me—ah. You finally snapped out of it...you were indeed being controlled. You gave them both a grateful smile.
Then, an extremely cold aura left from your wrist. Even though there was nothing there, it cut you painfully. When you raised your hand and looked closely, there was no wound.
It must be the remnant soul that grabbed your hand.
You all stay far away from those fluttering hands; from that perspective, they are merely confined to a small circle around the cabinet, like waving flags, and can do nothing to you.
Is that all? You remember there's another force in this house.
The middle-aged and elderly women huddled in a corner of the kitchen, hugging each other, their expressions a mixture of terror and anxiety, yet they remained far more composed than you.
They opened their mouths, and it was unclear whether the space you were in had demonized their voices, or if they were simply singing indistinct words in that tone. It was a chant, like a spell, like a sob, like the suppression of some ominous force.
All of you girls started having headaches.
The dog's barking suddenly rang out!
It's not the distant, cheerful or warning bark you often hear unexpectedly after entering the Kingdom of Thailand instance, but a deep, howling sound with an echo.
It was a rolling howl, a thousand and ten thousand waves of suppressed sandalwood sounds!
The severed dog leg in the freezer... those piles of shapeless "meat chunks"... and the freshly peeled fur.
But the dog was summoned by the older women and men?
You have all realized the real key to this matter.
Killing dogs for meat is just the surface; it might simply be something done incidentally—"Since we've already killed them, we can at least save some money on the cafeteria's expenses." That's probably what they were thinking, and then they happily divided the remaining money among themselves.
"They use dogs...not for food, but for suppression," Went said, her face pale.
Whom are being suppressed?
They sacrifice dogs every day and then dispose of the dog corpses in such a desecrated way, all to suppress these—the wronged souls in the cabinet—with the death energy of the dogs!
Those hands emerging from the cabinet are the ghosts of "people." And the dog is there to guard the door!
The barking of the dogs provoked fierce resistance from the hands, and the struggle appeared to be evenly matched.
As if provoked by their encounter, the hands actually stretched out further and further, even trying to pull at your feet. One girl had already been grabbed, and you held her firmly, which is how you managed to get her shoes off.
"Quick! Sing it again!" Minte shouted.
The other group of people just across the table also wanted to sing even more enthusiastically. But even through the thick paint, you could see their faces turning blue, perhaps from excessive fear, or perhaps their souls were beginning to be devoured.
Their efforts were remarkably effective.
After a certain point, those hands seemed to be paused, first freezing, then falling limply to the ground, bitten off by invisible sharp teeth, finally retracting unwillingly. The air was filled with the pungent, sweet smell of blood and decay.
They died—or rather, were temporarily torn apart and returned to where they belonged.
You watch as the slippery black bloodstains on the floor meander back into the cabinet, where mold, insects, and any other primal human fears you can imagine in civilized society struggle in their death throes.
They twitched, curled up, and finally snapped with a "crack," the bloodstains dissipating into a dark red mist.
The women breathed a sigh of relief.
You hear their strange breathing sounds—somewhere between crying and laughing—probably another of the scary "sound effects" that come with the scene.
But that's not right.
No, no.
There was still sound in the air.
It was still those barking dogs. What started as distant echoes like rolling waves gradually grew louder and louder within a few breaths—"Woof...woof...woof—"
Minte looked up, her face deathly pale.
"The dog...the dog is still here."
Every hair on your body stood on end.
That sound was more than just a sound.
The sound waves began to condense, and the sound gained weight. The barking was so intense that even light could not condense, so it turned into shadows in the air, piling up layer upon layer, like distorted smoke, yet with a terrifying density.
The form of the sound rose from the ground—a cloud of black mist, climbing upwards like thick oil. They devoured and overlapped each other until finally—a huge black dog "emerged" from the sound.
Its fur resembled charred iron wire, but its eyes were deathly white. Disproportionately large fangs protruded from its mouth. When its saliva dripped onto the ground, it made a sizzling, corrosive sound.
It only takes one look at you, and your breath stops.
Is this what a "watchdog" is?
The people in the canteen summoned a large dog to fight against the vengeful spirits, and the guard dog's mission is to protect the house and kill anyone who violates the taboo.
It had torn those wronged souls to pieces, yet it has reappeared.
Only fierce, unfriendly dogs can make the best guard dogs.
They may have once been stray dogs wagging their tails at people, but now they are competent watchdogs, fierce, violent, and without the restraint of chains.
Those people couldn't control it; you could tell from their ashen faces.
And now, its target has turned to you.
Yes, it's all of you. Including you, Meiling, Huimin, Wente...
Their piercing eyes grouped you with the people in the cafeteria.
"They're trying to figure out if we're also the ones who've harmed them," Went said, trembling.
“We didn’t eat the dog…” a girl whispered.
“Yes, we noticed something was off about the cafeteria a while ago, which is why we came here…” Huimin murmured.
Went had given up resisting and began to pray softly in Thai, her voice trembling and tinged with sobs.
Such religious language is too difficult for you; you can only grasp the gist: "We are innocent; we did not kill the dog, nor did we eat dog meat."
But another voice rises in your heart.
"Really not?"
Last Tuesday was the first time you came to the cafeteria, and last Wednesday was the first time you stopped Minte and the others from eating there.
What happened before that?
During lunch break, the girls held hands, laughing as they lined up to rush to the cafeteria to get their meals. Holding a bowl of steaming soup and fragrant food, they turned the fatigue from a morning of hard study into appetite and devoured their food.
The aroma of meat in the soup, the curry sauce bubbling with oil, and the chewy "pork slices".
And now, you remember that smell.
It wasn't you who ate it, it was your body that ate it. And Meiling, Huimin, and Wente...
But that wasn't pork.
That's a dog.
Can you vomit it all up? That flesh has already become nourishment for this body, seeping into its bones and blood. The blood in your body tells you, black dog, that you—you all—have already eaten them, consumed the lives of these dogs.
You all reek of a scent that would irritate a black dog so much that it would open its bloody maw.
"Damn it!" you cursed.
The dog's panting was almost within reach, like a storm raging in a pot. You could almost feel the heat licking your skin; it was too hot, and you could see the flames of hell burning in its throat.
You're about to be "cooked" by this dog.
"The cabinet! Go in quickly—" a girl shouted.
"No!" you yell, "The cabinet is malfunctioning!"
The aunties and uncles who committed illegal and fraudulent acts are the enemies of you students. The cabinet can maintain the first wave of aunties and uncles' patrols, and the vengeful spirits will turn them into trembling victims. Then the dogs will eat the vengeful spirits, but now you have become their meal.
The spell, the dog, the cabinet—all the devices that were supposed to maintain balance were torn to shreds.
There is a glimmer of hope even in a dead end.
Yes.
This is a dead end.
You have nowhere to run.
You all are.
You girls, the older women, and even that ghostly hand that patted your shoulder and startled you earlier.
The people in the cafeteria were still chanting incantations, but the tune had changed. They clasped their hands together and chanted softly, their voices rising and falling like bellows.
Their eyes were empty; they had resigned themselves to their fate.
They were also waiting, devoutly hoping that dying early would allow them to go to the Western Paradise.
You look at the black dog. The black dog opens its mouth, its congealed, dark red, blood-like tongue dragging on the ground, its breath carrying the sweet smell of rotting flesh.
Doesn't the oral cavity look like a door?
“Its…mouth…” Meiling said in a hoarse voice, “is that the exit?”
You glanced at her sharply. She noticed your gaze more than anyone else, and immediately understood what you were thinking.
"She's gone mad," Huimin said in a trembling voice, but her tone lacked strength. She had no opinions of her own anyway; she would either listen to Meiling or to you.
Meiling's eyes shone brightly—the kind of bright light that comes from a do-or-die mentality. She looked at the dog's mouth, made a firm decision, and lunged forward.
"Don't move!" You reach out to grab her.
As soon as you called out, Huimin immediately rushed over with you, and the two of them grabbed Meiling's arm tightly, pulling her back forcefully.
The dog barked angrily, the sound shattering the light bulb. Sparks exploded in the air, illuminating everyone's faces with a mixture of pale and flushed colors.
You gasped for breath, staring at that gaping, blood-red maw, your heart pounding as if it would explode.
Yes. Dead end.
The dead end the master once spoke of.
Right now, it's all a dead end. How can there be any hope of survival if we're eaten by dogs in such a vengeful manner?
What's the difference between offering yourself up to be eaten by dogs and offering your neck to the cafeteria ladies?
If death is the only way out, then what if you went berserk and killed all the other girls? Would that be acceptable?
Hey, right! You can kill your comrades, you can kill your enemies, and you can even deliberately send yourself to your death. You are all in a relationship of killing and being killed; you—you are equal!
No, a different word would be better... balance?
Ah, that's right!
You are all part of a food chain!
This large black dog that was summoned can actually be killed.
Because—wasn't it already dead?
“A glimmer of hope in a dead end…” Your mind raced, and you paced anxiously under the giant dog’s hostile gaze.
Think about it, think about it again...
Dead end...
What if the old man wasn't using a metaphor, but rather referring to a "dead end" in a physical sense?
If you want to get out, you must first go into a place where you "absolutely cannot get out"—such as the deepest part of this dark, smoky kitchen where even breathing becomes difficult.
This is just a square box; where is the depth?
Dead end...
In the dog's dead end.
Your heart calms down.
You people have countless paths to death, and even those wronged souls can be killed with a knife—maybe after a few more cuts, they will stop haunting you?
For a dog, the only way out is death.
There is only one way to survive.
That's the only way.
You stand up and begin to back away step by step, returning to the side of the pot.
That pot. The pot lid you lifted yourself... you once saw "the master's head".
The next second, it turned into a dog's head.
This enormous pot is right there on the stove, in the space between two places—in this empty, inescapable place where you are, and in the reality where the cafeteria ladies are preparing meals—it's bubbling away.
Steam was billowing out, the boiling sound drowning out everyone's breathing. When you ran over, the steam hit your face, burning your eyes so hot you couldn't open them.
"What are you going to do—" Huimin asked in terror.
"Give it a try." Your voice trembled, but remained calm.
The broth was boiling and bubbling.
You reach your hand in.
Okay, you're still gritting your teeth, after all, what if you're wrong? Too bad you're not strong enough, otherwise you'd at least grab a few people from those cafeterias to try it out for you. You think coldly.
You now have a kind of calmness, like the sage's time after excessive anxiety and excitement.
It's really just a matter of mental overload.
Your mind is filled with all sorts of random thoughts, and so you finally put your hand in.
It's not hot at all.
It was even cold.
Your heart clenched sharply—and then began to pound violently again, as if you were about to die.
Thank God! No, thank you to yourself.
This is the place.
This pot of soup really is the key.
"Follow me." You gritted your teeth, leaped up, and plunged headfirst into the pot.
In an instant, the world went silent.
Heat, blood, incantations, barking dogs… all were swallowed up.
You have fallen into endless darkness.
You fall into endless darkness.
You were swallowed up by endless darkness.
...
Similar phrases seem to have appeared many times before.
In this state of confused thought, you open your eyes.
When you regain consciousness, your first reaction will naturally be to open your eyes and look for familiar sights, but you will only see a blurry blackness.
But it's a hazy, luminous black, like fog, like clouds, or like a world shrouded in darkness by countless stage lights. You want to speak, but find yourself all alone.
Silence reigned, except for the beating of your own heart.
You instinctively hug yourself—you should be afraid, but suddenly, you feel calm. It's as if you've finally been pulled out of the chaos and noise by some unseen thread.
You are like a wandering soul drifting on the edge of consciousness, yet also like a conscious Buddha statue, originally devoid of anything, so where can dust settle?
Then came a series of thuds.
It's them!
Mei-ling, Hui-min, and Wen-te, one after another, fell in, their expressions still showing the panic of that moment. But you know they're beside you; they've come.
That's great, they're still here! That's great, you're not alone anymore.
"Wow, it really doesn't hurt..." Meiling obviously didn't have the vague sensations you experienced. She was still immersed in the panic of jumping into the hot pot, but she immediately started looking around. "Where... am I?" Meiling asked.
You started looking around.
The surroundings were empty. It was only thanks to their arrival that you could see them. No wonder the surroundings were so dimly lit, because the light did not come from any particular light source, but rather emanated from your own bodies.
As you raise your arm, light and shadow surge across your skin, enveloping you like a water balloon; it turns out the "stage spotlight" is shining on you.
If you look at the other people, they also have the same radiance.
"Is someone... watching us?" Huimin asked in a low voice.
You frowned. There was no need to answer that anymore.
"Let them see. We'll keep looking."
You begin to search for something, even without knowing the purpose. The surroundings are like an endless fog. Because you don't know where to look or what to search for, you sometimes stand and walk, and sometimes lie down and look down.
Time slips through your fingers like sand, and you keep walking and crawling, yet you are neither tired nor thirsty, as if time has stood still at a certain point.
Countless moments have passed, and you might even think that you are already dead.
The dungeon world originally had another world where the undead existed; otherwise, how could you explain all sorts of supernatural events outside the dungeon rules? Moreover, you experienced it in the first dungeon, although it was different from here—this is probably just because the underlying rules of the dungeons are different.
The moment this thought crossed your mind, you subconsciously turned to look at the others—how could they be here?
The rules of the instance should clearly state that only outsiders can traverse it, even retaining a conscious post-mortem will... Could it be... that you've been led to think about the wrong things again?
It was that familiar power again.
You sense a kind of "driving force"—a sense of awareness you haven't felt in a long time.
It reached its peak during the Los Kingdom instance, and then disappeared again during the United States instance, so much so that you felt it was brewing an even bigger evil plan.
This awareness should suddenly appear when nothing is happening or when things are finally about to turn around, to spy on, drive, and tempt you to think about things you shouldn't be thinking about, mislead you and lead you astray, or even make you give up on yourself.
Now you feel at ease.
This is the disgusting smell of dungeon consciousness.
Only when you are being stared at by the copy can you so clearly feel your mind being sculpted, guided, and tested.
It is precisely at this moment that you can better understand that you are still "alive" and about to become better, rather than falling into an abyss while struggling through a certain situation.
This sounds a bit like Stockholm syndrome.
You choose to accept yourself as you are first, and after you leave, you can slowly and properly experience your life and regain self-awareness.
You two continue your conversation.
Here, you've been talking nonsense, and you've learned a lot of Takin words and songs. It might be a bit presumptuous of me to say this... but you, who initially thought Takin was extremely unpleasant to listen to, have now come to find it incredibly pleasant, and have even been able to discover the unique beauty of this language.
Just as you were about to immerse yourself in this philosophical thought, your finger touched something sticky.
"Ugh!" You instinctively want to shake it off.
But you stop quickly. It's a damp patch of mud. You look down and see a clear little mark in the mud.
Three-toed.
The one pointing forward is the longest toe.
You were stunned. You recognized the shape.
You once saw it when you dissected a frog in biology class. You clearly remember that its toes looked like this: three toes, the front toe being slender and the middle toe being the longest.
After the first semester's lab class, you personally buried the experimental frog in the soil next to the playground. You even drew a line very seriously and performed a ceremony, saying, "This is its tombstone."
It's coming to find you.
It's guiding you!
It led you from the dark kitchen to this place, and from here it leads you to a deeper truth. It died alone, without a mouth, unable to speak; it could only guide you with its footprints.
Looking at that mark, you feel an indescribable sense of emotion and silence.
"I'm sorry," you could only say softly. And for all the creatures that were sacrificed and not properly cared for.
You walk in the direction indicated by the footprints. Every so often, you find the next mark. It's like the pull of some kind of soul, a being you once controlled, cut off, and discarded, is leading you to an exit with its remaining will and its most devout way.
The girls walked behind you, one after another. You were like a line of glowing caterpillars, clinging to each other as you moved forward.
Once again, you lost track of how long you walked. You felt no weariness in your steps, nor the passage of time. You even began to ponder a question:
What exactly does "going global" mean?
Is it leaving the instance? Is it regaining consciousness? Is it completely escaping death and fear?
Or is it that you have finally come to a complete understanding of the meaning of "living"?
In this world that is both black and white, you think of the struggles of many people, the cries of many monsters, their fears, their harm. They are just beings in a dungeon whose will can be stripped away at any time, yet they also try their best to play their roles in order to live.
Have you figured it out yet?
How could that be? If you really understood that, what would be the point of you still being alive? Your life is meant to be experienced throughout your entire life. And your life is definitely not just about having illusory nightmares in a dungeon, being overwhelmed by the occasional sense of accomplishment from being able to command others.
ah.
You both lost your footing, and a sudden feeling of weightlessness washed over you. You reached out to grab Huimin, who was closest to you, but couldn't grasp anything.
Then--
Open your eyes.
Dim lighting, tranquil background music, and a familiar scent of incense—this is...the smell of a meditation class.
You are sitting on a soft cushion, your fingers resting naturally on your knees, and your breathing is slow and even.
The students were still the same; most were half-dead, while a few, like you, were more alert and thoughtful.
Your meditation teacher is sitting in front of you, watching you.
You finally remembered.
You returned home last night feeling disoriented, spent the morning in silence, and only remembered everything during your meditation class.
Your eyes cleared, and you realized that the meditation teacher was actually very close to you.
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