DLMSWSHH Chapter 1

TL: Hua

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Chapter 1: Haunted house

As the saying goes, when it comes to working, no job is shameful.

In the face of money, how much is dignity actually worth?

Zhong Ming did his best to convince himself of this. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the two flimsy pieces of fabric resting on the bench and finally made up his mind. The rustle of clothes rubbing together echoed in the small dressing room as the soft cushion of the bench dipped slightly. Zhong Ming crossed one leg, pulling at the edge of a black silk stocking; two inches above his knee, a leather garter was clamped firmly in place.

Click.

A crisp sound rang out. Zhong Ming pressed down with his fingers, securing a hidden clasp that joined the stocking’s suspender to the leg ring.

Looking down at the gear on his legs, Zhong Ming let out a soft exhale. He stood up and summoned the courage to glance into the small dressing mirror.

Immediately, the corner of his brow twitched.

Damn, this is a bit erotic.

Zhong Ming stared at his own legs in the mirror, his expression stiff. In his heart, he cursed those flamboyant male aristocrats of medieval Europe; he found it difficult to accept such fetish-like items appearing on his own body.

“Thud, thud!”

Just as Zhong Ming was dazing out, two sharp knocks came from the door.

Then came a deep male voice, dripping with impatience: “Newcomer! What are you doing? You didn’t die in there, did you?”

There was obvious malice in his words, followed by a few snickers in the background.

Zhong Ming looked toward the old wooden door. Wood shavings drifted through the air with the force of the knocking. He hurriedly pulled on his trousers and shouted toward the door, “Almost ready.”

Hearing his voice, the knocking stopped, but the laughter didn’t. Someone said something in a low, muffled voice. It was hard to make out the words, but the tone was definitely ill-intentioned.

Zhong Ming accelerated his pace. Aside from the garter belt, the rest of the outfit was fairly normal: a shirt, a wool vest, a suit jacket, a belt, and leather shoes. Everything wrapped tightly around his body. Zhong Ming shifted his shoulders uncomfortably; he wasn’t used to such a formal, overly fitted suit.

Fortunately, in the mirror, the garter stockings were completely hidden by the suit trousers. He at least looked like a proper manservant.

It had been three days since he transmigrated into this horror game. The game was titled Haunted houses and set in a medieval European lord’s duchy. Rumor had it that this haunted mansion housed the game’s biggest boss; if a player cleared this dungeon, they would officially finish the game and receive a massive cash prize.

When Zhong Ming woke up, he found himself in a large Western-style manor with the identity of a newly appointed manservant and absolutely no other information. Based on his experience playing games, he figured he was likely the most ordinary kind of NPC, probably tasked with serving tea to players and occasionally triggering plot points.

As for his past life, he didn’t remember it very clearly. He only vaguely recalled coming from a poor background and working some kind of corporate job. In his memory, he was squeezed dry by his boss, living every day in a frantic blur for the sake of work.

Now, he had become a manservant for a feudal lord. Capitalists didn’t even need to find a reason to exploit him anymore.

Zhong Ming curled his lips in a self-mocking smile. He walked to the simple, rusted washbasin, quickly splashed his face with water, and tied back his shoulder-length hair. He looked into the mirror, finally finding himself somewhat presentable.

He took a short breath, mentally prepared himself for a day of servitude, walked to the door, and pulled it open.

He nearly collided with someone.

Outside, a brown-haired young man had his right hand raised in the air, looking like he was about to continue knocking. His emerald-green eyes widened in surprise.

Zhong Ming stopped just in time to avoid a collision. He looked up at the youth and recognized him as a manservant named Matthew. Perhaps because he was Caucasian, though he looked barely of age, he was very tall, tall enough that his head nearly brushed the doorframe, completely blocking the exit.

Zhong Ming lowered his head and tried to find a way out but failed. He looked up and said, “…Could you move aside?”

Matthew seemed to snap out of a trance. He blinked a few times and smiled. “I didn’t expect you to look like this.”

His tone was one of genuine surprise, as if he were seeing Zhong Ming for the first time. Zhong Ming didn’t find it odd; for the past few days, he had been physically weak and hadn’t even left his bed. He hadn’t brushed his hair or washed his face, so his colleagues likely had no idea what he looked like.

“Mm.” Zhong Ming lowered his head, not thinking his face was anything special. He repeated, “May I go out?”

Matthew paused. Zhong Ming watched the leather shoes in his vision shift to the side, giving him a little room.

As Zhong Ming squeezed past, the other menservants, already dressed, were leaning against both sides of the wall. Feeling many gazes fixated on him, Zhong Ming did a quick, indifferent sweep with his eyes before lowering his head to stand in line with them.

The stares glued to his body did not disappear.

Zhong Ming kept his head low, his back pressed tight against the wall. His field of vision contained only the tips of his own shoes and his ponytail draped over his shoulder.

Matthew turned around and stared intently at the quiet Zhong Ming for a moment. Then he looked away, his smile fading slightly. “You lot.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his freckled face wearing a half-smile that exuded a strange sense of authority. “Stop staring.”

At his command, the gazes on Zhong Ming vanished instantly. The hallway fell into a deathly silence; even the sound of breathing grew faint. Zhong Ming breathed a sigh of relief and peeked up at Matthew.

He had a faint feeling that Matthew’s status was higher than the other servants, which was quite strange. Matthew was obviously the youngest among them. In a strictly hierarchical medieval European society, the older servants should have held higher status.

Zhong Ming silently made a note of this suspicion.

He remained silent like the others, waiting for the next instruction. Just then, a light cough sounded near his ear. Zhong Ming shifted his gaze to see a black-haired youth standing beside him, smiling at him.

Seeing Zhong Ming look over, the youth winked, the tear mole at the corner of his eye moving with the gesture. He mouthed the words, ‘You’re really handsome.’

Reading the lip movements, Zhong Ming froze. He thought he must have misread it.

He knew from a young age that he was of average appearance. Because of his poor family background, he was short and thin, completely different from a tall and handsome young man like Matthew.

In his memory, people rarely gave him positive evaluations regarding his looks.

Ugly Duckling

Little rat

In his memories, people often called him those.

I must have misread it, Zhong Ming thought, lowering his eyelashes and offering no response.

The black-haired youth clearly didn’t give up. As Zhong Ming followed the line of servants out, the youth ended up walking right beside him. He leaned in and whispered, “Newcomer, what country are you from?”

Zhong Ming didn’t really want to answer, but the youth was the only person of Asian descent he had seen among the servants so far. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “China.”

“Oh, me too,” the black-haired youth said. They were in the last row, shielded by several tall Caucasian men in front of them. The youth was taller than Zhong Ming; he bent down and continued, “Are you wondering why we can understand what they’re saying?”

Zhong Ming paused. It was true. Judging by the lip movements, Matthew was speaking a European language, most likely German. Zhong Ming knew a little German, but he was nowhere near fluent.

He looked up slightly and saw the youth smile, pointing a finger to his own temple. “The game automatically translates languages in our heads. It’s the same for players; people from all over the world play this game.”

Zhong Ming had guessed as much. He thought the game was quite high-tech to be able to provide real-time translation without any lag.

Beside him, the youth sighed. “…I really don’t know where these people got such incredible power.”

His voice was very low and turned cold. Zhong Ming noticed the heaviness in his tone and frowned slightly.

“Let’s not talk about that.” The gloom vanished from the youth instantly. He regained his smile, gave a small stretch, and said, “Let’s go eat first.”

As he lowered his arm, his palm brushed lightly against Zhong Ming’s back in a comforting gesture. “I’ve been here a long time. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me.”

Zhong Ming flicked his eyes up to glance at him. Although the youth’s smile was kind, Zhong Ming was currently more interested in breakfast.

However, a moment later, Zhong Ming changed his mind.

Sitting at the dining table, he stared at the “breakfast” before him and fell into a grim silence.

On the wooden dining table sat an iron bowl, clearly broken, with a dent in the rim. Inside was a bowl of sticky, slightly yellowish stuff; the smell told Zhong Ming it was oatmeal porridge.

The air was filled with the sound of servants slurping their porridge. After a moment of silence, Zhong Ming slowly picked up his spoon, scooped a bit of the thick oatmeal, and tentatively put it in his mouth.

…The porridge was burnt.

The bitter taste of charred grain combined with the musty smell in the air almost made Zhong Ming gag.

He forced down the urge to vomit, put down the spoon, and looked at his gorging colleagues with a look of morbid curiosity. He couldn’t fathom how they could eat it.

“Aren’t you eating?”

The voice of the youth beside him drifted over. Zhong Ming turned to see that the other man’s bowl was already empty, scraped clean down to the last drop.

The youth looked at Zhong Ming’s nearly untouched porridge, a flash of longing in his eyes. “If you’re not eating, can I have it?”

No matter how composed he tried to be, Zhong Ming couldn’t help but widen his eyes slightly. As if sensing his surprise, the youth smiled and leaned in, lowering his voice: “I suggest you eat at least a little. Trust me… the food won’t get any better later.”

Zhong Ming stared at him in disbelief. For a moment, he wondered if he had stepped into a middle school play and was currently performing “Jane Eyre[1].” Weren’t game companies supposed to be incredibly rich? Why was it like this for him?

“Is the game company really this stingy?” he blurted out.

The youth’s eyes widened in surprise.

The tear mole flickered as he turned his head, covering his mouth with his hand and letting out a sudden snort of laughter. “…You’re right.” The youth wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “They are very stingy.”

Zhong Ming didn’t see what was so funny and frowned. Once the youth had finished laughing, he exhaled and leaned back against his chair. “For servants like us, this is just how it is…”

He tilted his head toward Zhong Ming, winked again, and pointed a hand toward the moldy ceiling above. “But if you can find a way to climb up there, things will be different.”

Zhong Ming looked up at the ceiling. The dining hall was semi-underground; the walls were covered in moss, and a thin sliver of sunlight through the high windows illuminated the dust motes in the air. The conditions were visibly wretched.

What was upstairs? Zhong Ming didn’t understand. He turned back toward the youth, and as their eyes met, he suddenly realized something.

Matthew, that tall, blonde youth, wasn’t sitting with them.

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[1] Jane Eyre (1847) is a seminal bildungsroman novel by Charlotte Brontë that follows the life of an orphaned protagonist, Jane Eyre.

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You can purchase the translation of chapter 1-50 (epub format) HERE. The second half is coming soon ~~