“Sweetie!

“Just look at yourself. You’re frozen stiff! Your face is even turning blue and purple. Don’t just stand there in the wind!”

I shoved my heavy, warm floral coat into her rigid arms and nudged her icy body back toward the room.

“Come on, hurry up. Put it on! Bundle up! I can’t believe you’re out in this kind of cold with just those thin clothes. Your bones will snap like frozen twigs!”

The ghost girl clutched my glaring red coat, frozen in place.

Her stiff eyes slowly and painfully rolled down toward the bundle of fluffy warmth in her arms.

Her fingers twitched, curling ever so slightly as they gripped the coarse fabric.

Those who were watching the live broadcast were all shocked.

[Huh?]

[What the hell? Why isn’t the frost wraith attacking her?]

[Holy crap! Did she just put her coat on the ghost? That’s the wildest move I’ve ever seen!]

The room itself was colder than a freezer.

I rubbed my numb hands together, looked around, and shook my head.

“Sweetie, how do you live like this? What a miserable life!”

I plopped myself down on the icy dormitory bed like I owned the place, sitting cross-legged.

“You can call me Mrs. Wade. Forget that. Just call me Granny, sweetie. What's your name?”

The frost wraith stood in the middle of the room like a wooden post, clutching the coat.

After a long, long silence, she struggled to move her frozen lips. Finally, a faint, airy voice slipped out.

“Granny, my name is Chloe.”

“Chloe! What a lovely name!”

I slapped my thigh.

“What a sweet name for a sweet girl! Come on, get that coat on. Listen to me, and you can’t go wrong!”

At last, Chloe lifted her stiff eyes from the red coat and looked at me.

Her gaze held a mix of emotions. It was confused, wary—and deep inside, faintly wounded.

Slowly, she draped the red floral coat over her bony shoulders.

She tried to shove her arms through the sleeves awkwardly.

Her stiff movements made my heart ache.

I could not stand it. I leaned over to help.

My hand brushed against her arm. It was as cold as an icicle and sent a numb sting through my fingertips. However, I did not pull away and just muttered as I worked.

“Easy now, easy! There, that’s right! Make sure you button up here. The wind always gets you in the neck!”

The red coat wrapped her up completely.

Its blazing color, so absurdly bright in the deathly gloom, seemed almost comical. However, it strangely warmed the whole room.

[Congratulations, player. You have gained the frost wraith’s recognition. From now on, you will no longer suffer from the cold.]

Warmth spread through my entire body.

That night, Chloe and I—one frozen young ghost, one living old lady—squeezed into the icy bed in Dorm 4101.

We drifted into a hazy but peaceful sleep.

The next morning.

I was jolted awake by a hunger that gnawed straight through to the bone.

It was not my own belly crying, but the room itself. The air was thick with a starving hunger, and it threatened to suck the very life out of me.

Chloe was huddled in the corner, still wrapped in my floral coat, staring blankly at me.

Her gray-blue face seemed a little less stiff, but the confusion and wounded look in her eyes still weighed heavily.

[System prompt: Hunger is spreading. Proceed to Dorm 4404 to obtain food.]

[Warning: 4404’s resident is extremely dangerous! Severely starved!]

The live chat was going wild with messages.

[4404? Oh no, that’s the Hungry Dead! Granny just escaped the freezer, and now, she’s walking straight into famine!]

[That ghost is so hungry it even gnaws on itself! With Granny’s old bones, she’s done for!]

I rubbed my empty stomach and steadied my aching back as I climbed off the bed.

“Chloe, I’m going out to get us something to eat. Be good and wait here till I’m back home.”

I hauled my aching back up to the fourth floor.

The busted wooden door of Dorm 4404 creaked open, and a foul stench hit me.

It had me gagging and hacking for breath.

A sickly yellow glow leaked out through the crack, along with a sound that made my teeth ache. It sounded like bones being gnawed and chewed to splinters.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Lord have mercy! The place was a landfill come to life.

There were broken bowls, moldy bread rolls, rotting cabbage leaves, and piles of filth everywhere. The floor was coated in a black, sticky grease that sucked at my shoes.

Inside, a scrawny little boy, thin as a stick, was hunched over in the corner. He was straining over some dark, shapeless heap I could barely see.

He whipped his head around when he heard the noise of me stepping in.

His face nearly stopped my heart. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut, his eye sockets were sunken deep like black holes, and his lips were split and peeling back to show yellow teeth.

Thick, dark red saliva hung and dripped from the corners of his mouth.

It was his eyes that froze me solid.

His eyes glowed sickly green, like a wolf that had been starved all winter. They locked on me as though he could leap at any second and tear me apart.

“Hungry! So hungry… Meat…”

…

The voice came out ragged, like his throat was full of gravel. He hunched lower, shuffling toward me step by step.

The reek of rot and blood pressed heavier on me with every move.

Everyone who was watching the live broadcast was frightened.

[The Hungry Dead’s about to lose it! Granny, run! He’ll eat you alive!]

[Oh, hell nah! That’s a sight I did not need burned into my brain…]

My stomach lurched, bile stinging my throat.

However, when I saw him—skin stretched over bones, stumbling like he could barely stand—the fire in my chest flared up.

Instead of running, I reached out and grabbed his twig-thin arm.

“Would you look at yourself, child? You’ve been starved nearly to death!

“Don’t your parents feed you? What kind of mom or dad doesn’t put a hot meal in front of their boy? Busy or not, a kid needs supper on the table!”

The little boy froze at my outburst, like he did not know whether to lunge or listen.

Even the wolfish gleam in his green eyes faded for a moment.

I seized my chance, sweeping the room with a quick glance.

There—in the corner!

Half-buried in trash lay a big old clay jar, its lid weighed down with a slab of rock and a sheet of filthy plastic.

From underneath drifted a faint tang. It was sharp, sour, and unmistakable!

Pickled cabbage! Oh, sweet heavens, pickled cabbage!

I heaved the rock off and tore the cover back.

A rich, tangy scent burst out, chasing away the stink of rot.

Inside, golden cabbage gleamed, crisp and slick, practically begging to be eaten.

The boy blinked in confusion, sniffing instinctively. For a moment, he forgot the dark, sticky drool sliding from the corner of his mouth.

“Hold on, honey. I'm going to make you a meal!”

I spoke decisively and dove into the trash heap.

By some miracle, I dug out a chipped clay pot, a beat-up little stove, a knife, two sprouting potatoes, and some dry kindling.

I got the little stove set up in no time, stacked the firewood, and pulled out the box of matches I stuffed in my pocket earlier.

Scratch! A flame leaped up immediately.

I set the cracked clay pot on top, fished a big head of pickled cabbage out of the jar, and gave it a few good chops into rough strips. Then, I grabbed a couple of spuds, frozen solid but not yet rotten, peeled them, hacked them into chunks, and tossed the whole pile straight into the pot.

Blub-blub-blub…

Soon enough, water bubbled and hissed, steam rising with a mouthwatering sour-salty smell.

The boy did not move a muscle.

Bent over like a crooked stick, he lingered only a few paces from the fire. His green-glinting eyes fixed hungrily on the cracked clay pot, where the steam curled upward.

His throat no longer made that beastly growling noise.

Instead, it turned into a huge, wet gulping sound.

My actions once again shocked those who were watching the live broadcast.

[You’ve gotta be kidding me. Granny’s cooking in a horror dungeon?]

[Pickled cabbage and potato stew! Holy crap, I can smell it through the screen! That’s insane!]

[Wait, did the Hungry Dead’s drool just… turn clear? It’s not bloody anymore?]

[Help! Why am I actually getting hungry watching this? That can’t be right!]

The pot kept bubbling until the potatoes turned soft. The broth boiled, and the rich aroma filled the room.

I stirred it with a cracked old spoon, scooped up a steaming mouthful, blew on it, and held it right under the boy’s nose.

“Look at you, drooling all over the place! Eat it while it’s hot, don’t just stand there gaping.

“A full belly’s the only way you’ll grow strong!”

The boy snatched the spoon right out of my hand. He did not even care that it was boiling hot. He shoved the whole spoonful into his mouth.

“Slurp—ahh!”

The heat made him suck in breath through his teeth, but he could not stop.

He crouched on the floor, hugging the chipped clay pot, shoveling the soup into his mouth with both hands.

He made urgent, greedy sounds that soon turned into satisfied grunts.

[Congratulations, player. You’ve earned the Hungry Dead’s approval. From now on, you won’t feel hunger in the game.]

“Slow down! No one’s fighting you for it!”

I nagged him, unable to help myself.

“You’ll choke, silly child. If you like it that much, I will make it for you every day…”

The boy finally lifted his head. The pickled cabbage and potato mush was smeared on his lips, and there was a human expression on his gaunt, ghastly face for the first time.

He looked at the half-empty pot in his arms, then at me. The feral light in his green eyes slowly faded.

He licked his cracked lips. “It’s… so good.”

“That’s right. It’s good!

“My cooking used to be top-notch back in the village, let me tell you!”

I raised my chin proudly.

“But listen, kid. No more gnawing on random people when you’re starving. Just come and find me, and I’ll cook for you!”

For the next few days, I, a creaky old lady, somehow turned into the dormitory’s shared granny.

Armed with nothing but my flowery padded coat and my legendary pickled cabbage stew, I went door to door, knocking on rooms.

In Dorm 2103, I found a wailing banshee ghost curled up in the corner, sobbing and soaking the whole room with damp misery.

I whipped out my big peony handkerchief and wiped her nose and eyes without hesitation.

“What’s all this crying for? Crying doesn’t fill your stomach! Tell me what happened. Who bullied you? I’ll stand up for you!”

The banshee blinked at me, totally stunned, and forgot how to cry momentarily.

Dorm 3104 had a hot-tempered poltergeist smashing things left and right.

I marched right in and yelled, “You’re a grown man! Why are you throwing tantrums? Do you think breaking stuff makes you tough? If you’ve got strength, use it where it counts! Now get over here and help me fix this busted stool leg!”

He glared, ready to explode until I shot him a sharp look. Then, unbelievably, he slumped over and went digging for nails.

Those who were watching the live broadcast became active again.

[No way! There’s just no way! Granny’s turned this horror dungeon into a dorm-mediator reality show.]

[The ghosts are going completely off-script! Did that poltergeist just… fix a chair for her?]

[Mrs. Wade, you’re amazing!]

As I went from room to room, handing out warmth and lectures, I became the brightest thing in the whole gloomy dormitory.

The surviving players, who had been hiding in corners and living in fear, were now watching with their eyes about to pop out.