Chapter 48 The Fog 2 Thunder Monkey
Now, you stand in front of the mirror, grab the suit you'd already put on from the sofa, quickly check the stun gun and pepper spray in your small handbag, and after a moment's thought, stuff the baseball bat into your coat. Holding that heavy, sturdy bat in your hand makes you feel more at ease.
Wearing expensive and exquisite fashion gives you a sense of acceptance and a defense against psychological attacks, but even if you can look at these locals as equals, you don't feel any other meaning for the time being.
You thought being looked down upon for your attire was an implication that you might gain something by dressing in accordance with conventional social etiquette, but in the end, you were simply "not harmed."
Moreover, the first fog didn't last long, only a little over an hour in total. You stood downstairs for a short while, and when you saw nothing was happening, you took a short stroll around. The conversations you overheard were nothing more than trivial family matters.
The second time took a little longer, but it wasn't enough for you to circle around a few more times to see what the fog was all about.
Just as you were about to walk a few more blocks, a dry night breeze blew by, and the fog began to dissipate.
Should you stay and see what happens, or retreat first? You repeatedly pondered the rule that "foggy days are good for strolling," but in the last few seconds before the fog dissipated, you still rushed back into your apartment building.
In short, these two experiences did not bring you much benefit; they only gave you some experience that could barely be considered as adding to your confidence.
It's time to go. It seems the timing for leaving after the fog rolls in isn't too tight, but you don't want any unexpected problems.
A cough. You coughed, making a fist with your right hand.
The temperature difference between day and night in London is still quite large. You haven't been resting well either. Overwork has already lowered your immunity, and you just came back from the hot Mediterranean region a few days ago. This sudden change from extreme heat to cool weather makes you feel like you're catching a cold.
My throat is a bit sore, and my nose is stuffy. Inhaling the damp fog makes my lungs feel all tingly and itchy.
You adjusted your classic thin wool scarf to cover your mask underneath—you had looked it up beforehand and found that wearing a mask in England is associated with being "sick".
You're practically a patient, so wearing a mask is understandable. But I'm worried that some locals who judge people by their appearance might attack you because of it.
After checking your clothes and equipment one last time, you push open the door, quickly lock it, and dash downstairs.
You've taken a little longer than expected; the area downstairs is bustling like an open-air party.
You quickly scan the crowd and carefully squeeze through the gaps in the throng.
The area you are in is the Batterlands in southwest London.
According to your research, while this area isn't exactly a wealthy neighborhood, it's not exactly shabby either. The quiet streets are dominated by red-brick Victorian-style houses, with white lace curtains often hanging in the windows. In the swirling fog, it's somewhat eerie.
Fortunately, the streets in the residential area were full of people, which reduced the tingling fear.
There was a small park not far away, not many people around. Even on a fogless night, the park could feel eerie, let alone now. But perhaps the park would trigger some interesting events…
You walked towards the park, strolling along several paths. On the last lap, you noticed an extra person on a bench.
He stood with his back to you, almost blending into the night.
You paused briefly, looked at his tattered appearance, pondered for a moment, and then quickly left.
The park was just a side trip; as planned, you headed towards Butterfield Park on the Thames.
"The view of the Thames is truly disappointing," you sighed, leaning against the railing.
Looking at the fog-shrouded river, even the famous Cheshire Bridge could only be seen as a blurry outline. The tall buildings on both banks were cut in half by the fog, seemingly floating in the air, lacking any sense of reality.
"Haha, even Ying Kingdom has its own broken bridge." You made a joke to yourself, then walked onto the bridge.
Beyond this area lies a commercial district with fewer residents, resulting in a significant decrease in the number of citizens gathering on the streets. It's so quiet that you can clearly hear the sound of shoes rubbing against the cobblestones.
This brings us to the affluent Cheshire district. The nearby streets are neat and elegant, lined with white or pale yellow Georgian-style buildings, their entrances adorned with delicate stone columns and tall arched windows.
A middle-aged woman wearing a McLaren cashmere coat walks past you with her dog, her gaze sweeping over you casually—as if she's scrutinizing whether your collar is ironed or your cuffs are clean.
Oh no, why didn't you think of that? Since wearing pajamas would make you a laughingstock among your neighbors in the regular neighborhood, changing into something else decent might also get you judged by people in other neighborhoods.
Moreover, the people in this area don't need to use words to attack; just a glance is enough to make your heart pound and give you the feeling of being under a spell and unable to move.
Fortunately, you were dressed quite luxuriously today. From the hatpin in your hair to the floral patterns on your shoes, the different and huge logos showcased your lack of taste but considerable wealth. The passerby merely snorted dismissively, as if looking down on a nouveau riche, quickly averting their gaze and hurrying past you.
Phew... that feeling of being unable to move is gone.
Honestly, this is ridiculous. If there were any chase scenes, wouldn't they be completely wiped out? You get it now. The basic rule of looking down on others every day has already made it clear to everyone that here, the hierarchy of contempt is an omnipresent food chain.
You can never find an outfit that won't be criticized by others. If you want to avoid the negative impact of being looked down upon, you can only avoid people for the time being.
Should you strike first? You're thinking about it, but so far, you haven't really been in danger, and acting rashly might be too aggressive. Actually, you already have some ideas, but you need more evidence to support them.
"If only all my friends were in London," you thought, squeezing your phone in your pocket.
Xiao La and Xiao Fang weren't in London to begin with, and Xiao Ming was really unlucky—she had just landed when she immediately received an internship notice and was sent to Ireland.
Their area has virtually no fog in the summer, so they can't offer any advice on that.
As for the student union... let's not even talk about that chat group. You think about all the utterly vulgar gossip unrelated to the game every night, so you choose to add "Do Not Disturb" to the group.
You continue to Sloane Square, a shopping mecca, where the empty high-end boutiques are all brightly lit, but the fog makes them look rather desolate.
You were hoping to find some clues in these window displays, but soon, a different color caught your eye.
She appeared without any warning.
She was a girl wearing ordinary sportswear.
She stood by the roadside, dressed in thin clothes, looking uneasy. Her so-called sportswear and sneakers would have looked outdated even in a gym.
She stood out from her surroundings, her "out of place" like a drop of ink falling into a thick, dazzling white mist.
You even feel yourself unconsciously furrowing your brow, an indescribable contempt rising from the bottom of your heart, as if driven by some force, rushing straight to your head.
"This doesn't suit us at all..." you murmured softly, then abruptly stopped in your tracks, a wave of irritation washing over you.
This is not how you see things. You would never be so rude as to show such strong self-awareness about a stranger's clothing and appearance.
You slap your forehead, forcibly suppressing the influence of the dungeon, and look at the girl again.
You notice that the girl is standing still, her hands tightly gripping the hem of her clothes, her head hanging low, as if she is shrinking into the air.
Her figure looked utterly helpless and pitiful, making you think of the student isolated in the last row of the classroom, and empathize with what you had previously suffered.
Slowing down, you quietly approach her, wanting to find out more.
Wait, something's not right—you didn't hear any of the surrounding chatter.
Those who brush past you in the fog, their lips slightly parted, yet no sound other than casual conversation reaches your ears.
You're sure these people were mocking the girl just like your neighbors were mocking you back then, because she portrayed the pitiful state of someone who had been stabbed by countless sharp blades to the fullest extent.
If you say you should get involved, you don't even know if the other party is an outsider, so there's really no need to get involved. If you say you shouldn't, you feel like you're about to vomit up that aggressive sense of superiority that doesn't belong to you.
You frowned and stopped in front of her.
"Hello."
The girl suddenly raised her head, her face clearer to you than anyone else's. All her flaws seemed to be scanned and sent into your mind, her eyes filled with panic and shame.
"Did you hear something?" you ask, trying to keep your tone calm.
She looked around blankly, seemingly unable to find you at all. You tried reaching out your hand, and the instant your hands met, she finally spotted you, saying with a mixture of surprise and delight, "Sister, you're an outsider too, right? I'm from the Flower Kingdom too..."
Your conversation dispelled the influence of the others. She paused and answered your initial question: "Yes, they were all talking about my clothes. I felt like I was being brainwashed, to think of myself as some kind of slovenly wretch, and I wanted to peel my skin off."
As she spoke, her voice grew softer and softer, until you could barely hear her last few words. But you probably understood—her experience was the same as yours.
You didn't say anything, but just tore off a piece of decoration from your coat—yes, it was also a logo. You put all of these on the original copy of "you" with your own storage habits. Wearing luxury brand labels doesn't fit your aesthetic, but you're just too lazy to take them off.
It's fortunate that you made that lazy mistake this time.
You pinned the decoration to the girl's chest, removed the hat pin, and cinched her waist in her tracksuit to accentuate its quality.
"Try this," you said. "I'm not sure if it will work, but if it does, go home and change your clothes."
The girl was stunned, seemingly not expecting you to do this. She looked down at the logo on her chest, and when she looked up again, her eyes were filled with incredible gratitude.
"Thank you!" she whispered, her voice slightly choked with emotion and a sense of relief at escaping death.
The girl's presence suddenly diminished, and the malice that had been lurking in your heart finally subsided a bit. You nodded and waved your hand casually: "It's nothing. Are you feeling better now?"
"I'm still a little bothered, but I'm much better now." The girl leaned closer to you and affectionately took your arm. "So you were here. I'm really grateful to you."
"Really, it's nothing. I'll be going now." As you say this, you subtly try to pull your arm away and slip away.
The girl tugged at your sleeve: "Can...can I walk with you?" she asked cautiously. "We'll be in the fog anyway, so it'll be good to look after each other. Of course, if it's inconvenient for you, then forget it."
You paused for a moment, then shrugged: "Whatever."
You're such a nice person!
You walked one after the other, and from the girl's body language, you noticed that her tension had lessened considerably. People around you occasionally glanced at you, but it no longer seemed to have a significant impact on her.
"How long have you been here?" the girl asked, her voice hoarse as she tried to find something to say.
"The fourth day." It wasn't exactly a lie; he was just omitting the travel time. "Surviving here is actually quite difficult."
She laughed: "Yes, there are so many things to do every day, it's really difficult."
You glanced at her.
The girl seemed to finally have a chance to confide in someone, and began to relax, slowly opening up: "This shouldn't be your first instance, right? I'm in a much worse situation than you. This is my first instance, and I've been trapped here for almost twenty days now."
"Twenty days?" You frowned and repeated softly, "You don't seem to have any teammates or companions. To survive twenty days on your own in your first dungeon, you're quite capable." You inadvertently praised yourself.
"Skill?" She scoffed, a hint of weariness and fear on her face. "That's all just a matter of hardship. I'm not like you, dressed so smartly. You must be a normal international student... I'm different. The first message I received when I arrived here was that my family was going to cut off my education..."
"ah?"
"The original owner of this body didn't have a habit of saving. She did have a legitimate part-time job, but I don't know any of her professions, and my English isn't good either. I can't even fool her. The rules say that you have to spend more than 10,000 pounds every month, but my credit cards are all suspended. Where am I going to get that much money?" The girl became more and more agitated as she spoke.
“I wanted to sell her luxury goods, but guess what? They were all fake! Then I figured it out: the money supply disruption at home wasn’t sudden; there must have been a problem before that. The real expensive items must have already been sold…” The girl shook her head helplessly. “So now I have to work illegally at the flower restaurant every day.”
"Illegal workers?"
"Yes. The biggest problem with her family isn't the exploitation of their fellow countrymen." The girl lowered her voice, a hint of fear flashing in her eyes, as if no one in this place cared about breaking the law. "The char siu they sell... is made with human flesh."
"What did they use?" you exclaimed in shock. "Is this some kind of movie plot?"
Seeing your interest, the girl began to recount her story: "After figuring out where I was, the first thing I did was look for a job. A senior in the student union group messaged me privately saying I could work there. Before I could even think about it, he took me to a very popular restaurant." Her voice trembled slightly, but her expression was vivid. "Outside the restaurant was a nearly worn-out sign that read 'Authentic Xianggang Roast Meat.' I asked the senior, 'Are you sure this place is doing well? Is it enough for me to earn enough to get through the dungeon?'"
He said, "Our student union has its own statistics, and there are more and more people in situations like yours lately, so we also have a special program to help everyone find part-time jobs. Trust me, this place might look a bit shabby, but the food is absolutely authentic."
"After saying that, he insisted on treating me to roast meat."
"In the restaurant, the owner had a face that was wrinkled like burnt paper, and when he smiled, it was like a knife. His eyes were so narrow that you could barely open them, and he would stare at you so intently that it would make your scalp tingle. But who knew that when the roast meats were served, they were incredibly fragrant, and I couldn't stop eating them. I thought to myself, he must have his own strengths, and when you're out in the world, who else can you trust if not the student union? So I agreed to work here."
"The boss looks fierce, but at first I thought he was kind. He called me 'little sister' with a smile every day and asked me to help in the kitchen."
"And then?" you urged.
“The kitchen was as filthy as a pigsty, covered in grease. The meat in the freezer was piled up, the color and shape were all wrong.” Her voice lowered even further, as if something was blocking her throat. “Once, I saw the boss take a piece of ‘meat’ the size of a forearm out of the freezer. The shape, the joints, I would bet… it was a human arm!”
“I told my senior, but he didn’t take it seriously. He said, ‘The people in the dungeon aren’t human. Eating them is no different from eating pigs or cows.’ I thought he was crazy! So I exposed him in the group chat, and he kicked me out of the group afterward. The others didn’t seem to care much,” she said.
"Go on," you said, lowering your eyes.
"And then guess what the boss asked me to do?" Her voice rose slightly, as if pent-up fear had finally broken through her reason. "He told me to take a cleaver and chop the meat into pieces of 'char siu'! I directly asked him what kind of meat it was, and he smiled very kindly and said, 'Little sister, this is something a regular customer asked me to do. Don't ask too many questions, just do your job.'"
“I want to run away, but I find that even though I didn’t sign a contract, I just can’t leave that store unless I finish the work the boss gives me and… have lunch and dinner at the store.”
“I kept telling myself, ‘It’s okay, they’re just monkeys, they’re just monkeys.’ Hypnotizing myself like that did help me swallow more food. But then I found out that every two or three days, he would bring in a few people before closing time.” With each word she spoke, she couldn’t help but bite her lip. “Those people weren’t locals at all; they were all outsiders like us!”
"You saw it with your own eyes?" you asked. "Was that senior student inside?"
She nodded hard, her voice trembling: "Once, I sneaked to the back door, wanting to hide and rest for a while, but I ran into the boss and his cleaver... He was smiling as he pinned a man to the chopping board. The man was still struggling, his mouth was stuffed with a rag, and he had cried all his tears. When I looked closely, I realized it was my senior."
"He saw me, and he begged me to save him! Before I could say anything, he panicked. He definitely wanted to report me, but the boss just chopped off my senior's head and bled him. At first, he screamed, but after the blood dried up, he was put in a pot to be blanched..."
"You weren't caught?" you interrupted her description.
“I was lucky.” She paused, seemingly still shaken. “He heard me run away, looked up at the door, and his eyes… his eyes seemed to be warning me, telling me, ‘I know you saw it,’ but he didn’t say anything. The next day, I was assigned to mop the floor, and the water stains on the floor turned red as soon as I wiped them.”
“I remember the boss told me on my first day, ‘As long as you follow the rules, you’ll be fine working here. Don’t talk too much, don’t look around too much, and don’t ask too many questions.’ So I didn’t ask anything, didn’t say anything, and just ate meat, worked, went home, and came back to work.”
She paused, looked up at you, and said, “You know what? Once, a new chef—an outsider—asked curiously, ‘Why is the char siu so fresh?’ The next day, he ‘resigned’…and his meat probably ended up in the freezer.”
You narrowed your eyes and asked, "So, following the rules guarantees survival?"
“It’s alright,” she said, her voice barely audible as she lowered her head. “But I feel like the boss has started keeping an eye on me. The last time, I asked him when I would get paid. He laughed and said, ‘Little sister, you’ve been working here for 20 days now. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid soon… You’ve almost run out of people to be nice to.’”
Clearly, the weight of the word "human touch" is probably inseparable from flesh and blood.
"...What do you plan to do?"
She didn't speak, and she stopped walking.
Without making a sound, you reach into your pocket for your phone, your fingertips quickly swiping across the screen to open a downloaded football league video.
The familiar and excited voice of the commentator instantly echoed in the alley you were walking through. You gripped the stun gun tightly, your palms sweating.
—The general rule is that kickboxing is civilized when watching football league matches.
When you hear her say that she has been here for 20 days, but seems to be learning for the first time that she needs to dress elegantly and fashionably in the fog to avoid mental attacks, she is already preparing.
You're not afraid of encountering ghosts on this trip, you're just afraid that nothing will happen, and then when you're least expecting it, it will suddenly attack you!
Now, let's have a go.
The sounds of the football match intensified the girl's reaction. With her back to you, her sportswear ripped open in several places, starting from her shoulders and spreading downwards. The fabric seemed to be torn apart by invisible claws, revealing an unusually smooth, pale layer of skin.
Her back was bent backward, and her joints made an unnatural "clicking" sound, as if some kind of machine was being reassembled.
You didn't give her any chance to continue mutating; you rushed up and immediately turned on the power!
Sizzle—!
A blinding flash of electricity lit up the screen, sparks flew, and the stun gun emitted a faint crackling sound. The girl froze.
You cautiously stroll in, peering inside, and then—
"Haha, it's useless, that's exactly how he killed me!"
Her head was completely turned around, and upon closer inspection, it turned out that the rope around her neck had completely broken her cervical spine! Her dark eye sockets were dripping with fragrant braising sauce, and her skin had the texture of golden braised meat.
You took out a baseball bat and hit her hard! All you got was a cracking sound from her skin.
A chill ran down your spine, and you turned and ran for your life!
Damn it, having a football match means you can fight, but that doesn't mean you're guaranteed to win.
A rapid crawling sound came from behind, like metal scraping against the ground. The monster had somehow grown a hand full of iron hook-like claws, and the scraping sound on the cobblestones was practically drilling into your head.
Its laughter mingled with its murmurs, hoarse like rusty iron: "They can't escape...they can't escape..."
You run desperately, dodging dim gaslights and turning through narrow alleys, the slippery cobblestones nearly causing you to fall. Your heart pounds, your lungs feel like they're about to burst, but the crawling sound stays right behind you, getting closer and closer!
Will it crash?
You won't despair, you rack your brains—"A foggy day is perfect for a stroll"...
"Wandering..." You've been guessing what's in the fog and what to do when it appears, but you've overlooked the simplest literal meaning.
If you run in the fog, will it trigger some deeper, underlying rule-based response? Or is the chase itself a game with monsters?
You steeled your resolve and abruptly stopped in your tracks.
The girl monster behind you paused for a moment, seemingly not expecting you to stop suddenly. Her sharp claws were still slicing through the air, making a sharp whooshing sound.
You began to walk slowly, your steps steady and unhurried. The fog seemed to be affected by your movements, becoming slightly calmer.
With a low growl, the monster's crawling movements became more hurried, and the sound of its iron hooks and claws scraping the ground became less smooth.
"Run! Tighter cuts of meat are more popular with the locals!" it roared, then muttered a few words in authentic Cantonese, "I'm an expert at making roast meat! The locals all say it's delicious!"
You ignore it and continue "strolling," at a pace as slow as you want.
The monster grew increasingly agitated; its body began to contort, and its hook-like claws lashed out repeatedly, yet it could not catch you.
You glanced at its appearance and noticed cracks beginning to appear on its skin, like glass about to shatter.
Its power is crumbling under the constraints of the rules!
"You can't escape..." it hissed sharply, but its crawling speed slowed down, and finally, its figure was swallowed by the mist.
A drop of black water falls into your palm. Before you even realize it, it transforms into a mole.
"Will everything be alright as long as I walk slowly?" You were still pondering this, completely unaware that there was another set of footsteps following behind you from a long time ago.
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Author's Note: I need to go take a nap... If I can wake up in two hours, I'll update another chapter before midnight in China. If not, I'll update tomorrow.
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