The Walk-in Closet Safehouse CH6
Chapter 6: Punishment for Rule-Breakers
From the outside, it looked no different from a standard vending machine, just a bit dated.
Up close, however, the items inside were bizarre: furniture, appliances, vehicles, clothes, accessories, and the Healing Potions that every survivor coveted. It even sold blind boxes. Actual food, which should have been a staple, occupied only a tiny fraction of the space.
Cui Ye stared at a red-and-white pill that looked like common cold medicine. So this is a Healing Potion? The original price was five gold coins...
Just then, a floating countdown at the top of the machine caught her eye: [00:59:52]
When the hour ended, this sudden vending machine would vanish—or perhaps respawn in another corner—to wait for the next batch of players to shop.
[Random Shop]. The name flickered in her mind. She remembered it being mentioned when the game first arrived, but she hadn't expected it to manifest in this form.
Inside the machine, all the items were placed in slots like perfectly scaled-down toy models. The buttons were marked with prices. Most items had a stock of five or six; some had only two or three left. Adhering to the principle that rare things are more valuable, Cui Ye’s gaze was immediately drawn to the blind boxes.
The black-and-white blind boxes were printed with a rabbit pattern. Had she seen that somewhere before?
Cui Ye pulled out a specially engraved gold coin. Unlike her other five gold coins, this one featured a rabbit pattern identical to the one on the blind box. It was the reward given when the game acknowledged her [Friendly Hint] talent: [The Rabbit’s Gold Coin]
No time to overthink. She quickly fed the coin into the slot and pressed the button for the blind box. Though passengers at this end of the carriage were few, she wasn't alone. Someone had already noticed the anomaly and was walking toward her.
Cui Ye watched as the blind box was slowly ejected. With a soft clink, it dropped into the retrieval port. She lifted the creaking flap, and the moment she touched the box, a game prompt appeared—but she didn't have time to read it.
By now, several people had crowded around, staring at the vending machine with intense curiosity. While a few noticed Cui Ye had just bought something, their attention was quickly stolen by the strange items inside the glass.
One person pressed a button without inserting a coin; naturally, the machine didn't react. Another tried to shake the machine or smash the glass, but the seemingly ancient vending machine wouldn't budge. Not a single chip of paint was scratched off.
A few soldiers in uniform rushed over, shouting for them to stop, but they were a second too late. The vandals suddenly froze. They stared at their own hands in sheer terror as the fingers touching the machine lost all control, shrinking and softening from the tips inward.
In a matter of breaths, those living humans turned into stuffed animal plushies right before Cui Ye’s eyes, thudding heavily onto the floor.
Standing closest, Cui Ye sharply noticed that these plushies weren't inanimate objects. Their button eyes and thick-thread-sewn mouths were trembling. They stared at her as if screaming for help, yet they couldn't make a sound. Their souls were forever imprisoned inside the dolls.
The game’s arrival gave survivors the status of players and a glimmer of hope, but the punishment for rule-breakers was exceptionally cruel. Cui Ye lowered her eyes and looked away.
The piercing screams drew the attention of the entire train. Those further away didn't know what had happened, but seeing the soldiers standing at the perimeter, they realized it probably wasn't anything good. Some approached out of curiosity, while others, sensing something horrific, immediately moved further away.
The soldiers, arriving a step late, seemed unfazed by the sight. They simply sighed, bent down to put the plushies into a backpack, but didn't leave. They didn't buy anything either; instead, they stood to the side to maintain order, signaling for the crowd to form a line.
The string of events had terrified everyone. No one dared to step forward, instinctively backing away from the machine. Excitement and curiosity turned into dread. What had just happened surpassed their understanding of reality—living people turning into dolls was not something supposed to happen in the real world.
The events of the last twenty-four hours had demolished decades of common sense. The faint-hearted were already so weak in the knees they had to lean on seats to vomit.
A foul smell quickly spread through the carriage, making those affected want to gag—until they were interrupted by a series of clinking coins.
Cui Ye bent down and took a ring from the retrieval port. She was just wondering how to put it on over her full-body raincoat when the ring vanished from her palm. Like the safe house key, it became a tattoo, appearing on her pinky finger.
[Congratulations! Player has obtained: Guardian Pinky Ring (Equipping slows the accumulation of negative status effects by 30%)]
The single ring had cost her exactly five gold coins. However, the original price was ten; new players received a 50% discount on their first purchase. It was quite "humane"—the system seemingly didn't want these "poor leeks" to snap before they’d even grown.
The "First Order Discount" and "Polite Shopping" rules were posted in plain black and white on the retrieval port flap. Unfortunately, the previous men hadn't bothered to look down; their eyes had been glued to the display case. Cui Ye had only spotted it while reaching for her blind box.
While the ring couldn't instantly reduce infection like a potion, its continuous effect made it worth every penny. She didn't know what the other items did, but this ring was undoubtedly the most useful tool she could afford right now. [Friendly Hint] had come through again.
It would be even better if it used a friendlier tone next time, instead of practically shouting [BROKE SOUL, BUY THIS!] at her. Though, she was broke now.
With her savings back to zero, she couldn't buy anything else no matter how much she coveted them. Cui Ye stepped back, giving her spot to the next person.
The man behind her had been hesitant, but seeing Cui Ye successfully purchase a ring and remain unharmed, he regained his courage. Anyone could tell the items inside were top-tier; the closer you were to the front of the line, the more choices you had.
But as the man rolled up his sleeves, ready to pick something great, he froze. He clutched the "fortune" of two gold coins in his pocket, only to realize the only things he could afford were on the very bottom row: bread combos, bed-desks, charcoal braziers, bottled compressed water, and blood-replenishing pills.
He wasn't the only one. Others faced the same problem; some didn't even have as many coins as he did. Even with the 50% discount, some couldn't even scrounge up a single coin. Not everyone had gone shopping yesterday to finish the daily mission, and not everyone was lucky enough to snatch a gold coin from a balloon.
Otherwise, there wouldn't have been so many people trying to smash the machine for a five-finger discount.
Cui Ye suddenly recalled the scene she'd witnessed at the self-checkout yesterday. As she quietly checked the contents of the blind box she'd opened, she felt several gazes on her. She looked up and found quite a few people staring.
The soldiers looked at her as if she were a rare animal—she filtered them out. Ordinary bystanders were shocked she could produce so many coins—she ignored them. Finally, her gaze landed on a mother and son sitting opposite her.
Compared to a girl traveling alone, a mother out with a child was more eye-catching. After all, children and the elderly had weak immune systems and were the most vulnerable to the virus.
But the little boy, who looked only five or six, was dressed very thinly. His child-sized raincoat was clearly a poor fit; the pants were too long, and the hood wasn't wide enough. The hair on his forehead was soaked and plastered to his skin. Perhaps because he was underdressed, his face was startlingly pale, and he sat perfectly still.
The mother looked to be in her early thirties. Though she was just sitting there casually, dressed like anyone else, she gave Cui Ye an inexplicable sense of unease. Cui Ye instinctively gripped the boning knife hidden inside her sleeve.
She couldn't describe the feeling. No talent prompt had appeared, and there was no red warning.
Looking back on this first encounter later, Cui Ye would attribute it to "prey instinct." Regardless, she chose not to stay. Following her gut, she left the increasingly crowded carriage and headed for the next one. She soon reached her stop and vanished from the train.
If Cui Ye had looked back at the mother and son then, she would have seen them both turn their heads simultaneously to stare at her retreating back with the exact same expression.
The "Son" watched the doors slide shut and spoke in a low, hollow voice: "As expected of a low-level game field. The quality of the 'materials' is so poor."
The "Mother" replied: "[Dank Rain 1] is only in the incubation phase. It has the potential to evolve into a high-level game field. According to the laws, every high-level field produces at least one rare talent user. If we can harvest them as materials before they fully grow, the quality of the finished product will be outstanding."
After sitting there being watched like a monkey for so long, the "Son" was a bit irritable: "Out of all these people, only that one just now was halfway decent. Her mental level is almost at the 'High' grade. Too bad she hasn't awakened a talent; the indicator light didn't blink at all. Can't we just take her to fulfill the quota?"
"Don't be in such a hurry, dear. You need more patience. That Lord is very particular, and suitable materials are always hard to find. We still have time. After all, in the final days, all players will gather at the Ticket Hall. We can take our pick then."
Chapter Notes:
From the outside, it looked no different from a standard vending machine, just a bit dated.
Up close, however, the items inside were bizarre: furniture, appliances, vehicles, clothes, accessories, and the Healing Potions that every survivor coveted. It even sold blind boxes. Actual food, which should have been a staple, occupied only a tiny fraction of the space.
Cui Ye stared at a red-and-white pill that looked like common cold medicine. So this is a Healing Potion? The original price was five gold coins...
Just then, a floating countdown at the top of the machine caught her eye: [00:59:52]
When the hour ended, this sudden vending machine would vanish—or perhaps respawn in another corner—to wait for the next batch of players to shop.
[Random Shop]. The name flickered in her mind. She remembered it being mentioned when the game first arrived, but she hadn't expected it to manifest in this form.
Inside the machine, all the items were placed in slots like perfectly scaled-down toy models. The buttons were marked with prices. Most items had a stock of five or six; some had only two or three left. Adhering to the principle that rare things are more valuable, Cui Ye’s gaze was immediately drawn to the blind boxes.
The black-and-white blind boxes were printed with a rabbit pattern. Had she seen that somewhere before?
Cui Ye pulled out a specially engraved gold coin. Unlike her other five gold coins, this one featured a rabbit pattern identical to the one on the blind box. It was the reward given when the game acknowledged her [Friendly Hint] talent: [The Rabbit’s Gold Coin]
No time to overthink. She quickly fed the coin into the slot and pressed the button for the blind box. Though passengers at this end of the carriage were few, she wasn't alone. Someone had already noticed the anomaly and was walking toward her.
Cui Ye watched as the blind box was slowly ejected. With a soft clink, it dropped into the retrieval port. She lifted the creaking flap, and the moment she touched the box, a game prompt appeared—but she didn't have time to read it.
By now, several people had crowded around, staring at the vending machine with intense curiosity. While a few noticed Cui Ye had just bought something, their attention was quickly stolen by the strange items inside the glass.
One person pressed a button without inserting a coin; naturally, the machine didn't react. Another tried to shake the machine or smash the glass, but the seemingly ancient vending machine wouldn't budge. Not a single chip of paint was scratched off.
A few soldiers in uniform rushed over, shouting for them to stop, but they were a second too late. The vandals suddenly froze. They stared at their own hands in sheer terror as the fingers touching the machine lost all control, shrinking and softening from the tips inward.
In a matter of breaths, those living humans turned into stuffed animal plushies right before Cui Ye’s eyes, thudding heavily onto the floor.
Standing closest, Cui Ye sharply noticed that these plushies weren't inanimate objects. Their button eyes and thick-thread-sewn mouths were trembling. They stared at her as if screaming for help, yet they couldn't make a sound. Their souls were forever imprisoned inside the dolls.
The game’s arrival gave survivors the status of players and a glimmer of hope, but the punishment for rule-breakers was exceptionally cruel. Cui Ye lowered her eyes and looked away.
The piercing screams drew the attention of the entire train. Those further away didn't know what had happened, but seeing the soldiers standing at the perimeter, they realized it probably wasn't anything good. Some approached out of curiosity, while others, sensing something horrific, immediately moved further away.
The soldiers, arriving a step late, seemed unfazed by the sight. They simply sighed, bent down to put the plushies into a backpack, but didn't leave. They didn't buy anything either; instead, they stood to the side to maintain order, signaling for the crowd to form a line.
The string of events had terrified everyone. No one dared to step forward, instinctively backing away from the machine. Excitement and curiosity turned into dread. What had just happened surpassed their understanding of reality—living people turning into dolls was not something supposed to happen in the real world.
The events of the last twenty-four hours had demolished decades of common sense. The faint-hearted were already so weak in the knees they had to lean on seats to vomit.
A foul smell quickly spread through the carriage, making those affected want to gag—until they were interrupted by a series of clinking coins.
Cui Ye bent down and took a ring from the retrieval port. She was just wondering how to put it on over her full-body raincoat when the ring vanished from her palm. Like the safe house key, it became a tattoo, appearing on her pinky finger.
[Congratulations! Player has obtained: Guardian Pinky Ring (Equipping slows the accumulation of negative status effects by 30%)]
The single ring had cost her exactly five gold coins. However, the original price was ten; new players received a 50% discount on their first purchase. It was quite "humane"—the system seemingly didn't want these "poor leeks" to snap before they’d even grown.
The "First Order Discount" and "Polite Shopping" rules were posted in plain black and white on the retrieval port flap. Unfortunately, the previous men hadn't bothered to look down; their eyes had been glued to the display case. Cui Ye had only spotted it while reaching for her blind box.
While the ring couldn't instantly reduce infection like a potion, its continuous effect made it worth every penny. She didn't know what the other items did, but this ring was undoubtedly the most useful tool she could afford right now. [Friendly Hint] had come through again.
It would be even better if it used a friendlier tone next time, instead of practically shouting [BROKE SOUL, BUY THIS!] at her. Though, she was broke now.
With her savings back to zero, she couldn't buy anything else no matter how much she coveted them. Cui Ye stepped back, giving her spot to the next person.
The man behind her had been hesitant, but seeing Cui Ye successfully purchase a ring and remain unharmed, he regained his courage. Anyone could tell the items inside were top-tier; the closer you were to the front of the line, the more choices you had.
But as the man rolled up his sleeves, ready to pick something great, he froze. He clutched the "fortune" of two gold coins in his pocket, only to realize the only things he could afford were on the very bottom row: bread combos, bed-desks, charcoal braziers, bottled compressed water, and blood-replenishing pills.
He wasn't the only one. Others faced the same problem; some didn't even have as many coins as he did. Even with the 50% discount, some couldn't even scrounge up a single coin. Not everyone had gone shopping yesterday to finish the daily mission, and not everyone was lucky enough to snatch a gold coin from a balloon.
Otherwise, there wouldn't have been so many people trying to smash the machine for a five-finger discount.
Cui Ye suddenly recalled the scene she'd witnessed at the self-checkout yesterday. As she quietly checked the contents of the blind box she'd opened, she felt several gazes on her. She looked up and found quite a few people staring.
The soldiers looked at her as if she were a rare animal—she filtered them out. Ordinary bystanders were shocked she could produce so many coins—she ignored them. Finally, her gaze landed on a mother and son sitting opposite her.
Compared to a girl traveling alone, a mother out with a child was more eye-catching. After all, children and the elderly had weak immune systems and were the most vulnerable to the virus.
But the little boy, who looked only five or six, was dressed very thinly. His child-sized raincoat was clearly a poor fit; the pants were too long, and the hood wasn't wide enough. The hair on his forehead was soaked and plastered to his skin. Perhaps because he was underdressed, his face was startlingly pale, and he sat perfectly still.
The mother looked to be in her early thirties. Though she was just sitting there casually, dressed like anyone else, she gave Cui Ye an inexplicable sense of unease. Cui Ye instinctively gripped the boning knife hidden inside her sleeve.
She couldn't describe the feeling. No talent prompt had appeared, and there was no red warning.
Looking back on this first encounter later, Cui Ye would attribute it to "prey instinct." Regardless, she chose not to stay. Following her gut, she left the increasingly crowded carriage and headed for the next one. She soon reached her stop and vanished from the train.
If Cui Ye had looked back at the mother and son then, she would have seen them both turn their heads simultaneously to stare at her retreating back with the exact same expression.
The "Son" watched the doors slide shut and spoke in a low, hollow voice: "As expected of a low-level game field. The quality of the 'materials' is so poor."
The "Mother" replied: "[Dank Rain 1] is only in the incubation phase. It has the potential to evolve into a high-level game field. According to the laws, every high-level field produces at least one rare talent user. If we can harvest them as materials before they fully grow, the quality of the finished product will be outstanding."
After sitting there being watched like a monkey for so long, the "Son" was a bit irritable: "Out of all these people, only that one just now was halfway decent. Her mental level is almost at the 'High' grade. Too bad she hasn't awakened a talent; the indicator light didn't blink at all. Can't we just take her to fulfill the quota?"
"Don't be in such a hurry, dear. You need more patience. That Lord is very particular, and suitable materials are always hard to find. We still have time. After all, in the final days, all players will gather at the Ticket Hall. We can take our pick then."
Chapter Notes:
- "poor leeks" (韭菜): Internet slang for vulnerable people (often investors or players) who are "harvested" or exploited by those in power.
- Dank Rain (湿雨): It was originally translated as "Wet Rain," but that felt nonsensical because rain is, obviously... wet. I chose "dank" because it describes something unpleasantly moist, damp, and cold—often musty, like a basement or a cave. It implies a disagreeable, clammy dampness, which feels like a much more appropriate description for the current "disaster." Though it sounds a bit funny since the word has other meanings, I couldn't think of a better word to describe this specific type of rain.
(Cubbie: I'll try to update this and "Natural Disasters Arrive: Hoarding Supplies, Crushing Scumbags, and Eating Hotpot" again tomorrow! If you enjoyed our translations, feel free to checkout our other projects here! Thanks for reading! )
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