WTNL Chapter 376

by Aria

Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 376: This time, it’s our turn to hunt

Inside the banquet hall, the cold air was laced with a hint of rot, and the oppressive atmosphere was suffocating.

Outside the door, a guest stood motionless in the blood-red corridor, face pale and hollow, like a wooden statue or a clay figure.

By the long table, the only vacant seat appeared especially glaring and out of place.

Everyone’s expressions were grim.

Clearly, most of the seats around the long table had already been cleared, enough to accommodate the fourteen new guests. Yet, for some reason, one guest was still unable to sit, leaving a single seat empty at the table.

What was going on?

Why was this happening?

Could it be that one of the previous guests hadn’t been fully sent away? Or perhaps, had another unseen guest joined them at the table?

Or had the banquet’s rules changed silently without warning?

No matter which possibility it was, all were enough to send chills down their spines.

Wen Jianyan stood still, his mind racing through the events that had just unfolded: the body that, though supposedly restrained, could still move for some unknown reason; the gaze cast from the darkness; the cold, pale fingers that had gripped his wrist…

A cold sweat broke out on his back.

His hand, hanging at his side, moved slightly. The cold, hard, and painful sensation still seemed to linger on his skin. The icy chill seeped into his bones, refusing to dissipate.

The hall once again fell into dead silence, as though time itself had stopped flowing.

Whether it was the guest standing in the corridor or those seated at the long table, none made the slightest move, clinging to a false sense of security.

But everyone knew — it wouldn’t last much longer.

No matter what, they would have to leave the temporarily safe front desk and begin “serving” the guests.

Soon, the anchors recovered and began organizing the next wave of participants.

“Captain, what should we do?” a member of the Black Team gritted out.

In a situation where they held no leverage, it was nearly impossible to identify who among the opposing team was the real Pinocchio. And even if they did figure it out, they couldn’t be sure if that critical item was actually on that person.

The Red Team’s move had been brutally effective, almost completely eliminating the Black Team’s chance to repeat their previous tactic, throwing them back into a hopelessly disadvantageous position.

“If you ask me, just keep killing.” Anise narrowed his eyes.

It was a bloody but effective approach.

After all, reviving an anchor required 20 ghost money, but serving a guest only earned 5. While serving guests was certainly more challenging, if they killed enough anchors, the Red Team wouldn’t be able to sustain their money supply. Sooner or later, they’d be forced into negotiations again.

“We all go out. If we see a Red Team anchor, we kill them. I want to see just how many he can revive.”

There was a chilling cruelty in Anise’s voice.

The Gentleman turned his head, glancing toward the entrance.

Because the last guest hadn’t entered the banquet hall, the corridor lights remained an eerie crimson, looking extremely ominous.

He narrowed his eyes and said:

“We can’t send everyone.”

At least, not yet.

The fact that a guest had not taken their seat and remained outside the hall unsettled him.

Something was different this time.

Until they figured out what that was—until they could rule out danger—they couldn’t leave the place completely unguarded.

But with only half—or less than half—of their team available, trying to launch a coordinated strike against the Red Team in the dim lighting and under the watchful eyes of numerous ghosts was nothing short of a fantasy.

“This time, we’re going to steal.”

After glancing at a nearby clock, the Gentleman spoke again:

“There’s only half an hour left. At most, the banquet can go through three more rounds.”

“In the next two rounds, avoid conflict with the Red Team as much as possible. Focus on stealing as many guests as you can.” the Gentleman said.

What he aimed to do now was to cut off the enemy’s source of income.

No tips meant choking off the key lifeline of their opponents’ strategy.

“In the final round, then we unleash the slaughter.”

The Gentleman smiled beneath his mask, his tone gentle — yet the method he described was even more ruthless than Anise’s.

Black Team live broadcast barrage:

[Damn, that’s seriously brutal.]

[No wonder he’s the Vice President of the Oracle Guild. That level of ruthlessness and cold calculation is scarier than most veteran anchors.]

[I thought there was no way to counter the Red Team’s tactic, but… wow. The Gentleman might not be top-tier in instance clearing or innate talent, but when it comes to PvP scheming, he’s absolutely elite. Gave me chills.]

[Hahahahaha, now I really want to see how the Red Team responds.]

“I’ll stay this round.”

Wen Jianyan turned his gaze away from the Black Team and spoke slowly.

It was a decision he had come to after deep consideration.

In the previous round, Yun Bilan had already relayed the message to the Black Team, so they were bound to respond this round — either by continuing to kill or by cutting off the Red Team’s income and stealing guests. These were the only real ways to counter their plan.

“My guess is they’ll try to steal guests.”

After all, the guest who had not taken a seat and remained outside posed a significant threat. Under those conditions, Wen Jianyan didn’t think the Black Team would risk a direct attack on their side.

Wen Jianyan looked toward Chen Mo, who had rested last round:

“Do you remember the method I taught you back then?”

“Of course.” Chen Mo smiled and nodded.

“Good. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and glanced again at the long table in the distance.

“Avoid that empty seat as much as you can,” he warned.

The bluish-black handprint on his wrist still ached faintly.

Wen Jianyan was certain that the white-clad woman hadn’t completely left. She remained here, lingering in a way that couldn’t be perceived with the naked eye.

“Got it.”

After nodding, Chen Mo led the team out from the front desk and headed toward the service windows.

The Black Team did the same.

With prior experience under his belt, Chen Mo moved with ease this time.

He picked up a tray from the table and stood with his fellow anchor at the side.

A new round of “service” had begun.

The light began to dim — until only the figures beside them and the long table ahead could be seen.

But this time, unlike before, the Red Team did not spread out to grab as many guests as possible. Instead, they clustered into two small groups.

Each group was led by anchors with offensive talents.

Chen Mo turned his head.

In the darkness, his eyes gleamed behind his mask.

He was usually calm and rational, rarely acting on impulse, but this time was different.

Beneath that calm, icy exterior, something silent and burning surged within him — resolute and certain, driven by a hunger for victory:

“Ready?”

“This time, it’s our turn to hunt.”

The light dimmed again.

Thick darkness spread from the long table outward, swiftly devouring the remaining illumination. The distant area was swallowed in shadows that could not be dispelled.

In the air, the heavy stench of decay began to rise once more.

Clink—clink—

From the darkness around the long table came the illusion of chains clashing.

Wen Jianyan knew — Chen Mo and the others had begun.

He turned to look outside the hall.

In the pitch-black surroundings, only the corridor remained blood-red, its ominous hue painting the walls and floor. Though some distance away, it was still deeply unsettling.

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath under his mask.

Stay calm. Wait.

Though he wasn’t part of the main operation this time, his role was no less important.

In fact, he bore the burden of uncovering more rules — and giving others a greater chance to survive.

Just then—

Thud, thud, thud.

From outside the door came the sound of slow, stiff, rhythmic footsteps.

“!”

The anchors, already on edge, were instantly alarmed. They turned toward the source of the sound.

In the red-lit depths of the corridor, dark figures began to emerge one after another, shambling toward the back of the front desk.

One… two… three…

Wen Jianyan’s pupils contracted.

A series of shadowy figures appeared, walking down the corridor toward the hall doors.

Their bodies were stiff, faces pale, and expressions hollow.

They were undoubtedly guests.

But… this round wasn’t over yet. Why were new guests showing up?!

Suddenly, Wen Jianyan seemed to realize something. His gaze fixed on the red light above as he inhaled sharply.

So that’s it.

In the Changsheng Building instance, there was a similar mechanic—red candlelight attracted ghosts.

Clearly, the same rule applied to the Xingwang Hotel.

Whether it was the red-glowing lantern at the front desk or the red candle lit before serving the dishes in front of the ghosts, the implication was the same.

In every previous round, the corridor lights turned red first, and only then did the guests enter the banquet hall.

Which meant that the guests weren’t entering voluntarily—they were being lured in.

This time, however, because one of the seats hadn’t been filled and a guest remained in the corridor, the red light above never went out, continuing to attract more ghosts.

So…

As long as there’s a ghost who hasn’t taken a seat, more and more guests will keep arriving.

One by one, the guests walked toward the doors. Under the blood-red light, their figures looked particularly eerie and terrifying.

Wen Jianyan’s heart jumped into his throat.

His eyes stayed locked in that direction, nerves on edge, watching vigilantly, afraid to miss a single move the guests might make.

But, contrary to what he feared, the guests did nothing alarming. Like emotionless clay statues, they simply stopped behind the first guest who had arrived.

The blood-red light poured down over them.

Even though they weren’t doing anything, the pressure in the air was still terrifying—enough to make one breathless.

Wen Jianyan kept his gaze outside the doors, silently counting.

This time, ten new guests had arrived.

Time passed—so quickly it felt like the blink of an eye, and yet so slowly it seemed like an entire century had gone by.

Finally, the darkness near the long banquet table began to recede.

Wen Jianyan glanced at the time.

This round had lasted around eight minutes.

There were still more than twenty minutes until the banquet ended—enough for about two more rounds.

Both teams began to regroup.

However, it was clear that far fewer members returned to the Black Team than to the Red Team.

On the Black Team’s side, the gentleman who had remained behind the front desk the entire time observed the disparity in numbers. A look of realization crossed his face.

As if a possibility had just occurred to him, he abruptly grabbed one of the returning teammates and asked in a low voice:

“What happened?”

Finally, after questioning three different people, he pieced together what had occurred.

“……”

The gentleman’s face darkened.

Slowly, he turned to look toward the Red Team.

Wen Jianyan had been keeping an eye on the Black Team’s movements and naturally caught the searching gaze from across the room.

Behind his mask, he resisted the urge to greet the other man and simply curved his lips into a silent, pleasant smile.

The Black Team had tried to seize the guests by strangling them mid-delivery…

In truth, that was exactly what Wen Jianyan had been hoping they would do from the start.

To maximize their earnings, they had to spread the guests across both teams. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have enough customers to profit from. But because there were still guests waiting outside, the Black Team couldn’t send their entire squad, and while they divided their forces, the Red Team acted as one.

They returned everything the Black Team had done in the previous round—down to the last detail.

After all, killing wasn’t something only one side could do.

Through the masks, with no way of knowing each other’s true identities, the two hostile teams stared at each other, the air between them thick with deathly stillness.

Finally, the Black Team broke the silence.

Just like Wen Jianyan had done earlier, the gentleman exchanged ghost money at the front desk for new nameplates.

However, he clearly wasn’t ready to spend lavishly—he only redeemed nameplates for the two most effective and powerful teammates.

Soon, two figures emerged from the darkness.

There was a slight stir among the Black Team.

Someone seemed unhappy with the decision.

Wen Jianyan withdrew his gaze and looked toward his own team. His eyes swept over the returning anchors, counting their numbers.

Though they’d had the upper hand this round, it wasn’t without casualties—three team members had failed to return.

Honestly, that wasn’t a small loss, especially considering the Black Team had only lost five.

Sigh.

Wen Jianyan let out a soft sigh in his heart.

It seemed that sometimes, the gap in base strength among team members couldn’t be fully compensated for by strategy alone.

What’s more, the most important person hadn’t returned.

Chen Mo.

Wen Jianyan frowned.

Had he failed? Or encountered a powerful enemy?

No matter what, Wen Jianyan had already made a promise—to bring back every teammate who died from PvP.

Besides, in the last round, they’d made a huge amount of tips while Anise was lying in ambush, having served nearly all the remaining guests.

Three people’s worth of ghost money—Wen Jianyan could afford that.

He took out the necessary amount and discreetly handed it to Yun Bilan:

“Go.”

Yun Bilan nodded and walked to the front desk with the money, exchanging new nameplates for each fallen anchor.

After she left, Wen Jianyan turned toward the long table nearby.

This time, thanks to the Black Team’s efforts, all the guests had been served and sent away, leaving behind only an empty banquet table and a pile of rusted plates.

Wen Jianyan noticed the plate that once held the piece of facial skin still hadn’t disappeared.

On the contrary, thick, sticky blood had started to overflow from its edges, drip-dripping onto the white tablecloth, staining it bright red—and it was still spreading toward the floor.

His brows furrowed deeper.

He lowered his head and discreetly pulled back the fabric on his arm.

On his pale wrist was a deep purplish bruise in the shape of a handprint. Compared to before, it looked darker, as if it were spreading outward.

Wen Jianyan paused, hesitated, and reached out to touch it.

But before his fingers even made contact, he felt a sensation—like he was touching something.

“!!!”

Wen Jianyan’s heart skipped a beat, and cold sweat broke out down his back.

He flinched, instinctively yanking his hand away.

It felt like…

A pale, icy dead hand was still tightly gripping his wrist.

Just then, footsteps sounded behind him.

Wen Jianyan’s heart lurched. He quickly dropped his arm to hide the bruise and turned to look toward the sound.

It was Yun Bilan.

Through the mask, he couldn’t see her expression, but… something about her aura felt especially heavy.

Wen Jianyan looked past her, toward the two anchors trailing behind her.

Clearly, they were the ones who had just died.

But… Chen Mo wasn’t among them.

Wen Jianyan’s heart clenched slightly.

“What happened?”

He asked quietly.

“Chen Mo’s nameplate couldn’t be purchased,” Yun Bilan said simply.

Her voice was heavy, clearly weighed down by concern.

“What do you mean?” Wen Jianyan frowned. “Not enough ghost money?”

“No, that’s not it,” Yun Bilan shook her head.

She hesitated, then said, “The hotel manager said Chen Mo’s nameplate… isn’t with him.”

“…What?”

Wen Jianyan froze.

“That’s exactly what he said.” Yun Bilan looked just as confused. “I have no idea what it means either.”

Wen Jianyan stood still, staring at the hotel manager behind the front desk. The man still wore the same unchanged smile as before, standing motionless—like nothing had changed.

Not with him…?

Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes.

Before the banquet started, you couldn’t exchange ghost money for nameplates. And once the banquet began, you couldn’t redeem nameplates for those who had died before it started. In other words, only those who died during the banquet could be revived with this one-time opportunity.

Wen Jianyan hesitated.

Could it be that Chen Mo had already left the banquet?

But if so, where could he have gone?

The bruise on his wrist ached faintly again.

A sudden, startling thought flashed through Wen Jianyan’s mind.

…No way.

As Wen Jianyan fell into his thoughts, the guests who had been waiting outside began moving again, stepping into the hall one by one and taking the newly emptied seats.

There were eleven guests and fifteen open seats—more than enough.

But after all eleven guests were seated, the red light above still didn’t fade. Instead, familiar, stiff footsteps echoed once more from the far end of the corridor.

“?!”

Wen Jianyan’s eyes widened as he turned toward the sound.

As if confirming his worst fear, more figures began emerging from the far end of the corridor, where the red glow had deepened into near-blackness.

One. Two. Three. Four…

What——?!

As everyone stared at the unexpected scene before them, they couldn’t help but gasp in shock.

In other words, as long as there were guests who hadn’t been received during a round, then in the next round, they would essentially have to accommodate double the number of guests!

It was a vicious cycle!

Because the number of seats at the long table was always fixed, while the number of arriving guests increased with each round. If even one round failed to fully accommodate all the guests, then the number of guests in the following rounds would multiply exponentially. The red light in the corridor would never go out again.

And this kind of increase…

Was it infinite?

If the guests merely waited outside the door, it might still be manageable. But… what if the number exceeded a certain limit…

Everyone shuddered at the thought.

But Wen Jianyan was thinking about something else entirely.

His gaze swept over the guests waiting outside the door, counting their number.

Another twelve.

Of these twelve, three had entered the banquet hall and taken their seats at the long table. The rest remained motionless in the corridor, waiting.

No.

Something was very wrong.

Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes, instinctively rubbing his cold knuckles.

There were too many.

Far too many.

He began calculating rapidly in his mind.

In the first round, they received five guests. The second round, seven. The third, ten. The fourth, fourteen. During the fourth round, ten more had arrived. And now there were another twelve.

That made a total of fifty-eight!

And they still had to get through two more rounds. Which meant, even conservatively speaking, they’d be receiving nearly a hundred guests before the time was up.

But that number was way too high.

Wen Jianyan didn’t believe that they alone could have brought so many guests to the Prosperity Hotel.

There were only two hundred anchors in this instance, and most weren’t acting solo, but in teams.

But the first day already weeded out a significant portion of them—some even died in the rainy town before bringing in a single guest. By the second day, only five teams were still capable of moving between the hotel and the town. Some of them even operated together, and most of their time was spent fulfilling the guests’ wishes. Even if they returned to the hotel, they would usually choose to bring just one guest.

Even with only elementary school-level math, it was clear: those teams couldn’t have brought in over a hundred guests.

So then…

Wen Jianyan’s gaze landed on the corridor, his breath catching slightly.

What was going on?

His mind was a tangled mess, but there was one thing he was absolutely certain of.

This time, he couldn’t stay behind the front desk anymore.

“I’ll go.”

Wen Jianyan touched his faintly aching right arm and stepped forward.

Yun Bilan immediately tensed. “I’ll go too.”

“No.”

Wen Jianyan rejected her without hesitation.

“Each anchor can only exchange their nameplate once. If you go again and die… you’ll really be dead.”

“Don’t worry.”

Yun Bilan looked up at him.

Through the pale mask, Wen Jianyan’s amber eyes curved slightly in the hollow of the mask: “I’ll bring Chen Mo back.”

His voice was soft, tinged with a gentle smile, but for some reason, it sounded exceptionally convincing.

Yun Bilan hesitated for a moment, then let go of his hand.

Wen Jianyan turned his head, casting an inconspicuous glance toward the black faction’s direction.

With Chen Mo’s swift and brutal attack last time, the black team had likely lost their grasp of the situation. They probably didn’t know whether they should spread out to gain more points or tighten their formation to guard against another ambush. Under such uncertainty, this round might actually be the safest.

“Bai Xue, come with me.”

Wen Jianyan said.

The shorter Bai Xue nodded slightly.

The fifth round began.

Wen Jianyan and the others once again approached the window.

Everyone, now familiar with the routine, reached out and picked up the trays from the window.

Each tray contained a nameplate with a different number.

Wen Jianyan also skillfully picked up one of them.

But then, his gaze froze.

“What’s wrong?” someone beside him asked in a low voice.

“……”

Wen Jianyan didn’t answer at first.

His eyes were locked onto the trays in front of him, as if something had suddenly struck him.

The numbers on the nameplates in these trays…

Wen Jianyan’s breathing quickened slightly.

He remembered that the last time he picked up a tray, he saw a nameplate belonging to someone who had died on the first day. At the time, Wen Jianyan found it strange—why would the nameplate, which represented the soul of an anchor who failed the selection, still appear in the tray?

But now, Wen Jianyan saw even more numbers.

These numbers didn’t just belong to those who had died on the first day. Some belonged to people who hadn’t died.

Normally, he might have suspected that a ghost had infiltrated their group.

But at this moment, Wen Jianyan was absolutely sure of the answer.

Several previously unanswered questions, like scattered pearls, were now threaded together by an invisible string into a complete strand.

Wen Jianyan remembered that, in the timeline involving Hugo’s version of the Prosperity Hotel, he had once accidentally ended up among the banquet guests.

The long corridor had been packed with pale-faced, stiff-bodied ghosts. They poured out from one room after another, drawn forward by some unseen force, moving down the hall.

There had been a lot of them.

Definitely over a hundred.

At the time, Wen Jianyan hadn’t thought about it too deeply.

But now, looking back—that instance wasn’t even classified as S-tier. Hugo in that timeline was only an A-rank anchor. Even though he’s now in the top ten, back then, he absolutely wouldn’t have had the strength to gather a hundred ghosts and fill the entire Prosperity Hotel.

And now…

Given the current timeline—the guests outside the banquet doors arriving in endless waves, far exceeding what they could possibly recruit, and the trays containing nameplates that didn’t follow the usual selection rules, including those belonging to people who weren’t even dead yet—

Bai Xue noticed Wen Jianyan’s reaction and turned her head slightly.

“I know now.”

Wen Jianyan’s breathing quickened behind his mask. He lowered his voice and said, “I understand.”

The “Xingwang Hotel” instance was special—even before it was turned into a miniature diorama world.

Or rather, it was because of its uniqueness that it was transformed into a diorama world.

“Each time it starts, it isn’t completely reset.”

The instance’s progress might be reset, but some part of the hotel remained untouched—and even accumulated over time.

These guests had been pulled into the hotel by anchors who had entered the instance in the past. And those nameplates that didn’t fit the current “rules” belonged to anchors from previous openings of this instance—ones who did conform to the rules at the time.

So, every time the “Xingwang Hotel” instance began anew, even more “ghosts” were pulled into the hotel. Meanwhile, the number of paintings in the town would gradually decrease.

That was why there were far fewer paintings than there were houses.

Sometimes they’d enter a room clearly bearing signs of human life, only to find no oil painting inside.

Because during previous cycles of this instance, those paintings had already been taken by earlier anchors.

As Wen Jianyan’s mind raced, all the trays had already been taken.

Some anchors began walking toward the long table.

Darkness once again fell, spreading outward from the table as its center.

Wen Jianyan stood still.

He didn’t move.

He felt like he was close to something.

Something he had brushed against before but never fully realized—the truth.

A line from the journal surfaced in his mind:

{In my dream, I saw a strange building appear in the town. It was called the Xingwang Hotel.}

{But our town is so small—we’ve never had a hotel.}

{I went to check the place from my dream in the real world. It was empty. Nothing was there. I guess… it really was just a dream.}

A dream, huh.

Wen Jianyan couldn’t help but clench his fingers tighter.

He was gripping the tray so hard that the edges of his fingertips turned pale.

First off—the instance was connected to reality.

From what he could tell now, the town existed in the real world. But the Xingwang Hotel didn’t. It was part of the white-clothed woman’s dream.

And its appearance had one purpose:

To use the cycle of the instance, over and over, to fill the hotel with malicious spirits—and then, in one swoop, release them.

Open the prison.

As Wen Jianyan was drowning in chaotic thoughts, a cold voice snapped him out of it:

“Hey.”

It was Bai Xue calling him.

“?”

Wen Jianyan pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“Look,” Bai Xue said.

Wen Jianyan raised his head and looked into the distance.

And froze.

Amid the thick, murky darkness, the only thing visible was the long table.

Every seat at the table was taken.

Even the single empty seat from before the lights went out—was now filled.

Wen Jianyan’s gaze locked onto the previously empty spot, and goosebumps prickled across his skin. A chill ran down his entire body.

It was Chen Mo.

His mask was gone. He sat motionless at the only vacant seat, a copper tray stained with blood placed in front of him. On it lay three blood-soaked human face skins.

Sticky blood spilled from the tray, pooling across the table and the floor into a crimson mess.

And in that blood—Wen Jianyan could vaguely make out the silhouette of a white-clothed woman.

She stood silently behind Chen Mo, not moving an inch.

But Wen Jianyan knew—

She was looking at him.

The mark on his wrist throbbed with unbearable pain again.

Beside him, Bai Xue asked, “What do you see?”

Wen Jianyan: “…You don’t see it?”

“No.”

Bai Xue said.

He turned his head. Behind the mask, his eyes were filled with a chilling blackness.

“I can only see possibilities.”