Famine 126: Hazelnut Toffee Chocolate Sandwich Biscuits

The endless stream of abominations in the Cliffside Zone felt like it would never cease—one wave after another, inexhaustible.

Swish! Yan Cheng’s long-handled axe spun fiercely in his grasp, arcs of lightning tracing a bright ring through the air, blood splattering as countless dark shadows shrieked and vanished into nothing.

Yan Cheng was the captain of this squad, a bloodline-strengthened hunter, wielding a heavy long-handled axe as his weapon of choice.
He stood at the very edge of the camp, a blood-red ghost-light lantern hanging at his waist, holding the defenses single-handedly, unassailable as an army.

By now, they had fought continuously for a day and a half.

Perhaps it was a brief lapse, perhaps there were simply too many of them… One ghastly creature, reduced to a twisted human face, its body unnaturally small, slipped past under the cover of the horde, sneaking around the reach of Yan Cheng’s lightning.

Hua Ning, a team member with hair cut in a pageboy style, was battling on the flank. She glanced up—only to find that twisted face right before her eyes. “Shit!!”

Yan Cheng whipped around, hands yanking on the axe—
But this time, it would not budge.

The long-handled axe spanned over two meters. When Yan Cheng swung it, he was like a windmill—deadly force and tremendous range, but in an emergency, it was too unwieldy to pull back.

Even as that grotesque creature lunged at Hua Ning, the twisted human face expanding in an instant, its bloody maw opening to a height taller than a man.

Hua Ning could not react in time.

In a flash, Yan Cheng slammed his bootheel to the ground—his entire body became a streak of lightning as he shoved Hua Ning aside.

The monster’s bloody maw snapped shut, sinking its fangs into Yan Cheng’s shoulder.

“Captain!!” Hua Ning was terrified out of her wits.

“…”
Yan Cheng uttered not a word; his eyelids half-lowered. No one knew exactly when, but a sawed-off shotgun was already in his hands. Standing right in the creature’s jaws, he directly pressed the muzzle against its lower jaw—

Bang!

Fire erupted. Brains and blood spattered, and the last abomination slowly collapsed.

…Silence returned to the world around them.
This wave of attacks—at least for now—was over.

“Captain!! Captain, are you all right?” The others rushed over in panic, Hua Ning nearly in tears. “Captain, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I lost focus—Captain…”

Yan Cheng was covered in filth, blood streaming down the scars on his face, his high-collared coat soaked through, half his shoulder a bloody, mangled mess.
Yet he said nothing, simply shoving aside the limp remains of the monster.

It was as though the blood pouring from him did not matter. His hoarse voice betrayed not the slightest emotion: “Time.”

Huh? The others were stunned.

Hua Ning seemed to realize something. She shivered, then quickly glanced down at her watch; her voice turned bitter at once.

“…It’s twelve o’clock. Captain.”

The squad lapsed into instant silence.

Hua An, Hua Ning’s twin sister, clutched her sibling’s sleeve, whispering, “It’s been five whole days.”

Five days ago, the team’s doctor, Ye Xianqing, had braved all opposition. He took only three days’ worth of supplies and left the squad alone, hoping to blaze a way forward.

There was neither sunrise nor sunset in the Abyss—their time segmented into endless two-hour snippets. Throughout that infinite expanse, Yan Cheng had checked and rechecked the time time and again, relentlessly, until this moment. Now, at last, he had his answer.

The final limit of five days had been reached.

He hadn’t returned.

Yan Cheng slumped in the camp, raising his head slowly, eyes sweeping one by one over his companions’ faces.

If a stranger were to stumble in, they might never recognize this broken bunch as a human squad at all.

All of them now had bloodshot eyes, faces blanched and haggard, dark circles verging on the pathological, limbs trembling, their steps unsteady, their minds drifting.

From time to time, tiny tendrils would slither out of someone’s ear, only to withdraw instantly.

Hua Ning was not the first to falter.

Every member of the squad was exhausted—utterly drained.

Their hands trembled at the slightest effort, let alone during battle.

Chronic fatigue, sleeplessness: in this abyss, where you could not see your fingers before your face, they warded off hunger, fighting in endless, unbroken shifts.

With camp in dire peril, there was no chance of completing their mission. Their food was long since perilously low; now, each person had only half a potato per day, yet still had to fight at high intensity, dizzy with hunger.

This life had continued for over sixty days.

All their nerves were strung as taut as bowstrings—drawn to the breaking point, liable to snap at any moment.

Somewhere in the air, the soft sound of a teammate sobbing could be heard.

One wept, then another, then four, then eight…

The camp was soon filled with low, muffled sobs.

The team sat together in a huddle.

Hua Ning handed that package to Yan Cheng.

Ye Xianqing’s pack, like the man himself, was meticulously ordered and spotlessly neat.

Yan Cheng slowly reached out and opened the bundle.

Inside were neatly stacked charms and talismans: the sum total of Ye Xianqing’s wages from over the years.

…Doctor Ye was not coming back.

That belated realization pierced everyone’s overwrought nerves like a steel needle.

Bit by bit, Yan Cheng unpacked it.

Ye Xianqing’s final note was calm, almost serene. He said his farewells with courtesy, analyzing each person’s health and prospects, planning and offering guidance for the days to come.

Yan Cheng simply read on and on.

The letter thanked everyone—everyone except Yan Cheng.

At the end, it hung with a single line.

The moment their eyes landed on that sentence,

The reader’s voice faltered to a halt.

“So this is the end… Truly, even in death, still thinking of us all.”

Hua Ning forced a laugh from her tear-streaked face, smile devoid of mirth: “Ha ha, when we recruited him six years ago, we promised he’d eat well, drink well, and never lift a finger for dirty work…”

“Dragged the little doctor onto a pirate ship in the end.”

The last words trembled with the threat of sobs.

Someone murmured: “There’ll never be another doctor like him in this world.”

While the rest wiped away tears and mourned for Doctor Ye, no one noticed their captain’s pupils dilate, the shadow of grief spreading.

“…”

Yan Cheng leaned motionless in the tent’s corner, face expressionless. His scarred features shadowed by the brim of his hat, his lips, ever so slowly, began to tremble.

Suddenly.

“Wait, did anyone else hear something?” Hua An looked up.

“——!!!!”

There were voices—not far, not near, slowly approaching.

The others exchanged glances, bewildered.

One squad member said, “Um… strong lungs, the voice is oddly familiar, but also strange—”

Another became uneasy: “What are they shouting?…What are they shouting…?”

“Wait, the voice keeps getting louder… Why does it sound so familiar… What’s it shouting… Don’t—”

…

“Don’t eat——!!!!!!”

Hua Ning’s head jerked up, startled.

Boom!

A shower of dust erupted, and before the group could react, a dazzling shaft of light crashed to the ground.

That radiance was so blinding, like flowing fire, it flooded everyone’s sight with searing red light, drawing physical tears on the spot.

Only when the burning pain in their red eyes started to fade did they slowly see, through the glow, a familiar, slender figure.

Ye Xianqing, hunched over, clinging to Yan Cheng’s collar, was gasping for breath, thin shoulder blades twitching. His face was flushed crimson, words tumbling out choked and breathless:

“I… I… Don’t… Don’t eat… Did you… Did you eat? Have you?”

Perhaps Yan Cheng’s mind was so dazed that he actually toppled onto the ground, shirt clenched in the doctor’s grip, staring up at him in shock.

“…”

In the depths of the abyss, Ye Xianqing’s silhouette glowed. His delicate features were shadowed behind his glasses, from slender throat to ears flushed as if scorched by fire.

Yan Cheng fixed his gaze on him, and in that instant, Ye Xianqing understood everything. He let go at once, turning to leave, but Yan Cheng caught his slender wrist and pulled him close—embracing him tightly!

So tight, so desperately tight, hands trembling, breath broken against his neck, as though he were hugging back an entire world thought lost forever.

The most romantic thing in this world is to protect someone, never asking anything in return.

Only on the eve of death, beside the campfire and the sleeping faces of his friends, would his pen whisper across paper, leaving behind the secret longing no one else would ever hear.

…

The cruelest thing is, after pouring out those words—damn it, you end up not dying.

Ye Xianqing took a long, long time for his mind to recover from the blinding, reverberating shock.

Throughout, Yan Cheng held him tightly, the rest of the squad not entirely sure what was happening, some laughing and crying together, wiping tears as they patted his back.

Everyone closed in, sharing the warmth and chaos.

“Doctor, you almost scared us to death—!”

“Hell, I pissed myself for nothing… nghh, next time, please just stay in the rear…”

“Don’t you dare swear at the doctor!”

“Doctor, any new finds? Did you discover a new lamp?”

When Ye Xianqing didn’t respond, someone added quickly: “Hey, forget the ‘finds’—the fact that you’re back alive is enough; all that matters is you’re safe…”

“….”

In the center of the crowd, Yan Cheng said nothing at all, only held Ye Xianqing tighter, as though trying to meld him into his very bones, determined never to let him go again.

His hands trembled; waves of fear and joy thudded in his chest like a drum.

With his head buried against Yan Cheng’s gaunt shoulder, eyes shut, Ye Xianqing thought:
It’s such a rare blessing to have made it back.

He drew a deep breath, steeling himself as he pushed up his glasses and whispered, “…Would you like a biscuit? I brought some for you.”

Yan Cheng: “…?”

Everyone: “…”

Everyone: “…What?”

Ye Xianqing raised his head. “It’s fine, there’s enough for everyone.”

…

Ten minutes later.

They sat together in a circle.

Ye Xianqing looked as if aflame, head buried in his knees, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes.

Yan Cheng had never let go of his hand, fingers tightly laced together.

Hua Ning glanced at their hands, brow quirking ever so slightly. Her sister elbowed her and she grinned, baffled but cheered, lowering her head to fiddle with something in her hands.

Most of the group missed these tiny details.

There was something even more captivating.

They all peered at Ye Xianqing, then at the packages now in their own hands, each dazed and spiritless.

Yes, these were the rations Ye Xianqing had bought in quantity from the self-service store:

Hazelnut Toffee Chocolate Sandwich Biscuits.

He had brought a huge amount, more than enough. They tasted great, were calorie-dense, and just one would provide enough energy for half a day. They were easy to store and carry—even Ye Xianqing could manage it.

Each person held a package—ten or more biscuits each.

The two thick cookies gave off a rich, fragrant aroma, sandwiched together with sticky hazelnut toffee. Decorative patterns embossed the surface—maybe even words…

[Farm’s First Kitchen Product].

Farm? What farm?

The squad glanced at each other in confusion.

Food-producing places in a survival game?

Though they trusted Doctor Ye, these were seasoned high-level players. It was hard for them to blindly trust anything, even from a teammate.

But…

These cookies smelled so incredibly good!

They hadn’t eaten properly for days, and with continuous fighting, some were definitely hypoglycemic, though they suffered in silence. The sweet, nutty aroma and the scent of toffee went straight to their brains, eyes glazing over green with hunger, swallowing frantically.

“It’s fine, go ahead,” said Ye Xianqing. “I’ve eaten them—there’s no problem.”

While some still hesitated, Yan Cheng had already picked one up and put it into his mouth. Seeing the captain take the lead, and with the doctor’s assurance, the others followed.

Crunch!

The crisp biscuit shattered at the bite, the rich, sweet milky flavors and nutty notes bursting across the palate, overwhelming mind and body alike.

The cookies were indeed lavishly made—better, even, than what was available before the world’s end. The toffee pieces were chewy without sticking to the teeth, uniquely textured, blended with chopped hazelnuts and chocolate cookie, adding a nutty depth. The flavor swirled around their mouths, sugary, sweet, overwhelmingly satisfying.

Swallowed down, it filled the acidic, warped emptiness in their stomachs at once.

So sweet.

Strength seemed to flood back into their limbs in an instant; the lightheaded faintness of hypoglycemia vanished without a trace.

Pure carbohydrates and sugar—sheer, blissful satisfaction.

“Holy shit, this is amazing!!”

Everyone gobbled them up, the crunch ringing out all around, some eating with tears streaming down their faces.

“Xianqing, where did you get this stuff—?!”

“Damn, I just said I didn’t care if you’d brought back loot; now, honestly, this is…this is incredible!”

“Where did this come from? What’s this Farm thing?”

“My energy’s back!” Hua Ning smacked the ground, boasting, “I bet I could take on ten more abominations! When’s the next wave?”

Ye Xianqing couldn’t help laughing: “Don’t jinx us!”

Yan Cheng chewed his biscuit in silence, glancing up at Ye Xianqing’s profile.

He dared not look at him directly; firelight from the lava lamp reflected off white ears tinged red behind his glasses.

So sweet.

Yan Cheng swallowed, the cookie following, and the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips.

Contrary to his image, Captain Yan Cheng actually loved sweets—the thing he’d missed most before the world’s downfall was hazelnut toffee.

Long, long ago, back in those simpler days, the squad held a game of truth or dare. Yan Cheng lost once and admitted as much.

It was a minor thing, so small that Yan Cheng himself almost forgot it—but Ye Xianqing never did.

The calm and wise little doctor, always standing behind him… Each time Yan Cheng looked back, bloodied and battered, the sight of that still, unflinching silhouette in the crowd would bring him peace.

He had never told anyone: in his dreams, whenever the word “friend” took shape—it always bore Ye Xianqing’s face.

At the memory, Yan Cheng let out a soft laugh, his head dipping low.

Ye Xianqing, as always, noticed at once, turning to ask, “Are you tired?”

“….”

A useless question. Yan Cheng’s eyes were bloodshot, circles heavy and blue-black, head pounding. Yet he kept smiling at Ye Xianqing, shaking his head slowly.

“We can only sleep for an hour. One at a time—rest as you can.”

“…If you’re tired, say so. Stop always worrying about everyone else.”

Ye Xianqing reached out and covered Yan Cheng’s eyes with his hand.

He took a small bottle from his pocket.

“Who said you can only sleep for an hour?”