3 Hygiene

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What to do when the novice village residence catches fire? As long as players can prevent the free residence from burning to ashes, they won’t willingly pay the exorbitant rent set by the developers. Alna naturally pushed the door open and ran up the stairs on the left. Seeing a bucket of water on the second floor, she grabbed it and poured it onto the table, which was emitting thick smoke and about to char.

The water suddenly reacted with an unknown substance on the table, producing a sizzling noise like meat searing on an iron plate. A large plume of gray-white mist surged out. Although the fire was extinguished, it made Alna cough uncontrollably.

“What kind of fire are you playing with?” she couldn’t help but complain. “I—cough cough, cough cough!”

When will the NPCs start being more sensible, instead of constantly flirting with disaster just to give players more jobs and tasks?

Players actually want to be unemployed too.

A hand reached out and pulled her to the window. A rush of fresh air flowed in, stabilizing her rapidly dropping health points, though the coughing fit lingered on.

Squinting, Alna tried to see clearly through the hazy vision to identify who had pulled her over.

“Nitroglycerin, obviously some ingredients were overused, but the overall idea is correct,” said a sharp young man wearing an apron, coughing occasionally as if amused. “Watson? Watson? Did you take note?”

He had a pair of especially alert gray eyes, was tall and slim, with slightly disheveled hair.

“Heavens,” said another man called Watson, standing to the side, coughing and laughing while holding a pen. “Right after coming back, causing this kind of accident in the living room. Holmes, sooner or later Mrs. Hudson’s going to kick us out—”

He paused and then peeked outside, “Good, no fire brigade called.”

“They probably have other things to deal with, like the West End garden, if I’m not mistaken,” Holmes dusted off his sleeve. “Mrs. Hudson? She’s still at the small market near the church at this hour. You know, occasionally you find fish at bargain prices.”

His sharp gaze swept over the man with the bucket.

“Quick reflexes, agile movements,” he commented, picking up a test tube dropped on the floor. “Soldier? Firefighter? Or just a busybody passerby?”

Alna, who was furiously pressing the interaction key on the curtain, turned her head.

She instinctively reached for her usual go-to phrase: “I’m looking for—” Aunt.

Before the stranger could speak, Holmes made a gesture to interrupt her.

“No,” he said, “No, no, no, friend, don’t say it yet.”

Alna was puzzled.

It was the first time she had met an NPC so unpredictable; the question marks above her head seemed almost tangible.

The young man named Holmes crouched, stood up, circled around her several times, and then confidently said,

“It seems you are the relative Mrs. Hudson has been talking about for almost a week, Alna Esas, right…” He glanced at her clothing. “And this gentleman?”

The mud color near her boots, the nearly falling-out train ticket in her pocket, and the unmistakable Yorkshire accent… Clearly, this was the “nephew” who was coming to seek Mrs. Hudson.

Alna: !! Finally found the right contact!

She nodded, relieved, “Yes, I’m looking for my aunt.”

This time Holmes was the one surprised.

“Aren’t you curious how I figured it out?” he asked.

Alna replied confidently, “Not curious.”

The underlying code made it obvious.

After all, the player is the center of the universe! The omnipotent savior! It’s natural for NPCs to recognize the protagonist… especially when these two NPCs’ names are obviously Easter eggs.

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Seeing Holmes choked up, speechless, Watson laughed watching the show.

“I’m John Watson, looks like you’re the third tenant at 221B. Mrs. Hudson has been eagerly waiting, saying you’re a young and hardworking person,” he said kindly, extending his hand to the somewhat familiar young woman. “Holmes here has his quirks, of course. But that’s part of his charm.”

Holmes snorted noncommittally at the compliment.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he nodded to Alna.

Alna blinked as their names appeared above their heads.

Sure enough, not only Easter eggs, but authentic friendly green-named NPCs — definitely allies.

Facing Watson’s outstretched hand, she was a bit surprised by such eagerness but not overly so.

Alna skillfully rummaged through her packed backpack and quickly placed something she’d picked up into Watson’s palm.

Of course, for fairness and to boost favorability, she also swiftly slipped a similar item into Holmes’s hand.

Watson, waiting for a friendly handshake, was left dumbfounded: “...Eh?”

He instinctively tightened his fingers to keep the item from dropping and flipped his palm to see a slightly rusty gear.

…What’s going on? Is this some Yorkshire regional custom?

“Thank you?” he said in confusion.

“You’re welcome,” Alna replied, quite pleased to see their favorability rise.

“The kitchen is downstairs, right?” she asked as she casually circled the living room.

“Ah, yes. But…” Watson hadn’t finished when Alna dashed downstairs with his large package.

He was silent for a moment, then said reluctantly, “Looks like our new friend has a bit of a temper.”

“I think you mean ‘probably more temperamental than my old friend,’” Holmes answered leisurely.

He was still wearing the gray apron, lounging in the armchair, examining a crumpled newspaper.

—Wait, where did this guy get a newspaper from?

“Our new friend’s housewarming gift, the Leeds Mercury from two weeks ago,” Holmes shook the paper and carefully folded this precious clue, looking quite pleased. “And the ad on the corner of page three is still intact.”

Coincidentally, their afternoon case had a lead connected to this newspaper.

“Looks like we’re lucky, huh?” Watson joked.

He placed the gear on the bookshelf, picked up a broom and rag, and began tidying the messy living room.

As he swept, he suddenly remembered why the new friend seemed familiar.

“Holmes, you probably don’t know, but Mr. Esas is the same guy who sold sandwiches on the train today,” he pondered. “I kept feeling like I’d seen him somewhere.”

“Oh, that, I actually noticed when I first met him,” his companion said casually, “but since neither of you asked for the detailed reasoning process…”

Sherlock Holmes stopped talking and gave a sly smile.

* * *

While the two upstairs were chatting, Alna was unpacking her bag, pulling out some supplies she’d scavenged.

The cupboard was locked and she couldn’t open it, so she placed everything on the kitchen counter.

Some vegetables — mainly lettuce, potatoes, and onions — plus a small bag of oats.

As she was busy, footsteps came to the door, followed by the sound of it opening.

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Alna looked up and saw an elderly woman with silver-white hair tied in a bun, wearing a brimless hat, carrying a basket, staring at her in a daze.

Her face was round, somewhat resembling Alna’s current appearance, with a faint glimmer of tears in her eyes as she looked at her.

“Oh, you’re here,” Mrs. Hudson said.

She set the basket aside and embraced her gently, saying warmly, “It’s been too long, my dear Alna.”

The sudden intimacy left Alna a little flustered.

Her mind wanted to push the stranger away, but her arms wrapped tightly around the kindly old lady, almost afraid she would slip through her thin arms.

Damn the developers — they always know how to make players surrender emotionally.

“Aunt,” the words slipped out without thinking, “long time no see.”

Then she spent the evening in the kitchen, busy chatting with her NPC aunt, cooking, and tidying the house.

Dinner was shepherd’s pie; Alna unlocked a new recipe and put the semi-prepared beef and mashed potato mix into the oven. She carried a cup of tea personally poured by Mrs. Hudson and followed her around until Mrs. Hudson laughed and shooed her away, complaining she was “in the way.”

…Even though she was trying really hard! The kitchen’s awkward setup wasn’t her fault!

“That’s not your fault. After all, compared to spacious countryside kitchens, London’s are a bit cramped,” Watson comforted her.

Alna gave a plaintive look to Watson, who was reading, then glanced at Holmes, who was staring into space, seemingly lost in thought.

From their conversation, she learned her two roommates indeed had jobs.

John Watson was a retired army medic, now providing medical services to local residents, occasionally making house calls.

—Hopefully, when she collapses from exhaustion, this doctor will go easy on the fees.

Sherlock Holmes was a consulting detective, primarily handling visiting clients and solving related cases — somewhat famous.

—Quite a detailed Easter egg indeed.

Finishing the tea-milk mixture in one gulp, Alna stood and got to work.

Washing dishes and utensils, cleaning the kitchen, wiping counters and cupboards — not enough, she even cleaned the whole house in the dark.

Found several spiders.

Found several unknown insects.

Found an old book.

Found some scraps.

Found a strange golden button.

Found ten pence, a shilling, and five pounds.

She worked until 1:50 a.m., reluctantly setting down the rag and bucket, then lay down to sleep.

She painfully reflected on wasting the whole night cleaning without earning a penny (the money found was dropped by Holmes under the sofa and carpet), and even tore her rag, meaning she’d need to buy a new one tomorrow.

But she didn’t want to stop. Once she started cleaning, she couldn’t stop—it had a strange addictive charm, like fishing!

…Come to think of it, didn’t the developers recruit the cleaning simulator team when making DLCs?!