The Plan

"Your lunch is ready."

"Here is the newspaper you requested."

Inside the manor, a nanny dressed in black with a white apron brought food to Wu Heng.

"Mm, set it there and close the door."

Wu Heng waved his hand to signal for the nanny to leave.

After finishing the steak and drinking a cup of coffee, Wu Heng gained a brief understanding of the world through the newspaper.

He set down his coffee, walked over to a piano-lacquer desk inlaid with jewels, and picked up a pen and paper.

Using Chinese characters mixed with symbols only he could decipher, he began to write out his plan:

"First, I must determine:

How far has the plot progressed?

Where is the house Kirsty moved into, and how far is it from here?

Has her uncle Frank obtained the Box of Mourning yet?

Secondly, How can I gain benefits from this world to resolve the crisis outside?

After all, back in reality, I am still missing two kidneys, and a scalpel is hanging over my chest.

The first main mission this time requires opening the Box of Mourning.

However, this item is only delivered by the Hell Mediator to chosen individuals who, tempted by the Puzzle Box, decipher the specific sequence of movements required to open it.

In the movies and comics, some ordinary people who obtained the Puzzle Box couldn't open it and simply kept it as a collection.

If I stay with the person chosen by the box while they open it, perhaps it could count as assisting in opening the Puzzle Box.

But once the Puzzle Box is opened, what greets the opener is certainly not heaven.

It is the gateway to hell.

The Cenobites will be summoned instantly, using hellish torture devices to tear the opener apart.

Do you think it ends just by being torn apart?

No!

Their souls will be dragged into hell to endure the torture of the Cenobites and the agony of hell countless times over.

Only when their souls are twisted, numb, and stripped of all value are they tossed into the Rock Pit at the edge of hell, slowly becoming the blood-bricks embedded in the walls of hell.

As for the second mission, it is actually linked to the first.

To enter hell, one must first use the Puzzle Box to open the gateway.

The Cenobites alone are an insurmountable hurdle, let alone surviving after entering hell.

If one is dead, what is the point of completing the mission?

Furthermore, the third mission—to kill the Cenobites—is even more absurd.

In Wu Heng's view, this is a joke from hell.

It is more ridiculous than the news from his past life about one person winning the lottery jackpot three times in a row.

The garments of the Cenobites are crafted from the flesh and skin of the Lord of Hell, Leviathan; mortal weapons cannot harm them.

Their bodies are also transformed by the blood of Leviathan, granting them extraordinary, immense power.

Even the weakest Cenobite is not something an ordinary person can handle."

Wu Heng's right fingers subconsciously tapped against the table.

Think, think carefully.

After pondering for a long time, he wrote a string of text on the paper, then crumpled it up, tore it to shreds, and threw it into the sewer to be flushed away.

"Shade, call the butler here."

Wu Heng shouted toward the door, then leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes to rest.

"Mr. Dean, how may I be of service?"

The butler, Markel, was dressed in a proper suit with his hair combed meticulously, though the wrinkles on his face betrayed his age.

"Uncle Markel, you have been with our family for over 30 years. If I recall correctly, you are two years away from retirement, right?" Wu Heng asked.

"Yes, sir."

Markel stood with his hands crossed, nodding gently.

"Uncle Markel, I have a few very important matters to attend to over the next two days. If you handle them well, I will let you retire two years early with full pay, and I will accept your recommendation for a new butler."

"Can I trust you?"

Wu Heng stared intently at the butler and asked earnestly.

"Of course, Young Master Dean. I watched you grow up; tell me whatever you need."

Seeing Wu Heng's expression, Markel's face turned serious as he replied cautiously.

"Uncle Markel, rest assured, it's nothing difficult. It's just that these matters are of great importance and must be handled perfectly."

The butler, seeing his young master so grave, had braced himself, assuming it was a monumental task.

"Please, just give your orders."

Wu Heng raised his index finger:

"First, invite the local sheriff to visit immediately. Tell him I want to donate one million pounds to improve police equipment."

He then raised a second finger:

"Second, help me find twenty detectives and have them come to see me in batches."

"Third, contact the media, various newspapers, and internet trolls to package and promote me personally. In two days, I will be exhibiting an artwork, and I want to host the exhibition as the youngest outstanding artist."

Wu Heng finished stating the three tasks in one breath, picked up his coffee, and took a light sip.

The bitter, rich, original-flavor coffee made his mind even clearer.

"Sir, are there any other requirements?" the butler asked.

"Just these three for today; there will be more tomorrow. The faster these are handled, the better. Put them ahead of all other schedules; there can be no delays."

Hearing the three requests, Markel was visibly relieved, his demeanor filled with confidence. To him, these matters were easily manageable.

"Very well, sir. I will go make the arrangements."

"Mm."

Butler Markel received his reply, took two steps back, turned, and walked toward the door, dialing a string of numbers as he went.

Wu Heng picked up his coffee and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the European-style statues and fountains in the manor, the golden leaves swaying gently.

There's no going back!

Wu Heng sighed, turned around, and returned to the sofa to continue resting his eyes. His next task was to maintain his energy and wait for the guests who would arrive at any moment.

Wu Heng was not worried that his arrangements would fail, because no one would refuse money, especially money that fell into their laps.

The facts were exactly as Wu Heng had expected. Inside the Phil Police Station:

"Sir, regarding your child's disappearance, are there any overlooked details? Think carefully. A person cannot simply vanish from a hospital into thin air. How about this..."

Sheriff Boris, sporting a thick beard, was talking to a middle-aged man dressed like a lawyer when he was suddenly interrupted by his phone ringing.

"What! One million pounds, donated to the police station?"

Sheriff Boris raised his voice in excitement. The eyes of everyone in the hall turned toward him, filled with eagerness.

"Mr. Markel, today is not April Fool's Day. Are you being serious?"

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm leaving right now."

After hanging up, Boris stood up quickly, and a sharp-witted officer nearby handed him his hat.

"My child..."

The middle-aged man was full of anxiety, wanting to say more.

"Find him!"

"God bless your child."

Boris pointed to the young officer who had handed him his hat and hurried out the door.

Less than an hour later, the butler had already led Boris to stand before Wu Heng.

Would you be willing to trade your collection, monthly tickets, or recommendation votes for two glass cups from me?