Black screen with crimson text. The chapter title 'THE COURT' appears in heavy serif font, flickering like dying neon. Below it, in smaller text: 'A standing reservation has no end date.'

The opera house exterior rises against a bruised purple sky. Mo Yan's truck parked at the entrance. The building is magnificent in decay — pillars cracked, roof partially caved, but the entrance still grand.

Mo Yan climbs the steps of the opera house. The interior is vast — a collapsed ceiling lets starlight through. Furniture scattered like fallen soldiers.

Mo Yan enters the dining room. The first view — grandeur preserved in decay. Crystal chandeliers hang crooked but still lit. A long table set with real cloth, polished silver, crystal glasses.

Close-up on the table setting. Real cloth, tarnished silver, crystal glasses. Then Mo Yan's hands placing a System-provided ingredient container on the side table — his cooking station prepared.

The zombie court begins to arrive and seat themselves. Well-dressed figures in evening wear, suits, traditional clothing. Each with crimson eyes of varying brightness. They move with preserved grace.

A young girl zombie enters and sits nearest the door. She looks eight years old, in a torn pink dress, crimson eyes ancient and young. Nearby, the food editor zombie observes Mo Yan with professional interest.

Mo Yan begins his cooking. The kitchen alcove is modest but functional. The System pantry glows behind him. He begins preparing the first course.

The retired general zombie is introduced — seated at the table, military bearing intact, watching everything. Then the first course arrives — served by Mo Yan to the court.

The food editor tastes the soup and begins her professional critique. She is precise, devastating, but ultimately approving.

The general finally reaches for his bowl. His hands are steady, precise, military. The weight of his gaze shifts from Mo Yan to the food.

Mo Yan approaches the child zombie with the main course. She refuses — pushing the plate away, shaking her head. Her crimson eyes are wet with something that shouldn't exist anymore.

Mo Yan returns to the kitchen. He reaches into the System pantry and produces a simple dumpling. Not fancy. Not elaborate. Just... dumplings. He returns to the child.

The child zombie takes a bite of the dumpling. She begins to cry — not the mechanical tears of the dead, but real, broken sobs. She remembers.

Madame Qing begins to explain. She's seated, fingers steepled, candlelight casting shadows across her porcelain face. Mo Yan stands across from her, listening.

Madame Qing explains the System's truth — ratings are memory, memory is identity. Without ratings, the dead lose themselves.

Madame Qing reveals the System's indifference — it cannot and does not distinguish between human and zombie. Currency is currency.

A high-grade zombie places a glowing mutant core on the table as payment. The core pulses with green light. Madame Qing explains — cores are worth more than human currency.

Mo Yan continues serving course after course. The banquet is in full swing. Plates cleared, new plates served. The court is satisfied.

The rating system activates for the court. Five-star ratings float above each zombie's head, glowing gold. The System HUD shows accumulated five-star reviews.

The new tool unlocks — a cleaver. The System pantry opens to reveal it, gleaming in the golden light. Mo Yan examines it with professional appreciation.

The court disperses. Madame Qing bids Mo Yan farewell at the opera house entrance. The night ends. Five stars echo in his memory.

Mo Yan drives away from the opera house. Dawn is breaking on the horizon — purple bleeding to orange. His face in the rearview mirror is exhausted but thoughtful.

The truck passes the survivor camp on the horizon. Morning light reveals tents and campfires. The System HUD shows ratings accumulated. The cleaver sits in the kitchen, waiting.