Chapter 11
Jin City International Hotel
“Please enjoy.”
The waiter pushing the dining cart left the room. As soon as the door closed, the demon sword let out a furious roar.
“We’re in the land of Eastern cuisine—can’t we eat something good?!” The demon sword howled in agony at the perfectly warmed steak and red wine, and the salad that looked painfully bland.
Sure, once in a while these things were acceptable—prime quality tender steak, aged wine, carefully prepared sides, and a nutritious vegetable salad.
But they’ve been eating this for two years.
Ever since awakening in this world, Parsons was fixed on this exact set meal. He didn’t even change the seasoning: eternal sea salt. Eternal blandness.
When this world offered so many delicious foods!
Magical artifacts are sentient in their own way—so the demon sword naturally possessed its own food preferences. For example, a chunk of meat richly seasoned, cooked to perfection, bursting with flavor when bitten into.
It was done with these tasteless, half-raw meat chunks and piles of grass!
But damn Parsons never seemed to have that “maybe I should consider my magical artifact’s tastes” quality. No wonder he was deceived, murdered, and abandoned!
Granted, richly spiced roast meats violated the Holy Church’s belief of “meat-eaters are base, the sates are corrupt.” But it was now a fallen holy sword, a demon sword—it didn’t mind carrying an extra couple of sins.
Parsons, however—though he had already discarded his holy role from the Church, already severed ties with his past—still acted like a devout Puritan. Uninterested in food, clothes, environment, enjoyment…
Wake up—you’re no longer the Child of Light!
“Food only needs to satisfy my physiological needs,” Parsons said calmly while cutting a three-centimeter-thick steak. He showed no joy of tasting fine cuisine—only the quiet efficiency of routine.
To him, eating existed solely for survival. Everything the demon sword said fell outside the scope of his concern.
“I bet in your last life your taste buds were permanently damaged by Illman’s animal feed,” the demon sword muttered quietly, irritable but afraid to be heard.
Even whispered, its words were crystal clear to Parsons’ sensitive senses.
Hearing that name, Parsons’ hands froze over his knife and fork. He looked toward the window. Outside, the night sky had been stained gray by city lights. Beneath the ashen sky, skyscrapers shimmered with flowing neon—a world so dazzlingly colorful.
But it all felt irrelevant to him.
Even after two years of awakening, possessing all memories of this world, receiving all relatives and friends—he still remained detached.
Whether by blood or by transactional gathering of interests, people could be discarded at any moment.
Did Illman think the same way?
Since he could already sense his presence—it meant Illman had also awakened in this world.
How was he living here? Also behind a layer of glass, watching coldly from afar?
Toward the past—did he feel longing? Hatred? Or had he discarded it all, unwilling to speak of it?
Thinking of that man, Parsons mechanically put meat into his mouth and slowly chewed. The blood-red juices between his teeth mixed with the bitterness of hatred and anticipation too complex to distinguish—swallowed into his gut.
He didn’t much like this world, but since there were still unknowns to uncover, life didn’t feel unbearable.
—
Jin City, Southwestern district
Jiang Jitang, who had only awakened the “culinary” attribute for a little over a decade, had no idea about distant matters. His steel knife sliced through tender beef, pressing out the pink juices.
Filet mignon refers to tenderloin from beside the spine—the most tender cut among beef steaks. No sinew. Only specks of fat with a milky fragrance woven into muscle so unworked, the red meat was unbelievably delicate.
Jiang Jitang pan-seared a three-centimeter round steak in canola oil and butter to medium-rare. The outer was lightly browned with a gray hue, the inside still soft peach-pink. Yet, when bitten, there was no gamey smell—only a slight dairy fragrance, perhaps from the butter or the meat itself. Tender beyond words—it could melt with just a press of the tongue.
Paired with freshly ground black pepper sea salt, garlic aroma, and rosemary—each bite burst with rich meat juices. One bite made you want a second, one piece yearned for another.
There were other sides on the plate, baked mashed potatoes, mushroom cream soup, and the cocktail—all delightful in their own ways.
Jiang Jitang particularly favored this caramel-colored cocktail, with a sweet and sour base. Ideal both before and after the meal.
“It’s still a bit worse than what Ms. Jiang makes,” he murmured with slight regret despite his satisfaction. Having tasted better, one becomes hard to please. Sadly, he did not inherit Ms. Jiang’s “golden tongue.”
After eating and tidying up, he changed into casual clothing and headed downstairs. There was a community park nearby, and this was just the time when people went out to walk and digest.
Phone in hand, Bluetooth earpiece clipped to his ear, his fingers swiped across the screen as if changing songs. In truth, he was browsing the points mall—to see what he could buy with twenty points.
The Tree of Life had come and gone, but its appearance made him feel the points mall held great potential.
Last week had been the newbie discount period—the screen full of sale items, though not many he could actually afford. Suddenly, he spotted a small listing: “Blessing Oil — Trial Pack.”
Blessing Oil (Trial): 1ml
Effect: After application, grants doubled luck for three seconds. Only effective on individuals with positive luck value.
From Gourmet Captor System.
Original price: 100 points.
Limited-time offer: 10 points.
He bought it instantly without hesitation, then opened the “Lucky Roulette” in the top-right corner.
Three tiers:
10 points spin (low)
100 points spin (mid)
1000 per spin (high)
Regardless of tier, 10 consecutive spins guaranteed a reward.
Since it was still the newbie period, each type of roulette had a one-time 90% discount.
As they say: When you only have 10 yuan, six should go to survival, three to savings… and the last one, throw into a gamble—without hope. The most thrilling part of gambling is the moment before the result. That one yuan is for buying that one second of accelerated heartbeat.
“I’m confident I can earn enough points to survive,” he said as he pressed the red center button, “so I’ll buy myself one second of joy.”
One trial bottle of 3-second blessing oil. One discounted mid-tier spin. The multicolored spinning wheel slowed under his gaze. And in that final second before stopping—he applied the blessing oil.
The pointer glided past a wide white area and landed on an extremely thin sliver of orange-yellow.
[You have gained: A random upgrade to a system sub-function.]
[Your Daily Tasks have been upgraded.]
[In addition to normal tasks, Special Tasks will now appear.]
[Special tasks: Appear randomly. High point rewards. Certain risks. Please fill in up to three types of goods or services you are able to provide as reference.]
The blessing oil effect expired.
Seeing the words “high point rewards,” even though there were no special tasks yet, having another channel for income was positive. The blessing oil was worth it. He wondered how many points were needed for the full version.
He happily entered: “Food, medical”, then got stuck on the third.
“Uh… this works too, I guess?” For reasons unknown, he wrote “gaming companion.” Basically useless; he couldn’t think of anything he could reliably provide.
“No way someone would wish for a gaming companion, right?”
Rumble!
Thunder cracked in the clear sky, startling him. Even the digital input box flickered like an unstable electric appliance.
The scene was disturbingly familiar—reminding him of the tragically short-lived “Secret Study Room.”
Fortunately, it stabilized after a few seconds.
Ding!
[Special task item confirmed: Gaming companion.]
…Huh?
What about food and medical? Who—who messed with his food and medical?!
Startled by the sudden turn of events, Jiang Jitang aborted his walk halfway and returned home. All the way back, he stared at the interface of Special Tasks, unable to decipher anything.
“Is this even a legitimate system? Could it be some unregistered knockoff?!”
Today was one more day of wanting to file a complaint.
Perhaps because he kept thinking about it, he couldn’t sleep well that night. Restless and half-conscious, he heard an odd song. A woman singing—a tune he vaguely recognized, a voice he half-remembered, but couldn’t place.
Halfway through, the singing cut off abruptly. An ambulance and a police car arrived.
The next day, he learned—Auntie Pang had jumped. From the second floor.
Her house was similar to his—three stories with an attic. Each floor wasn’t very high. From a second-floor balcony, it was only about three or four meters. But she died.
Jiang Jitang skipped breakfast, put 500 yuan into a white envelope, and brought it over. They had only lived here a few years, with little connection to neighbors—but in this situation, one had to visit.
It rained last night. The ground was wet, with no trace of her blood. At her door, Jiang Jitang listened as neighbors whispered that she’d broken her neck and bled heavily.
Her husband was still at the police station. Only her son was home—sitting there alone, lost, with no light in his eyes.
“How could she jump just like that? She said yesterday she was going to buy a pomegranate sapling to plant. Didn’t look like someone planning suicide. Maybe Old Jin did something terrible to her?”
“Impossible. If Old Jin dared, he’d be the one kicked out today—stripped of everything.”
“Such a good person. What a waste.”
Someone had just died, and in such a bizarre way. The crowd outside her door refused to disperse, speculating about the truth.
After delivering the condolence money, Jiang Jitang walked through the murmuring crowd, holding the vegetable buns and sweet milk he’d casually bought.
One must stay mentally well. No matter what happens, one must not skip meals.
After breakfast, he went to wash the clothes he’d worn yesterday.
Buzz. As soon as the clothes went into the machine, his phone vibrated with a new message. He wiped his hands clean and opened it.
It was a reply from the Public Security Traffic Department—his application to view surveillance footage was approved, and he must visit the local traffic bureau within three business days.
“Approved?” Jiang Jitang frowned.
Despite submitting a SkyNet surveillance access request online two days ago, he knew it would never be approved without a serious and legitimate reason. It was merely habitual testing and preparation.
He had already prepared for rejection—planning to report to the local police, state his reasons, file a case, and submit a written request.
Yet it passed?
This meant only one thing—something indeed happened to him.
And the government of this world… they knew something.
