PFC Chapter 2798: Weird Feast and Nightmare (6)
Chapter 2798: Weird Feast and Nightmare (6)
Chapter 2798: Weird Feast Nightmare (VI)
"I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet." Schiller suddenly changed the subject, turned back to look at the menu and said, "My name is Nioge Sosip, an honorary fellow of All Souls College, Oxford University, and a historian and folklorist."
Jerome's eyes widened even further, but soon he seemed to remember something and curled his lips, revealing a slight expression of disdain.
"If you know a little about history, you will find that the rich exploiting the poor is a social phenomenon that has existed since ancient times and has never changed with the change of dynasties."
Schiller turned to the chef and said, "Do you think that if you become rich one day, you will be generous to the poor and never take nutrients from them?"
The chef nodded.
"Then I'm sorry, you will never become rich, because the rich never master nutrients themselves, all their nutrients come from the poor, so harvesting nutrients is a necessary condition for a person to become rich, and exploiting the poor is the inevitable process of becoming rich, not the result."
The chef didn't seem to hear what Schiller was pointing at. He just blinked and waited there.
“Wealth always flows upwards. This is a stubborn disease that cannot be eradicated in human society. No system can change this. The wealth and privileges will always be held by a small group of people.”
"I completely understand your hatred, because you are not one of these few people, you are not them, so you can naturally say that if you become them one day, you will never be as dirty and despicable as them."
The chef's face became increasingly gloomy. He seemed to be convinced that Schiller was making excuses for these people, but Schiller did not give him a chance to speak and spoke quickly.
"But unfortunately, this group of people don't think they are dirty and despicable, because they are well educated and know how human society works. They also know how to become a small group of people, or even a minority among the minority, the pinnacle of the pinnacle."
"They are not ashamed of gathering nutrients and growing stronger, but proud of it. If seven out of ten people can become kings, they will kill the other three. If five out of seven people can become kings, they will kill two more. This is as common to them as eating and drinking water."
"You gather these people here, provide them with delicious food and an opportunity to cannibalize their own kind. In fact, instead of punishing them, you are encouraging this trend."
"You see them as a whole, but they don't think so, because the upward flow of wealth is endless, they will think that killing and annexing others is normal, because in their eyes, this is how society works, and mutual help and overcoming difficulties do not exist at all."
"So you're not actually torturing them, you're just making them experience something they have to go through every day in a different way. Would you feel pain if you had to go to the toilet in a different position one day?"
The chef looked at him in a daze. Schiller said, "Do you think their wailing and screaming now are a confession? No, it's just physiological, just like you cry when you're in pain. They're no different from babies."
Schiller looked at the chef's stunned expression and said, "Don't you believe what I said? Then why not give it a try? Stop trying to control them, stop messing with their brains, and let them leave their precious last moments of clarity to you. Isn't that good?"
Before the chef could say anything, Jerome showed obvious hesitation on his face. He always felt that something was wrong.
Schiller never stopped talking. He glanced at the restaurant and said, "I know that one day you gained enough power to take revenge on others, and then you took the most efficient way to accomplish your vision."
"I think it's a little over the top, like a dish with too many condiments. You think using a human head to express the theme of self-eating is scary enough, but I think it ruins the balance of flavor."
The chef looked Schiller in the eye and asked, "So what do you think, Mr. Sohip?"
"I pursue the original taste of the ingredients." Schiller obviously meant something. He said, "If you want people to experience horror and despair, you don't have to put those things on the plate. Some small hints and tricks are enough to let these people show their ugly faces. This shows their stupidity, doesn't it?"
“How do you think I should cook this?”
"First of all, I'm not sure you can restore their consciousness." Schiller shook his head and said, "If their brains are irreversibly messed up, then I'm afraid I can only taste your imperfect work with regret."
“It’s not irreversible.” The chef finally chose to confess. He said, “Since you have seen that the theme of the restaurant is a cycle, I can tell you clearly that even if you leave the restaurant now, you will still come back here when the midnight clock rings. This is a restaurant that no one can leave.”
"Really? What a coincidence, I just left a room that no one can leave." Schiller said nonchalantly, "I guess that's right, you trapped them here in some way."
The chef didn't seem to want to say anything more to him and turned to the front of the restaurant.
Snapped!
He clapped his hands vigorously, and the scene in the restaurant began to reverse. Those who came and went returned to their seats, and this time there were neither cold dishes nor wine on the table. It was obvious that the banquet had not yet begun.
But Schiller was already sitting here, and Jerome was obviously seeing this scene for the first time, and since he was shocked by the different scene in the restaurant, it proved that his memory had not been tampered with.
But all the other diners seemed to have just woken up from a dream.
"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, there are some adjustments to today's dishes. I need to invite a special friend to visit the kitchen." The chef nodded to everyone. Some people looked at their watches and found that it was not yet time to eat, so they didn't say anything.
Schiller stood up and followed the chef to the kitchen, which was like every Michelin restaurant, spacious and neat, with rows of chefs standing in front of the workbenches.
Schiller sat down unceremoniously on one of the two chairs in the waiting area, crossed one leg over the other and said, "It's very simple. You can just say you kidnapped them and want to play a game with them."
"It's that simple." The chef narrowed his eyes, seemingly dissatisfied.
“The winner is the diners, and the losers are the ingredients. It’s that simple.”
The chef seemed to be interested. He asked, "What kind of game? Poker?"
"That's too old-fashioned, and it has nothing to do with the theme of the restaurant. Since you said they don't really respect food, why not just do this - just do what a chef should do."
Schiller quickly left the kitchen and returned to his seat, but unexpectedly, Jerome spoke the moment he sat down. He said, "You idiot, you messed up everything!"
"I don't know why you say that."
"I've almost figured out all the rules of the cycle." Jerome gritted his teeth, pushed up his glasses and said, "I've passed six levels, and now there's only the last level of after-dinner drinks left, and you changed all the rules, which makes all my previous efforts go to waste."
"Don't try to blackmail me," Schiller said, "especially when you don't intend to share any information about these six levels with me."
There was a barely perceptible gloom in Jerome's eyes, but he disguised himself well, like a mad scientist who was willing to risk his life for academic research. He said, "I was almost at the truth, and you ruined everything. You ruined my only entertainment."
"You are not as calm as you appear. On the contrary, your strategy of stalling for time seems very stupid to me. You look like an idiot. I have to say that another person I met who is exactly like you behaved much better than you."
Jerome's face darkened almost immediately. He could no longer pretend. Schiller, however, put one arm on the table, leaned forward and looked at him and said, "Your brother is much better than you."
With a bang, the plate was knocked over. The chef who had just walked out looked at Jerome with a dissatisfied expression, and Jerome clenched his fists tightly.
Schiller observed Jerome's emotions and found that he didn't seem to be pretending. He didn't look like a clown. Could it be that the real clown was Jerome?
Soon the chef cleared his throat and said, "Thank you very much for taking the time to attend my banquet. In order to thank you for your continued support, I will provide you with seven dishes."
"First, the aperitif. I named it 'Gotham Sunset'. I know the name is a bit cliché, but it actually represents my thrilling day. I must tell you what happened when I first came to Gotham..."
The chef began to talk about his experience in Gotham and how he had a spark of inspiration to combine several wines to create this special aperitif. He talked about the flavor of the wine and the celebrities who tasted it, and also talked about Bruce Wayne's evaluation of the wine.
Everyone in the audience seemed to be listening very carefully. Some nodded frequently, some took out something and started taking notes, some clapped happily, and some were so moved that they had tears in their eyes.
The chef then began to tell the story of the cold dishes. He spent nearly two hours explaining the inspiration, production process, stories behind, flavors and connotations of the seven dishes he had arranged.
The waiter began to serve the dishes in order.
After the aperitif was served, two hours had actually passed since the chef mentioned the story of the dinner wine. This time was neither long nor short, and was far from reaching the first point of the forgetting curve.
The waiters walked to the window and stood there in an orderly manner. The chef smiled at everyone and said, "Before we drink the first glass of wine, I must tell you a piece of unfortunate news - I'm afraid you won't be able to leave here smoothly."
Some people were confused, some were muttering, the chef raised his hand slightly, Schiller saw movement on the ceiling, he looked up and saw a spine.
A blood-red spine stripped of flesh and fascia hung above his head. If Schiller remembered correctly, this was the thing that was pressing down on his head before.
Everyone has a spine on their head, and a dense network of nerves covers the entire ceiling. Schiller can even see many familiar neural structures in it. This thing is surprisingly scientific.
But this obviously frightened the diners. The chef reset them to the time when they were awake. They simply could not accept such a horrific scene and screamed and tried to leave their chairs.
The spine extended downward and touched the brain stem that controls movement, then pierced into the neck. The nerves spread down the spine, and everyone lowered their heads.
"I didn't say this time would last forever." The chef raised his glass and said, "As long as you finish seven courses, you can leave naturally."
"But unfortunately, due to some previous problems, I did not prepare enough ingredients. I am afraid I must ask you to donate generously... No, I am not asking for your money. I think some of you here are the best ingredients."
Ignoring the horrified expressions of the crowd, the chef sighed softly and said, "Now, write down on the paper in front of you my inspiration for making this wine, my story, the flavor of the wine, the origin of the raw materials, anything."
“The ten worst writers will become ingredients for the next dish—and everyone else will enjoy them.”
The chef downed the normal amount of wine in his glass, his expression turned gloomy, and he said, "Start writing, friends."
Work and rest schedule adjustment successful!