How many times did you cut me

Zhu Yan picked up the mouthpart and retrieved the head that once belonged to the "Chef" from the floor.

The thing had stained his military saber, and a foul-smelling green slime dripped down along the blade, drop by drop.

This time, Zhu Yan had been quick.

In less than two minutes, the workshop was already in chaos.

Unfortunately, there was nothing here worth taking.

Whether it was the knives or the protective suits, nearly everything had been soaked through by the stinking monster slime covering the floor.

"Disgusting," Zhu Yan muttered under his breath.

This room was a bit more refined than the others. The long chopping table and cutting boards used for meat were arranged neatly.

Slices of cut meat were still piled on the counter and beside the conveyor belt, and over a dozen large covered basins for marinating meat were stacked tidily in the corner of the room.

The conveyor belt hummed away diligently, transporting the last few plates of meat slices arranged by the grotesque creatures toward the Head Chef’s room up ahead.

Since no grotesque creatures were left to process the meat, the conveyor belt was now steadily bringing over roughly processed chunks and organs from earlier stages.

Zhu Yan haphazardly placed the meat plates stacked beside the conveyor belt onto the very front of it.

The Head Chef had a high rank, and in theory, "Acting" would probably not fool them.

But Zhu Yan had a "cheat" and had genuinely acquired all of the "Fog’s" abilities—he could disperse his body or turn into mist.

Zhu Yan withdrew his puppet and saber, reverting to the form of "Fog," pondering with curiosity.

He wondered, in the eyes of the "Head Chef," what state would he, "Acting" as the Fog, appear to be in?

Would he be lumps of flesh and blood, or strange blood mist?

Or… would there be a human shape?

Carefully, he split himself into several thin layers, attaching seamlessly to the plates and moving forward along the conveyor belt.

…

Downstairs.

Dragonfly was still arguing vigorously, haggling with Ji Xiting.

"I don’t have the materials to make surveillance gear here! And—and I really am injured. I’m scared of the high-level weapon-wielding Hunters too!"

It really didn’t want to work.

Besides, based on its understanding of the Hunter…

After that scene at the "Print Shop," so much time had passed—it didn’t believe the guy hadn’t done something.

If it went over now and got caught up in it, what would it do?

It wasn’t afraid of the Hunter, but it had zero desire to get involved in this mess!

"If I go over, and that Hunter chases after me again, what then?"

Ji Xiting wasn't buying it.

He let out a sweet laugh and started being sarcastic.

"Go now," Ji Xiting said. "Either you head to the kitchen floor right now, or I head straight to the Lazy Craft Shop."

Dragonfly fell silent.

It glanced sadly at its rocking chair and the few players who were pricking up their ears to listen, its wings drooping in frustration.

But then, an idea struck it, and a smirk crept across its face.

"Fine," it agreed, and hung up the phone.

"I’ll go right now."

Just imagining the scene Ji Xiting would witness made it want to laugh.

Seeing Dragonfly make its decision, Yang Zhanbai stepped forward.

"Could you give us a ride?" he asked. "We can pay."

He was worried about Zhu Zeyu.

It had been so long without another message from him.

Even though his avatar was still lit, what if he was on his last breath, barely alive…

Dragonfly raised a bug leg and tapped on the copper sign on the table, which declared its neutral stance.

"Can’t," it said, practically manic. "But I’ll shout the password loudly. If you have the spare time, go ahead and get there yourselves!"

Since the boss wanted it to work overtime, it would turn the place the boss cared about into a complete mess!

Dragonfly sneered and deliberately shouted, "Delicious Feast!"

The next second, it vanished from the cramped shop.

The group exchanged glances. Yang Zhanbai walked over to the shelves and display cases, starting to rummage through them.

"Find some weapons, then head over," he said. "The kitchen place sounds dangerous as hell!"

…

In the workshop.

The Head Chef lowered its head, carefully slicing a plate of raw meat into paper-thin pieces and arranging them into the shape of a flower.

After finishing, it reached for another plate of meat but couldn’t help letting out a surprised, "Huh?"

"What’s going on?"

The Head Chef stared at the haphazardly cut meat chunks in front of it, its tone full of human-like confusion.

For no clear reason, the state of this plate of meat was simply too strange.

In the Head Chef’s eyes, what should have been clean, lifeless meat was instead covered in layers of crimson mucous membranes, like spider silk, or like human tissue that had been shattered and then re-formed into stretchy strands.

These tissues were clearly still "alive."

The Head Chef leaned in closer and found that these things were faintly pulsing, their rhythm resembling a human heartbeat.

"What the hell is this? Such fragmented meat, but why is the player’s vitality still preserved so well?"

It grew even more puzzled.

The thing looked sanity-damaging, but by plating standards, it was actually an original piece of art.

Still, it hadn’t ordered anything like this.

Those low-level grotesque creatures up front couldn’t possibly create something so complex.

It couldn’t be the Hunter, could it?

Zhu Yan felt the Head Chef’s cold breath pass through his body.

The Head Chef’s words eased his anxiety slightly, giving him a new hypothesis.

It seemed the Fog’s ability was still too overpowered.

In essence, this ability involved shattering and reassembling the whole body, which was likely why the Head Chef saw him as fragmented meat.

Noticing that the Head Chef’s gaze followed the first plate, Zhu Yan decided to make the portion on that plate slowly flow, further drawing this creature’s attention.

This way, while the Head Chef was distracted, the rest of him could sneak into the puppet and gain the upper hand.

The Head Chef indeed furrowed its brows.

The fresh player scent in the room was too strong, with a good portion of it coming from this very plate of meat.

Something was wrong!

It picked up the plate and walked toward the workbench, grabbing a knife without hesitation and slashing down!

Got it!

Zhu Yan was elated.

The Head Chef had its back to the conveyor belt. He could feel the cold blade slicing through his body again and again.

The thing had clearly grown suspicious, but…

Zhu Yan quickly manipulated the remaining Fog, slowly squeezing himself into Zhu Zeyu’s puppet.

"How is this possible?" the Head Chef muttered to itself.

It had cut this plate five times now, and each time, the blade passed through without resistance.

These fragments of meat really seemed to just be meat fragments—

Maybe they were just too fresh, or the player had been killed alive, and the player-scented life force hadn’t fully drained yet; leftover nerves might still…

The Head Chef relaxed a bit, though it still found it odd.

Human nerves weren’t that developed, were they?!

But if it was a player’s ability…

How could a player develop such a bizarre ability?

It wanted to turn its head and look toward the other end of the conveyor belt.

But suddenly, a chill ran down its neck—the stench of slime from some horrifying creature, laced with an undeniable air of danger, instantly eroded its composure.

“Stay calm,” a voice said softly. “So... how many times did you just cut me?”