Chapter 56

Chapter 56: Setting Fifty-Six

Setting Fifty-Six: Supernatural Research Club (Part 9)

Using hydrogen, fluorine, sulfur, iodine, and other chemicals to cook—not only wasn’t it a dark cuisine, it wasn’t even “cuisine” at all.

It was clearly a puzzle.

Shan Ziwei found it difficult—he knew nothing about chemistry. He hadn’t even graduated middle school; more precisely, he’d dropped out in second year of junior high because of his condition, so he’d never been exposed to the chemistry taught in third year. Though his parents had hired tutors later, as his condition proved incurable, those lessons faded away. Then he’d stumbled upon Introduction to Programming and never looked back.

He didn’t know chemical reactions or equations—he’d barely seen the periodic table.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone. He looked at his companions—and was slightly alarmed to find them all staring at him.

Shan Ziwei: ???

After a long mutual stare, Crimson Rose spoke: “Any thoughts?”

He shook his head quickly: “I don’t know chemistry.”

She seemed surprised. She exchanged a glance with Hyacinth, who stepped forward: “I have an idea. Let me know if you see any holes.”

The glasses girl picked up the shadow’s tray.

“We have water, acetic acid, glucose, hydrogen, fluorine, sulfur, iodine—it looks like we’re supposed to cook with them. But the shadow never specifically said we had to use these reagents. Its words are suggestive; the only certainty is ‘use whatever you find in the kitchen.'” Her glasses flashed. “So these reagents are just clues—the real ingredients are hidden in the kitchen.”

He scanned the kitchen—a modern 21st-century setup with cabinets, stove, counter, and fridge.

Hyacinth opened the fridge. Cold air billowed out; under the interior light, a full array of ingredients appeared.

She continued: “Hydrogen, fluorine, sulfur, iodine—their chemical symbols are H, F, S, I…”

Hearing the symbols, he immediately understood. He watched Hyacinth bend down, pull out the bottom drawer, and lift out something slightly fishy.

“Rearranged, that spells FISH.”

In her hand was a yellow croaker. The rest fell into place: acetic acid, glucose—the dish they were supposed to make was obvious.

“Sweet and sour fish.” Hyacinth concluded. “That’s my guess.”

Brilliant. He was about to mentally applaud when Hyacinth looked at him for confirmation.

He paused, then understood: the previous shadow puzzle had left everyone with a psychological shadow, so even with a clear, logical solution, they wanted his opinion. In a way, the girls had accepted him?

He immediately spoke up: “No objections.”

Hyacinth exhaled, placed the fish on the cutting board, washed her hands—then stepped back.

“Rose and I didn’t study ‘Culinary Arts.'”

In other words, they couldn’t cook.

This was common in Earth Year 83. With the Earth Management System, specialized talent and resources were optimally utilized, leading to ever-narrower specialization. After completing Basic, Intermediate, and Advanced education, citizens could choose a skill to specialize in. With limited energy, focusing on one field could make anyone an expert. So those who’d studied Culinary Arts were all master chefs; those who hadn’t wouldn’t even have a kitchen at home—since “takeout” now had zero wait time, zero freshness loss, an endless variety, and wasn’t expensive. A kitchen was just a waste of space.

His gaze drifted from the dazed Milk Tea to the indifferent Host. He sighed helplessly, stepped forward, and opened the fridge to get onions, ginger, and other ingredients.

At least he was used to taking care of himself—he had some cooking skills, though not expert-level, but his food was edible. Sweet and sour fish was one of his specialties; it should be enough for the task.

He tried opening the cabinets under the counter—they’d been locked when Crimson Rose and Hyacinth checked earlier, but now they opened. Inside were knives: slicing knife, boning knife, chef’s knife—everything, take your pick.

He took a slicing knife and a filleting knife. He used the slicing knife to scale and gut the fish, then quietly slipped the filleting knife into his Toy Box. The shadow didn’t react, still frowning as it waited for the meal.

He exhaled and skillfully prepared the fish, coating it with starch. The only awkward thing was that Host, after taking a knife, didn’t leave—he stood close behind, watching.

His personal space was already half of a normal person’s. He couldn’t help turning, about to ask Host to back off—and fell into an abyss. The man’s eyes were usually as still as deep mountain water, showing no interest in anything. But now, those dark eyes under his black hair were intensely bright, staring at him with an almost predatory directness.

Under that gaze, he felt his soul being pierced—like a rabbit caught by a sated black panther. Though it had no intention of hunting, if he dared move, it wouldn’t mind an extra snack.

Never seen a guy make sweet and sour fish? He grumbled internally. He dared not ask about Host’s strange behavior; a sharp sense of danger pricked his mind, warning him not to probe further.

Without a word, he turned back and pretended nothing was happening.

Soon, a plate of sweet and sour fish was ready. The fragrant sauce coated the golden, crispy croaker, making mouths water.

Looking at the aromatic dish, he secretly salivated—partly from not having made it in a while, partly from curiosity about whether in-game food tasted different from real food.

“Oh, wonderful.” The shadow’s down-turned mouth finally lifted. It reached for the fish: “I’ll take it to the mas—”

A hand was faster. Host lifted the plate—then let go, and the dish vanished into his Toy Box.

Shan Ziwei was stunned into silence. Crimson Rose frowned: “What are you doing?”

Host glanced at her—so naturally, like a king taking what belonged to his territory. What was wrong with that?

“I possess him.” Host’s tone was ordinary, yet carried a weight that made Crimson Rose uneasy. “His person, his cooking, everything of his—all belongs to me.”

Of all times for relationship role-play! She wanted to say. But her sharp senses caught something wrong: no, no—that wasn’t just the “Possessiveness” relationship. That was genuine possessiveness.

Possessiveness, possessive desire—one word difference, entirely different meanings. One could be performative, surface-level; the other was a deeply internal, true desire—an insatiable, voracious possessiveness that tolerated no interference.

It took her a long moment to find her voice: “Don’t forget the task!”

Without the fish, how would they complete the quest?

Host’s next move answered her. He took a yellow croaker from the fridge and went to the counter to prepare it himself.

Hyacinth protested: “We’re running out of time…”

They’d spent 3 minutes solving the puzzle, 10 minutes for his cooking—less than 8 minutes to 7:00.

As if deaf to their objections, Host methodically seasoned the fish and heated the oil. His movements were fluid, even more efficient than a professional chef.

His cooking wasn’t a pleasure to watch—the only word that came to mind was “mechanical.” He was so precise, like the finest machine, compressing every step to the extreme—so close that a millisecond error would break it—and executing flawlessly, leaving them no choice but to watch in stunned silence.

With 30 seconds to spare, a perfect sweet and sour fish was presented to the shadow.

“I’ll take this to the master.”

The shadow left excitedly. Everyone looked at Host strangely—that display had genuinely shocked them.

Was he a master chef in real life? Shan Ziwei wondered. He wanted to ask for his own fish back—there was something mortifying about having it taken by Host—but his instincts told him it was hopeless. Had anyone ever seen a rabbit successfully take food back from a tiger?

The silence stretched awkwardly. The shadow returned, beaming. Its mouth had finally turned from a downward grimace to an upward curve. The players’ tension eased—it seemed the puzzle was successfully completed. Everyone was happy, except Shan Ziwei, who’d done work for nothing. But his Diamond SP had recovered nicely, so he couldn’t complain.

“The master was very satisfied—said it’s tastier than humans.” The shadow dropped its bombshell, then produced something from its body and placed it on the counter. “Here’s your reward.”

They gathered around: two sheets of paper—architectural floor plans of Manda Mansion.

The first page was labeled “First Floor,” with rooms listed: left side top to bottom—Bedroom, Electrical Room, Living Room; right side top to bottom—Bedroom, Bathroom, Kitchen, Dining Room. He noticed the irregular top edge—the page had clearly been torn. Both pages had been torn; the second page was even more damaged, missing its floor label and the lower section.

One page was torn at the top, the other at the bottom. Comparing paper quality and size, he deduced they’d once been a single sheet—the middle section had been removed, for unknown reasons, by unknown persons.

Past gaming experience told him the missing part was definitely important. He studied the second page—it showed the second floor: left side top to bottom—three identical guest rooms; right side top to bottom—Study, Recreation Room, Study—the text under “Study” was cut off, likely followed by “Room” or something similar.

His heart sank—this really was similar to that horror puzzle game he’d played! The layout wasn’t identical, but over 80% matched!

After the prison tattoo puzzle, he’d discovered another horror-game fanatic among the developers—that game was a pixel RPG Maker game, as ancient as a trilobite in this era. Yet some unknown designer had found it, played it, and incorporated it into Role-Play. They must have truly loved it!

He thought about speaking up, but reconsidered. What was the point? Aside from similar layouts, there was no connection—different story, different puzzles. The designer was probably just paying homage.

Even if he could describe the entire layout based on that game, the floor plans made it irrelevant.

“Here, here, and here.” Crimson Rose pointed at the Study, the Study Room on the second floor, and the adjacent Bedroom and Bathroom on the first-floor right. “These are the only places we haven’t explored.”

“The plans clearly show the Study Room is obstacle-free—perfect for Wall Touching. The paper and pen for Ouija Board are probably in the Study. But those rooms are still locked. The only game we can play now is Hide and Seek.”

She glanced at Host: “We have the knife. Find the doll in the second-floor guest room cabinet, and we can start the second spiritual game.”

At the words “spiritual game,” Milk Tea—who’d been silent—trembled and walked out first. The others quickly followed.

As they stepped out of the kitchen, a piercing phone rang.

“RRRING~~~ RRRING~~~ RRRING~~~”

He felt like his eardrums were being shredded. The ringing was so loud the whole house must have heard—not just earsplitting, but shrill enough to make one’s skin crawl.

Who could be calling this haunted house at a time like this…

Everyone covered their ears, looking nervously toward the living room. On the coffee table, a bronze rotary-dial phone was vibrating violently.

“RRRING~~~ RRRING~~~ RRRING~~~”

Whether real or imagined, each ring grew more piercing, as if it would ring until the end of time if not answered. They exchanged glances, seeing the fear in each other’s eyes.

As they’d just said, a call at this hour was probably… not from a person…

“RRRING~~~ RRRING~~~ RRRING~~~”

The ring echoed without restraint through the mansion. Hyacinth went from covering her ears to covering her mouth—the death-knell ringing seemed to shake her insides, making her feel sick. Gritting his teeth, he was about to answer when someone moved faster.

Host walked to the living room. He looked at the phone—an old-fashioned model without redial or speakerphone. To answer, you had to pick up the receiver and listen. None of this slowed him. He bent down, picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear.

Instantly, the ringing stopped.

The others couldn’t hear anything, watching Host’s expression and movements anxiously, afraid of witnessing a bloodbath.

Under their bated breath, Host listened quietly for a while, then calmly hung up—as if nothing had happened.

Shan Ziwei asked blankly: “Wh-what did you hear?”

“A man asking for help.” Host said flatly. “He said his wife was dead. When he was about to name the killer… crack.”

That soft crack instantly reminded him of Tapioca’s death: crack, a round head rolling.

Even hearing the account was horrifying. He rubbed his goosebumps, unable to comprehend Host’s composure.

Crimson Rose and the others approached. Before they could speak, a new setting appeared—so cruel and brutal it seized everyone’s attention.

[Setting 4: You/your companions have triggered the Ghost Call. From now on, when the phone rings, if no one answers within 1 minute, the restless spirit will appear and kill the living one by one until no one remains. (00:00:05)]