(6/10)
Yuying University
Chapter 444: Wen Jianyan remembered this face
Inside the narrow space beneath the desk.
The long-faced man was tightly bound hand and foot, a gag stuffed securely in his mouth. His entire body was curled up under the desk like a shrimp.
He looked utterly wretched.
His already pale face was now swollen and clammy, his eyes—malicious and terrified—bulged with bloodshot veins. His long, twisted face gave off a neurotic vibe, as if he were on the brink of a complete breakdown.
—After all, anyone left abandoned in a pitch-dark classroom for over 24 hours wouldn’t exactly look composed.
In the “Integrity First” live room chat:
[Whoa?! What happened to this guy? That scared the hell out of me!]
[What, did you all forget how dark it was before the instance started? Try being tied up like that and left in the darkness all night—see how you hold up.]
[…Okay, my bad. I take it back.]
[But I’m curious—how did he even survive?]
[Well, for one, this guy’s already semi-mutated. He woke up during the major courses and even managed to kill people as a ‘monster’ during electives. Plus, remember how Orange Candy set up that item to block his presence before they left? I’m guessing that’s what saved him. He’s just a lucky bastard who survived the dark.]
[Ohhh!]
“Mmm! Mmm mmm mmm! Mmm mmm!”
The moment he saw Wen Jianyan, the ‘Weasel’ started thrashing madly, his forehead thumping hard against the underside of the desk. He didn’t even seem to register the pain.
Wen Jianyan hadn’t even finished speaking when the Weasel began nodding like crazy, desperate not to be misunderstood and thrown back into that hell again.
Wen Jianyan and the others might not have known what he went through, but the viewers of the Weasel’s live room certainly did.
Yes, the Weasel had avoided being killed in the darkness and survived, but the entities roaming within hadn’t ignored his presence either.
They lingered nearby the entire time.
Abandoned in endless, suffocating darkness, completely restrained and unable to escape, lying under a desk that couldn’t even be called proper cover—he could do nothing but wait, heart pounding, for a death that might come at any moment, without warning.
Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t gone insane.
So Wen Jianyan’s reappearance was like a lifeline.
Watching the Weasel nod frantically, Wen Jianyan gave a slight smile. He nodded and stepped back from the desk.
The others moved forward and dragged the Weasel out.
Even after the restraints were gone and the gag removed, the Weasel still looked terrified. His eyes darted about nervously, searching for invisible threats.
Wen Jianyan crouched in front of him.
“Listen,” he said gently, “Do exactly what I say next.”
“First, you’re going to contact your ‘friends’ in the club—whether they’re anchors or NPCs, I don’t care. Ask them how they handle failed recruitment. They’ll tell you they need to bypass the rules to get more people, and they’ll tell you how. During all of that, you say nothing else. Just nod and agree.”
“When that’s done, come back to me. Understand?”
“But…”
The Weasel swallowed.
He had clearly realized the key point—he didn’t actually need to do anything.
With a dry, nearly unrecognizable voice, he asked, “What if the club doesn’t follow the plan like you said… what then?”
Wen Jianyan smiled faintly. “They will.”
As the only anchor to push the instance exploration rate to 68%, no one was more qualified than him to say that.
After all, unlike previous instances, this difficulty increase wasn’t due to a new mutation—it was the reopening of previously hidden content. Because of that, the base rules of the instance hadn’t changed.
If the club couldn’t recruit new members, then the entire storyline related to it would be cut off—greatly reducing the threat to the anchors.
And Wen Jianyan didn’t believe the school—or the instance, in its heightened form—would allow that to happen.
“…Okay.”
Though still doubtful, the Weasel nodded.
“I think,” Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes and looked at him. Backlit, his expression was calm—almost gentle. “I don’t need to remind you of anything else, right?”
“…”
Staring at the seemingly harmless face in front of him, the Weasel gritted his teeth and nodded:
“Right.”
Sure, he had done plenty of despicable things before. But as a veteran anchor, he still had the basic sense to read a situation.
Especially after being left in the dark for fourteen hours—facing this gently smiling face again sent chills down his spine. All previous emotions had vanished, leaving only an intense sense of dread.
Wen Jianyan patted his shoulder with a bright smile:
“Pleasure working with you.”
The Weasel limped away through the classroom door.
Orange Candy tilted her head toward Wen Jianyan, surprised.
“So this was your plan all along.”
Wen Jianyan stood up. “Yup.”
With a gatekeeper present, they had no way of getting into the administrative building head-on. But if they were club members? That changed everything.
After all, the club activity rooms were on the first floor of the administrative building.
That meant even without a “reservation,” they could get inside.
Wen Jianyan turned to look in the direction the Weasel had gone.
—At the latest, they’d have an answer by tonight.
Tomorrow was the elective class, after all.
Time was running out for the clubs.
He withdrew his gaze. “Let’s go. Time for our next class.”
It was their final class of the day.
Also a compulsory one: P.E.
They checked the time—it was nearly class.
“Alright.”
Orange Candy nodded, hopping off the desk.
The group left the teaching building and made their way toward the track field, following the familiar path.
Perhaps because they were now in their first academic year, the sky darkened far earlier than before. Before they even reached the field, the world had already fallen into dim twilight. The only visible landmark was the faint silhouette of the gymnasium’s spire in the distance.
Everything about the track field looked the same as before—
Except…
Wen Jianyan’s gaze fell on a spot not far away, and his heart skipped a beat.
The gymnasium’s outer walls were stained and peeling, clearly long abandoned. But unlike their last visit, when the doors had been firmly locked, this time, the heavy chain and padlock were gone. The doors stood open, and the lights inside were on.
Though he had logically expected this—instances opening up after a difficulty spike—it still evoked a deep, visceral fear to witness it himself.
The other anchors stood a few paces away, watching the newly opened area with caution.
Far off, the streetlights flickered to life.
A familiar figure emerged from the darkness.
Under the dim glow, Wen Jianyan recognized him—it was the man who had introduced himself as “Coach Shi,” their P.E. teacher.
He smiled cheerfully as he looked at them: “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to your first college P.E. class.”
Coach Shi stopped at the front of the gymnasium.
The lights behind him cast shadows across his face, giving his once friendly features a sinister, eerie look.
“As you can see, our gymnasium has finally been renovated this year,” he said with a smile. “You’re all very lucky to be the first group to use it.”
Words that might spark cheers in the real world only stirred dread here.
The field fell completely silent. No one responded.
Coach Shi didn’t seem to mind.
“However, since the gym is newly reopened, only a select few will get the honor of being first to experience it.”
Everyone’s hearts leapt into their throats.
No one wanted to be that “lucky one.” But, of course… it wasn’t up to them.
Soon, several pale, cold-auraed students walked over from a distance. Even from afar, their blood-red armbands were visible.
They were student council members.
“Alright,” Coach Shi clapped his hands. “If your student number is called, please step forward.”
Under the gymnasium lights, three emotionless faces stared directly at the crowd—three pairs of pitch-black eyes that chilled the soul.
“…”
The air seemed to freeze, the silence so thick you could hear heartbeats. Everyone subconsciously held their breath, all attention locked on the student council members.
The rustle of turning paper echoed quietly, and one by one, student numbers were read out in a flat tone.
With each number, a anchor’s face went pale.
They had no choice but to step forward, one by one, and stand at the gym’s bright entrance.
In the “Integrity First” live room chat:
[I bet 1 point the anchor’s number gets called.]
[I’ll raise you—5 points!]
[Hahahahaha! Everyone clearly knows the anchor’s luck is cursed!]
The live chat exploded with laughter.
Just then, a student council member spoke:
“180039.”
Of course, it was Wen Jianyan’s number.
In the “Integrity First” live room chat:
[Hahaha!]
[Hahahahahahaha!]
[What did I say! What did I say?!]
[Where there’s danger, he’ll step in. A true harbinger of doom—I respect it!]
Hearing his number, Wen Jianyan’s heart sank.
But honestly, he wasn’t surprised… It wasn’t the first time his luck had betrayed him.
That said, he didn’t see it as entirely a bad thing. After all, this would be his first time entering a hidden area since starting the first academic year, and he was curious about what the fully open gymnasium now held.
With that in mind, he instinctively stepped forward.
But just then, his gaze landed on the student council member who had called his number.
With the shift in lighting, this time, Wen Jianyan clearly saw the person’s face.
It looked… very familiar.
In fact, in this instance of the game, every student council member looked almost identical: pale, cold faces, inorganic black eyes—a combination that seemed ordinary on the surface, yet evoked deep unease.
It was easy to mix them up, and there didn’t seem to be much need to remember any of them clearly.
However, in that moment, a memory long buried suddenly resurfaced. Wen Jianyan abruptly recognized that face.
A few days ago, during the very first physical education class for freshmen, it was this person who called the roll.
Yes, it was the same person—without a doubt.
Wen Jianyan remembered that face.
His foot, already halfway stepped out, froze in mid-air.
Everyone present had their eyes on him.
Including the student council member doing the roll call.
That pale face slowly turned to look at him, and a pair of lifeless black eyes locked onto him. The voice repeated slowly:
“180039.”
“…”
The moment that gaze locked onto him, Wen Jianyan felt a surge of intense cold rise from the soles of his feet—as though he had plunged into an ice cellar, frozen in place.
Not good.
He realized he was in danger.
But the problem was, this was not a trap he could escape from on his own.
His heartbeat soared, his eardrums throbbed. He turned his head, trying to do something—
But then, a cold, detached voice interrupted him.
“Where is 180039?”
The student council member’s gaze was fixed on him, each word delivered with deliberate weight. That voice seemed to carry some intangible force, and Wen Jianyan immediately felt his body slipping out of his control.
The foot that had been frozen in mid-step slowly came down under some invisible pressure, stomping heavily on the ground.
The heel of his other foot lifted slightly—it was about to take that final step—
“Here.”
A familiar voice rang out.
It was Hugo.
In the “Integrity First” live room chat:
[?]
[?]
[What’s going on?]
[Shit! Shit! I just remembered—didn’t the anchor answer Hugo’s roll call for him during the last PE class? That means that while 180039 is the anchor’s ID, for this class specifically, he and Hugo’s numbers were swapped!]
[!! Oh my god, I remember now!]
[Damn, this detail was so subtle—what a terrifying trap! I got chills just now.]
[If the anchor had really stepped out, or if Hugo hadn’t caught on in time, this would’ve been a death sentence. Breaking the rules in an A-level instance was one thing, but this is an SS-level instance. That would’ve been suicide.]
The moment Hugo spoke up, Wen Jianyan felt the gaze that had been drilling into him suddenly shift. The student council member turned toward the direction of the voice.
Hugo stepped out of the line and walked toward the gym.
At that moment, Wen Jianyan felt the freezing, paralyzing force vanish. He could move again.
“…!”
He gasped for air, quickly withdrawing his foot.
The student council member watched Hugo approach step by step, then looked down and made a mark in the rollbook.
Wen Jianyan wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but as the figure lowered his head, he thought he saw a fleeting expression of disappointment.
Wen Jianyan stood still, palms soaked in cold sweat.
Thank god Hugo had understood the meaning behind his hesitation and acted accordingly. Otherwise, the consequences would’ve been disastrous.
He looked up and fixed his gaze on Hugo in the distance.
As calm as ever, Hugo showed no outward emotion, but when Wen Jianyan looked over, he nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Wen Jianyan slowly exhaled.
From the very start, the death at the school gate had already hinted at something sinister.
Malicious traps were a core feature of this instance.
And what had just happened confirmed his suspicions once again.
He turned to look at the student council member not far away.
The other was still reading off numbers. More anchors were stepping forward.
Wen Jianyan now fully understood—his earlier observation had been correct.
Just now, there had been a flash of cruel disappointment on that face—a trap foiled at the last second.
Clearly, the NPC had long seen through the little trick from the previous PE class, where Wen Jianyan answered for someone else. The roll caller was fully aware, but due to the rules, without hard evidence, they couldn’t act.
Which meant…
Following the rules wasn’t the key.
Not getting caught was.
Wen Jianyan’s expression turned contemplative.
At that moment, the student council member stopped reading and closed the rollbook.
The screening was over.
“Alright,” said Mr. Shi, stepping forward with his usual cheerful smile. “Those whose numbers were called, follow me to the gym. The rest of you, please register with the student council like last time, and you’re free to exercise on the track.”
He waved at the group of chosen anchors and turned toward the open gym doors.
The rusty, heavy doors slowly closed behind them, swallowing the anchors’ silhouettes.
Once the doors shut, the tension on the field finally eased.
Everyone looked visibly relieved—like they had just dodged death. Some still stared at the gym door with heavy, worried expressions.
Wen Jianyan glanced around.
Quite a few from their group had been chosen: Hugo, Su Cheng, and Wei Cheng all entered the gym.
Orange Candy walked over.
“What just happened?”
She tilted her head, eyeing Wen Jianyan. “Was it because you answered for him last time?”
Wen Jianyan: “Yeah.”
It had only been a few minutes, but he was sweating and exhausted.
“I told you before, stop playing the nice guy,” Orange Candy said, eyeing him with sympathy, though her words were far from gentle. “Next time, just let him fend for himself. Got it?”
Wen Jianyan: “…”
But under her glare, he gave a helpless nod. “Got it.”
Just then, a voice called out in surprise: “Hey! Little bro!”
Wen Jianyan turned his head.
It was Brother Hu and A-Bao, waving like they’d run into an old friend in a foreign land.
Before he could react, they ran up to him.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
Well, alright then.
Brother Hu and A-Bao stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath.
“Holy shit, that was terrifying,” Brother Hu panted. “My heart almost jumped out of my throat. Thank god they didn’t call my number, or I would’ve died on the spot.”
A-Bao patted Wen Jianyan’s shoulder. “Did you hear the wrong number or something? That was way too close. I was sweating just watching from the back.”
Brother Hu: “Speaking of which, that person who barged into our dorm last night, the one who looked super fierce—”
He choked on his words.
“?”
Orange Candy stood nearby, tilting her head curiously.
Brother Hu and A-Bao froze in shock.
Because Orange Candy was small and short, she’d been completely blocked by Wen Jianyan—only now did they realize she’d been there the whole time.
“Who looked fierce?” Orange Candy blinked.
Brother Hu & A-Bao: “…”
They weren’t top-tier anchors yet, but basic human judgment told them this girl was dangerous. Especially after seeing how Zhao Ze treated her—it was clear she wasn’t to be messed with.
Sensing the shift in tension, Wen Jianyan quickly spoke up:
“So, what did you want from me?”
“Uh…” Brother Hu glanced nervously at Orange Candy, then looked back. “Just wanted to see if you wanted to play basketball.”
He looked a little shy.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
You’re still thinking about playing basketball?
Orange Candy: “You play basketball?”
Wen Jianyan, helpless: “A little.”
“Then go.” Orange Candy shrugged.
A-Bao: “You’re welcome to join too—”
He glanced at Orange Candy’s height and trailed off: “Uh…”
“…” Orange Candy narrowed her eyes. “Hm?”
Sensing an imminent landmine, Wen Jianyan quickly grabbed the two of them and pushed them away: “Didn’t you say basketball? Let’s go.”
Last time he chose to run and ended up getting caught by the student council. Time to try a different activity.
A few dozen meters away, Brother Hu leaned in and whispered:
“You okay, little bro?”
In the “Integrity First” live room chat:
[Oh! I get it now—they’re probably still worried about what happened in the dorm that night.]
[Yeah, they never actually saw the anchor—only smelled the blood. I’d be suspicious too.]
[Maybe they thought he got killed or was being coerced.]
[So asking him to play basketball was their way of checking in? Aw, rough but kind!]
Just one look, and Wen Jianyan immediately understood the implication.
He sighed:
“Of course I’m fine.”
Just like last time, they registered with a student council member. Without even looking up, he pointed, “Your group’s basketball is over there.”
Nearby, Zhao Ze happened to glance over—and stiffened.
“…”
Why is he everywhere?!
Wen Jianyan pretended not to notice.
“Hey, we meet again.”
Zhao Ze, holding a basketball, awkwardly forced a smile: “…Haha, yeah.”
The basketball court at Yuying University was small and old. The paint on the ground had faded, the hoops were crooked, the nets saggy and worn, and against the dark background, it all looked pretty shabby.
Wen Jianyan stood a few steps away, looking up at the hoop.
He didn’t sense any of the usual cold, eerie energy.
In the distance, Zhao Ze ran up and attempted a three-step layup.
Missed.
The ball bounced to Wen Jianyan’s feet.
He bent down, dribbled twice to get a feel, then extended his arms and casually flicked his wrist.
The ball arced perfectly in the air and dropped cleanly through the hoop.
Smooth and effortless.
In the “Integrity First” live room chat:
“Whoa!!”
“Nice shot!!!”
“Didn’t expect that from you!”
Brother Hu’s eyes lit up: “I knew it, you’re good!”
Especially that effortless throw—the white shirt flaring slightly, his long arms, light steps—even to other guys, it was eye-catching.
In the real world, he’d be super popular.
A-Bao, clearly jealous: “Damn it, with looks like that, you must’ve been a campus heartthrob, huh?”
Wen Jianyan glanced over, smiling faintly:
“Not really.”
“Huh?” A-Bao looked skeptical. “No way.”
With his looks and vibe, he had to be at least a minor celebrity on campus. Probably got buckets of love letters.
Even ghosts wouldn’t believe he wasn’t popular!
Wen Jianyan said nothing.
One hand in his pocket, he smiled faintly, his expression distant and calm.
A school, huh.
Yes, he had played many roles—as student and even professor, sometimes at prestigious universities.
But…
How can someone with no name or identity attend school?
Let alone be popular.
Suddenly, Wen Jianyan’s eyes fixed on the basketball, gaze tightening.
In the distance, the ball bounced out of the hoop and hit the ground again and again.
Yet even after dozens of seconds, its height didn’t diminish.
At some point, the light had dimmed. The world beyond the court was swallowed in darkness—as if the court itself was sealed off.
Though there was no bell, everyone instinctively knew—
Gym class had begun.
Wen Jianyan stared into the darkness and said slowly:
“…Careful. It’s starting.”
