Chapter 90: Chapter 63: Mai Mingle: The Restaurant’s Rules, Clues, and Hints
Pushing open the restroom door, Mai Mingle entered a short hallway.
She looked left and right, feeling a bit dazed. She followed the lights, music, chatter, the aroma of food, and the clinking of glasses, taking one step at a time as if slowly surfacing from a nightmare into the Human World.
’Did that grotesque scene in the restroom just now really happen? Looking for faces... What an absurd idea.’
Compared to a restaurant that felt so normal, familiar, and inviting—
Oh, right. She was definitely in a Nest.
...After all, a typical restaurant in Blackmoor City probably wouldn’t allow one patron to hold another’s head in their mouth.
Mai Mingle stared blankly at the man and woman at a table against the far wall—at least, their bodies suggested they were a man and a woman. The one wearing a man’s shirt had stretched its neck to the other side of the table. Its entire face and mouth were stretched taut and grotesquely swollen by the head inside, as if its own head were pregnant.
A woman’s neck, adorned with a pearl necklace, extended from between its lips, connected to a body in a slip dress that was sitting upright.
The body even raised a hand wearing a wedding ring to gently stroke the cheek of the man holding her (or its?) head. From within that cheek came the sound of a woman’s muffled chuckle.
’Is this how married couples in a Nest... show affection?’
The waiters moving through the restaurant and the patrons at other tables seemed completely unfazed, not sparing the couple a single glance. No one was looking at Mai Mingle, either.
According to the long-winded explanation from the woman who had been putting on makeup, Mai Mingle had the highest priority for the first thirty minutes. She could inspect and search anywhere she pleased. As long as she didn’t start a conversation, no one would bother her. Of course, her treatment would start to worsen in the next thirty-minute period.
’First things first, I need to see if there’s a computer monitor or TV screen in the restaurant that’s big enough.’
’It’s my last-resort escape route. I have to find it first...’
Just then, her train of thought was cut short.
She watched a waiter walk by carrying a round tray lined with several wine glasses.
Each glass held a small, flesh-colored, wrinkled pile of something unidentifiable. In one glass, however, a tiny, naked, flaccid, and swollen human male was desperately clawing at the rim, trying to climb out. As he struggled, he cried out intermittently, "Help... help me... I’m a Hunter from Blackmoor City..."
"Wait," Mai Mingle said, stopping the waiter.
The face that turned toward her made her regret ever opening her eyes that day.
"Um... what’s in those glasses? Is that a living person?"
The two thick, pink, fleshy tendrils extending from the waiter’s eye sockets were remarkably expressive.
One tendril waved over the tray and glasses, as if giving them a once-over, then rose and pointed its tip at Mai Mingle.
"This is our newest wine," the waiter said in a surprisingly normal voice. "It’s called... let me check the bottle. Ah, ’Andrew Kubo,’ a 42-year vintage. After he died in the Nest, his body dissolved and produced several bottles of this. The selling point is the stringy texture, reminiscent of a balding head, and a flavor like bacon that’s been soaking for years."
As it spoke, it picked up the wine glass and swirled it. The tiny man, who hadn’t managed to climb out, immediately tumbled back inside. Seemingly drained of all strength, he slumped against the glass wall, collapsing into another flesh-colored, wrinkled heap.
Mai Mingle involuntarily shrank back as the waiter strode away.
The young patrons at another table, who appeared to be having a party, saw it approaching with the wine and cheered. Compared to the waiter, their appearances were so normal it felt like a breath of fresh air for the eyes. But the next moment, as they all reached for the wine glasses, Mai Mingle quickly averted her gaze.
’So this is what happens after people die in the Nest...’
Mai Mingle couldn’t describe her profound unease.
The tiny man in the glass was no longer alive, yet he was still crying for help.
She had never before seen someone who had died in a Nest. She’d heard from Jonah that Hunters who died in a Nest were "dissolved," but she had always assumed it was no different from a body being decomposed by insects and bacteria. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Now, it seemed... even though she was in danger, and even though Fu Tailan wanted to take the Snake Belt, going to the Morgan Family to get help for Jonah had still been absolutely the right choice.
She hadn’t regretted it before, and she certainly didn’t regret it now.
Mai Mingle steadied her nerves and took a careful look around. It was a small restaurant with a simple, darkly elegant decor. There was no second floor; a few steps in any direction was enough to see the entire dining area.
But... there was no television.
The large glass door at the entrance was locked tight. She tried pushing it a few times; as expected, it wouldn’t budge.
The clock on the wall pointed to exactly one o’clock. Outside the glass doors, the Nest was bathed in the bright light of afternoon, with dappled tree shadows on the road. This gave Mai Mingle a moment’s pause.
Perhaps it was a preconception, but she had always felt that a Nest should be a dark and gloomy place. She’d never imagined it had a daytime, just like Blackmoor City.
’Well, it looks like I’m really not getting out of here until I find all seven faces.’
Mai Mingle sighed to herself and paced back into the restaurant.
’Should I bring a TV screen with me next time? But it has to be a large screen to give me that feeling of a Path, and lugging a huge screen around a Nest wouldn’t be very convenient...’
As she thought, she walked a lap around the restaurant, mentally mapping out the entire layout and the patrons.
Glass entrance door
Long bar (waiters, no customers) — Table 1 (empty) — Table 2 (two tables pushed together, six young patrons seemingly having a party)
Table 3 (the head-swallowing couple) — Central round table (empty, a large vase of flowers, a newspaper clipping) — Table 4 (against a mirrored wall, three female patrons)
Table 5 (two men and one woman, seemingly a couple and a friend) — Table 6 (against a mirrored wall, a male patron looking at a laptop)
Kitchen (door won’t open) — Decorated wall (covered in photos and magazine pictures) — Short hallway to the restroom — Restroom
For the time being, Mai Mingle didn’t touch the restaurant’s menu or wine list, nor did she go to inspect the newspaper clipping on the central round table, which was obviously a clue.
’The first thirty minutes are the most precious.’
Only during this window would the restaurant’s denizens reveal clues and hints through their conversations. Once it passed, they would only speak nonsense, tell lies, or set verbal traps. Physical clues could wait, since they weren’t going anywhere, but she had to seize the chance for conversation now.
Between the patrons and the waiters, there were a full 17 individuals in the restaurant, far more than Mai Mingle had expected. She worried thirty minutes might not be enough, especially since she had already spent two or three of them surveying her surroundings.
’But what should I ask? None of the people here want me to find all seven faces, do they?’
In all her eighty-six years, Mai Mingle had never faced a situation like this.
She walked over to the large table where the party was, intending to first eavesdrop on the chattering and laughter of the young men and women. If you closed your eyes, you’d never guess the speakers weren’t human.
"...That tour package was such a good deal!" a young girl with blonde, collarbone-length hair said to the table, patting a friend on the shoulder. "Xiaowei and I booked it together. We’re sharing a room—four days and three nights for only two hundred and eighty dollars..."
’This is probably just useless chatter,’ Mai Mingle thought, though she wasn’t entirely sure.
From their conversation, the group seemed to be college students who hadn’t graduated yet, talking about their vacation experiences. After listening for a moment, Mai Mingle concluded it had nothing to do with the restaurant and walked over to the head-swallowing couple’s table. The man, after several minutes, was now reluctantly pulling his mouth off his wife’s head.
The wife’s head was covered in a wet, slimy fluid. Her entire face glistened with a transparent, moist sheen, as if coated in a thin layer of jelly. Her long hair was plastered to her scalp and neck.
This time, after listening for a few moments, Mai Mingle decided to speak to them.
"Is today your wedding anniversary?" She wasn’t sure if she should bother with pleasantries, but considering her limited time, she cut right in.
The wife glanced at her husband and smiled at Mai Mingle. "Yes, it’s our tenth anniversary. We’re here for lunch."
It didn’t sound like a complaint, but as soon as the words left its mouth, the husband suddenly grew defensive. "We’re only having lunch because I planned for us to go out to sea this afternoon. And don’t look down on this restaurant just because it’s small. It has a long history and excellent reviews. Lots of celebrities and famous people have eaten here."
Mai Mingle glanced at the decorated wall nearby. "Are those photos on the wall of the famous people who’ve eaten here?"
The celebrities of the Nest were clearly different from those of Blackmoor City; from a distance, it was apparent that humanoid figures were not the majority.
’They could be clues, too,’ she thought.
"That’s right." The wife seemed very pleased with her anniversary, her wet smile fixed in place as if her cheek muscles were nailed down. "Douglas is so good to me. He specially chose this restaurant and planned our whole day... Oh, and he gave me an anniversary gift."
It stroked the pearl necklace on its neck and continued to smile. "This morning, before I even opened my eyes, I felt him sneak up behind me, lift my hair, and wrap something around my neck, pulling it tighter and tighter... Goodness, for a second I thought he was trying to strangle me. I was even thinking, ’My, this is a bit sudden.’"
The husband burst out laughing. "Well, it’s not the first time I’ve thought about strangling you!"
At this, the couple erupted into a fit of hearty laughter that Mai Mingle could not comprehend.
"Oh, if I have to complain about something," the wife said, as if suddenly remembering, "it’s this. This restaurant is never short on customers, so they’re pretty set in their ways. Look at that central table. It’s prime seating, but they won’t let anyone sit there. They use it to commemorate someone who died... So what if some celebrity who used to eat here died? Is it really necessary to put out a vase of flowers as a tribute? It’s such bad luck to even look at."
’Definitely a clue,’ Mai Mingle thought. ’But I can look at the newspaper clipping later. I still have a lot of conversations to get through.’
The woman who had been putting on makeup said she could use any resources freely. Mai Mingle got a pen and paper from a waiter and wrote down what she thought might be the first rule.
1. Don’t sit at the central round table (?)
