It wasn’t just Yuan Nianshu—Zhou Qi’an also saw two other waiters with blank faces, including Chen Su and Sixth Master.
Suppressing his shock, he checked again and again. He did not see his boss among them.
Zhou Qi’an narrowed his eyes. Yuan Nianshu’s chest still rose and fell slightly, while the long-robed woman downstairs showed no sign of breathing. This suggested these few might still be saved.
“What exactly happened?”
Zhou Qi’an took a deep breath and looked down at the dishes on the table: ten large glass jars, each soaking a sheep head in liquor—indistinguishable from specimens in a lab.
The liquor smell was very strong; it seeped through the sealed jars.
Shen Zhiyi suddenly gave him a look.
Following it, Zhou Qi’an saw that besides the stone carvings, there was also a price list for the barbecue shop on the wall.
Every restaurant has one; the signature dishes are listed first. After “Drunken Sheep Head,” a note in parentheses read: let rest for 10 minutes before eating.
Each match lasts only 15 minutes; if a contestant does not start eating within 5 minutes, they are considered passively participating. Two rules in direct conflict.
Just then, two more contestants came upstairs. Learning from the previous round, everyone first circled the area, trying to find clues.
“So cold.” On the other side, the middle-aged man kept rubbing his skin through his sleeves.
Zhou Qi’an felt the cold too—the sort that doubled every second. But with iron self-control, he smiled: “Looks like whoever stepped on the stairs becomes unlucky first.”
The middle-aged man’s face was ugly.
The chill was sinking into bone. In truth, Zhou Qi’an was anxious too, but more than anything he needed a reference subject.
The priority was to determine whether the players became waiters because they ate the wrong food—or for some other reason.
This extreme cold severely impaired swallowing. If they delayed longer, even opening their mouths would be difficult.
The middle-aged man gritted his teeth, reached his limit first, and began choosing a jar.
At this moment Shen Zhiyi quietly reminded Zhou Qi’an: “There’s a residual aura of illusion on this floor.”
His shadow had been blocked outside. Unless the situation became irreversible, he would not consider forcing his power to pierce the illusion. Aside from Zhou Qi’an, he didn’t care whether others lived or died.
Over there, the middle-aged man shivered violently as he forced open a jar. The pungent fumes stabbed the nose—yet brought a trace of heat.
He had been hesitant before, but now a feverish light flashed in his eyes. In under two seconds, he lifted the sheep head in the jar and bit down.
Two bites in, he toppled headfirst. Zhou Qi’an went over—still breathing, just drunk.
Time was running low. One thing was now certain: “If you don’t let the sheep head rest for 10 minutes, eating it causes drunkenness.”
Thinking this, Zhou Qi’an reflexively looked toward the waiters. Each wore the same strange printed smile: “Please enjoy.”
Compared to moments ago, the players’ breathing was visibly weaker, their complexions more ashen.
Delay much longer and they’d be beyond saving.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t have the bandwidth to worry about others. Interpreting the subtext of “please enjoy,” he felt uneasy.
The advanced King of Gluttons challenge didn’t seem like downstairs—where eating two plates was enough.
Not only must you eat, you must eat a lot.
At this moment Shen Zhiyi actually seemed drowsy. Seeing Zhou Qi’an frown, he said, “Don’t rush.”
Just as Zhou Qi’an was about to study the jars seriously, he lowered his gaze and spoke quickly: “I’ll list my findings—you patch the holes.”
“This floor has nothing to do with choice.”
“Grave soil and coffin boards—these two elements appear together only in a graveyard. We are likely inside a surface-level tomb. The most distinctive feature here is that.”
His gaze fixed on two potted plants.
“Items in tombs are usually dead things. Lush plants here are incongruous. I checked the soil—same as what we saw when a contestant was cut open downstairs: white, granular dirt.”
The fact that grave soil could grow living plants was strange in itself.
Zhou Qi’an continued: “Also, the potted plant is an herb nicknamed ‘Stone Lion.’ Didn’t we see stone lions when we came in?”
Such things typically ward off evil; likely another hint.
“Mixing those green plants with the food should counteract the drunken sheep head.”
Zhou Qi’an looked at Shen Zhiyi.
Shen Zhiyi looked back.
“…” After a beat, Shen Zhiyi said, “You thought it through.”
Zhou Qi’an’s teeth chattered with cold.
That was the problem—he’d reached this judgment almost right after coming up. Normally he would have already started eating—but the players turned waiters had shaken his confidence.
What he could think of, the players should have too.
It was nearly 10 minutes. With no other leads, Zhou Qi’an hesitated no longer.
They moved in tandem. Shen Zhiyi watched the food; Zhou Qi’an ran to grab the plants.
The other contestants immediately surged after him—but they weren’t even in the same league speed-wise.
Back where he’d started, Shen Zhiyi gave a faint shake of the head.
No matter how many times he saw it, Qi’an’s running speed was… astonishing.
Worried that, like the lanterns, the plants would wither quickly once broken, Zhou Qi’an uprooted them pot and all—and carried two at once.
Four people blocked him en route.
Their goal was obvious: there’s only one champion. If that young man won, their trip would be for nothing.
“Good dogs don’t block the road.”
Before sprinting, Zhou Qi’an checked his phone—under 3 minutes remained until passive participation would be called. Time should have been adequate, but his body state was poor—hands and feet icy to the absurd.
Suddenly there came a rattling crash behind them.
Seven contestants had come up; after forming a pack, three stayed to guard food while the others boxed Zhou Qi’an in. In the midst of smashing and screams, the blockers reflexively turned—and saw their teammates furiously overturning the food at their own places.
It was their “own people” ruining it.
They looked bewitched, smashing madly. Clearly Shen Zhiyi had acted.
The contestants roared with rage. Zhou Qi’an snorted and used the chance to cut a fast arc back.
Compared to these would-be sorcerers, a player was a blow from a higher dimension.
With his blood almost freezing into ice crystals, Zhou Qi’an could barely keep hold of the plants by the time he got back.
Shen Zhiyi had already opened the sealed jars for him.
No more dithering—Zhou Qi’an plucked leaves and chewed them with the sheep head.
“Staff strike.”
While eating, he pulled out his cane and smashed a tiny ghost released by some contestant.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t much like mutton; mixed with loads of strange plant flavors, he nearly retched.
He forced it down. Beyond nausea, his control sensitivity rose. The drunkenness surged to his head—but remained manageable.
At last the contestants stopped fixating and went to find other plants.
One of the blockers, tangled by Zhou Qi’an’s white silk, nearly fell.
Startled, he whirled and glared. “What are you doing?”
Zhou Qi’an didn’t answer—he simply held the man tight with the white silk. The shouting went on; he never let go.
There was little meat on the drunken sheep head. With Shen Zhiyi slicing, Zhou Qi’an finished quickly.
Three pieces remained. One mouthful later—nothing happened.
No system chime. The waiters still stood there blankly. The long-robed woman didn’t come up.
The contestants, all who had despaired when he finished first, froze as well.
Zhou Qi’an narrowed his eyes. “As expected, not that simple.”
Per the initial system hint, clearing the advanced King of Gluttons gives a chance to meet the boss.
A chance—not guaranteed.
Maybe he had to find the boss manually? The second floor was as large as the first, with multiple private rooms—finding someone would be a sizable job.
Clearly, he should hurry and look for the boss—but he didn’t move. He stared at the blocker bound by his white silk.
“You’ll die a miserable death!” The man tried every trick, but couldn’t break free.
Zhou Qi’an ignored the curses, observing the man clinically.
Soon, something strange happened.
The man’s insults grew fainter; his body grew stiff.
His features shifted; the hairs on his arms turned milky-white, thick and long—like a goat’s.
Only then did Zhou Qi’an release the silk.
The man’s muscles spasmed in pain; about ten seconds later, he could finally stand straight again—his face full of terror. He seemed unable to control himself, and began mechanically tidying a waiter’s hairstyle.
“If you’re judged a passive participant, you gradually mutate into a waiter.”
With that conclusion, Zhou Qi’an snapped to the players. That meant they had been judged passive for not eating within five minutes.
“How is that possible…”
Even those who failed to get plants at least ate some drunken sheep head; they’d rather pass out than be judged passive.
Even average contestants knew to gamble a bit; three veteran players wouldn’t do nothing.
If they ate… then the players definitely weren’t judged on this floor.
Zhou Qi’an mentally retraced the building: traditional architecture, pointed roof. Such a style might include an attic.
So the barbecue shop wasn’t two floors—but three?
“Time.”
As Zhou Qi’an murmured, Shen Zhiyi spoke at the same time: “The timing’s wrong.”
The second floor was lit only by thin daylight through paper windows. Half of Shen Zhiyi’s face was in shadow. After forcing back his drowsiness, a bit of sharpness returned to his eyes.
The newly-mutated contestant had come up less than three minutes earlier.
This meant the timer didn’t start when they reached the second floor—it began when they touched the stairs.
Zhou Qi’an seemed to think of something, and swept the space with his eyes.
Shen Zhiyi had sensed residual illusion—had Zhou Qi’an unknowingly stepped on the stairs already?
If so, his remaining time was under a minute.
He finally understood how Yuan Nianshu and the others got trapped:
They accidentally triggered the third-floor timer and failed to reach the area within five minutes—immediately judged passive.
A wave of unprecedented chill washed through him.
He wouldn’t naively assume he hadn’t stepped on the stairs. If there was illusion, it wouldn’t be as simple as veiling the stairs alone. With all three players ensnared, odds were the illusion even lured people to step onto the stairway to the next level.
Worse than death was: after dying, serving plates in an instance!
Whatever drunkenness remained vanished; his innate defiance flared. His mind went razor-sharp.
There was only one place most likely to make players misstep onto the stairs: near the plants.
To clear the round, you had to fetch the plants.
Unlike the scattered lanterns, the second-floor plants were all in one zone. Zhou Qi’an’s confidence firmed—and as he thought, he had already dashed over.
He didn’t know the speed of Chang’e’s ascent to the moon—but his sprint nearly rivaled a rocket launch.
The plants sat on iron racks before a stone-carved wall.
Eyes deceive; senses deceive; but real objects don’t vanish just because you can’t see them. Zhou Qi’an hurdled toward the wall—and leapt.
In the next instant, his leg slid easily into the “wall.” As his body passed through the stone, he glimpsed a dense staircase.
“White silk!”
He spread it across the floor to insulate his soles from the coffin-wood steps.
Best to minimize the steps touched—who knew whether quantity would become a qualitative change.
White Silk: …
Zhou Qi’an never glanced back at Shen Zhiyi while running. The latter had never left the tables—he wouldn’t have triggered the stairs, thus no countdown for him.
The last level wasn’t tall; few steps. With his cane and silk ribbon, Zhou Qi’an reached the top.
Sure enough, there was a hidden space: a red long table in a small room.
He didn’t know exactly when he’d fetched the plants—but he knew there wasn’t much time left.
No reference subject this time.
The dishes were full of sheep offal; no waiters in sight.
He was tempted to gamble.
“People can’t gamble on what isn’t there…” In the end, cursing under his breath, he pulled out a [Roly-Poly Potion] and, wincing, applied three drops.
The label said two to three. Remembering the contestants who’d burst downstairs, he wouldn’t skimp—best to maximize the effect.
He checked the remainder—enough for at most one more use.
He pocketed the vial, picked up sheep liver with chopsticks.
He barely chewed. As it slid down, he felt a dragging, dead heaviness—like swallowing something leaden.
His throat scraped—like swallowing dirt.
“…Damn it.”
Bullseye—he’d eaten the wrong thing on his first try.
His action proved the attic was like the first floor: some dishes must never be eaten.
While the potion could neutralize all mystical effects, the wrong food would turn into masses of grave soil in the stomach. Even if it didn’t expand, too much would still be a problem.
He bit down, then put the chopsticks aside and scanned the room.
One second of scanning—
He patted his stomach lightly and muttered, “I should have one more try.”
He wasn’t too full yet.
The other contestants had mindlessly followed his lead earlier. In fact, most hadn’t even completed the second-floor challenge. Shen Zhiyi wouldn’t come to the third floor to eat against him.
So if he picked the right plate, one test bite would basically secure the win.
Zhou Qi’an counted from left to right—found plate seven.
Seven was his lucky number.
“Lord, System, Tathāgata, Lord God… please bless your faithful believer.”
He bit down—
More dirt.
Time was precious, but he still fell silent for three full seconds.
Then he accepted the cold reality: luck was like those rumored one- or two-star instances—heard of, never seen.
“It’s easier to see a ghost than see that.”
He began studying the surroundings.
Aside from size, the attic layout mirrored below: lanterns on beams, stone carvings all around, a few potted plants in corners. However, the attic plants were less lively than on the second floor. The lantern wicks stood rigid; their glow felt dead.
At last, his gaze fixed on a stone carving.
In the background stood a prominent temple. Countless demons and spirits sat before it, feasting at a flow-banquet—some ghost market night party.
He couldn’t help stepping closer, focusing not on the monsters—but the banquet staff.
The long-robed woman was leading a team, serving dishes in an inconspicuous spot.
“The barbecue shop handled the banquets’ food…”
Zhou Qi’an’s expression changed. Behind the long-robed woman were ten blurry black silhouettes. At first glance they seemed smudges—looking again, they were outlines of human figures.
They struggled frantically—as if trying to escape the carving.
Those judged as passive seemed to have had their souls bound into the stone. Zhou Qi’an could guess—once those silhouettes fully solidified, they’d never come out again.
A faint mist seeped from the carving, silently shrouding Zhou Qi’an.
Twang!
A crisp pipa note rang by his ear; a ghostly woman plucked and giggled.
The sudden music nearly made Zhou Qi’an spring upright.
“Am I beautiful…” An ethereal voice sounded in his soul, intertwined with the instrument.
The ghost woman swayed as she played.
“…”
He wasn’t sure what aesthetic she was after, but under the [Roly-Poly Potion], he was immune to illusions for a time—so what he smelled was pure rot; what he saw was a same-arm-same-leg shuffle; and her face… like a field drenched in acid rain—an impressionist masterpiece.
“Beautiful,” he managed, holding his breath.
She smiled more confidently—then, deep behind her eyes, a flash of spite. Men were indeed a face-obsessed species.
“Come.” She extended a hand.
Zhou Qi’an feigned entrancement, taking a small step forward, while his peripheral vision continued to search the scene.
This was a barbecue shop; focusing on staff and food was the most appropriate approach.
The dishes the waiters were serving were veiled by the ghost woman and a layer of mist—impossible to see clearly across a few meters.
“Come on~”
When he wouldn’t take the bait, she lost patience. Chunks of flesh fell from the arm holding the pipa, exposing bone.
No more waiting.
Zhou Qi’an decided to bypass her and see what was on the table.
Playing along, he slowly raised his arm, as if to place it in her claws.
Seeing her prey within reach, her grin turned hideously bright.
“Nice playing.” Zhou Qi’an stuffed two spirit-notes into her razor talons. As she blinked, he sprang for the long table like lightning.
The blood-smeared notes were icy. Too few, too thin—her long nail nearly pierced them.
After a beat, her fury carved trenches into her face. “I’ll kill you—”
When had she ever suffered such an insult?
A few meters was two strides to Zhou Qi’an. He reached the table.
There sat dishes he’d seen below—roast lamb, drunken heads; the offal still steaming.
The tops were mostly lamb intestine, liver, and lung.
Comparison works: he’d tasted problems in plates with heavy intestine and liver—by extension, plates piled with lung were also off-limits.
“That leaves plates centered on lamb heart.”
A pair of claws tore through the fog. A blood-draining trident was too costly to use; he couldn’t be sure of her weakness, so he prepared a two-pronged response.
He swept the table, found a reflective plate, and thrust it toward her with a bark: “Take a look at yourself!”
If she kept asking “Am I beautiful,” she must care about looks.
Whether it countered her or not, it should at least buy time. He needed only a flinch.
Sure enough, the truth in the “mirror” made her freeze in appearance-anxiety for a few seconds. Zhou Qi’an dove, his cane cracking toward her pipa.
He was fast. If she struck, the pipa would be smashed. If she saved the instrument and went for him—she’d miss both.
As they passed, Zhou Qi’an’s face tightened.
Blood sprayed from his shoulder—her claws had gouged a strip of skin and muscle.
[“Boy, they can’t poison you.”]
Ignoring poison in the nail bed, it was just a flesh wound. Before she could strike again, Zhou Qi’an had cleared the fog.
As his final step landed, the hateful stare faded. The stone wall returned to normal—except the pipa-bearing ghost woman glared with endless malice at the young man back at the attic table.
Zhou Qi’an began eating the roughly prepared lamb heart. Already uncomfortable, he whipped off his glasses, smoothed his hair. “Sister, am I beautiful?”
“…”
A flesh wound wasn’t fatal—but it hurt. Swallowing tugged painfully at the gash.
Meeting her icy gaze, he used her impotent rage as psychological garnish.
Worried that any longer and the players would bid farewell to the brave new world, he forced himself to finish.
As he choked down the last bite, the system chimed:
[Congratulations, you are this round’s King of Gluttons.]
[The mysterious prize has been added to your backpack.]
[You will have a precious chance to meet the barbecue shop’s boss.]
Zhou Qi’an checked the loot:
[Health-Preserving Pouch: Increases satiety
Usage Guide: Heaven will not starve the chosen. Put ordinary food in, take it out and eat—one meal sustains you for four days.
Quality: Four-star.
Note: 15-day cooldown after each use.]
A middling four-star, but very practical. In instances with limited food or dubious NPC fare, it could be hugely valuable.
“If I make my mom directly eat the pouch, what happens?”
All items’ specialness ultimately lies in their materials; no wonder Ying Yu eagerly harvested materials from instances.
And monsters’ most notable trait was insatiable appetite. His mom had that problem too—if she ate the pouch, it might boost her reason.
“I can forage mushrooms anytime.” He wouldn’t starve in an instance; better to feed it to his mother.
Decision made, he returned attention to the task: the only thing left was taking the barbecue boss’s head.
A big project—first find the ghost, then kill it.
He sensed a wrongness—the density of tasks here had surpassed the Other-Experience Hall. He’d come by day; difficulty should have been lower.
He considered checking for a secret chamber in the attic, but halfway through searching, footsteps sounded clearly on the stairs.
He twisted warily. A pair of polished leather shoes came into view.
A capitalist face appeared.
His boss stepped on the coffin-wood stairs without a care. The stairwell was dark; he looked wreathed in ghostly air.
“What are you looking for?”
Zhou Qi’an had wondered about his boss’s whereabouts—he hadn’t expected him to appear now.
After a brief shock, he calmed quickly. “Looking for the barbecue boss.”
“What do you want with me?”
“…” Zhou Qi’an squinted. Besides those oiled shoes, the boss seemed to be holding something in his other hand.
As he stepped off the last stair, the darkness receded—and a very fresh head came into view.
Zhou Qi’an couldn’t tear his eyes from it.
The head looked fresh; fangs inside twitched—a recent cut. He suddenly glanced at the stone carving. The players’ silhouettes were still deepening.
That’s not right—if the boss had killed the barbecue owner, the players should have been freed.
As if reading his mind, the boss said coolly: “If I let them go, who will serve?”
The employees of his employee were, naturally, his employees.
“And you—skipping your rounds to loaf here?”
__
Author’s Note:
Boss: They’re all my employees.
Zhou Qi’an: …That’s exactly why I came.
PS: There are other reasons the players got trapped—it’s not the boss’s doing. But he truly never intended to release them.
