“Are you saying you suspect the people outside are monitoring us?” Xu An’s brows were furrowed, her gaze sharp and cold.
“But no one followed us down from the lighthouse. How could the people up there monitor us?”
Xu An was unsure if Zhou Haimei’s explanation was convincing, but deep down, she was already starting to form an idea.
“Do you think they might have planted cameras in this valley beforehand, and everything we do is being watched by people in the lighthouse?” Zhou Haimei herself found it hard to believe as she spoke.
It was easy to imagine the immense effort required to build this arena, let alone install cameras within it to monitor their every move.
Given the lighthouse’s usual nature of not acting without benefit, Xu An felt this was impossible; there had to be something else going on.
However, Xu An hadn't yet considered the possibility of a broadcast.
After all, it had been a long time since the lighthouse had hosted any large-scale events resembling a broadcast.
Previously, the lighthouse had described this event as incredibly arduous, so who would think of a broadcast?
But this time, Xu An was mistaken.
The lighthouse’s broadcast this time was not free; the paid streaming alone brought immense revenue to the lighthouse.
When Xu An heard this possibility, her pupils constricted, and she seemed to think of something.
“No matter what tricks the lighthouse has played with this competition, we must be careful. Perhaps countless eyes are watching us from outside!”
Almost the instant Xu An finished speaking, the people squatting in the broadcasting studio within the lighthouse froze for a moment, their expressions momentarily stunned.
In that instant, it felt as though Xu An’s gaze could pierce through the hidden cameras and lock directly onto them.
Everyone present felt a chill crawl up their spines.
Although this broadcast was a surprise program by the lighthouse, designed to capture the contestants’ most genuine human nature in their unaware state.
Or perhaps, their cruelty.
Or perhaps, humanity had simply grown too peaceful and complacent.
This broadcast by the lighthouse not only showed the people living on the lighthouse that life on the surface was not as ideal as some idealists described.
It also served as a deterrent.
It was also a warning to those living too comfortably on the lighthouse.
Look, this is the ground you so desperately clamor to return to. The surface has long been overrun by mutated beasts.
Even these people who live constantly on the edge, surviving by their wits, find life so difficult in these harsh conditions. How do you expect to return and live here?
Do you truly believe your frail human bodies can contend with these beasts for territory?
Of course, the revenue this broadcast brought to the lighthouse was by no means limited to simple paid viewership income.
It could be said to have pioneered an era.
Not only could the beasts below be cleared out periodically, but the profits from the broadcast could also be used to reward the participating contestants.
At the same time, it revitalized the stagnant and dead economy of the lighthouse.
It was truly killing two birds with one stone.
However, this "entertainment" for the citizens of the lighthouse was exchanged for the lives of those below, fighting and struggling against beasts.
But the people currently in the extreme cold arena below didn't even know they had become mere jokes for others to discuss after meals.
A source of amusement.
It was possible that a comrade who fought beside you one moment could be devoured by a monster the next, yet you couldn't show an ounce of sadness or grief for the sake of survival.
Because a moment's distraction could mean you were the next to be eaten by a monster.
But just as you buried all your sorrow.
Those "upper-class citizens," sitting safely outside, enjoying delicious food and air conditioning, were using the life-and-death struggles between your teammates as a conversation starter.
This was precisely why the broadcast was conducted without informing any of the contestants.
Because it was highly likely the lighthouse knew these contestants would not agree.
Both Xu An and Zhou Haimei felt a sense of unease about this matter, especially Xu An, who was exceptionally sensitive to being monitored.
However, she still couldn't find any hidden cameras.
For some reason, Ze Yuan had started sleeping again.
A short while later, Li Cheng, who had finished cooking, came in to call them out.
“Come out and eat!”
Xu An called for everyone to go out, and from a distance, she could smell an indescribable aroma.
Since the apocalypse, Xu An had rarely suffered in terms of taste. Zhou Haimei’s diet had also improved significantly by following Xu An.
Here, only Li Xin and Li Cheng, along with Guan Shan, had genuinely experienced hardship.
Upon smelling the aroma, Li Xin couldn’t help but jump up exaggeratedly.
“Brother, what did you make? It smells so good!”
Li Cheng chuckled, “Nothing much, just whipped up a few simple things. Come and eat quickly, look at you, so ungraceful!”
Even though everyone had witnessed Xu An’s extravagant behavior yesterday, constantly taking ingredients out from outside like a rich woman,
Seeing Li Cheng had prepared a table full of dishes, they couldn’t help but gasp.
“I just processed those small snakes casually. I tasted them, and they were quite good, so I fried some snake skin, and for the snake meat, I directly made some barbecue. I was afraid you wouldn’t be used to it, so I seasoned it a bit stronger.”
None of them were pampered young ladies who were doted on from childhood, especially Zhou Haimei and Li Xin.
During missions in the army before, Zhou Haimei had eaten everything; not to mention cooked snakes, when she was starving, she even had to eat raw mice when necessary.
As for Li Xin, she grew up in the countryside with her brother and considered roasted small snakes, shrimp, and grasshoppers to be the best snacks.
She couldn't get them even when she wanted them.
The only one among them who had likely never eaten snake was probably Xu An.
Guan Shan remained expressionless as always.
Any chef, no matter how skilled, would probably feel defeated facing Guan Shan.
Because you couldn’t detect even the slightest reaction on Guan Shan’s face.
Li Cheng simply gave up on asking Guan Shan and directly asked Xu An.
“How does it taste?”
From the moment Xu An took her first bite, she hadn’t stopped eating. Her continuous enjoyment was likely the best feedback for Li Cheng, the “chef.”
Xu An gave him several thumbs up.
The fried snake skin, emitting a cumin fragrance, sizzled with oil. In such freezing weather, it steamed warmly.
It wasn’t just Xu An and the others who couldn't stop eating.
Even the audience watching the broadcast from outside couldn't resist.
Before long, the sound of saliva being swallowed intermittently echoed through the hall.
From then on, Xu An earned herself a new title.
“Eating Broadcast Killer!”