Chapter 9: I’ll Cook

Huang Wei really found the chief troublesome. He asked for her opinion, then didn’t adopt it. This reminded her of the idiot boss she had at her part-time job, who always told everyone to think actively and bring something new, but when they did, it was criticized to pieces, and he’d just use his own plan anyway.

If that was the case, why ask for suggestions in the first place?

Huang Wei felt the same now, weary and fed up, so she shut her mouth. She understood the reasons why both the chief and the players didn’t want to involve the police. For the chief, it might be that this world had no police.

In the novel, many instances were limited to a single location; beyond it was nothing but void. Judging by the chief’s reaction, Huang Wei guessed the 【Whisper】 instance was the same.

Another possibility: as a feudal patriarch, the chief didn’t want the police challenging his authority. The police, as a government institution, carried inherent deterrence that an inherited village chief couldn’t match. Generations in Huang Family Village were used to listening to the chief; if the police came and reduced his authority, he’d certainly be unwilling.

As for the players, it was even simpler. They were agents sent by the Main God Space—unnecessary people who appeared out of nowhere, with no files in any police station. If an investigation started, it would turn out that they were the suspicious ones, and they’d be taken away. Then what intel could they gather?

For various reasons, they had a consensus on this: no police.

Huang Wei had been singled out for that question, but after that, the chief ignored her. She took a step back, and Cheng Luyun also retreated a small step. Both moved to a less conspicuous spot. Huang Wei and Cheng Luyun blended into the crowd behind them, making them less noticeable.

Huang Wei was still mulling things over when she heard Cheng Luyun’s voice: “Brother Wei, do you think they’ll stay?”

“Yes,” Huang Wei answered without hesitation. Cheng Luyun smiled faintly: “Why?”

Huang Wei’s gaze toward Cheng Luyun carried a hint of probing. She knew what she was about to say was risky, but she decided to test the waters: “Because you don’t want them to leave either.”

Cheng Luyun tilted her head, her face still wearing that soft smile, but the icy cold deep within her eyes was about to surface. Huang Wei knew she’d guessed right: Cheng Luyun had no intention of letting them go.

In this world, Cheng Luyun was the final boss. From the way the villagers treated her, Huang Wei understood they were all watching Cheng Luyun’s mood.

All that talk and targeting earlier wasn’t really the chief speaking to her—it was Cheng Luyun toying with her.

Maybe because being a ghost was too boring, or perhaps on a whim, at this moment, Huang Wei and the players were like little goldfish in a glass tank. Above them, she reached down an invisible finger, lightly stirring the water to send them spinning. The worst part was that she swayed right beside her, pretending to be a harmless little shrimp.

Huang Wei could keep pretending she was in the dark, being played just like the players, but would that really work? These players could revive in the Main God Space after dying, but what about her? Huang Wei didn’t know. She was a cautious person and wouldn’t gamble her life.

Making such a bold probe came from understanding the nature of someone like Cheng Luyun.

When a cat toys with a fish or a mouse, once it loses interest, it will either play them to death or eat them—either way, no good ending.

When Huang Wei was little, she saw her family’s cat play with a small fish in the water like that. The fish was swimming fine in the tank, and the cat reached in with its paw, scratching the fish’s scales, yet continued to play. When it lost interest, its sharp claws scooped the fish out of the tank. The fish fell to the ground, leaving a wet trail as it flopped a few times before losing its life.

The cat sat beside the flopping fish, and when it stopped moving, it went over to sniff it. It didn’t eat it; it just nudged it with its paw, found it boring, and jumped away. It toyed with the fish not to eat it. The cat was fed on schedule, not hungry; it was just for fun.

At that age, Huang Wei didn’t understand the cat or what happened to the fish. She went over and poked it with her finger. The fish lay motionless, its white eyes bulging, stuck on the ground.

Right now was exactly like that moment, except the toyed-with fish was herself.

She couldn’t just follow the script, blindly playing dumb. Otherwise, Cheng Luyun would eventually, like the cat, kill her out of boredom.

Cheng Luyun chose to play dumb: “What is Brother Wei saying? Why would I want them to stay?” Cheng Luyun raised her hand, revealing a section of snow-white wrist, and casually tucked her hair behind her ear. As she lowered her hand, she took Huang Wei’s and led her home.

Just like when they came, the villagers automatically parted to make way.

Being led by her, Huang Wei couldn’t help looking back at the players, but before she could steal more than a couple glances, the path behind them had already been blocked by the villagers again.

Thanks to this spectacle, over two hours had passed unnoticed. When they got home and looked at the clock hanging in the main hall, the digital display read half past ten.

The electronic clock in the main hall was also the kind popular a dozen years ago—a rectangle showing not just the date and time, but also “flowers bloom in wealth.” Unlike what Huang Wei remembered, old-fashioned digital clocks should have had a year, but this one didn’t. The date was June 14, indeed early summer.

Realizing the time, Cheng Luyun told Huang Wei to hang around for a bit while she went next door to Sister Cui’s to fetch Huang Chengcheng, then she’d make lunch for them “father and daughter.” The first part was fine, but hearing the second half made Huang Wei shudder.

She felt she really couldn’t eat that stuff anymore. Yesterday she barely had two bites of dinner, and this morning’s congee, while it filled her stomach a bit, hadn’t been much. She was genuinely hungry.

Plus, Cheng Luyun cooked way too fast; Huang Wei had no idea how those dishes were made.

Huang Wei had imagined many ways to die: backstab, closing-door kill, bathroom kill, etc. But dying from the food being too horrible or from starvation was absolutely not among them. If she went to the underworld like that, she’d never rest in peace. She was a great cook—how could she die like this?!

No, absolutely not. Too embarrassing; she wouldn’t even be able to face her parents in the afterlife.

Huang Wei called out to Cheng Luyun. This was the first time since entering this world that she took the initiative. Before, she had only been pushed along, reacting when asked or when something happened. Now, for the first time, she actively stopped someone and prepared to speak.

This seemed to pique Cheng Luyun’s interest. She stopped and turned around: “Brother Wei, is there something else?”

“Let me cook lunch today.”

Cheng Luyun tilted her head slightly: “Why?” Behind her, the sunlight outside had dimmed at some point. Huang Wei had a feeling that Cheng Luyun was about to make a move on her. Faced with the choice of telling the truth or finding an excuse, Huang Wei thought briefly and decided on the truth.

Finding an excuse would only mean she’d have to keep making excuses next time and the time after. Only by telling the truth could she firmly grasp the right to cook. Even at the risk of death, Huang Wei was determined not to give up cooking.

Huang Wei looked at Cheng Luyun. Her current demeanor was pretty frightening, especially to someone who knew the truth. Under these circumstances, Huang Wei steeled herself, gathered her courage, and blurted out, “Your… cooking is too terrible.” After she said it, she clearly saw Cheng Luyun freeze.

This was the first time Huang Wei saw a different expression on Cheng Luyun’s face. She really seemed not to expect Huang Wei to say such a thing.

Cheng Luyun looked a little nervous, which didn’t seem faked. She wound a strand of hair around her finger and after a moment asked, “Is it really that bad?”

Huang Wei took a deep breath and made a bold decision. She nodded emphatically, then gave a scathing review of Cheng Luyun’s culinary skills.

“Last night, the stir-fried greens were cooked way too dry and were extremely salty. I don’t know how much salt you put in, but it was like you’d knocked over the salt shaker—so salty it choked. And the braised pork belly looked and smelled perfect, but in the mouth, it was terribly tough, without any of the qualities of good braised pork, and had a weird aftertaste. The best thing about the whole dinner was the plain rice.”

“And this morning…”

Huang Wei had only just started, but Cheng Luyun’s expression grew even more dumbfounded, as if to say: there’s more from this morning?

This morning’s incident had to be mentioned too; otherwise, she’d have to eat that vegetable-shaped salt every morning, and Huang Wei absolutely couldn’t stand it.

She spoke earnestly. As a skilled cook herself, she truly couldn’t bear to see ingredients wasted. When she was little, her adoptive parents didn’t give her much food, so once she grew up, every meal she made was prepared with care. She never imagined she’d one day eat something this awful. To spare her stomach further torture, Huang Wei forgot in that instant what sort of figure Cheng Luyun was, and her voice even rose.

“This morning’s pickled vegetables were even worse. It wasn’t just like knocking over the salt shaker; those vegetables were literally just salt molded into vegetable shapes. And chewing them felt like eating sand.”

“Really, your cooking is absolutely terrible.”