(8/10)
Yuying University
Chapter 422: Have a nightmare
The cafeteria was pitch black.
The air was cold and carried an unpleasant, nauseating smell.
Clearly, even though they had entered the movie scene according to plan, the point at which they dropped in was far from safe—it was a moment of looming crisis.
As soon as he entered, Wen Jianyan immediately activated an item to lower his presence.
He moved silently along the wall.
Around him was an eerie, unpredictable stillness. He could only hear the sound of his shoes brushing the floor, and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat and breathing.
Wen Jianyan knew exactly what his goal was this time.
Just like he told Orange Candy earlier… they weren’t here to finish the assignment.
That task would have been far easier than what he was planning to do.
According to previous speculation, the hidden item he couldn’t get from the movie was most likely located in the real cafeteria’s back kitchen.
But the problem was: the cafeteria had a time limit on when it opened—and it was a short one.
Outside of that window, there was almost no way to force entry.
Since the risks were unpredictable and there were too many unknown variables, instead of barging in unprepared and hoping to sneak into the back kitchen, it made more sense to scout the area now, understand the layout completely, and make plans afterward.
After all, the buildings in the movie were exact 1:1 replicas of the ones in the school instance. For a team strong enough to solo an instance, this was basically a free opportunity.
—Of course, the “strong enough to solo” bit mostly applied to Orange Candy.
Wen Jianyan was just shamelessly exploiting that fact.
Even though Orange Candy had only scribbled a few lines on the assignment, it still counted as “starting the homework.” And based on the patterns they’d observed, all aggro from monsters would now be prioritized onto her. That meant Wen Jianyan would have much less pressure in his exploration.
In other words, as long as Orange Candy was out there—he was safe.
Shameless, but effective.
Tables and chairs stood neatly arranged in the dark, utterly empty.
That foul smell drifted through the cold air. In the distance, shadows writhed just outside his line of sight—strange and twisted—but they completely ignored Wen Jianyan, walking instead with dragging, stiff steps toward where he came from.
Wen Jianyan carefully avoided the shadows, moving purposefully through the cafeteria.
As he walked, he mentally mapped out the building’s internal layout—memorizing every blind spot, every corner.
Soon, the entire map was clearly reconstructed in his mind.
External reconnaissance was complete.
Wen Jianyan moved smoothly to a metal door with a warning sign: “Staff Only. Do Not Enter.”
He picked the lock and went inside.
The heavy door creaked and shut behind him.
Inside, it was just as silent.
Wen Jianyan cautiously turned on his phone screen, raising the brightness slightly.
Everything matched his memory exactly.
Pots, pans, and utensils were stacked on the counters—merged into black, looming shapes. They looked like silent, grotesque monsters with distorted outlines, sending chills down his spine.
Wen Jianyan approached.
He saw the familiar metal cauldron.
It sat untouched on the cold stove, rim rusted, and reeking with a nauseating stench.
He carefully lifted the lid just a crack and peeked inside.
Maybe it was thanks to Orange Candy reliably drawing all the aggro, but this time, the cauldron didn’t contain a human head—but it wasn’t empty either.
There was a thin layer—about half a finger deep—of thick, black, viscous fluid at the bottom. It reeked of rot and blood.
It looked a lot like what he’d seen in the toilet and pool, but even thicker.
Disgusting.
Wen Jianyan wrinkled his nose and gently placed the lid back on.
The metal clinked softly as it closed.
As he continued quietly examining the kitchen, he suddenly heard familiar footsteps outside—dragging, stiff, and unnervingly loud in the dead silence.
“?!”
Wen Jianyan froze and looked toward the sound.
What the hell?
During the movie, it made sense that he’d drawn attention with noise, but this time was different—he had Orange Candy outside soaking up aggro, and he hadn’t made a sound. How could he possibly be discovered??
The footsteps drew closer—amplified in the dark—and stopped just outside the door.
It was almost a replay of what had happened in the movie.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
Seriously?
He glanced toward a cabinet he’d hidden in earlier, mind racing, ears trained on the door, clearly weighing his options.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[?]
[Why did he suddenly stop? What’s he thinking?]
[No idea, but I get the feeling he’s about to pull something shady… PTSD kicking in?]
Creeeeak—
The rusted door hinges squealed, cutting through the silence.
The heavy fire door creaked open, and two shadows appeared outside.
Ssssht, sssht.
With dragging footsteps, the two figures slowly stepped into the kitchen.
It was pitch black, except for a faint light at the far end.
A phone.
Face down near the storage room, its flashlight was on, casting a dim, pale beam.
The two shadows stiffly approached the light.
As they came closer, they were partially illuminated:
Pale, bloated faces. Flattened features. Eyeballs pitch black with no whites. And—
Bloated, water-balloon-like stomachs, sloshing audibly as they walked—unnervingly out of proportion with their otherwise human frames.
They staggered toward the light.
But to reach the storeroom, they had to pass through a narrow aisle between stovetops.
One entered the aisle.
The second followed behind.
When they reached the middle, a figure silently emerged from the darkness behind them—like a ghost.
In a blink, it was upon them.
A slender hand gripped a brass dagger. The cold blade pressed against one monster’s swollen neck—then sliced downward with brutal force.
A jet of black, foul-smelling liquid sprayed from the gash.
The creature let out a gurgling sound, its pitch-black eyes widening—then crumpled like a sack of flour, collapsing with a heavy thud.
Wen Jianyan swiftly backed away to avoid being crushed.
Holding the brass dagger, his expression remained blank—only his eyes flickered coldly in the dark. Their pale color made them seem even more emotionless. His lips were tight as he locked his gaze on the remaining monster.
A few drops of black blood had splashed onto his pale cheek.
He wiped them away with his thumb.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[HOLY—!!]
[Damn, I thought I’d never live to see the day he actually fought something!!]
[He’s going head-on?! That’s so rare!! What the hell!!]
[…Wait, isn’t this a little exaggerated? He’s in the top ten, right? It’s not like fighting’s new to him. That was just a minor monster.]
[New viewer, huh? You must not know the streamer’s style.]
[His style? Just call it what it is—cowardice.]
[Honestly, he should start acting more like a top-tener. With his gear and experience, he can easily face things head-on instead of running the second something shows up… So annoying.]
[Damn that was satisfying. Give us more!!]
But contrary to chat’s expectations, after killing the first monster, Wen Jianyan immediately retreated, putting distance between himself and the second one—then calmly sheathed the brass dagger, now back on cooldown.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[…]
[Wait… don’t tell me…]
[I have a bad feeling.]
What followed was a disaster compared to the slick kill just moments before.
Wen Jianyan threw out a slow debuff item—it barely affected the monster.
He used an aggro redirector—completely ineffective.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[…]
[…Damn it, I got hyped too early.]
[I KNEW IT. His bursts of bravery are temporary—cowardice is forever.]
[HAHAHA he completely fell apart again. Classic Wen Jianyan!]
[Can you please stay cool for just a little longer? Learn from the other top streamers, come on…]
Just as Wen Jianyan was about to try a third item, without warning, the remaining monster suddenly lunged forward—its pale, noodle-like limbs stretching unnaturally as it reached across the tables toward him.
That same familiar sweet, rotting stench rushed over him.
Wen Jianyan’s eyes widened, and he leapt backward.
He activated his third item.
A burst of fire erupted, licking across the monster’s bloated skin and leaving strange, charred marks.
“AAARRRGHHH—”
The creature shrieked—a horrifying, inhuman sound like metal scraping against eardrums.
The screech made Wen Jianyan’s head ring—his movements stalled for just a moment.
In that instant, his sanity meter dropped by two points.
The monster abruptly retreated into the shadows, vanishing in seconds.
Before he could chase, it was gone.
Wen Jianyan stood alone in the dark.
He looked down at the item he’d just activated:
[Item: Fire Talisman – Grade A]
Releases purifying flames upon activation. Dispels corruption.
This was a store-bought item, only available to A-rank streamers and above. S-rank streamers could buy three per instance. As a member of the Secret Council, he had five.
Wen Jianyan looked thoughtful.
Could it be… the monsters in this instance…
Fear of fire?
Or was it simply because the item itself had a special effect that caused such a reaction?
The number of trials wasn’t enough yet, so Wen Jianyan couldn’t be sure.
Still, since the only monster had already escaped, the rest of his speculations would have to wait until next time.
Wen Jianyan stepped over the corpse and walked to the storage room to pick up the phone he had left there.
—That’s right, it had been a trap.
In just a few seconds, he had decided his next move.
Although he could have chosen to hide again this time, his earlier experience in the movie scene reminded him: these monsters likely had a way to detect whether he was nearby. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have lingered in the kitchen for so long…
But this time, unlike the last, he had a significant advantage.
Previously, all the monsters were outside the kitchen. Any noise he made could have drawn even more danger. But now, most of the monsters had been lured away by Orange Candy. That meant he could afford to take some bolder, even aggressive risks.
Like…killing them.
However, since he heard two sets of footsteps and didn’t have the confidence to take them both on at once, Wen Jianyan had deliberately left his lit phone deeper inside the narrow kitchen area while he himself used a concealment item to hide.
That way, when the monsters were lured by the light, he could take one out first.
Even though using the brass dagger here was overkill, it ensured a quick, decisive kill. With his level advantage, he could avoid a 1v2 situation entirely.
Besides, now that he was a full member of the Secret Council, all item cooldowns were shorter. The instance was long enough that he wouldn’t miss the dagger too badly if he used it early.
That’s why Wen Jianyan had been so generous this time.
And once the first one was gone, the second would be easy to experiment on.
So instead of going all-out with powerful items, he chose props on the same level as the instance and tested them one by one to see what might work.
Although the last monster fled sooner than expected, Wen Jianyan had still gained something.
“……”
He held the phone in his hand and turned back, gaze settling on the corpse behind him.
…Maybe there’s more to gain from this?
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[?]
[What’s the streamer looking at?]
[No clue!]
[Huh? He’s redeeming something?]
[Gloves… a knife? Wait?? What’s he doing??]
Wen Jianyan crouched beside the corpse and awkwardly put on a pair of rubber gloves—though he’d played a doctor before, he wasn’t great at actually stuffing his fingers into tight gloves.
They were a bit snug.
The rubber snapped softly against his wrist with a faint pop.
Then he put on goggles and picked up the scalpel he redeemed from the store.
The usual charming smile on his face was hidden now. For a brief moment, it felt like the mask he always wore was lifted, revealing a glimpse of the darkness beneath.
The cold blade pressed against the monster’s bloated belly.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[?]
[!]
[??!!]
The blade didn’t hesitate and sank in deep.
Wen Jianyan opened his elbows wide and pressed down hard.
The already swollen belly split open instantly, like an overfilled balloon. Even though he’d taken every precaution and quickly backed away at the moment of rupture, some of the black fluid still splashed onto his cheek.
His san value instantly dropped again, teetering downward.
Suddenly, something invisible pressed a round indent into his soft cheek, as if an unseen presence had gently wiped it.
The blood was gone.
His san value steadied.
Wen Jianyan instinctively tilted his head back, blinking and momentarily frozen mid-motion.
Huh?
What just happened?
Did something touch me just now?
He paused, checking his san value again.
It stopped at 50. No further drop.
“……”
If his sanity wasn’t dropping anymore, that meant he could continue.
Wen Jianyan shook his head and turned back to the corpse.
The pale, swollen body looked like a dead fish now—gutted, the organs pulled out and inspected.
The bloated belly had deflated, the open flesh sagging on both sides like two empty sacks, revealing its contents.
Aside from the thick, black liquid, there was nothing.
It oozed like oil, sticky and putrid, with a sweet, fishy stench that made one dizzy just standing nearby.
Suddenly, Wen Jianyan froze.
He carefully pinched out a glinting object from the sludge.
After wiping off the grime, he held it under the light to examine it.
It was…
A badge?
Wen Jianyan frowned, startled.
Why a badge?
Before he could figure it out, the corpse at his feet began to change.
Just moments ago it was full and intact, but now it quickly shriveled before his eyes.
Wen Jianyan jumped back in alarm.
In just a few seconds, the dissected corpse turned into a puddle of black liquid, then seeped into the floor, vanishing without a trace.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the damp patch, his face thoughtful.
After cleaning up the mess, Wen Jianyan sent Orange Candy a message.
Soon, less than ten minutes later, the film scene dissolved into smoke, and he was back in the school setting with a blink.
Orange Candy looked up proudly. “So? Not bad, right?”
Wen Jianyan responded with full sincerity and emotion:
“Amazing!”
Orange Candy was clearly the MVP of the mission. Without her drawing all the aggro, Wen Jianyan wouldn’t have been able to experiment so freely or dissect the corpse so thoroughly.
So under Wen Jianyan’s relentless praise, Orange Candy’s tail practically wagged into the sky.
Eventually, she remembered to get to the point.
“So, what did you find?”
Wen Jianyan summarized succinctly:
First, the monsters were likely afraid of fire.
Second, they had strange badges in their bellies.
“Badges?”
Orange Candy perked up and pulled something from her pocket. “Like this?”
It was small and round, about the size of a button. Faint patterns and letters were visible, but too tiny to read clearly.
“Yes!”
Wen Jianyan nodded, eyes gleaming as he stood up.
“But the drop rate seems low,” Orange Candy shrugged, tossing and catching the badge. “I killed ten, and only one left this behind. The rest just vanished.”
Wen Jianyan: “I see.”
So not every monster had one…
Orange Candy tilted her head. “Still, lucky you got one right away. First try!”
Wen Jianyan: “……”
He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.
“So, what is it really?” Orange Candy examined the badge curiously. “Doesn’t seem like it was part of the instance before.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Wen Jianyan shook his head.
“And the system didn’t identify it as a hidden item either,” Orange Candy frowned. “Maybe it’s some kind of collectible? Like, gather enough and you get a reward?”
That’s impossible.
This wasn’t a game.
Besides, Nightmare’s reward system was fixed. It was unlikely that a completely new mechanic would be added mid-instance.
But instead of saying so, Wen Jianyan said:
“Maybe.”
“…Huh?” Orange Candy was stunned—she was just joking and didn’t expect him to agree.
Wen Jianyan smiled charmingly. “I think your guess is very reasonable.”
“……”
Orange Candy looked at him, then at the badge.
“…Are you serious?”
She hadn’t expected to start doubting herself from a joke.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Collectibles? What collectibles?]
[I’ve been watching this stream forever. Never heard of that…]
[Too early to say. We need more info.]
Wen Jianyan crouched, his expression oddly convincing. “Let’s collect more. That might give us a clue.”
Orange Candy: “Makes sense?”
“Then, we go back in again later?” Wen Jianyan smiled warmly.
Orange Candy: “…Alright?”
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[……]
[……]
[Mask off, huh.]
[So you’re just tricking her into free labor!!]
[I feel ashamed I actually believed you for a second!]
After parting with Orange Candy, Wen Jianyan sent a message to Su Cheng’s team.
Su Cheng didn’t reply—probably still busy.
Wen Jianyan didn’t mind and pocketed his phone.
It was late, and he couldn’t stay out any longer.
He returned to the dorm before lights-out.
Tonight, Hu-ge and A-Bao were far less energetic than usual. They looked worn out and smelled faintly of blood.
Clearly, their “lesson” today had been rough.
One member of the Weasel’s team was gone. The dorm’s atmosphere grew heavy.
Wen Jianyan glanced at the Weasel’s bed—his back was turned, unmoving under the canopy.
After a brief greeting, they all rushed to wash up and went to bed.
Then, the familiar buzzing sound echoed. The lights snapped off, plunging everything into darkness.
Wen Jianyan lay on the bed and checked his san value.
A bit low—but manageable.
He stared at the ceiling, hesitating.
Then he raised his hand and silently turned the ouroboros ring on his finger.
Should I…
He frowned and lowered his hand.
Forget it.
A wave of sleepiness washed over him, too strong to resist. His eyelids grew heavy and slowly shut.
His breathing deepened.
“Integrity Firs” live stream went dark, replaced with the message: 【Streamer resting】
[One day ends, my friends.]
[Good night!]
[When’s the next stream? I just started watching…]
[Hope something happens tonight. I’m not satisfied yet.]
Though some complained, viewer count plummeted.
That was the downside of long-form instances.
Streamers needed rest. Long breaks meant viewers might switch to other streams and not return. And these instances weren’t easy to follow mid-way, since they required context.
So over time, viewer numbers inevitably dropped.
Even for someone as popular as Wen Jianyan.
But Wen Jianyan himself didn’t care.
Soon, the viewer count hit zero.
The audience dispersed in search of fresher bait.
In the darkness, a breeze stirred the canopy, brushing hair away from the young man’s face.
Invisible fingers glided down his cheek and pressed gently on his red lips.
With slight pressure, they pushed down, forming a soft dimple.
His lips parted, revealing white teeth and the tip of his tongue.
In the dark, an unseen presence seemed to draw closer.
The ouroboros ring’s restraints were tied to the user’s willpower.
San value quantified mental strength. When it fell, the ring’s power weakened too.
Especially when—
The bound entity’s strength was quietly returning.
The young man’s lips were forced open. Darkness clung around him. A tongue was silently teased out.
So be cautious.
Don’t be too reckless. Don’t let him notice.
Because if he finds a weakness—there may be no next chance.
As a fragile human, Wen Jianyan was too sharp.
Precisely because he understood his fragility, he was also extremely dangerous.
Anyone who underestimated him… would pay dearly.
The young man’s brows furrowed, his breathing labored.
His pale skin flushed, his throat arching with marks from strangling fingers.
“…mm.”
A wet, soft sound escaped his throat.
The indent on his lip lingered, then slowly disappeared.
In the darkness, the primal and malicious urges were suppressed, retreating into a vast sea.
The formless dark pressed affectionately against his lips, wiping away the moisture.
Have a nightmare.
That way, I’ll be in your dreams.
