46: Chapter 47 A Feast of Snow and Blood

The wind was like a deboning knife, slicing through collars and burrowing into chests.

Jack huddled in a foxhole, a frozen potato gripped in his hand for half an hour, yet it remained as hard as granite.

His stomach had long since lost all sensation, leaving only a searing, hollow void—a signal that gastric acid was eroding his stomach lining.

The hunger bar in the top right corner of the system interface was flashing red, accompanied by a desperate negative status:

[Severe Malnutrition: All attributes decreased by 40%, vision impaired, rate of body temperature loss doubled].

Su Yun's update this time was beyond heartless; he wasn't just failing to be human, he wasn't even acting like a decent ghost.

After the so-called "Digestive System 2.0" went live, players discovered to their horror that food was no longer a simple data packet that restored health, but had become a literal physiological burden.

Eating a frozen potato was like swallowing a chunk of ice; body temperature would plummet instantly.

But if you didn't eat, your maximum HP would start draining rapidly, like a leaking sandbag.

"Gurgle..."

A loud stomach growl came from beside him. Brother Bao's face had already turned an ashen grey from hunger.

Trembling, he pulled a half-bag of flour from his coat, mixed it with what was either saliva or melted snow, and forced it into his mouth.

"Don't... don't be in such a hurry to swallow," Jack's voice was as raspy as a cracked gong.

"Hold it in your mouth for a bit, or your stomach won't be able to take it."

Brother Bao rolled his eyes, his cheeks bulging, and said nothing.

He didn't even dare open his mouth, fearing that the tiny bit of warmth would escape.

This was the so-called "feast."

There was no braised pork, no steamed rice—only potatoes like stones and flour mixed with grit.

And less than five hundred meters away, at the American positions they had cursed countless times, orange lights flickered to life.

Those were searchlights, but also a form of extremely malicious boasting.

What drifted over with the wind was no longer the smell of gunpowder, but an aroma so intense it could drive one mad.

Coffee.

It was the scent of freshly ground coffee beans being boiled, with sugar and creamer added.

Next came the charred fragrance of roasted meat.

Jack could even distinguish the sound of luncheon meat sizzling on an iron plate; the sound of fat popping seemed to be right in his ear.

"Fuck..." Brother Bao finally swallowed that mouthful of flour paste, his eyes bulging as he stared fixedly at the brightly lit camp in the distance. "Those bastards are doing it on purpose."

It was indeed intentional.

Several massive loudspeakers had been set up on the American lines. What came out of them was no longer the usual jazz music, but a voice speaking in broken Chinese.

"Chinese soldiers across the way! Stop resisting!"

"We have hot coffee, turkey, and chocolate here! Just walk over with your guns above your heads, and all of this is yours!"

"The UN Command guarantees you POW treatment! Think of your wives and children at home. Why die here for meaningless orders?"

The voice echoed across the empty snowy plains, every word like a poisoned needle coated in frosting, stabbing into the softest parts of the heart.

Jack felt movement beside him.

It was a new player with the ID "A Bowl of Braised Pork."

How ironic that name was.

The player stood up shakily, his eyes staring blankly at the steaming cauldrons in the distance.

His reason had already been crushed by the negative status [Extreme Hunger: Sanity Check -50%].

"I'll just... I'll just go take a look..." the player muttered to himself, his feet moving uncontrollably out of the trench.

"That's turkey... it's really turkey..."

"Come back!" Jack reached out to pull him, but his body was too weak to hold him back.

"It's a trap! Are you crazy!" Brother Bao also grew anxious, hissing in a low voice.

The moment the player leaned half his body out of the trench, a dark figure suddenly lunged forward.

Thump!

A solid kick landed right on "A Bowl of Braised Pork's" backside, sending him tumbling back into the snowdrift.

The one who acted was the Third Squad Leader, an NPC who was usually taciturn and only ever silently repaired guns for the recruits.

At this moment, the middle-aged man's face was full of ferocity. That kick had been brutal, sending the player rolling twice across the snow.

"You want to go eat?" The Third Squad Leader pointed toward the American lines, his spit freezing into ice shards as he spoke.

"That's for feeding dogs!"

"But I'm hungry..." The player clutched his stomach plaintively, his face a mess of tears and snot.

"Squad Leader, I'm really hungry... that smell is too good..."

The Third Squad Leader didn't say a word. He strode over, grabbed the player by the collar, and hauled him up from the ground.

"Hungry?"

The Third Squad Leader pulled something from his coat and shoved it hard into the player's hand.

It was a handful of parched flour mixed with snow, a dark, messy clump.

"If you're hungry, eat this! We Chinese don't have weak knees! You can't snap your own backbone just for a bite of food!"

The Third Squad Leader's eyes were bloodshot, the result of staying awake for several nights in a row.

"Those are American devils! If you eat a single bite of their food, you'll have to stay on your knees for the rest of your life!"

The player froze, the parched flour in his hand bone-chillingly cold, yet it felt hot enough to make his whole body tremble.

Just then, the Americans seemed to think the shouting wasn't enough. Several mortar shells whistled through the air.

They weren't high-explosive or incendiary shells.

The shells burst in mid-air, scattering countless colorful little boxes like heavenly maidens scattering flowers.

It was Hershey's chocolate and cans of Spam luncheon meat.

Some landed right by the trench, the tin cans making shallow pits in the frozen earth, their tempting wrappers shimmering under the moonlight.

The air froze.

The aroma seemed to grow even stronger.

In a shell crater not far away, Dai Dai was changing a wounded soldier's bandages.

Calling it changing bandages was generous; she was actually just tearing off the rags stuck to the wounds and re-tying them tightly.

In her hand was a small frozen potato—the little ration she had been holding under her armpit, trying to thaw it with her body heat.

The wounded soldier was a sixteen-year-old NPC named Little Li.

A piece of flesh had been sliced from his jaw by shrapnel. He now lay with his mouth half-open, his gaze vacant.

"Eat something..." Dai Dai's voice carried a hint of a sob as she carefully brought the slightly softened potato to Little Li's lips.

Little Li struggled to open his mouth, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

Crack.

A crisp sound rang out.

It wasn't the sound of the potato being crushed.

Dai Dai watched in horror as a stream of blood welled from Little Li's mouth. One of his front teeth had been snapped clean off by that semi-hard potato.

The potato was stained with blood, looking exceptionally piercing in this frozen hell.

"Ugh..." Little Li convulsed with pain but could make no sound, only managing to squeeze broken groans from his throat.

Dai Dai stared helplessly at her blood-covered hands, tears falling uncontrollably.

This was reality.

There was no hot coffee, no soft bread.

There were only frozen potatoes that broke teeth and mouthfuls of blood that tasted like rust when swallowed.

Jack watched all of this—the Third Squad Leader's face full of fury and helplessness, Dai Dai's trembling hands, and the player who had been kicked back, sobbing while clutching his knees.

He looked down at the stone-like potato in his own hand.

Then he looked at the can of luncheon meat that had landed by the edge of the trench.

The can was less than two meters away. He could reach it just by stretching out his hand.

That was high-calorie fat, protein, and the hope of survival.

But he didn't move.

He simply stared fixedly at the can, his gaze shifting from initial longing to an ultimate, icy coldness.

He thought of the real world, where at this very moment, people might be sitting in warm restaurants, complaining that their steaks were overcooked or their red wine hadn't breathed enough.

But here, dignity was maintained with blood and teeth.

Jack raised the frozen potato to his lips.

There was no need to think about the taste anymore.

He opened his mouth and, using every ounce of strength and a surge of sheer ruthlessness, bit down.

Crunch!

An agonizing ache shot through the roots of his teeth, as if his entire skull were vibrating.

In that instant, he heard more than just the sound of the potato shattering.

It was the sound of something breaking, only to be reassembled within his flesh and blood.

He chewed the mouthful of ice shards, mixed with blood that may or may not have been from his own gums, and swallowed hard.

The icy chill slid down his esophagus and into his stomach, feeling like a knife churning inside him.

"Tastes like fucking shit." Jack grinned, revealing a mouthful of bloody teeth, and smiled toward the distant lights.

Just then, a flurry of hurried footsteps broke the deathly silence of the trench.

The Communication Runner came stumbling over, his cap lost and his sweat instantly turning to white frost in the cold wind.

He didn't salute, but collapsed directly in front of the Company Commander, his voice trembling with despair.

"Commander! Commander!"

"Something's happened!"

All eyes converged on him.

The Communication Runner panted heavily, pointing behind him toward the path they had come from.

"The main force... the penetration maneuver failed."

"The night blindness is too severe, no one can see the path... plus everyone is too hungry to walk... the main force was cut off by the American fire net at Eagle Beak Ridge!"

The Company Commander stood up abruptly, grabbing the Communication Runner by the shoulders: "What did you say? What about our rear?"

The Communication Runner lowered his head, his voice as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet it exploded like thunder in everyone's ears.

"An American armored battalion... just bypassed Eagle Beak Rock and cut off our retreat."

"We... are surrounded."