What should you do when your starting village residence spontaneously combusts?
As long as players can prevent their free housing from burning to ashes, they won’t willingly shell out the exorbitant rent set by the developers.
Arna naturally pushed the door open and ran up the left-hand staircase.
Seeing a bucket of water on the second floor, she grabbed it and splashed it onto the table, which was currently billowing thick smoke and was on the verge of being charred.
The moment the water hit the unknown mixture on the table, it made a sizzling sound like meat on a griddle. A massive cloud of grayish-white fog erupted. Although the fire was extinguished, the smoke made Arna cough uncontrollably.
“What kind of fire are you people playing with?” she couldn’t help but complain. “I—*cough, cough!*”
When would NPCs ever learn to be sensible? Did they have to constantly flirt with death just to create jobs and quests for the players?
Players actually wouldn’t mind being unemployed for once.
A hand reached out from the side and pulled her toward the window.
A surge of fresh air rushed in, stabilizing her rapidly plummeting Health Bar, though the “Coughing” debuff didn’t disappear immediately, leaving her hacking away.
Arna squinted, trying to see through her hazy vision exactly who had dragged her over.
“Nitroglycerin, obviously. Some of the ingredients were added in excess, but the general logic was sound,” answered a capable young man wearing an apron. He coughed twice, sounding almost like he was laughing. “Watson? Watson? Did you get that down?”
He had exceptionally sharp grey eyes, was tall and thin, and his hair was somewhat disheveled.
“Good heavens,” the other man, called Watson, stood nearby, laughing even as he coughed, a pen clutched in his hand. “Setting off an accident in the living room the moment you get back… Holmes, one of these days Mrs. Hudson is going to throw us out—”
He paused for a moment to catch his breath before leaning out to check the street. “Good, it didn’t draw the fire brigade.”
“They likely have other things to attend to—the gardens in the West End, if I’m not mistaken,” Holmes said, flicking some dust off his cuff. “As for Mrs. Hudson? She’s at the small market near the church at this hour. You know, she occasionally finds fish at a bargain.”
His sharp gaze swept over the person in front of him. “As for this gentleman with the bucket—”
“Quick reflexes, nimble movements,” he critiqued, picking up a test tube that had fallen to the floor. “A soldier? A fireman? Or simply a meddling passerby?”
Arna, who was frantically clicking the interaction button on the curtains, turned her head.
She subconsciously pulled out her previous universal phrase: “I’m looking for—” *My aunt.*
Before this stranger could state her origins, Holmes made a gesture, cutting her off.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no, my friend. Don’t say it yet.”
Arna: ?
This was her first time encountering an NPC who didn’t play by the rules. The question marks over her head were practically becoming physical.
The youth named Holmes crouched down, stood up, and circled her several times before saying with absolute certainty:
“It seems you are the relative Mrs. Hudson has been talking about for nearly a week—Arna Essas, is it not… ‘sir’?” He glanced at her attire.
The color of the mud on the boots, the train ticket nearly falling out of the pocket, and the unmistakable Yorkshire accent… clearly, this was the “nephew” who had come to seek refuge with Mrs. Hudson.
Arna: !! *Finally found my contact!*
She nodded and said with relief, “Yes, I’m looking for my aunt.”
Now it was Holmes’s turn to be surprised.
“Aren’t you curious how I deduced it?” he asked.
Arna said righteously, “Not really.”
The underlying logic code was right there; it was only natural for him to recognize her.
After all, the player is the center of the universe! The omnipotent savior! It’s only human for an NPC to recognize the player as the protagonist… not to mention these two NPCs’ names were clearly Easter eggs.
Seeing Holmes seemingly choked into silence, Watson, who had been watching the spectacle from the side, burst into laughter.
“I am John Watson. It seems you are the third tenant of 221B. Mrs. Hudson has been looking forward to this for a long time; she said you were a hardworking young man,” he said amiably, extending a hand toward the somewhat familiar-looking youth. “Holmes just has a difficult temperament. Though, if you ask me, it’s part of his profession.”
Holmes gave a non-committal grunt at the remark.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, nodding to Arna.
Arna blinked as their names gradually appeared above their heads.
As expected, they weren’t just Easter eggs; they were genuine “green-named” NPCs. Definitely on the friendly side.
Facing Watson’s extended hand, she was a bit surprised that an NPC was so proactive about receiving a gift, but not overly so.
Arna expertly rummaged through her stuffed backpack and quickly placed an item she had scavenged into Watson’s palm.
Of course, to be fair and to grind some favorability, she also shoved an item into Holmes’s hand with extraordinary speed.
Watson, who was waiting for a friendly handshake: “…Eh?”
He instinctively closed his fingers to keep the item from falling, then turned his hand over to look at his palm.
It was a somewhat rusty gear.
…What, what was this about? Was this some regional custom from Yorkshire?
“Thank you?” he said blankly.
“You’re welcome,” Arna replied, quite satisfied to see the favorability of the two NPCs indeed rising.
“The kitchen is downstairs, right?” She took a lap around the living room as if no one else was there and asked casually.
“Ah, yes. But—” Before Watson could finish, he saw Arna rush downstairs carrying her large bundle.
He was silent for a moment before managing to say, “It seems our new friend is a bit of an impatient sort.”
“I think what you meant to say was, ‘I fear they have a stranger temperament than my old friend,'” Holmes answered leisurely.
He was still in his grey apron, curled up in an armchair, examining a crumpled newspaper in his hand.
—Wait, where did this fellow get a newspaper?
“A meeting gift from our new friend—the *Leeds Mercury* from the week before last,” Holmes shook the newspaper out and folded the precious clue away, looking to be in an excellent mood. “And the advertisement column on the corner of the third page is still intact.”
Coincidentally, a point of suspicion in the new case they had received that afternoon could be linked to this very newspaper.
“It seems we’re lucky, aren’t we?” Watson joked.
He placed the gear on the bookshelf, picked up a broom and a rag, and began cleaning the living room that had been turned into a mess.
As he swept, he suddenly slapped his forehead, remembering why the new friend looked so familiar.
“Holmes, you won’t believe it, but that Mr. Essas is the same person who was selling sandwiches on the train today,” he mused. “I wondered why I felt like I’d seen him somewhere before.”
“Oh, that. I actually noticed the moment I saw him,” his companion said idly. “But since neither you nor he asked for the specific reasoning process…”
Sherlock Holmes trailed off and gave a sly smile.
***
While the two upstairs were talking, Arna was still digging through her bundle, pulling out the resources she had just scavenged.
The cupboards were locked, and she couldn’t open them, so she simply laid everything out on the kitchen counter.
Some vegetables—mostly lettuce, potatoes, and onions—along with a small bag of oats.
As she was busying herself, footsteps sounded at the door, followed by the sound of it being pushed open.
Arna looked up and saw an old lady with her silver hair tied in a bun, wearing a bonnet. She was carrying a basket and staring at her in a daze.
Her face was round and bore a slight resemblance to Arna’s current appearance. As she looked at her, there seemed to be a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Oh, you’ve arrived,” Mrs. Hudson said.
She set the basket aside and pulled her into an embrace, saying softly, “It’s been too long, my dear Arna.”
The sudden intimate contact left Arna a bit flustered.
Her consciousness wanted to push the stranger away, but her arms wrapped around this kind, elderly woman, almost fearing she might slip through her grip because she was so thin.
Those damned developers always knew exactly how to make a player’s heart fail them.
“Auntie,” the words spilled out of her mouth without thinking. “It’s been a long time.”
She then spent the entire evening in the kitchen, busily chatting with her NPC aunt, cooking, and tidying the house.
For dinner, they made Shepherd’s Pie. Arna unlocked a new recipe, shoved the beef and mashed potato mixture into the oven, and then followed Mrs. Hudson around with a cup of tea her aunt had poured for her until she was laughingly shooed away for being “underfoot.”
…She had been working so hard! It definitely wasn’t her fault the things in this kitchen were so difficult to use!
“It’s not your fault. Compared to the spacious countryside, London kitchens are a bit small,” Watson comforted her.
Arna gave a resentful look at Watson, who was reading a book, and then at Holmes, who was staring into space, likely pondering something.
From their chat just now, she learned that both of her roommates indeed had jobs.
John Watson was a retired army doctor, currently providing medical services to local residents and occasionally making house calls.
—She hoped that when she eventually fainted from exhaustion, this doctor would be merciful with his fees.
Sherlock Holmes was a consulting detective. His daily work mainly involved receiving clients and solving related cases. He was already somewhat famous.
—These Easter eggs were really detailed.
After draining the milk-tea mixture from her cup in one go, Arna stood up and got to work.
She washed the plates and utensils, scrubbed the kitchen, and cleaned the counters and cupboards. Not satisfied, she even cleaned the entire house in the dark.
Discovered: several spiders.
Discovered: several unknown insects.
Discovered: one ancient book.
Discovered: some scrap materials.
Discovered: one strange golden button.
Discovered: ten pennies, one shilling, and five pounds.
Arna worked until 1:50 AM before reluctantly putting down her cleaning rag and bucket to lie in bed and prepare for sleep.
She reflected solemnly on wasting an entire evening on cleaning, especially since she hadn’t earned a single penny (the money she found was dropped by Holmes under the sofa and rugs), and she had even worn out her rag, meaning she’d have to buy a new one tomorrow.
But she couldn’t help it. Once she started cleaning, she simply couldn’t stop. It had a strange magic to it, just like fishing!
…Then again, did the developers actually poach the staff from *Cleaner Simulator* when they were making this DLC?!