WTNL Chapter 363

Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 363: Trick

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, trying his best to sound less incredulous:  

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”  

As someone who had just been released from a seal—only to wake up and find himself inexplicably saddled with a “spouse” who not only knew his real name but also carried his scent and mark and was even a male at that—no matter how you looked at it, the first reaction shouldn’t have been to nitpick the “switch” usage, right?  

In fact, the moment he fabricated this identity, Wen Jianyan had already rapidly constructed multiple possible scenarios in his mind.  

The so-called “wife” title was undeniably a lie. Whether Wu Zhu believed it or not was still up for debate.  

Of course, even if Wu Zhu accepted this explanation, Wen Jianyan didn’t think he’d be completely safe.  

For an existence like Wu Zhu, trying to simulate his thought process using human logic was futile.  

The concept of a “spouse” was by no means a strict constraint for him. Wen Jianyan still remembered their first meeting in the Decai Middle School instance, where Wu Zhu, under the effects of the Fruit of the Forbidden Tree, was “madly in love with him”—yet his way of expressing it was through appetite.  

So, honestly, when spinning this lie, Wen Jianyan had already prepared for the worst.  

But what he didn’t expect was—  

Not only did Wu Zhu smoothly accept this “fact” without the slightest doubt, but he even naturally stepped into the role and started eliminating rivals?!  

The rapid development left Wen Jianyan’s brain short-circuiting for a moment, unsure how to react.  

Wu Zhu seemed to sense Wen Jianyan’s disbelief and tilted his head slightly to look at him.  

“Is that wrong?”  

Wen Jianyan: “…”  

Of course, it’s wrong!  

He subtly glanced behind him.  

Hugo’s portrait hung on the wall, its frame pitch-black like the other oil paintings. The man himself lay unconscious not far away in a pool of blood, surrounded by a cold horde of ghosts.  

Wen Jianyan’s mind raced to process the situation.  

If his earlier deductions were correct, then Hugo was destined to die—whether in the corridor or due to the Xingwang Hotel instance closing, the difference wasn’t significant. As long as this painting remained, Hugo could survive.  

However, the critical premise was that Wu Zhu couldn’t be the one to kill him.  

His existence was too game-breaking. If not for being sealed in fragments, he might have even gained the upper hand in his confrontation with Nightmare Live. Even in this state, he had forced Nightmare to shut down numerous instances just to barely contain the bug rather than eliminate it entirely.  

So, if Wu Zhu really acted, whether Hugo could survive was genuinely uncertain.  

“I already told you, I don’t care about him. It’s just that if he dies, it might cause some inconvenience.”  

Wen Jianyan indifferently averted his gaze. He shrugged and said,  

“If you really don’t believe me, just let the ghosts devour him. See if I care.”  

Wu Zhu lowered his head, studying the human youth before him with a contemplative expression.  

Wen Jianyan let him look.  

Though his face remained calm, his heart was anything but steady.  

This version of Wu Zhu—with intelligence—was far harder to deceive and predict than the mindless one. The danger level had multiplied exponentially.  

But overall, he wasn’t panicking too much.  

Because Wen Jianyan knew how this instance would end.  

In the final moments of this instance, Xingwang Hotel would be forcibly shut down by Nightmare, successfully containing the bug’s spread.  

Even if the time flow in this corridor was abnormal, that critical moment couldn’t be far off. As long as he stalled until then, everything would be over. This past timeline would close for good, and he’d most likely return to the normal timeline—the mirrored instance created by Nightmare.  

The key was time.  

Wen Jianyan reached out and grasped Wu Zhu’s arm. He lifted his gaze, boldly meeting the other’s eyes directly.  

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he asked. “You wake up and suddenly have a spouse out of nowhere—doesn’t that strike you as strange?”  

“Aren’t you curious?”  

“About yourself?”  

The young man’s face was pale, his eyes upturned, a damp glint peering through his lashes. A faint, ambiguous smile played at the corners of his lips.  

“About me.”  

Wu Zhu lowered his head, as if pondering something. Then, abruptly, he said:  

“Wife.”  

Wen Jianyan froze. “Huh?”  

“I still prefer you referring to yourself as ‘wife.’”  

Wu Zhu’s tone was flat, devoid of inflection.  

Wen Jianyan’s vision darkened. “…”  

This was the 180th time he regretted his earlier word choice.  

At that moment, shame curled his toes. He wanted nothing more than to punch his past self hard enough to knock himself out—preferably with some memory-loss side effects.  

“—Anyway,”  

He took two deep breaths, mustering all his willpower to suppress his emotions and making a monumental effort to steer the conversation back on track:  

“I’m curious about you.”  

Wu Zhu gave a brief “Mn.”  

Wen Jianyan looked at him.  

“You don’t seem the least bit surprised that I’m your spouse.”  

He narrowed his eyes slightly, masking the probing intent in his gaze: “Why aren’t you skeptical?”  

Though the purpose of this question was to buy time, it also stemmed from genuine confusion.  

The term “spouse” was undoubtedly unusual—even for a malevolent god—and outright absurd by normal standards. Based on Wen Jianyan’s understanding of Wu Zhu…  

This was an arrogant, merciless deity, an alien in human skin.  

To him, Wen Jianyan was nothing more than a tiny, fragile human.  

He had outright exposed Wen Jianyan’s earlier lie about being a “bishop,” yet accepted the next fabrication without hesitation—  

Why?  

This was something Wen Jianyan couldn’t wrap his head around.  

Wu Zhu: “Wife.”  

“…”  

Wen Jianyan took another deep breath, suppressing the urge to grind his teeth, and said through clenched jaws:  

“Fine. Wife.”  

“You don’t seem the least bit surprised that I’m your wife,” he emphasized the word “wife” with palpable resentment.  

“Why?”  

Wu Zhu finally seemed satisfied.  

“No reason.”  

He answered without hesitation.  

Wen Jianyan: “…”

Although he knew that when talking to this guy, the other party always easily poked his anger points, it was still rare for someone to enrage him to this extent.

“But, I am indeed curious,” Wu Zhu spoke again.

Wen Jianyan suppressed the surging irritation in his heart and raised his eyes to look at the other party.

The distance between the two of them wasn’t too close.

The man in front of him maintained a vague, ambiguous distance. Thick, sticky fog churned like tentacles at his side. He lowered his head and met the human’s gaze.

In the darkness, those blazing golden eyes appeared primitive and wicked.

“Since you are my wife, then… have we fulfilled the obligations between partners?”

“!”

That question was so unexpected that Wen Jianyan was briefly stunned.

Wu Zhu leaned down slightly and lifted his hand. This time, he didn’t trace the markings on Wen Jianyan’s body again, but instead held his chin.

His fingers were very cold, and the gesture was even considered gentle. His large palm cradled Wen Jianyan’s jaw.

His gaze fell on Wen Jianyan’s face, inch by inch, carefully examining him.

Under those eyes, Wen Jianyan’s back suddenly chilled, a shiver crawled up his spine, and an urge to retreat surged within him.

That choice of words forced him to think too much.

For humans, what should be done between partners was a given—but the problem was, for Wu Zhu, this—who knew what kind of species—existence, what did that obligation mean? The answer to this question was somewhat ominous.

If the “obligation” meant being eaten or some other strange sacrificial act a fragile human life couldn’t withstand, then Wen Jianyan figured his current situation would be exceptionally dangerous.

“That depends on which kind you’re referring to.”

Wen Jianyan pulled up the corners of his mouth and gave a flawless smile toward the other.

“You have the scent of my blood on you,” Wu Zhu said, his golden eyes gazing down at him. “But it never reached the final step.”

He lowered his head and sniffed Wen Jianyan’s neck again. His pupils contracted like a beast’s.

He murmured:

“You smell delicious.”

Alarm bells rang furiously in Wen Jianyan’s mind.

The man in front of him tilted his head slightly. That overly handsome face revealed a calm indifference that only non-humans could possess.

He scrutinized Wen Jianyan’s face like he was examining a favored prey—or pressing closer step by step, forcing the other to show signs of panic.

“Since you’re my wife, surely you don’t mind if I complete the final step?”

Wu Zhu raised his hand and pressed it against Wen Jianyan’s neck, as if feeling the pulse of his blood vessels.

Too familiar.

This was basically the intelligent, double-evil version of Wu Zhu from inside the Decai Middle School! If he wasn’t careful with his words, there was a very real chance he’d die here!

When it came to survival, Wen Jianyan’s brain worked at lightning speed—

“Of course I don’t mind, but… it seems I haven’t answered your earlier question yet.”

Wen Jianyan relaxed his strength, letting his jaw rest naturally into the other’s palm. He leaned forward with the movement, his warm body brushing against the cold one. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he smiled:

“How should I put it? Although we haven’t had the chance to finish the final step of becoming your partner, the kind of things humans do—we’ve done plenty of those.”

——Of course, the faster the brain, the lower the bottom line. He would go to any lengths to survive.

The young man’s fingers were long and soft, quietly touching the cold, pale body of the evil god in front of him with a light, rhythmic teasing motion.

Wu Zhu paused.

“There were even lots of variations,” Wen Jianyan said without changing his expression.

He grasped Wu Zhu’s wrist, using the warm pads of his fingers to rub along the side, slowly tracing the dark runes over the pale skin.

“Missionary position, doggy style, riding position, binding, whipping…”

He winked at Wu Zhu with a bright smile:

“We’ve basically done everything imaginable—and unimaginable.”

Wu Zhu’s expressionless pause seemed to last even longer this time.

Wen Jianyan maintained a calm face, but in his heart, he was calculating how much time had passed—and how much might be left.

Almost there.

It should be almost time.

The ground began to tremble slightly.

From deep within the walls came a rumbling noise.

This scroll painting shop, which hadn’t shown a single change even as the dungeon collapsed, finally seemed to be invaded by some formless force.

Not far away, Hugo’s body began to fade. The ghostly crowd surrounding him flickered in and out, their outlines clear one moment and blurred the next, as if they would be swallowed by the surrounding darkness at any second.

Wu Zhu clearly noticed the change too.

He shifted his gaze away from Wen Jianyan and looked into the far, unreachable darkness, beyond the range of human vision.

From the darkness came the sound of chains, eerily similar to those in the Ouroboros ring.

Wen Jianyan let out a huge sigh of relief.

Finally, he’d managed to stall until this moment!

From the looks of it, the Nightmare system had finally realized the danger and was initiating some kind of emergency shutdown. That meant this dungeon was about to be forcibly closed. Crisis soon to be resolved—thank the heavens.

“Looks like you don’t remember anything at all.”

Wen Jianyan looked at Wu Zhu and sighed regretfully. “Such a shame.”

That was his weakness—

Prideful.

“Tch.”

Wu Zhu let out a soft chuckle.

The dark, viscous torrent began to churn and roared into the air. He stood motionless, like a true god.

Wen Jianyan: “?”

Was it just his imagination?

Why didn’t Wu Zhu seem all that passive?

Wu Zhu’s gaze returned to him.

Wen Jianyan’s back went cold again.

The next second, he felt himself being caught.

Caught.

That was the only suitable word.

Clearly he had the weight of an adult man, yet in that moment, he felt as light as if he weighed nothing at all—easily picked up and pulled into an embrace.

By the time Wen Jianyan came to his senses, he was already wrapped tightly in Wu Zhu’s arms. The man’s steel-like arm clamped around his waist, leaving no chance of escape.

“…” Wen Jianyan froze.

Above his head came the other man’s low voice, and the chest beside his ear vibrated with it.

“I really don’t remember.”

Wen Jianyan stiffly raised his head.

Wu Zhu lowered his own to meet his gaze. On that usually blank face, a rare glimmer of interest appeared. In an eerily calm voice, he said:

“You have to help me remember.”

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