Chapter 89
Chapter 89
“Who cares what she looks like? Either way, we need to get out of this instance as soon as possible!” Cheng Shan declared indignantly, and the other players voiced their agreement.
Rule Four stated that treasure-hunting hours lasted from six in the morning until three the next morning. It was now after nine.
Going outside at this hour should therefore carry no risk.
Every player had to leave the inn. After all, anyone who neglected the treasure hunt would die.
“What are we supposed to do? None of us even knows what the treasure looks like, so how are we supposed to find it? Does anyone have a clue? This is a collective mission. We can’t just sit here and wait to die.”
A player in the crowd began complaining, and his words resonated with the others.
During a collective mission, it was best not to hide any clues.
If more people suffered the witch’s punishment, the entire group might go mad and lose their humanity.
They could turn on one another in only an instant.
Sun Xingye laughed. “Do you really think clues will be much use after the difficulty increase? I have one, but it’s as good as useless.”
He revealed a leaf bearing the words [three-legged crow].
They had not expected Sun Xingye, who looked so shifty and ratlike, to share his clue so readily.
For the Foxslayer organization, acquiring clues in the game was effortless.
The real question was how much value those clues held.
Sun Xingye had made his clue public because he believed it had already lost all value.
He himself had no idea what the damned three-legged crow had to do with this instance. Combined with this cursed collective mission, it left him ready to throw caution to the wind.
Aside from Sun Xingye, no one dared reveal their clues.
After all, if the others performed only adequately while they performed well with the help of a clue, their odds of earning the gods’ favor would rise.
And so, some people began discussing the possible meaning of the three-legged crow with feigned profundity.
They started talking about legends and rumors.
Xiao Huai did not participate in the players’ discussion.
As an “NPC,” joining their conversation would only make him seem suspicious.
Xiao Huai wiped his hands and walked directly toward the dining hall.
The moment he looked up, he saw a familiar figure standing inside.
He had not seen Lu Yuanshi while treating Xiaoxue earlier.
He had not thought much of it. Everyone had their own matters to handle.
But when he saw Lu Yuanshi carrying a plate of lemon chicken toward him, Xiao Huai abruptly decided
that whatever Lu Yuanshi had been busy doing was the most important thing of all.
“Did you make this yourself?” Xiao Huai asked with feigned composure, though his eyes were practically shining.
He was starving. After days of hunger, it was a miracle his face had not grown gaunt.
Yet he still had to pretend nothing was wrong.
It was exhausting.
“Yeah. There were ingredients over there.”
Lu Yuanshi pointed at a large chest filled with ice. Despite its old-fashioned appearance, it could be considered a refrigerator.
In truth, the dining tables were already covered in all kinds of food, all of it automatically replenished by the inn each day.
Yet Xiao Huai thought the plate of lemon chicken in front of him smelled better than anything else.
He smiled lightly and gave Lu Yuanshi an unreserved thumbs-up.
“I’ll savor every bite.”
Xiao Huai found a seat. Just as he set the lemon chicken on the table, his brows drew together.
His nose twitched as though he had detected a strange odor, and his frown deepened.
The scent strongly resembled the fragrance the soulbugs had emitted.
While he was lost in thought, cool fingers touched the space between his brows, the pad of a finger soothingly smoothing away his frown.
Xiao Huai looked up and met Lu Yuanshi’s ink-black eyes.
Lu Yuanshi asked, “What are you thinking about? Doesn’t everyone say that nothing under heaven matters more than a good meal?”
At those words, Xiao Huai’s brow relaxed.
Where had Lu Yuanshi learned a saying like that?
It was strange to hear something so down-to-earth from that godlike face, one seemingly untouched by mortal concerns.
Xiao Huai picked up the lemon chicken, moved to a table with no other food on it, and began eating with his chopsticks.
As he ate, he looked up at Lu Yuanshi. “Is that why you learned to cook?”
Lu Yuanshi rubbed his chin. “More or less. They say a man who can cook gets extra points.”
A smile swept across Xiao Huai’s lips.
“Then I’m doomed. My score is probably negative.”
Although he had no memories of his past, Xiao Huai somehow felt certain he knew nothing about cooking.
Perhaps every pot of rice he made would turn into porridge.
And the kitchen would probably catch fire for no reason.
Xiao Huai turned his face and happened to meet Lu Yuanshi’s gaze. It held the peace and warmth of quiet years, so beautiful that everything seemed like a fragile illusion drifting away on the wind.
Lu Yuanshi parted his lips.
“Your existence alone is already a perfect score.”
The moment those words fell,
Xiao Huai froze, even pausing with the lemon chicken halfway to his mouth.
It was as if an invisible force gently squeezed his heart.
Softly and tenderly.
It tickled…
His skin, already prone to reddening, seemed to catch fire. He tried his utmost to control himself, yet his ears felt unbearably hot.
“What’s wrong?”
As if completely unable to read the mood, Lu Yuanshi walked over and whispered softly beside his ear.
Xiao Huai instinctively leaned away and covered his ear. “Nothing! Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I already ate.” Lu Yuanshi narrowed his eyes with a smile.
For a moment, Xiao Huai had no idea what to say, so he lowered his head and focused fiercely on eating.
When he finished, Xiao Huai caught Lu Yuanshi by the wrist and tugged him closer.
Lu Yuanshi lowered his head and watched his every movement.
Xiao Huai placed the piece of candy in Lu Yuanshi’s palm.
“I gave it to you, so it’s yours.”
He withdrew his hand, leaving Lu Yuanshi staring at the candy with slightly widened eyes.
Xiao Huai loved sweets. He simply did not eat them often because he sometimes needed to maintain his image, and he had never told anyone about it.
Because it was something he loved, he always treated candy like a tiny treasure.
Giving it to someone else was his way of expressing thanks.
He turned to leave, then stopped at the entrance to the dining hall.
Softly, he said, “Thanks for breakfast. It was delicious.”
There was nothing else unusual.
Aside from Lu Yuanshi’s lemon chicken, which lacked that strange fragrance, all the food on the dining tables gave off a faint, eerie scent.
He had to determine which rules were true and which were false.
Was it finally time for his special advantage to prove useful?
His hidden identity as the Holy Father gave him three chances to determine whether a rule was true or false.
But that was all it could tell him. If a rule was false, it would never explain exactly which part was wrong.
The desert survival rules had worked the same way.
Rule One had said, [If you become desperately thirsty, you may drink your own blood. Nothing bad will happen.]
That rule was false because drinking one’s own blood would indeed have consequences.
But the only way to learn exactly what those consequences were was to test it personally.
Lu Zhi’s strange behavior had made Xiao Huai decide to risk himself.
Sometimes, determining whether a rule was true or false also provided clues to the truth behind the story.