Chapter 403: Within the Dining Hall
Chapter 403: Within the Dining Hall
It was 8 PM in the villa’s dining hall.
Except for Maid Oliver, all other suspects had already taken their seats along the long table. Officer Dempsey stood guard by the entrance, his posture seemingly relaxed but eyes sharply monitoring everyone inside.
The atmosphere in the dining hall was tenfold oppressive, with minimal conversation. Everyone sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. This was understandable—they were gathered under the same roof where a brutal murder had recently occurred. Aside from Feng Bu Jue, the eccentric outlier, who could possibly maintain a good mood?
“How beautiful the moonlight is tonight,” Feng Bu Jue’s voice suddenly cut through the tension as he appeared at the doorway, drawing all eyes to him. He seemed remarkably cheerful, as though signaling his discovery of the culprit.
However… due to his previous antics, the Lovecraft family held a terrible impression of this so-called “great detective.” His reasoning, though seemingly organized and persuasive, was riddled with glaring flaws—holes so obvious they could be refuted with a single sentence.
“What a shame there’s no mold to make mooncakes for dessert,” Feng Bu Jue remarked casually as he approached the table, clutching a large paper bag under his arm. Whatever it contained, it seemed heavy.
Matron Oliver wheeled a three-tiered cart into the dining hall behind him, already laden with dishes.
“This kitchen of yours is truly impressive, Mr. Lovecraft,” Feng Bu Jue took a seat directly across from the host, tossing the paper bag carelessly beneath his chair. “I’ve visited some so-called ‘high-end dining halls’ with luxury facades, environments, cutlery, and prices. Yet their kitchens are filthy, crawling with buzzing insects and wriggling creatures. The chefs are likely undercover agents sent by these vermin to infiltrate humanity, given their sole innate talent is crafting nauseating dark matter.”
“If you’re going to open with a compliment…” Kolsten glared coldly. “Just say the first sentence. There’s no need to share your unpleasant past experiences.”
As they spoke, Oliver had already wheeled the cart beside the table. Since the cutlery was already set, she began serving the dishes directly.
Seeing this, Henderson stood up and walked toward the cart. “Let me help you, Oliver.”
“No, sit back down, Henderson,” Jack quickly interjected, pushing the elderly butler back to his seat as he stepped forward. “I’ll handle it.” The Second Young Master treated the household staff kindly, unwilling to let an elderly maid who had fainted earlier that afternoon serve dishes alone.
Soon, appetizers were placed before everyone.
Feng Bu Jue, of course, made no move to assist. Instead, he grabbed half a bottle of red wine from the center of the table and poured himself a glass.
“Hmm… DOMANE_de_TREVALLON, 1985…” After a single sip, he examined the bottle’s label. “Heh… life truly holds endless surprises.” One mere sip had already paid for his gaming pod in real life…
“You’re familiar with that vineyard?” Madam Odetta spoke up. “Lord Lovecraft adores it. We order a batch every year.”
“Oh, I know of it,” Feng Bu Jue shrugged. “But my budget doesn’t allow for annual bulk purchases from French vineyards. The only things I stock in bulk are toilet paper and soda.”
“Oliver…” Nancy suddenly addressed the maid from across the table, eyeing her dish with suspicion. “Did you prepare this meal?”
“No, this dinner was all made by Mr. Feng,” Oliver replied, then wheeled the cart toward the kitchen for the soup. Normally, she, Barton, and Henderson dined separately from Lord and Madam. Dr. Powell lived in the settlement and usually returned before evening. Gatherings of over a dozen people at one table were rare here.
“Oh?” Nancy turned to Feng Bu Jue. “Didn’t expect that… You’ve got skills. This seared asparagus with salmon roe is practically professional-grade. Compared to being a detective, maybe you should’ve been a chef.”
As she spoke, Feng Bu Jue was busy refilling his wineglass, clearly unwilling to hand the bottle over anytime soon. “I’m qualified for many roles. This is nothing.”
“Hmph… Cook well, beg for life,” Jack muttered sarcastically, stuffing a piece of asparagus into his mouth.
“You’ve got my snot in your dish,” Feng Bu Jue calmly replied in a single breath, his words lethal.
Jack’s face contorted as he coughed violently, nearly choking.
“Heh… Just kidding,” Feng Bu Jue added two seconds later. “The dishes were randomly placed on the cart, and you served yourself. How could that happen?”
“You…” Jack nearly erupted into curses but restrained himself—there were elders and ladies at the table. He could only wipe his mouth with a napkin and swallow his rage.
“See? My analytical skills are quite effective at securing compliance,” Feng Bu Jue grinned.
“That’s enough, Mr. Feng,” Kolsten interrupted. “Enough jokes.” He fixed Feng Bu Jue with a piercing gaze. “You’ve restricted our freedom, claimed to know the killer’s identity, yet you refuse to reveal it.” He exhaled sharply. “Odette said you went to the kitchen over an hour ago. I assumed you were using that as an excuse to interrogate her and Oliver, but you were actually cooking… What exactly are you planning?”
“Hmph… What am I planning?” Feng Bu Jue picked up his knife and fork, beginning on his appetizer. “You already know the answer, Mr. Lovecraft.” He chewed noisily, food visible between his lips as he spoke. “Everyone here is eagerly awaiting a grand reasoning show, aren’t they? Don’t worry, Celebrated Detective Feng Bu Jue won’t disappoint. The performance begins now.”
(End of Chapter)
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