WTNL Chapter 406

(5/7)

Yuying University
Chapter 406: You, don’t panic.

“Clack, clack, clack.”

The harsh sound of bones grinding echoed through the empty room, sending chills down the spine.

Wen Jianyan felt his hair stand on end.

Not far away, inside the locker, a corpse was tightly stuffed.

Under his wide-eyed gaze, the corpse’s head—which had been hanging upside down—was slowly turning upright, like the slow-moving hand of a clock. On that rotten, unrecognizable face, a pair of hollow, pitch-black eye sockets stared straight at him.

Cold sweat broke out across Wen Jianyan’s back.

Almost without thinking, he spun around and bolted in the direction he had come from, leaving that horrifying corpse far behind.

A chill wind brushed past him, raising goosebumps on his skin.

As Wen Jianyan ran, he quickly glanced at the time.

There were four minutes left until the ten-minute rendezvous he had agreed on with Hugo. It wasn’t much, but if he sprinted at full speed, he could still make it back to the entrance of the gymnasium in time.

No problem.

He slowly exhaled, trying to calm his pounding heart.

All in all, this adventure had not only met his expectations but far exceeded them.

Originally, he’d only planned to get a rough idea of the gymnasium’s layout, but unexpectedly, he’d obtained crucial information—and even found his first item in this instance.

Wen Jianyan rushed through the empty locker room and headed for the shower area outside.

The shower room was deserted, with rusted showerheads embedded in the walls. Dark green mold filled the cracks between the broken tiles, and a foul smell lingered in the air.

“Gurgle gurgle!”
The pipes overhead rattled again.

“!”

A chill prickled Wen Jianyan’s scalp. He didn’t dare to linger and quickened his pace.

Soon, the door out of the locker room was within reach.

The scene outside hadn’t changed since he entered—desolate and silent—but now it looked like a lifeline. As long as he crossed this area, he could safely leave the gymnasium.

Just as he was about to step out of the locker room, Wen Jianyan suddenly froze.

Wait.

His chest heaved rapidly as he turned his head to look anxiously back at the empty shower room, scanning it with sharp eyes.

Where was Wei Cheng?

Ever since they’d split up by the locker, Wei Cheng hadn’t shown up. Even when Wen Jianyan had called out earlier, there was no response. From the locker room to the showers, the path was clear with no side passages—yet Wen Jianyan hadn’t seen any trace of Wei Cheng while running out.

“Wei Cheng!!”

Wen Jianyan raised his voice and shouted.

His voice echoed through the empty shower room, layer upon layer fading into the distance.

Still no response.

Instead, the gurgling from the pipes grew louder.

A thin layer of sweat broke out on Wen Jianyan’s forehead. He glanced at the time.

Only three minutes left.

Gritting his teeth, he turned, ready to head back the way he came, but just then—

“Creeeeak—”
The rusted metal valve somewhere began to turn on its own.

Accompanied by that strange gurgling sound, murky black water began to drip sporadically from the showerheads.

One after another.

Within seconds, every showerhead in the large, empty room had turned on, filling the air with the sound of rushing water.

But bizarrely, the water wasn’t flowing toward the drains with the slope of the floor. Instead, it was gathering, moving as if alive—creeping in Wen Jianyan’s direction.

“!!!”

Startled, Wen Jianyan instinctively stepped back.

---

At the gymnasium entrance.

Hugo leaned against the door. His face was as cold and weary as ever, but veins bulged from the pale skin on the back of his hand, showing he hadn’t relaxed for even a moment.

The others were waiting patiently.

Su Cheng paced in place, his dark eyes downcast. His expression was unchanged, but his quick, restless steps betrayed his uneasy mind.

From his lookout post, Tian Ye turned and said, “The PE class is about to start. I see several anchors gathering at the field already.”

Yun Bilan looked up. “How much time left?”

“Three minutes,” Orange Candy replied.

“No need to worry,” she shrugged. “Plenty of time left.”

For an experienced anchor with loads of items, crossing from one end of the gym to the other wasn’t particularly difficult, even if it would take an ordinary person some time.

“……”

Suddenly, Hugo, who had been holding the door the whole time, frowned slightly.

“What is it?”

Orange Candy noticed the change in his expression and raised an eyebrow.

“Something’s off.”

Hugo lifted his other hand, holding it in the air as if feeling for something.

The crease in his brow deepened.

“The humidity in the air… just changed.”

…This time, the backlash from forcibly keeping the door open seemed to be growing stronger.

---

Meanwhile, inside the gymnasium.

Foul black water dripped from each showerhead, spreading across the cracked tiles and quickly flowing forward. In the blink of an eye, it had reached Wen Jianyan’s feet.

His heart skipped as he stumbled backward.

In barely ten seconds, the path back to the locker room was completely blocked—there was no way to return safely now.

Wei Cheng still didn’t respond.

Not even a reply to his text message.

It was as if he’d been swallowed whole by this strange gymnasium—vanished without a trace, neither dead nor alive.

Wen Jianyan’s heart pounded furiously, thudding against his chest as he stood on the verge of the locker room door—just one step away from escaping.

His mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this situation.

Since Wen Jianyan wasn’t the team leader this time, he couldn’t forcibly access the positions of his teammates. So when Wei Cheng ran into danger, Wen Jianyan had no way of knowing his location or condition.

Should he leave now and seek help?

Impossible.

The thought was crushed the moment it surfaced.

There wasn’t enough time—ten minutes simply weren’t enough to run back and forth with reinforcements. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if Hugo could reopen the door after this. If he retreated now, it would be no different from leaving Wei Cheng to die here. But if he stayed and waited without a plan, he’d also run out of time—

“……”

Wen Jianyan froze, a thought suddenly hitting him.

Wait.

Why was Wei Cheng the one in danger?

Wei Cheng was an experienced anchor too. Logically, he should have known better than to separate from the team in such an unknown, dangerous map. Even if he ran into trouble, he should have had the skills to handle it. Unless it was an instant death trap, a veteran anchor should never disappear completely without making a sound.

But the problem was, Wei Cheng had a very special talent:

He could predict fatal danger.

Splash.

The foul-smelling, viscous black water surged across the floor, spreading like some kind of monstrous tentacle, rushing rapidly toward Wen Jianyan.

So cold.

Bone-chillingly cold.

Wen Jianyan stood still, fear gnawing at him, screaming at him to run—but reason held him in place, like a nail pinning him to the floor.

Wait… wait a little longer.

Something wasn’t right.

His chest heaved rapidly; his ears buzzed as if his brain’s CPU was overheating.

Why Wei Cheng?

Wen Jianyan was the one who opened the locker, the one trying to retrieve the hidden item. He had the lowest SAN value, the one most likely to be targeted by the instance—so why was Wei Cheng the one in danger?

Unless…

Wen Jianyan slowly turned his head, staring into the empty, unobstructed main hall of the gym. His fingers twitched slightly with tension.

Unless…

The one actually in danger wasn’t Wei Cheng.

It was him.

“GURURURU!!!”

A harsh groaning echoed from the overhead pipes, accompanied by the rushing sound of water—like hammers striking his temples again and again.

Wen Jianyan saw the black water creeping closer, saw the wet, greasy strands of black hair drifting inside it, reaching toward his feet, carrying a horrifying chill as it drew near, inch by inch.

The door behind him stood wide open, unobstructed.

If he just took a single step back…

He could escape the danger.

“……”

Wen Jianyan gritted his teeth and forced his eyes shut, counting down in his mind.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Three, two, one.

Through the sound of rushing water, a faint voice reached him from far away:

“…you…don’t…”

“…hurry!”

The voice suddenly grew clearer, like a beam of light piercing dense fog.

“————!”

It was like being yanked out of deep water. Wen Jianyan gasped sharply and opened his eyes. The next second, a flood of chaotic noise crashed into him—overwhelming, like a tidal wave that froze his brain for a moment.

After a brief blank spell, he realized he was standing straight at the edge of an abandoned swimming pool—half his foot already hanging over the side. Below, the dark, shallow, stinking water exuded a chilling aura. One more step, and he’d have fallen straight in.

As soon as he understood where he was, cold sweat broke out down his spine. He stumbled back quickly, retreating to safety.

“Holy shit… you finally woke up…”

Wei Cheng let out a long breath beside him, wiping the sweat from his forehead as if he’d been utterly exhausted.

Only now did Wen Jianyan notice that his body was wrapped in countless threads of spider silk—likely a triggered item. But in the gym, it had clearly been useless. The sticky silk was stretched and misshapen, almost unrecognizable from its original form.

“You have no idea—every single item on you failed…” Wei Cheng’s face was pale with cold sweat, clearly shaken. “Neither physical pulling nor mental-clearing items worked. I couldn’t even get within five meters of you—my SAN started dropping like crazy. I really thought we were done for this time.”

Even now, Wei Cheng seemed unable to calm down from the shock.

As an experienced player, he knew better than most: mental attacks like this were far deadlier than any obvious danger.

Because in most instances, when the victim wasn’t conscious, there was absolutely nothing the others could do.

And human instinct… was the deadliest trap of all.

The stronger an anchor was, the more likely they were to trust their own judgment without question.

But what no one expected was that—just as Wen Jianyan was about to step into the abyss, only a hair’s breadth away from falling into the pool—he actually stopped. Without anyone’s help, relying solely on his own willpower, he woke up on his own.

…Unbelievable.

Suddenly, Wen Jianyan sensed something. He lowered his head slightly and looked at his hand.

His fingers loosened.

Lying quietly in his palm was a dead person’s eyeball—grayish-white, trailing behind it red and blue optic nerves, coated with a familiar layer of rotten mucus, exuding a strong, putrid stench.

In the next second, a familiar system notification sounded in his ear.

【Ding! Congratulations, anchor, you have obtained the hidden item (Difficult) from the instance!】

【Collection progress: 1/10】

Wen Jianyan froze for a moment.

So this was…the hidden item from the locker?

Then the crisis he had just experienced must have been related to this.

Wen Jianyan remembered that in the film Brave Richard, Richard had dug out his own eyeball before dying. What was the connection between this item and that plotline?

Gurgle—

Suddenly, while Wen Jianyan was lost in thought, a strange sound came from the dried-up pool nearby—like dirty backflowing water from a sewer.

“?!”

He jerked his head toward the sound.

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but the water level in the pool seemed to have risen slightly since before.

The pitch-black water—thick with unsettling sediment—was slowly climbing, and something unknown and dangerous seemed to be stirring beneath the surface.

Wen Jianyan glanced at the time. There was only one minute left before the ten minutes ended. He quickly shoved the eyeball back into his pocket. “Let’s go.”

Wei Cheng wiped his face and nodded.

“Okay.”

His voice still sounded shaky, as though he hadn’t yet recovered from the earlier danger.

Without hesitation, the two of them broke into a run, retracing their original path at top speed.

As seasoned, physically fit anchors, they were well-practiced at running for their lives. With the timely aid of some items, escaping was far easier than their entry had been.

By the time there were only 30 seconds left on the ten-minute countdown, they had already reached the familiar entrance to the dark corridor.

Once they passed through this corridor, they could leave the gymnasium.

Both Wen Jianyan and Wei Cheng let out a breath of relief and quickened their pace, charging toward the corridor’s exit.

But…

Maybe it was their imagination, but this corridor seemed just as dark as when they’d first entered. There wasn’t the faintest hint of light ahead. Though they had long since adapted to the darkness, a sense of unease still crept into their hearts.

Suddenly, there was a dull thud from up ahead.

Wei Cheng, who was running in front, seemed to have unexpectedly slammed into something. He clutched his forehead and let out a soft groan.

“……”

A strong sense of dread began to churn in Wen Jianyan’s chest.

He quickly pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.

A cold beam of light wavered into the darkness, illuminating the space before them.

The emergency exit was shut tight.

The metal door was sealed seamlessly, cold and unyielding—like a life gate that had been forcefully closed.

There were only 15 seconds left before the ten-minute deadline, yet the way out of the gym was already blocked.

“What’s going on?” Wei Cheng’s voice was tight with panic. “Why is the door shut?”

They hadn’t exceeded the agreed ten minutes!

Wen Jianyan gripped his phone tightly in his cold, sweat-drenched hand, but didn’t answer.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know the answer to that either.

10 seconds remaining.

Wei Cheng used a door-opening item.

Failed.

5 seconds remaining.

Wei Cheng began slamming the door with his shoulder—but it was useless. The emergency exit felt like it had been filled with concrete, completely immovable.

4… 3… 2… 1.

The ten minutes were up.

The iron door stood deathly still, with not a single sound coming from outside.

“Stop trying.”

Wen Jianyan stepped back and grabbed Wei Cheng.

He didn’t know what exactly was going on either—but he understood that this path was probably no longer an option.

“Yeah,” Wei Cheng took a deep breath and quickly calmed down. “But the good news is… I don’t sense a death trap coming.”

Wen Jianyan thought for a moment and said:

“Let’s go. We’ll try the main entrance.”

If he remembered correctly, the gymnasium’s main entrance was in Zone B.

Wei Cheng nodded. The two turned and quickly left the corridor.

As soon as they re-entered the gymnasium, a strong, chilling sense of dread swept over Wen Jianyan—as if his whole body had been plunged into icy, stagnant water. He shivered uncontrollably.

He looked around the space in suspicion and unease.

The gym still looked like the same abandoned, dilapidated place as before, not a single thing out of place… but for some reason, he couldn’t shake the illusion that something had quietly changed.

Still, now was not the time to waste thinking about this.

Wen Jianyan forced himself to shift his focus.

The time limit Hugo had given them had already been exceeded. Every extra second spent inside this gym only multiplied the danger. They had to get out immediately.

Their hurried footsteps echoed as they passed through the empty Zone A, heading toward Zone B.

Tap, tap.

A faint, crisp sound suddenly came from behind them.

Wen Jianyan whipped his head around.

A ping-pong ball rolled across the table.

There was no one here—but on the dust-covered ping-pong table, two handprints had appeared.

As if someone had pressed their palms on the edge.

A chill ran down his spine. He reached out and gripped Wei Cheng’s arm tightly. “Quick, go! Go now!”

They rushed into Zone B.

Zone B was the badminton court. The empty court was filled with crooked net posts, some with broken cords swaying loosely in the air.

Before them stood the dusty, long-locked main entrance.

They exchanged glances and quickly stepped forward.

“Can you open it?” Wei Cheng asked.

Wen Jianyan reached out and grasped the door handle, his gaze falling on the keyhole as if assessing something. “I don’t know…”

Behind them, in the empty badminton court, the sound of footsteps began to echo.

The footsteps seemed aimless—but they steadily multiplied, though no human figure could be seen.

The entire gymnasium grew colder, the atmosphere thick with creeping horror.

Wen Jianyan’s face turned pale, his voice trembling slightly: “D-Don’t panic. Let me try.”

Wei Cheng: “…”

Honestly, he hadn’t been panicking at first.

But now he really was.

He’d been through plenty of instances with other people and faced countless life-and-death crises—but this time, even though he was with a top-tier, skillful veteran (who, despite extreme plays, had never screwed up so far), and even though his own death sense hadn’t yet sounded any alarm…

He still felt fear creeping up his spine.

So for god’s sake—could you not look so scared?!

It’s seriously contagious!!

Not far away, in the dead-silent Zone C…

In the area they couldn’t see, the swimming pool had already filled halfway with pitch-black, filthy water. The level continued to rise silently as time passed.

Within the foul, roiling, sediment-choked water, pale objects floated faintly in and out of view.

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of human corpses.

Arms. Legs. Heads.

Their bodies swayed slowly beneath the black water, bobbing up bit by bit with the rising liquid, gradually, silently surfacing.

Amidst the pale limbs, a twisted corpse floated—its four limbs and neck bones broken.

Its eye sockets were empty, hollow and lifeless. Rotting arms drifted with the current, emitting a harsh, grating sound of bone scraping against bone.

Clack, clack… clack, clack.

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