WTNL Chapter 275

Thank you @Ultrakill for the Kofi. (1/2)

Follow Up
Chapter 275: My dear God the Father

Wen Jianyan’s body leaned slightly back, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that his chest was now wide open. His limbs were relaxed and lazy, allowing the bright red fabric to flow down freely.

“Of course.”

He suddenly smiled.

“We have plenty of time.”

He sat up a little and raised his hand to wrap around Wu Zhu’s shoulder, gazing into his eyes just inches away. With a light touch of his fingertip, he wiped away the remaining warm blood from Wu Zhu’s lips. The amber depths of his eyes were unfathomable, holding a deep, faint smile:

“So, what are you in such a hurry for?”

In complete contrast to his earlier passivity, Wen Jianyan’s mind was now as calm as still water.

The lightheartedness and ease he was showing at this moment contained not the slightest bit of pretense.

Because the way things were developing was exactly as he had anticipated.

Entering the fifth floor of the “Changsheng Building”—this was the joint order from the Nightmare System and Wu Zhu. However, the desires of the two were in direct conflict, even completely opposed to each other.

The fact was, the fragment sealed within the copper mirror on the fifth floor of the “Changsheng Building” was extremely important. It might even be connected to Wu Zhu’s most primal power—an endless, terrifying darkness.

As long as he helped release Wu Zhu’s fragment sealed within the copper mirror, Wu Zhu’s power would be greatly enhanced, possibly even enough to rival the Nightmare itself…

How could the Nightmare ever allow such a thing to happen?

But, the most unbelievable part was that it allowed it to happen. It accepted the fact with a sort of passive submission.

Even when Wen Jianyan released Wu Zhu’s fragment from the copper mirror and returned to the instance, the Nightmare made no reaction—though at that time, the “Changsheng Building*”had not yet fully broken free from the Nightmare’s control. The Nightmare still had the highest authority; the livestream was uninterrupted, and all props could still be used. The Nightmare could have stopped everything. Even though Wu Zhu had regained a part of his important power, as long as “he,” Wen Jianyan, the only human the Nightmare cared about, the first object of its desire in thousands of years, was in its grasp, there would still be a chance to turn the tables.

But…

It didn’t.

The Nightmare let everything happen.

If it were anyone else, they might have truly believed that the Nightmare had fallen behind and was no longer capable of contending with Wu Zhu…

But Wen Jianyan was different.

As a conman, his only weapon was his tongue, and his only defense was his mind.

More importantly… he was too skilled, too accustomed to confronting and negotiating with enemies far stronger than himself. Otherwise, Wen Jianyan wouldn’t have chosen the path he now walked, opposing both a foreign god and a nightmare, navigating between two terrifying entities that could crush him at any moment, using flowery words and deceit.

The stronger and more terrifying an organization was, the more cunning and ruthless it tended to be.

To deceive them and bite a chunk of flesh from them, one had to be ten times more cunning and ten times more ruthless.

Why didn’t the Nightmare do anything?

Because it didn’t trust Wen Jianyan’s “surrender.”

It never trusted him from the very beginning.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have willingly offered him the perfect bait, promising that he “would not die in the next instance,” while maliciously manipulating his “luck” in the first three floors, leading him step by step from the painting on the third floor to the “fifth floor”—knowing that once he entered the fifth floor, even if he didn’t die, he would be trapped in the instance forever, becoming the replacement for the red-clothed female corpse, merging with the “Changsheng Building.”

However, Wu Zhu’s appearance had caused the Nightmare’s plan to go awry, but in a certain sense, it also greatly increased Wen Jianyan’s importance in the overall plan.

This evil god had now become overly concerned with a human’s life—even though he might not even realize it himself.

So, this human could no longer be discarded immediately after being used, as he had been before.

What do you do with a disobedient yet excessively valuable chess piece?

A faint, unfathomable smile brushed his lips, like a ripple stirred by a breeze on the surface of a lake.

Wen Jianyan wrapped one arm around Wu Zhu’s shoulder, then with a forceful movement, twisted free from his embrace and turned, kneeling with his legs apart in front of him.

He lowered his head, looking down at Wu Zhu’s face.

Golden eyes, black hair, a handsome face that bordered on intimidating, covered in strange runes that sprawled across his pale skin. The dark lines twisted, as if they grew from beneath the skin, feeding on flesh and blood like parasitic vines. Beneath the human-like exterior lay an entirely inhuman, monstrous entity.

Driven by primal desires, devoid of reason, emotion, or any basic moral boundaries.

Wen Jianyan’s warm fingers slowly slid through the cold, flowing hair, gently stroking the long strands and the nape of Wu Zhu’s neck, tender and patient in every touch.

He moved closer again, his nose brushing lightly against Wu Zhu’s, the contact faint and fleeting.

“Close your eyes.”

The soft murmur slipped from his throat, part lover’s whisper, part mother’s loving lullaby.

As if enchanted, Wu Zhu obeyed his command.

Wen Jianyan pressed his lips against the other’s, gently rubbing and slowly sucking on the beautifully shaped lower lip with practiced, soft, and skillful movements.

His other arm rested on Wu Zhu’s shoulder, with his fingertips suspended in midair, furiously tapping the grey livestream icon that only he could see, in a place where the other could not.

However, in stark contrast to his frantic actions, the expression in Wen Jianyan’s eyes remained terrifyingly calm.

How do you tame a useful but unruly pawn?

Throw it into a desperate situation, cut off all hope, and then… offer it a single, thin thread of salvation.

Only in this way would the disobedient piece understand who was the master and who was the slave.

At least, that’s what Wen Jianyan would do.

His pale, cold fingertips hovered in the air.

Suddenly, without warning, the grey livestream button, which had been inactive since the end of the instance, lit up abruptly, turning into a bright blue, symbolizing that the system was back online.

Wen Jianyan squinted slightly, a mocking smile flickering across his eyes.

…See?

His fingertip pressed down on the floating icon, and in the next second, everything blurred before Wen Jianyan’s eyes. The Wu Zhu, who had just been kissing him moments ago, vanished. He now stood alone in a vast, blank space.

The system’s mechanical voice echoed in his ears.

“This… zzz… space exists independently of time and space. Once activated, external time no longer flows. The permissions here supersede all else, and… zzz… it can only be maintained for three minutes. Please, anchor… zzz… use your time wisely.”

Wen Jianyan raised his eyes again, and his face was full of panic and helplessness, like an insect trapped in a glass jar, frantically throwing his body against the heavy walls, anxious and agitated: “Hey, hey! System, stop pretending to be dead! Tell me, what am I supposed to do? Otherwise, I swear, I’ll really become that evil god’s eternal follower! Hey… hey!”

“I’m begging you! I’ll do anything!”

“…”

The silence was deafening.

No matter how anxious and frantic Wen Jianyan’s tone was, the system remained silent, as though it had completely malfunctioned.

Fine.

The expression on Wen Jianyan’s face calmed down.

Reaching this point, there was no longer any need for the Nightmare to play guessing games. Its lack of response meant only one thing—

It couldn’t respond.

It seemed that after losing control of the “Changsheng Building,” even the Nightmare was struggling to create this “space outside of time and space.” Especially now that Wu Zhu’s power had reached unprecedented heights, the Nightmare would not dare blatantly send in its signal. Most likely, this place was an empty shell, and the earlier voice had been pre-recorded.

That would make things easier.

Wen Jianyan quickly opened his backpack. Inside, all the items were available for him to use freely.

He took out a legendary item from the “Ping An Asylum” instance—a tattered and old piece of parchment.

This parchment came from an artifact created by a foreign god, the one who made the Ouroboros. It had the ability to answer three questions for its user—a terrifyingly powerful skill that, in instances requiring exploration of patterns, was practically game-breaking.

However, after the previous instance ended, Wen Jianyan had tried to use it to get answers about the Nightmare livestream, but when he opened the parchment, a line of words slowly appeared on the yellowed surface:

“A soul for three questions.”

As one might expect, an item this powerful came with limitations. It wouldn’t refresh after each instance like other items. But the requirement still completely exceeded Wen Jianyan’s expectations…

A soul in exchange for three questions?

Where was he supposed to get a soul?

Was he supposed to cheat and harm someone for it?

So, the matter had been left unresolved for a long time.

Until this “Changsheng Building” instance.

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, smoothed out the parchment on the ground, and pulled a small cloth pouch from his pocket. He untied it, pouring the small wooden blocks inside onto the parchment.

The rough, dirty surface of the parchment seemed to turn into an invisible quagmire, as the small black and red wooden blocks slowly sank into it, being swallowed up bit by bit.

Just as expected.

Wen Jianyan flexed his stiff fingers, a thin layer of sweat unknowingly appearing on his palms.

This was why he had made a deal with Orange Candy to acquire Mu Sen’s cloth pouch.

The Nightmare livestream had granted special privileges to the Oracles, opening a backdoor for them.

At first, Wen Jianyan thought this privilege was the Oracle anchors’ two talents, but over time, he reconsidered. The reason was that Mu Sen never put the pouch away.

Anyone with a talent could stow it away when not in use. Wen Jianyan’s apple seedling, for example, could never be retrieved outside of an instance. But Mu Sen’s small cloth pouch had been tied to his waist from the moment they met, never stored away.

—And in the Nightmare, even items could be stored.

Yet the pouch could not. More precisely, the wooden blocks inside could not be stored in the system’s backpack.

Once Wen Jianyan realized this, many clues he had overlooked before suddenly connected.

Why did every anchor receive a unique, custom-made gift upon entering the Nightmare live broadcast, even though most of them would die in their first instance, serving as cannon fodder? Yet they all got their own, one-of-a-kind talent.

Why were all the anchors’ talents tailored to their “soul quality”?

And… why did the use of their talents result in varying degrees of negative physical effects—the stronger the talent, the harsher the consequences? With talents like Orange Candy’s, the user’s physical age even regressed with use.

The wooden blocks were swallowed by the parchment.

A line of text slowly appeared above:

“Dear Wen Jianyan, you may now ask me three questions.”

Just as expected.

Wen Jianyan’s breath hitched slightly.

His guess had been confirmed.

First, the so-called “talent” was, in fact, the materialization of a streamer’s soul, not some “newbie gift from the system.” That’s why using talent carried a price—some higher, some lower—depending on the attributes and frequency of its use.

And the backdoor that the Nightmare gave to Oracle… it wasn’t about giving the streamers a second talent.

It was about turning them into tools.

That was why Oracle was a guild that absorbed prophets—because only the talents of prophets were suitable to be turned into tools and carried around.

That also explained why Su Cheng’s request to bring his teammate into Oracle had been mercilessly rejected—even though Wen Jianyan’s clearance data at the time was quite impressive, he was still turned away without hesitation.

Because from the very beginning, they hadn’t planned for Su Cheng to survive. They wanted to turn him into a tool that could be sacrificed and used at any moment, so bringing a “teammate” into the guild would have only added unnecessary risk.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on this.

Wen Jianyan quickly pulled his scattered thoughts together. He raised his head and glanced swiftly at the countdown floating in the void.

There were more urgent matters at hand.

Only one minute remained until the collapse of the space.

He picked up the parchment and asked his first question.

The next second, lines of fine text appeared on the parchment. Wen Jianyan’s eyes darted back and forth, quickly scanning all the information on the surface.

Half a minute remained.

Wen Jianyan rolled up the parchment, placed it back in his backpack, then quickly took out the tools he needed and made all the necessary preparations.

The countdown in the void reached its final seconds.

[5, 4, 3, 2, 1—]

At the moment the last number disappeared, a flash of white light blinded Wen Jianyan, and he found himself once again at the starting point.

The man’s handsome face was close, his lips cold and wet against Wen Jianyan’s.

His lashes lowered, casting deep shadows on his marble-pale face. The usually fearsome beast-like golden eyes were now concealed, revealing an uncharacteristic softness.

Yes, it was the same kiss.

Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes and deepened the kiss, full of affection.

The soft sound of lips and tongues entwining filled the air, making everything seem harmonious, sweet, intimate, and beautiful.

And then—

With a flick of his wrist, a cold flash of a rusty brass knife appeared. In the next moment, without hesitation, he plunged it deep into the man’s back.

Yes, a brass knife.

This was the Nightmare’s original plan.

This was why Wen Jianyan had to enter the fifth floor.

The red-dressed female corpse on the fifth floor had been cut into pieces, eventually sealed within the mirror.

How similar this was to Wu Zhu’s fate.

So, what had dismembered them in the first place?

Perhaps… a knife.

A brass knife—with a handle engraved with the lotus symbol of the sinister Buddha—created for the sole purpose of “sealing evil spirits.”

A knife capable of killing gods.

A key item that, if used correctly, could overthrow everything and change everything.

“!”

Wu Zhu’s golden eyes widened, his pupils suddenly contracting.

The surrounding darkness roared and churned like a stormy sea, and for the first time, an expression of shock appeared on his overly beautiful face.

A shiver of satisfaction passed over Wen Jianyan’s lips in the form of a faint smile.

His amber eyes were full of warmth and affection, as sweet and hot as molten syrup, enough to melt even the coldest ice.

He stuck out his tongue, licking Wu Zhu’s lower lip as if savoring the moment, and playfully nibbled on it, leaving only a faint bite mark without applying much pressure.

“Does it hurt?” he asked tenderly.

But this time it wasn’t a scalpel.

It was a weapon truly meant for killing terrifying non-human entities.

For the first time, Wen Jianyan had the means to genuinely hurt him.

Perhaps even…

Kill him.

In stark contrast to his gentle tone, Wen Jianyan’s other hand tightened its grip on the knife, twisting it deeper into Wu Zhu’s heart.

Brutal, ruthless, and without mercy.

Cold golden blood dripped down, drop by drop, as the divine life force drained from Wu Zhu’s body—ebbing, swirling, and dissipating.

Even though they had just been locked in an intimate embrace, with each other’s breath still lingering on their lips.

Wen Jianyan’s smile deepened.

Like poisoned candy or flowers with thorns, decadent, vivid, and deadly.

His scarlet wedding robe hung loosely, exposing large swaths of pale skin. He made no effort to cover it, shamelessly displaying his dangerous beauty, as sharp as a blade.

“Thank you. I really did enjoy it,” he whispered, his voice so soft it could almost drip water.

Wen Jianyan was like a wildcat with soft, luxurious fur, gentle and harmless on the outside. He would snuggle up to you, rub affectionately against you, and show you his soft belly, offering loyalty, trust, and his body—just to please you. He would complete the tasks you gave him, doing everything you wanted, just for your approval.

But he was an untamable wildcat, an untrainable wolf, a venomous snake that could never be warmed.

He would wait until your guard was down.

Then, he’d turn around, sink his teeth into your skin, tear out your throat, and devour your flesh.

“But now, it’s all over.”

His voice was soft, like a sigh. His smile was just as tender, like wild grass growing madly in spring, bittersweet and even somewhat innocent and shy:

“Goodbye, my dear God the Father.”

Wen Jianyan said.

So what if he was human?

If he wanted to, he could kill a god with nothing more than a mortal’s body.

__

Author’s Note:

I’ve been holding back this plot for a year!!

Finally! I’ve released it!!! (?)

Since we’re here, let me talk about it a bit more. This is probably one of the most important turning points in the entire story. In fact, from this moment of slaying the god, the real romantic relationship between the two can finally begin.

Wen Jianyan has to kill the Dominator and seize control in order to possibly develop feelings for Wu Zhu. Similarly, Wu Zhu must fully realize that in this relationship, he is no longer the omnipotent god but rather the vulnerable one being controlled and dominated, only then can he understand what love truly is. Otherwise, the two of them will always remain parallel lines.

The status and control must be won through real, genuine conflict—divine charity won’t cut it.

Even though I don’t really want to use the term “training a dog,” it kind of feels like that (?). (Of course, it’s also because I really like a certain kind of revenge-driven angry s*x, sob sob).

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