Plan

"Your lunch is ready."

"Here's the newspaper you asked for."

A maid dressed in black with a white apron brought food over to Wu Heng in the manor.

"Mm. Put it there and close the door on your way out."

Wu Heng waved the maid away.

After finishing the steak she'd brought him and having a cup of coffee, Wu Heng learned a little about this world from the newspaper.

He set down his coffee and went to the piano-lacquered, jewel-encrusted table, where he picked up a pen and paper.

Using Chinese characters mixed with symbols only he could decipher,

he began to write out a plan:

"First of all, I need to figure out

how far the story has progressed.

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

Has her uncle, Frank, gotten the Box of Mourning yet?

Second,

how can I benefit from this world and deal with the crisis outside?

After all, when I get back to reality, I'll still be missing two kidneys, with a scalpel hanging over my chest.

The first main quest this time is to open the Box of Mourning.

But the Hell Mediator only gives it to people he's chosen. They have to be tempted by the Puzzle Box and figure out the specific hand gestures before they can open it.

In the movies and comics, some ordinary people get the Puzzle Box but can't open it, so they simply keep it as a collectible.

If I stay with someone chosen by the box while they open it, perhaps that'll count as helping to open the Puzzle Box.

But once the Puzzle Box is opened, what awaits the person who opened it isn't heaven.

It's a passageway to Hell.

The Cenobites will be summoned in an instant, and they'll use their instruments of torture to tear the person who opened the box apart.

Think being torn apart is the end of it?

No!

Their souls will also be dragged into Hell, where they'll endure the Cenobites' torment and Hell's agony over and over again.

Only after their souls have been warped and numbed, and they've lost all value, will they be thrown into the Rock Pit on the edge of Hell, where they'll slowly become the blood bricks embedded in Hell's walls.

As for the second and third story quests, they're actually related to the first.

To enter Hell, I first need to use the Puzzle Box to open a passageway there.

But there's no way I can get past the Cenobites, let alone make it out alive after entering Hell.

What good is completing the quest if I'm dead by then?

And then there's the third quest: kill a Cenobite. That's even more ridiculous.

To Wu Heng, it was a joke straight out of Hell.

It was even more absurd than the news story from his previous life about someone winning the lottery jackpot three times in a row.

The Cenobites' clothes

were made from the flesh of Leviathan, the Lord of Hell, and couldn't be harmed by mortal weapons.

Their bodies had also been transformed by Leviathan's blood, giving them extraordinary strength.

Even the weakest Cenobite was more than an ordinary person could handle.

Wu Heng absently drummed the four fingers of his right hand against the table.

"Think it through. Think it through carefully."

After pondering for a long time, he wrote a string of words on the paper, crumpled it up, tore it to shreds, and flushed it down the drain.

"Shade, call the butler over."

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

"Mr. Dean, what can I do for you?"

Butler Markel wore a well-tailored suit, and his hair was combed to perfection. Only the wrinkles on his face gave away his age.

"Uncle Markel, you've been with our family for over thirty years. If I remember right, you've got two years left until retirement?" Wu Heng asked.

"Yes, sir."

Markel stood with his hands clasped together and gave a slight nod.

"Uncle Markel, I have a few very important things to take care of over the next couple of days. If you do a good job, I'll let you retire with pay two years early, and I'll take your recommendation for a new butler."

"Can I trust you?"

Wu Heng stared intently at the butler as he asked.

"Of course, young master Dean. I watched you grow up. Just tell me what you need."

Seeing Wu Heng's expression, Markel grew serious as well and replied earnestly.

"Uncle Markel, don't worry. It's nothing difficult, but it's very important, so it has to be done properly."

Seeing how serious his young master was, the butler had already braced himself for something difficult.

"Just tell me what you need, sir."

Wu Heng raised his index finger.

"First, invite the local police chief over right now. Tell him I want to donate one million pounds toward improving the police force."

Then he raised a second finger.

"Second, find me twenty detectives and have them come see me in shifts."

"Third, get in touch with the media, the newspapers, and some paid online promoters. I want them to build up my public image.

Two days from now, I'm going to exhibit a work of art. I want to hold the exhibition as the youngest distinguished artist."

Wu Heng gave all three instructions in one breath, then picked up his coffee and took a small sip.

The rich, bitter taste of the unadulterated coffee cleared his head.

"Anything else, sir?" the butler asked.

"That's all for today. I'll have more tomorrow. The faster you handle these, the better. Put them ahead of everything else on the schedule. There can't be any delays."

Hearing the three requests, Markel visibly relaxed. Confidence filled him; these were all easy tasks for him.

"Understood, sir. I'll get things arranged."

"Mm."

After receiving his answer, Butler Markel took two steps back, turned, and headed for the door, already dialing a number as he went.

Wu Heng picked up his coffee and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked out at the manor's European-style statues and fountains, where golden leaves trembled gently in the breeze.

"I can't go back!"

Wu Heng sighed, returned to the sofa, and closed his eyes again. For now, all he could do was keep his strength up and wait for the guests who might arrive at any moment.

Wu Heng wasn't worried his arrangements would fail, because no one would turn down money, especially money for nothing.

As it turned out, Wu Heng had been right. At Phil Police Station:

"Sir, about your child going missing—is there anything you might have overlooked? Think carefully. People don't just vanish from a hospital. How about this..."

Chief Boris, a man with a bushy beard, was talking to a middle-aged man dressed like a lawyer when his phone suddenly rang, interrupting him.

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

Chief Boris raised his voice in excitement. Everyone in the lobby turned to look at him, their eyes alight with interest.

"Mr. Markel, it's not April Fools' Day. Are you serious?"

"Great, great. I'm on my way."

After hanging up, Boris sprang to his feet. Someone beside him promptly handed him his hat.

"My child..."

The middle-aged man looked anxious and tried to say more.

"Go to him!"

"May God protect your child."

Boris casually pointed to the young officer who'd handed him his hat, then hurried out.

In less than an hour, the butler had brought Boris to stand before Wu Heng.