Chapter 91: Chapter 64: Mai Mingle: Why Does It All Seem Like Pointless Talk?
The three female customers at Table 4 looked completely normal from head to toe. So normal, in fact, that it left Mai Mingle at a bit of a loss.
’They aren’t actually Hunters, are they?’
As she walked over and stopped by their table, Mai Mingle even started to grow suspicious.
’What if they’re Hunters called in by the other patrons, pretending to be customers to make me lower my guard? If they suddenly attack the moment the first hour is up... that would be a disaster.’
"Oh dear, at my age, I’ve started to care about my health."
The female customer with a mole by her mouth said, "What can you do? Some of the things that seep down from their Blackmoor City are delicious, I’ll admit, but last time I ate someone’s ’bedroom odor,’ my entire face turned into that person’s. It didn’t change back for days."
’...They’re probably not Hunters.’
Mai Mingle actually felt a little relieved.
"It’s true. We’re not like we were when we were just born," said another female customer, who was wearing glasses. "Back then, we had strong appetites and could digest anything. Say, the three of us were born from the same person’s body, right? I remember that Hunter; her digestive system was only so-so when she was alive."
’These three don’t look the least bit alike. How could they have been born from the same body?’
Mai Mingle sized up the third person—that customer looked the youngest, with dark brown skin. She let out a few soft chuckles through her nose and said, "Not me. I’m not a picky eater. No wonder you two only ordered one fish."
Even though there were three of them, there was only a single, whole fish on the table. Of all the other tables, the male customer on his laptop had the fewest dishes, but even he had two.
The fish’s eyes glanced from one person to the next. Every so often, a sound like suppressed laughter, "CH-CH," would come from its belly, and its fleshy body would tremble along with it.
The customer with the glasses raised a light brown eyebrow and smiled. "What’s wrong with one fish? You think it’s not enough for the three of us?"
Mai Mingle decided this was all just a load of nonsense. Before the fish’s eyes could "look after" her again, she turned and walked away.
At the next table over was a middle-aged male customer, his brow furrowed as he stared at a laptop.
Like the three women, he looked no different from a normal person. Even the food on his table was just a bowl of salad and a thick soup. He seemed to be dealing with something urgent, with two phones and a laptop on the table. He bustled back and forth between the devices, having barely touched his food.
"How long have you been here?" Mai Mingle couldn’t help but ask, noticing the soup looked cold.
"Since last night," the man said without looking up. "Something urgent came up at work, so I haven’t even been able to eat. If you don’t have anything important, then sorry, but I don’t have time for idle chat."
’Do Nest residents have to go to work?’
Mai Mingle was just about to ask, "What kind of work do you do?" when she happened to glance up and swallowed her words.
His table, like the three women’s, was right next to the mirrored wall. One seat had its back to the mirror, while the other faced it directly.
He was sitting in the seat with its back to the mirrored wall. Just then, he bent over to rummage through his laptop bag, and the laptop screen was instantly reflected in the mirror. Mai Mingle froze. She hurried to his side to look and, sure enough, saw the male customer himself on the screen.
The man on the screen had a face twisted in terror, his snow-white eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. His face shone, slick with saliva and sweat, and his mouth opened and closed, forming the words "Help me."
Mai Mingle took a small step back.
"That’s weird, did I not bring my power bank?" the man muttered. "Crap, my phone’s about to die. Where did it go... Ah, good, I brought the charger."
He pulled a charger with a cable out of his bag, jumped up from his seat, and rushed to the bar, yelling, "Waiter!" As he passed, Mai Mingle happened to see the screen of his phone, which also showed his own face. A laughing mouth had squeezed his other features away, as if a pitch-black hole had opened on his face.
Mai Mingle glanced at his back, then quickly walked over and opened his laptop bag.
Generally, a face would only be hidden in "a place a normal customer could also see," but with a hint, it was also possible for one to be hidden in a patron’s clothes or bag—that’s what the woman touching up her makeup had said.
Mai Mingle didn’t know if what she just saw counted as a hint. Not daring to waste time, and fearing the man’s return would cause complications, she spent only a few dozen seconds hastily searching the laptop bag.
Forget a face; the bag was completely empty. There was nothing inside. The whole bag was like a stage prop.
Having found nothing, Mai Mingle stood up and glanced at the clock.
She had originally planned to make at least two rounds. Fifteen minutes had already passed, and there was still one more table and two waiters she hadn’t had a chance to talk to. ’Will I have enough time?’
Mai Mingle hurried to the last table, where a couple and their friend were seated.
"I just went to get my teeth checked," the male customer with an earring said to the long-haired female customer. "You know my last set of teeth, right? His company got sued and had to pay out a lot of money, so they aren’t as sharp and useful anymore. I went to the dentist to ask if they had any good new teeth..."
’A "tooth" got sued? Can teeth open companies and pay damages?’
Mai Mingle felt she must have missed something. Otherwise, why couldn’t she understand what they were saying?
Another man, who had his arm around the first, clearly already knew how the story went and now shook his head with a sigh.
"I can’t believe that dentist was such a crook!" the man with the earring said indignantly. "You’d think I could at least trade my old tooth for a new one from the finance industry, right? I heard there’s a private equity firm in Blackmoor City recently that’s been squeezing a lot of blood money out of individual franchise owners by acquiring chain brands... A tooth that sharp—if I had it, what couldn’t I eat? But guess what?"
The long-haired female customer shook her head.
’So their "teeth" are... people from Blackmoor City? The more ruthless the person, the sharper their "tooth"?’
Mai Mingle’s guess was quickly confirmed by the next sentence. "In the end, the dentist fitted me with a very ordinary person! Sure, he backstabbed a colleague a few times in the past, but he just bullies the weak and fears the strong. He’s been behaving himself for the past few years... As a result, I can’t bite through anything now. It’s so damn annoying."
"Speaking of which, where are the tacos you sent back to be remade?"
The long-haired woman was clearly not very concerned about her friend’s teeth. She turned her head, looking around. "They just need to make the shells a little softer... You can’t eat it, but I can. Waiter!"
Mai Mingle didn’t have to walk over; a waiter was already rushing to their table. She quickly lowered her eyes, not wanting to look too closely.
"I just asked the kitchen," the waiter explained apologetically. "Here’s the thing. Our softest taco shells aren’t made in-house; they’re ordered from the ’Cowboy Sanches’ company. Considering what happened recently... I don’t know if you’d mind?"
’What happened recently? Is this another clue?’
The man with the earring opened his mouth at the waiter—though to Mai Mingle, it looked like he didn’t have any teeth at all—and asked, "Look, can my current teeth bite through ’Cowboy Sanches’ shells?"
"No problem, definitely."
"Then bring them out," the earring guy’s boyfriend said with a wave of his hand. "We’re not afraid of that."
’Afraid of what?’
Mai Mingle wanted to ask the waiter, but he moved too quickly. Before she could open her mouth, the waiter had already turned and headed for the kitchen.
There was another waiter over at the bar. She glanced at the clock and hurried over.
The man who had been on his laptop was now holding a two-pronged plug and venting his anger at the waiter behind the bar. "Your restaurant is supposed to be somewhat famous, so how can your outlets be so shoddy? I can’t even get my charger to plug in! Is there anywhere else I can charge my phone?"
"No," the waiter said. "And I’m not in charge of charging people’s devices."
The moment the fuming man walked away, Mai Mingle immediately stepped up to take his place and asked the waiter, "What happened with ’Cowboy Sanches’ recently?"
"Are you a reporter?" The waiter leaned his face in a little closer. Even though Mai Mingle forced her eyes to look away, a small shadow of him remained in her peripheral vision. "That business wasn’t our fault; it has nothing to do with us. Besides, wasn’t it already in all the papers? What’s there to ask?"
’Newspapers?’
There was, in fact, a newspaper in this restaurant—the clipping on the central round table.
To commemorate the deceased celebrity, two chairs were placed by the central round table, as if someone were about to dine there. On the table was a large bouquet of fresh, vibrant flowers. Unexpectedly, there was nothing abnormal or disgusting about them at all; they were breathtakingly full of life.
The clipping next to the vase was the obituary of a female celebrity. Besides the notice of her death, it seemed to detail her life and cause of death in a dense block of text, accompanied by a picture of a sweet-looking, smiling face—she looked no different from a normal human.
There were only ten minutes left, and she hadn’t found a single face. She couldn’t waste an opportunity to get clues by reading a newspaper.
’Although I’ve already made one round, it was all just preliminary conversation. If I could talk with them a little more, who knows if they might reveal more clues?’
Mai Mingle herself was a bit of a chatterbox, so she knew better than anyone that once you get on a roll, anything might slip out.
She decided to start over from the beginning, beginning again with the table of six young people.
"...I dream of having Robbie’s blue eyes. They’re just so beautiful," a girl said, apparently talking about a celebrity. "No wonder the lead singer of ’Sewer Boy’ is so crazy about her."
’The Nest residents are surprisingly... human?’
"Hurry up and eat, the food’s getting cold." The girl with the collarbone-length golden hair cut off a piece of trembling, pink, sweat-drenched meat from her plate. She tasted it, and her eyes lit up. "Mmm, this is delicious! Xiaowei, do you want to try some of this ’pain meat’ I ordered?"
Just hearing the name made Mai Mingle feel sick.
The girl called Xiaowei was the one who had just been wishing for blue eyes. She looked at the piece of pain meat her friend had just placed on her plate, then suddenly tilted her head. The expression that appeared on her face made Mai Mingle’s heart skip a beat, and she pulled back the step she had been about to take.
"Since you’re offering me your food, of course I’ll eat it."
Xiaowei raised her fork, but instead of spearing the pain meat, she reached over to the plate of the girl with golden hair, speared a piece of broccoli, and put it in her mouth.
Huh?
’Why...’
’I think... I just found the second rule?’
’Wait, if my guess is right, doesn’t that mean that for my own safety, I can’t go near the table with the three women after the first hour is over?’
