Famine 136: Honey Cake

Amidst the swirling mists, a lean, black-clad figure stepped lightly onto the wooden planks, weaving through the drifting fog, advancing one step at a time.

All around, there rose a tumultuous chorus of joyous voices.

Half of Si Zhiyan’s face was hidden behind a high collar. Enveloped in mist, his gentle, red eyes shimmered in and out of sight.

He halted before the cult leader, inclining his head ever so slightly—a gesture, as if in greeting.

“…”
So this is the farm owner? Behind Si Zhiyan, Ye Xianqing and Yan Cheng’s pupils trembled with disbelief.

Over the past few days, both He Yu and Nidhogg, under Si Zhiyan’s instructions, had mentioned Mr. Si, the farm owner, to them several times. Beyond assured recommendations of his character, they had especially emphasized how omnipresent and elusive he was—a ghost in the fog, impossible to pin down.

Because of this, none of them were especially shocked at the moment.

Si Zhiyan turned slightly, offering them a soothing smile.

Within the white mist, a rain of sweets still fell.

At first, the bloodfolk descended into chaos, scrambling madly for a share.

But very soon, someone realized there was no need to fight.

Everyone would receive a portion; each person would have their turn.

—Si Zhiyan had generously unleashed the entire world of the [Rainbow Jar Tiramisu], sending down the contents of an entire jar.

Someone caught a dessert about the size of a fist, seizing it in one claw. Upon the touch, the treat’s delicate, crisp crust nearly gave way; hastily, they cupped it in both hands and peered at it closely.

The pastry was plump and rounded, its surface dusted with fragments of nuts and cocoa, permeated by the light aroma of hazelnut. Only where it had been gripped did the fragile shell break, exposing a rich, dark, semi-set filling within.

It turned out to be a crisp chocolate choux, lavishly sprinkled with hazelnut shards.

The bloodfolk’s breath grew heavy and ragged; a stomach long unfed tumbled and twisted. He darted a wary glance at the cult leader, hesitated a moment, then, taking advantage of the disorder, quietly turned his back and took a bite.

Crunch!

The shell fractured instantly, light and crisp. The lush filling burst across his tongue. Silky chocolate cream with a slightly bitter depth, whipped to just the right degree—airy, smooth, with a hint of lightness. Amid sweet softness lingered a whisper of cocoa’s full-bodied bitterness, perfectly tempering the higher sweetness so that it was refreshing, never cloying.
The pastry shell was at room temperature, thin and fragrant, crisp and brittle. Inside, the cream-filled choux was as though fresh from refrigeration—cool, luscious, the shell almost melting into the filling, blending in flawless harmony.

Lucky enough to snag such a wonderful piece, the bloodfolk feared others might snatch it away, and devoured it greedily in a few quick bites. The pleasure nearly made him tremble head to toe, his eyes closed in satisfaction as he languidly licked his fingertips, savoring every crumb.

No one tried to take it from him.

Beside him stood another bloodfolk—formerly one of Yan Cheng’s comrades. His name was Guan Wang, a young athlete around twenty, wearing shorts and a tee, a skateboard slung across his back. His face bore no features, only a smooth expanse with a swirling vortex. Guan Wang lunged up, catching a piece of soft honey cake.

It lacked the showiness of the chocolate choux—plain, substantial, baked squarely in the classic shape of a barnhouse. It was still steaming, as if freshly baked, the surface pocked with airy honeycomb holes, the edges faintly crisped, and beneath all this, a layer of translucent, honey glaze formed a brittle, gleaming crust.

He pressed it into the vortex of his face, as if putting it to his mouth; the sensation was soft, dense, moist—dissolving instantly upon contact.

No need for fancy fillings—just the richest, most classic honey fragrance. With a hint of floral notes, the cake was warm and mellow.

“C-Clasic…this is the tr-truest best…! When I was at school, there was this old Chinese cake shop just downstairs. Mom always bought these for my breakfast…”

The honey cake was much larger than the choux. Guan Wang felt no sense of being slighted—he cherished it, eating one bite after another. While others had already finished, he was still eating, clutching his little cake, stammering with happiness to himself:

“I-If…if only there were milk…”

Milk and honey cake—a match made in heaven!

At those words, the bloodfolk around him glanced over. Guan Wang laughed awkwardly at himself, scratching his temple.

Sweets falling from the sky was one thing, but now he was ordering off a menu! Where would milk come from in a world gripped by famine?

Though Guan Wang stood at some distance, in this fog every sight and sound reached Si Zhiyan.

Si Zhiyan’s ruby eyes shifted slightly. He smiled and said, “You want milk?”

He snapped his fingers lightly.

Snap!

Out of the white mist, a bottle of milk plummeted from the sky, striking Guan Wang on the head, bouncing off, and into his hands.

Guan Wang: “!!”

His wish came true?! Flustered, he caught the milk, gazing at Si Zhiyan in astonished delight.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted.

“I want some too!!”

“Is it—is it really possible!?”
“I—I want…want m-milk!”
“Is there any pork floss cake, sir? I’d like something savory…”

The bloodfolk surged forward. Some clambered onto others’ shoulders; tentacles waved in the air, eyes bulging, gazing at Si Zhiyan with ravenous hunger—indeed… it matched the legends of the tomb.

In just half a minute, the oppressive atmosphere had utterly vanished.

Some, emboldened, slipped past the cult leader, cautiously stretching out their hands to Si Zhiyan…

[Thud!!!]

A tentacle slammed against the wooden planks, shaking the boards with a booming crash, cutting off the crowd.

It was as though a wordless pressure radiated out; in that instant, silence fell. The bold backed away, scuttling and stumbling back into the throng.

Opposite Si Zhiyan, the cult leader spoke.

“You monster, beguiling the masses with your demon tricks…”

Si Zhiyan did not take offense. He smiled. “I haven’t said a thing.”

The cult leader regarded Si Zhiyan deeply, barking a cold laugh. Tentacles circled his face like snakes in the wind.

“I knew it would be so. To see you once is to know the truth.”

“You are no different from the prime god. Travel with your kind, and one day you’ll suffer the same fate.”
“Only [Our Lord] can help us break free from hunger’s snare.”

Si Zhiyan replied, “Am I really the same as the prime god?”

“No different,” the cult leader answered coldly. “Both of you are monsters who wield human instinct for your own gain. Without following our lord and casting off these burdens, people would always fall prey to fiends like you.”

“Very well.” Si Zhiyan raised his hand slightly. “I will not tempt you. No one need eat, after all.”

……

The air grew heavy and still.
Guan Wang, still chewing his honey cake, mouth flecked with milk and crumbs, suddenly choked.

All eyes turned to him.

Guan Wang puffed out his cheeks, looking left and right in confusion, scanning those around…

Gulp.
He swallowed it all.

The cult leader glared at him. The crowd’s accusing eyes followed suit.

Si Zhiyan, helpless, spread his hands. “They’ve eaten it anyway.”

Yan Cheng could not help it; he lowered his head and let slip a chuckle.

The cult leader said coolly, “This is the misery of hunger.”

“How odd,” Si Zhiyan murmured, tipping his head slightly. Silky black hair cascaded over the vine upon his shoulder. “Your [Friend]—wasn’t he supposed to free you all from hunger?”

The cult leader stalled.

For it was true—they barely felt hunger any longer.
The cult leader himself had not eaten a bite, yet at this moment felt perfectly at ease.

But even so, everyone still chose to eat.

Because…

“Because it was not the overwhelming pain of hunger that made them accept my gift, but rather the chocolate choux with its crispy shell of hazelnut shards, the cocoa-dusted tiramisu, the caramel sea-salt chocolate tart, the matcha red-bean mochi cream roll, the durian-soy box cake… and so many, many delicious things.”

Si Zhiyan clasped his hands behind his back and let out a gentle laugh.

“No one threatened anyone. There was no compulsion of hunger.”
“To eat something sweet and delicious is simply a pleasure, nothing more.”

The cult leader tried to speak, but Si Zhiyan’s voice, calm yet unyielding, cut him off.

“You claimed that the prime god forced players into the Hunger Games for the benefit of humanity’s instincts for food and sleep. I agree with you. But these instincts were not gifts from the prime god—they are born within each of us.”

“When a treat drops from the heavens, landing in your hands, how many could truly resist taking a bite? And what virtue is there in resisting?”

“Why fight yourself?” Si Zhiyan said. “Just now, most of you ate my desserts. Did any of you feel your connection with your [Friend] severed or hunger returning?”

All was silent.

No.

They’d eaten a delicious treat, exactly as they would have eaten a delicious treat.
Aside from the fleeting satisfaction, it seemed…truly…to have no further effect.

No addiction—the honey cake wasn’t addictive by nature.

The cult leader’s face was entirely masked by tentacles; only two eyes remained visible amongst them, hiding any sign of expression. Si Zhiyan could only sense a scrutinizing gaze.

Some of the bloodfolk behind the leader frowned in disagreement. Others, gripping their sweets, subtly nodded.

“I did not come to challenge you, honored cult leader,” Si Zhiyan said quietly.

With a hint of a sigh, he adjusted his collar, smiling.

“My farm, my inn, and myself… simply provide another choice.”

“I will do all within my power to offer what I can. Should anyone look upon me favorably, I will count it an honor; if not, that too is fine. The world is vast—there is always a path for each of us.”
“In the end, everyone must live their own life.”

“Isn’t that so, honored cult leader?”

The cult leader remained silent. His eyes radiated clear disapproval, but he made no move to attack Si Zhiyan. Twin orbs atop the tentacles swept over the crowd, seemingly deep in thought.

Si Zhiyan glanced about; the bloodfolk massed like hills and seas, their faces each revealing a different mood.

He reflected that, for today, he’d put on as much of a show as he needed.

It was time to wrap up with a gentle ending.

“So, rest assured, sir.”
“I will not act against anyone. [Friend] is a lifeline for all of you—we harbor no ill will toward it, nor to any of you. We have no intention to forcibly change anyone’s way of life.”

“But… if anyone does wish to join us, I hope you won’t stop them. Even if we cannot be friends, there is no need for us to become enemies.”

“We are all human. All hoping, by our own efforts, to walk forward and find the good life we desire.”

“That is all.”

…

After a long pause, the cult leader let out a cold snort.

“You’re a capable man; I’ve no need to trouble you, lest I look the villain myself.” His voice was sharp and chilly. “Our brothers and sisters won’t be so easily swayed by a few trinkets of yours.”

“If you wish to draw in customers here, go ahead and try!”

With a sweeping gesture, tentacles and cloak fluttering, he turned and strode away.

Many bloodfolk followed in his wake. One, a small bloodfolk who had always lingered loyally at the cult leader’s side, shot Si Zhiyan a furious glare, his expression openly hostile.

“Nonsense!” the little bloodfolk muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. “Who would care about a few paltry sweets from him?”
“Who would turn against their nest, betray our lord, for a mouthful of food? As if everyone is so greedy! Besides, I never cared for sweets anyway…”

The cult leader did not respond, nor stop his follower.
Their voices faded into the distance.

No doubt, the cult leader and [Friend]’s loyal adherents would not sit idly by.

But others chose not to depart, looking thoughtful, as if tempted.

Si Zhiyan smiled at them and said, “That concludes today’s bonus distribution. I’ll be staying here for ten days.”

“The location is right here. Starting tomorrow, every night at eight, I will hold a [Free Reception and Tasting Session].”

“At each session, I’ll offer the same experience, at no cost to anyone.”

“After ten days, I’ll leave this place. If anyone is interested in any products shown at the sessions, you’re welcome to visit the inn to purchase them.”

“My friends, I’ll be here again tomorrow, and you are all welcome.”

Thereafter, the remaining bloodfolk gradually dispersed.
In such a closed settlement, there were few attractions and distractions. No matter their current allegiances or hidden scheming, tomorrow, they would be back.

When at last only Yan Cheng, Ye Xianqing, Hawa, Guan Wang, and Yan Cheng’s twenty-odd comrades remained, Si Zhiyan surveyed them, understanding inwardly that a silent battle was about to begin.