Clang, clang, clang!
The cane struck the floor tiles three times, a sharp sound acting as the signal to commence a bizarre ritual. The moment the sound faded, the wall lamps on both sides of the banquet hall abruptly extinguished.
Now, the only illumination in the entire hall came from the crystal chandelier hanging above the long table. The light was compressed within the boundaries of the table, while the area beyond was swallowed by darkness.
Byrne looked at his empty plate and then quickly glanced at Baron Blackmist in the head seat. In the dark background, the mist surrounding the Baron seemed to grow even denser.
"Do not be impatient, everyone. The appetizers are coming."
As soon as he finished speaking, a wisp of black mist rose from the center of the long table. The mist scattered, drifting across the tabletop like a living thing. Whenever the mist passed an invitee's plate, a dish condensed within it.
Byrne looked down. As the mist moved away, a small dish of sliced meat appeared on his plate. The slices were as thin as a cicada's wing, possessing an unnatural luster, and the edges were dusted with fine black powder. Judging solely by appearance, it was impossible to tell what kind of meat it was, and it had no scent when he leaned in to sniff it.
Byrne glanced around. Appetizers had appeared on everyone else's plates as well, though the dishes were all different. On Number Five's plate were several pitch-black berries with taut skins that showed faint dark-red veins, resembling dried bloodstains. Number Nine's plate held a bowl of murky thick soup with a layer of fine purple sediment floating on the surface. Number Twelve's plate contained a piece of toasted bread; through the cracks in the crust, one could see red textures that looked like raw muscle.
None of the invitees dared to pick up their cutlery as they stared at the dark cuisine before them. Everyone was watching, their gazes darting between their own plates, the expressions of others, and Baron Blackmist at the head of the table.
"What? Does no one like the appetizers? This is the 'Dish of Memories' I prepared specifically for you. Each of you will taste your most unforgettable flavor."
After saying this, Baron Blackmist picked up his fork and lifted a thin, silver-gray slice from his own plate. He slowly placed it in his mouth, savoring it while sighing with emotion.
"For example, the flavor in my Dish of Memories is the famous Silver Fish Sashimi of Phantom Sea City from decades ago. It's impossible to find now, so I can only reminisce through this dish."
The Baron ate slowly and elegantly, as if he were truly enjoying a rare delicacy.
The most unforgettable flavor...
Hearing those words, Byrne looked down at the slices of meat on his plate. An image of a kind face appeared in his mind—his grandmother, who had passed away when he was ten years old. His most unforgettable flavor was the braised pork his grandmother used to make.
When he was a child, aside from birthday gifts, the thing he looked forward to most was his grandmother's stewed pork. In his memory, she would always wear that faded blue cloth apron and stay busy in the small kitchen for an entire afternoon. The pork belly, with alternating layers of fat and lean meat, would be cut into cubes, blanched, and then stir-fried with rock sugar until it reached an amber hue. Then she would add her specially selected sauces. When the dish was ready, she would sprinkle a handful of chopped green onions over it, and the aroma would fill the entire old house. The pork was soft, sweet, and melt-in-the-mouth without being greasy; it was the flavor he missed most.
Thinking of this, Byrne suddenly realized that the scentless slices on his plate were beginning to emit the faint aroma of braised pork. To his shock, the aroma was identical to the one in his memory.
His fingertips trembled slightly, and his grip on the fork tightened unconsciously. His breathing even slowed for a moment. Emotionally, he desperately wanted to pick up the fork and taste that old flavor he missed so dearly. However, his reason told him that this eerie Dish of Memories must not be touched.
After a moment of internal struggle, his rationality triumphed over his emotions. Byrne took a deep breath and released his grip on the fork.
Looking up, he saw that some of the other invitees had already succumbed. The first to act was the elderly man, Number One. He tremulously forked half a dark-brown dried fruit and, after a moment of hesitation, slowly put it into his mouth.
The moment the fruit touched his tongue, the old man's cloudy eyes brightened. A faint glint of tears appeared at the corners of his eyes, his hunched back straightened slightly, and a long-lost gentle smile appeared on his face.
"It's... it's the Osmanthus Cake my wife used to make..." The old man's voice choked with emotion. "She's been gone for fifteen years. I thought I would never taste this again in my life..."
While expressing his feelings, he picked up the fork again, eagerly stuffing another piece into his mouth.
With the old man as an example, the defenses of other invitees began to crumble. The lady at Number Seven stared at the sugar-coated nuts on her plate and, unable to help herself, grabbed her fork and popped one into her mouth.
The instant it entered her mouth, her eyes widened, and her face took on an enchanted expression. "It's the sesame candy my mom used to make!"
Her voice was full of joy, yet her eyes moistened involuntarily. "When I was a kid during the New Year, my mom would spend the twelfth lunar month boiling sugar and making sesame candy, covering it in a thick layer of white sesame seeds. It was fragrant and crunchy. I used to hide a few pieces in my pocket; they would keep me sweet all day long."
She seemed to be swept away by buried memories, taking bite after bite, completely forgetting that she was in an eerie banquet hall shrouded in the supernatural. Only a child-like satisfaction remained on her face.
Number Five picked up a black berry and hesitantly put it in his mouth. His tense face softened instantly, and a glimmer of tears appeared in his eyes. Number Twelve also broke off a small piece of toasted bread; while chewing, a smile of relief appeared on his face.
For a moment, the banquet hall was filled with the sounds of chewing, sobbing, and whispered sentiments. The originally oppressive atmosphere had turned strangely warm.
Byrne watched all of this coldly, his fingers still tapping the tabletop. His gaze fell upon his own plate. Those aromatic slices of meat were like soul-hooking phantoms. In his vision, scenes of his grandmother making braised pork seemed to appear. The blue apron, the warm stove, the thick porcelain bowl—every detail was so real it felt within reach. He could even imagine the soft texture of the meat entering his mouth; it was the taste he had missed for over a decade.
Every time Byrne was about to be bewitched, his reason would pull him back from the edge of the abyss. He knew the tricks of these supernatural occurrences all too well: the more enticing the appearance, the more lethal the trap hidden behind it.
At this moment, not just Byrne, but most of the other invitees were also enduring the lethal temptation of the Dish of Memories.
Baron Blackmist put down his fork and gently wiped the corners of his mouth with a silk napkin. His glowing red eyes scanned everyone at the table.
"Only six guests are willing to sample this appetizer? What a pity. Memories are the things people find hardest to let go of. Even knowing it is fake, some are willing to sink into it. Only souls like those are truly delicious to devour."
As soon as he spoke, the smile on the face of the elderly man who had first eaten the dish froze. The fork in his hand fell powerlessly onto the table.