Nothing happened all night, save for serious work and serious eating.
It was not until dawn was close that a figure who could no longer walk properly finally staggered to his feet like a mouse that had fallen into a rice storehouse, his hands and face covered in grease, his clothes smeared with flour, wine stains, and scraps of meat.
Few people could understand what it felt like for their stomach to be so full that they could barely keep their eyes open, but He Qiu was experiencing it deeply at that very moment.
"The plan, heh—ugh."
He gave an inscrutable chuckle, then abruptly covered his mouth.
If circumstances had allowed it—especially since even laughing had brought a sour taste up from his throat—this guest who had nearly transformed into a Soul Hall expert would have had no choice but to leave his "cafeteria" while bracing himself against the wall. He inched painfully out through the kitchen door, leaving behind a crime scene that looked as though it had been ravaged by a hurricane.
The next morning, the blizzard showed no signs of letting up.
The well-dressed guests gradually gathered in the dining room, hoping the aroma of hot coffee and fried food would drive away the winter chill and the frustration of being trapped here.
But unlike last night's meal, the dining table was now—completely empty.
The bright empty plates were polished enough to reflect people's faces.
The ashen-faced master of the estate sat in a wheelchair as the elderly butler behind him pushed him into the hall.
Facing the invited guests, the middle-aged master, who looked far younger than even his butler, opened with a distinctly unfriendly statement. "I regret to inform you all that our food stores were ransacked last night."
"Almost all the food is gone."