As Qin Nuo turned the corner of the corridor, he saw a group of young men and women standing there, each holding their own lunch.

Moldy bread and biscuits, rotten fruit, sour fish soup—just the sight of it was enough to kill anyone's appetite instantly.

Their faces were marked with unwillingness and anger, but more than anything, fear and helplessness.

In front of them, a large vending machine was clattering noisily, with a ghostly face as fierce as a door god in the middle.