Famine 123: Cranberry Scone

Could the being before him truly be called “human”?

He wore a tattered white coat, so stained with blood around the hem that it was barely recognizable as once belonging to a player. His spine twisted unnaturally, and he could barely force himself to stand upright.

But what drew the eye most was his head and face.

From the sockets of his eyes, his mouth, nasal cavities, and ear canals, a mass of writhing, elongated soft worms protruded, distending his every orifice. His eye sockets were torn, mouth streaked with dried blood; blood stains patterned his whole face, some running down his cheeks like tears. The worms’ bodies were ringed with twitching, segmented limbs, and those tendrils, after emerging, dangled down, gathered in his hands and spun together like a propeller—only slowing as he entered the building.

Strangely, he still wore gold-rimmed spectacles, his pupils—squeezed near the center by squirming tentacles—barely visible, trembling, yet retaining a flicker of rational awareness behind the glass.

That flicker of lucidity was what made Shi He’s hair stand on end.

If this was a mere anomaly, it wouldn’t matter much—he’d seen all sorts.

But those still-clean gold-rimmed glasses, that shop-bought surgical headlamp gleaming above—there was no mistaking it: this being was… at least once, a player.

He was still alive!
He had kept his mind, somehow, and become what he was now.

Was he truly a player, though? Had he not been overtaken by the strange thing?

He let go, and those worms squirmed quickly back into his body.
It must have been agony. He spasmed, clutching his head until the fit passed, then straightened and adjusted his glasses.

When he raised his head again, he looked—well, almost like a refined young man.

Ye Xianqing’s bloodshot eyes were hypersensitive to light, blurred by tears, barely open, yet he couldn’t bear to close them. Enchanted, almost obsessed, he hungrily scrutinized the spacious, bright lobby—and Shi He.

…Was this really a customer? Well, it didn’t matter; he had to attend to him either way. If it turned out to be a monster, he could kill it; if it was a guest, it wouldn’t do to ruin the farm owner’s business…

Shi He felt nervous inside, but on the surface was as impassive as ever. “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Glimmer Hostel.”

He recited in a steady, unruffled tone, “This hostel is purpose-built by the farm for sleep experience, dedicated to providing everyone with a warm and comfortable sleeping environment, so that each guest can pass a night in peace. Around-the-clock lighting wards off the darkness and all unease.”

Scripted lines for a quest instance? Ye Xianqing watched Shi He warily, his hand never relaxing from its hidden scalpel. “……”

No way to communicate? Should he just kill him after all? Shi He looked back, equally expressionless.

For a moment the two players stared each other down, both half convinced the other was a monster themselves…

“Heh… huh… heh… huh…”
Suddenly, loud snores echoed from the side, shattering the frozen moment.

Both turned to look. Nidhogg, dressed in soft black loungewear, sprawled in a beanbag chair, limbs flung wide, buried in pillowy comfort. His bare feet rested on the fluffy carpet, toes stuffed with fibers.

He slept deeply, completely defenseless, at utter ease.

Shi He: “…”
Still not awake. Oh well. If my brother wants to sleep, he can sleep as long as he likes. Nothing I can do.

Ye Xianqing: “……”

What kind of quest NPC naps in the lobby?!
And those snores—no way this was the ominous background sound of a dangerous quest instance!!

He looked again at Shi He.

Hmm… unless… this really… isn’t a quest area?

After a long moment, Ye Xianqing couldn’t help himself and smiled faintly.

The tension between them immediately melted away.

It took a while for them to lower their guards, then they sat facing each other on the beanbags. Shi He considerately turned up the opacity on the glass lamp, lowering the brightness, so Ye Xianqing could adjust, finally opening his eyes.

Shi He asked, “So… it was after you were parasitized by [It] that you became… like this?”

Ye Xianqing nodded. “We call it ‘Friend’. I know it’s disturbing. It must have frightened you—sorry.”
“We didn’t have a choice.”

From Ye Xianqing’s explanation, Shi He grasped the situation.

Nidhogg had guessed right—the first time most players fell into darkness they’d get parasitized by [It], with no way out.

Yet, [It] occupying a human body wasn’t necessarily a death sentence.

If the host remained in darkness, before long [It] would begin tearing, gnawing flesh and organs from within—until eventually it burst out in a frenzy.

However, if the host quickly returned to the light, [It] seemed not to inflict such extreme harm.

Instead, [It] would occasionally “play” images of the host’s loved ones, tempting them to lose themselves in dreams. Just like the season where diary-writing players fell, many succumbed, ultimately to be devoured by the dark.

But, on rare occasions, the loved one illusioned by [It] would act to push its host away from dream’s edge.

Other than that, it could emerge—sometimes spinning at high speed—to help the host fly through the abyss.

Finally, the mystery was solved: how the still-living players had survived and traveled in these depths.

—They survived by coexisting with the monster dwelling in their own bodies.

It looked terrifying, but in truth, this was an ordinary player’s only possible path.

“That really is…” Shi He didn’t know what to say.

Ye Xianqing, aware of his own frightening appearance, took no offense, nor did he feel embarrassed. He only smiled with composure.

“To survive, one can do anything. Aren’t we players all the same?”

Shi He had nothing to say to that.

“You say this is… a hostel, with an unending light source? Is that true?”

At this, Shi He perked up. “That’s right. The hostel is one of our farm owner’s special creations. Lodging is 300 points a night, and comes with a complimentary breakfast or night snack.”

Ye Xianqing said, “I’d like to verify it my own way. I hope you don’t mind.”

Shi He replied, “By all means.”

Ye Xianqing pulled out his pocket watch and aimed its monitoring at Nidhogg, still happily sleeping nearby, starting the sleep timer.

Shi He: “……”
Well, yes… If you want convincing proof, what better than someone clearly asleep two straight hours right before your eyes…

A stray thought flashed by—Did my brother know he’d be needed for this, and that’s why he kept sleeping?

For Ye Xianqing, this test was torment.

Were he alone, Ye Xianqing would already have lunged for the bed. But he couldn’t—he had Yan Cheng, and teammates waiting for his return. He had to be cautious—not afraid of death, but not reckless.

Still, this beanbag was indescribably comfortable, the lounge crackling with warmth, this man’s snores steady and rhythmic, one after another…

His vision began to blur, darkness creeping at the edges; Ye Xianqing’s head drooped sharply.

Shi He hesitated whether to wake him, but then saw Ye Xianqing, without hesitation, reach behind himself, pull out a broken test tube, and—with the tip dipped in disinfectant and caustic agents—stab it deep into his thigh!

With a violent squelch, blood spurted.

His white coat was enchanted as medical gear, but even so it was nearly soaked in his blood by now. Ye Xianqing stifled a groan, cold sweat running down his cheek. Through the glasses, his eyes cleared once more.

Shi He turned slightly away.
Beneath Ye Xianqing’s coat was a dense patchwork of wounds—round punctures, all self-inflicted. He even remembered to dab medicine to prevent infection.

No wonder the hem of his coat was stained scarlet.

A calm and unyielding madman.

[Beep beep.]

The two-hour mark passed.

Nidhogg’s snores continued undisturbed.

Ye Xianqing finally let out a ragged breath, his shoulders slumping deep. He could barely believe it, yet the instrument couldn’t lie. Again and again, he checked the readout of his [Portable Bio-Monitor] pocket watch, eyes locked on the line [Status: Player (Sleeping)], and looked up at the snoring Nidhogg. Bloodshot eyes flickered, breath shuddering.

There was no doubt—the man was sleeping. During that entire time, he hadn’t performed any [relight] action. Even now, he had yet to get up.

It was real…

Unbelievably, it was real!

A rush of emotion overwhelmed Ye Xianqing, making his eyes swim. A fierce, stabbing relief pierced his deep fatigue, and he couldn’t even find the words.

[Ding! You have received 300 points.]

“This way, please.” Shi He extended a hand. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Ascending steps suffused with molten glow, Ye Xianqing felt almost dazed, staring at the castle built from flowing lava. For the first time, he realized such beauty could exist in the dark abyss.

Creak.

The small tower’s door opened before him.

What met his gaze was a warmly lit little room.

From the inside, it was almost a tiny wooden cabin. The rough, gentle grain of the wood, a circle of alcoves dug into the wall, inside which shone square wall lamps—if one looked closely, molten lava flowed within them, the light dim and warm, painting gentle shadows across the floor.

The room was furnished with a desk, a chair, and two beds, like a natural hostel double. The small wooden table was the perfect height, and upon it sat a lamp.

The beds stood a little higher, for their thick white mattresses, plump and soft beyond reason, like an embrace of down. The rug at the bedside was thick and curled under the light.

Beside the door was another little wooden door, hiding the bathroom. There was no need to go out for necessities; once the door closed, the room became a fortress—a temporary little home, closed off from the world.

Shi He seemed to say something, then departed, gently closing the door.

Ye Xianqing didn’t catch it. His mind was already a haze, his heart pounding thunderously in his ears.

In this world… do miracles truly exist?

And if so… who creates such miracles?

Ye Xianqing’s fingers trembled slightly as he undid the blood-soaked buttons, one by one.

He was so tired—painfully tired—his vision ringed in darkness, his body caked with sweat and blood.

But he did not immediately collapse into the bed. Instead, he carefully undressed, opened the little door, and entered the bathroom.

This, too, was beautiful—a little bath, like a mellow wooden sauna, with a bamboo screen dividing wet and dry. Outside was a sink and toilet; inside, a black showerhead and a wooden tub. The waterproofed wood was polished smooth, not at all splintery.

It wasn’t spacious, but its size made it cozier, safe and intimate.

Carefully, Ye Xianqing eased himself into the bath and turned on the faucet.

Whoosh—

Clean, hot water poured down.

Steam filled the small space, heat and moisture soothing his inflamed eyes, cracked lips, and saturating his whole face. Blood and grime melted away into the drain.

In the warmth, the lean young man’s shoulders finally began to shake. He breathed deeply, scrubbing away dirt bit by bit from his body.

No matter if he’d been twisted past human recognition, no matter how wretched life had become—he still wanted, with all his will, to remain a proper, dignified human being.

Ye Xianqing took a long time, but at last made himself clean, and put his ragged emotions in order.

As he towelled off his wet hair and emerged, the knock came at his door. He opened it—Shi He was already gone, but on the floor was a tray.

On it, a small porcelain plate held a piping-hot, fresh-baked cranberry scone, fragrant with milk; beside it, an elegant little metal fork; and next to that, a steaming glass of milk.

At the tray’s edge, a small card: [This is your complimentary night snack. Please enjoy.]

So that’s what Shi He had been asking about earlier.

The scone’s rich aroma of cheese and butter hit Ye Xianqing’s nose, and only then did he realize how starving he was—like a hand wrenching tight around his gut, his stomach’s sour emptiness nearly overflowing.

Too long without a completed quest meant rations were desperately thin. As logistics chief, Ye Xianqing gave most away to his combat teammates; he’d brought little for himself.

He picked up the tray, locked the door, and set it neatly on the table. Sitting up straight, he picked up the scone.

The first bite delivered an overwhelming, solid warmth. Authentic scones are unique: neither soft as cake nor snappy as a cookie, rather, a crust crisp and caramelized, cloaking a core just dry and crumbly enough.

In his mouth, the heat dispersed a strong, buttery fragrance; the crumb, faintly gritty, suffused with milk, with a sugar-dusted top. Cranberry pieces studded within, baked to a vivid, tangy sweetness, perfectly balanced.

Ye Xianqing closed his eyes, tipped back his head, and savored that bite for a long time before swallowing. The lingering finish of butter and sweet fruit echoed in his mouth.

Though it might be night snack or breakfast, the hostel’s menu designer had true wisdom: in this famine game, they’d chosen the most filling—scones, known as “hardened-biscuit-for-the-desperate.”

After the dry, dense scone, a sip of milk—warm and slightly sweet, not ordinary banana-flavored essence, but real banana puree blended into hot milk and melted with sugar—old-fashioned banana milk. The scent was rich, the taste with subtle layers—silky, flavorful, and luxuriously smooth.

At the end, Ye Xianqing even broke his scone into pieces, soaked them in the milk, and ate them with his fork. Saturated through with milk, the scone became even more fragrant and soft, delicious and hot, a pure delight to his empty stomach.

“Hoo…”

Ye Xianqing felt soothed to his very soul. He wiped his mouth with a hot towel, sighing with a trembling relief from deep within.

Everything ready at last, he half-stumbled, weaving on his feet. Despite his best efforts to stay steady, his foot caught a stool and he toppled straight onto the bed.

Instantly, the impossibly soft mattress swallowed him whole, cradling him at every point.

This mattress must be some sort of special item—it was just too soft, every cell in his body screaming for joy. Kicking off his slippers, pulling up his pillow, Ye Xianqing curled into the down quilts, like nestling into a mother’s embrace. So safe, so at ease, he never wanted to move.

He was simply too tired—let himself sleep, just a little. Rest awhile, and then he could go find everyone else…

In his ears, it seemed, was his mother’s gentle lullaby. Ye Xianqing could hold on no longer, his eyelids dropping closed, consciousness gently sinking into a sweet, dark dream.