WTNL Chapter 426

by Aria

Yuying University
Chapter 426: Lecture Hall

The long-faced man curled up on the floor. His face was pale and clammy, eye sockets sunken, his gaze cold and venomous. He stared fixedly at the young man before him, as if trying to strangle him to death with his eyes alone.

“Let me guess,”

Wen Jianyan crouched down in front of him.

Facing that look of hate and resentment, he seemed completely unaffected—even calm.

Behind the thin lenses perched on his nose, a foggy, faint smile played in the light-colored eyes.

“On the first day of the instance, everyone who was approached outside the dorm building ended up being ‘recruited’ into the club.”

That female student who didn’t wear a student council armband but was clearly an NPC—she was likely the so-called club leader. Everyone who gave her their name ended up being “visited” later that night.

And those who were “visited” didn’t die—but were marked in some way.

The next day, when everyone was choosing courses, regular streamers were directed to elective classes. But those who had been marked were led to the “club recruitment” event.

That mark was their ticket into the recruitment venue.

Any streamer who didn’t have that “ticket” couldn’t participate in the event—even if they showed up. If they tried to force their way in, they’d be instantly erased by the instance, leaving behind no trace at all—just like that one unfortunate streamer they had all witnessed earlier.

“But I’m guessing that mark, which lets you enter the event, is also a death sentence.”

He could act freely during compulsory classes where sleep was required, and disappear in the dorms at night.

But from day one, his complexion had grown steadily worse. By now, you could throw him into a pile of monsters and barely tell the difference. Wen Jianyan had even needed to use the Nightmare contract system to confirm beyond doubt that he was still a human, not a ghost in disguise.

Not to mention—the face Wen Jianyan had seen before in the black water of the swimming pool had also belonged to Yellow Weasel.

Thinking about it now—those marked like that already had one foot in the grave. But it didn’t mean they were entirely beyond saving.

“We need credits to leave the instance. Clearly, the club’s rules have nothing to do with the normal progression path—otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to skip mandatory classes.”

Wen Jianyan tossed a badge into the air, caught it again.

“You’re probably doing some kind of mission.”

The thin silver disc spun in the air, then vanished into his pale, slender hand.

“Let me guess one more time, something bolder—each badge is worth one life. Gather enough, and you clear the game.”

Wen Jianyan spoke.

He still looked calm and composed, his pale face lowered slightly—likely from SAN-value depletion—as he gazed down at Yellow Weasel, whose expression crumbled bit by bit as Wen Jianyan’s analysis continued.

Then Wen Jianyan leaned forward slightly and pulled out the gag in the man’s mouth.

“Am I right?”

Wen Jianyan’s voice was gentle, almost tender.

“……”

Yellow Weasel lay on the floor, his eyes still locked onto Wen Jianyan. The hate was still there—but now, the former arrogance had vanished, replaced by a kind of brittle, strained defiance, like a paper tiger that would collapse at the slightest poke.

“If you won’t talk, I’ll just keep going.”

Wen Jianyan didn’t mind. He gave a mild smile and continued:

“Following that thread… I’m guessing it was you who triggered my first entry into the movie inside the dorm?”

Back then, Wen Jianyan had thought it was because he’d been assigned an identity within the film world—that’s why he’d been pulled into Brave Richard even though he hadn’t written a single word on the assignment paper. But the others—Orange Candy, Su Cheng—also got identities in later films, and they weren’t pulled in like that.

More importantly, only Wen Jianyan had brought everyone in the dorm into the film.

That was very unusual.

And to top it off—Yellow Weasel was the only one who disappeared after that night.

“You realized your condition had something to do with me.”

After all, all the other club members had left their names outside the dorm, but Yellow Weasel hadn’t. Once he figured that out, it was easy to guess who’d been behind it.

“So, you decided to get revenge.”

“How interesting,” Wen Jianyan smiled slightly, like he’d just remembered something amusing. “Did you want to kill me so badly you were willing to sacrifice your own teammates? Or did you just want to complete your mission—and I happened to be in the way?”

His tone remained calm, but the words were laced with killing intent. The others—Swamp and his crew—had been quietly listening at first, shocked into silence.

But once Wen Jianyan brought up that night, they could no longer stay detached.

Their eyes turned toward Yellow Weasel, changing from uncertainty to disbelief, then to cold fury.

It hadn’t been long ago—they remembered it well. The danger that night had been immense. If not for Wen Jianyan taking charge, none of them would’ve made it out alive from that floor.

And now they found out—the one who’d nearly gotten them killed was the very teammate they trusted most?

“…Shut the fck up!!”

Yellow Weasel suddenly lunged. Wen Jianyan leaned back, slightly surprised, and dodged.

The man froze in that awkward posture, red veins bursting in his eyes, his voice hoarse and guttural:

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess!!—If it weren’t for you—”

Before he could finish shouting, Wen Jianyan swiftly gagged him again.

In the “Integrity First” livestream, the comment section was unusually quiet. But viewer counts were fluctuating wildly.

It was a sign: the regular audience of Wen Jianyan’s stream had started hopping into other streamers’ channels within the same instance—to verify what they’d just heard.

As one of the fastest-rising stars in the Nightmare streaming system, Wen Jianyan’s channel had always ranked among the top three for this instance. Its massive viewer base was now spilling over into even the lowest-ranked, least-watched streams, ones that usually had only a few hundred viewers.

In mere minutes, the entire stream ecosystem for Yuying Comprehensive University had been thrown into chaos.

Both inside and outside the instance, a storm was brewing.

[Holy…]

[I checked the VOD from another channel. Shit, the streamer was dead-on with every guess.]

[My back’s cold—who’s the viewer here, us or him? He’s basically lurking in every damn stream!]

[Damn… so this is what a record-breaking exploration looks like?]

“I repent. I take back everything I said about him being timid. This ain’t cowardice—this is top-tier strategy! Brother Wen, I kneel!”

Wen Jianyan patted his knees and stood up.

He turned to the rest, who’d been silent the whole time, and said, “I don’t think we’ll get any more useful info out of him.”

“…”

The large, empty classroom remained dead silent. Everyone continued staring at him—like they’d just seen a ghost.

—You already guessed everything. What else could he possibly tell you?

“Would you mind if we kept him?” Wen Jianyan asked, looking toward Swamp.

Swamp lowered his head and glanced at Yellow Weasel on the floor. His expression, for once, was cold.

“Of course not.”

As streamers who’d survived multiple instances, they weren’t saints. They held no sympathy for someone who’d tried to get them killed.

“Mm! Mmmph!”

Yellow Weasel made muffled noises from the floor, his face twisted and contorted. Whether it was rage, fear, or hatred—it was impossible to tell.

“So… what should we do next?” Swamp asked hesitantly.

Facing Wen Jianyan, he seemed strangely subdued—as if he’d been overshadowed.

“You?” Wen Jianyan tilted his head. “Go attend the Moral and Ethics class, of course.”

He looked down at the time. “Also, have you finished your assignments? That class is the last deadline for submitting them.”

Swamp nodded.

He glanced once more at Yellow Weasel—this former friend and brother-in-arms. His face was unreadable, and whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say.

Then he looked away and waved to his group.

“Let’s go.”

In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The empty classroom now only held Wen Jianyan, Orange Candy, and Wei Cheng.

And, of course, one half-human, half-ghost Yellow Weasel.

Once his teammates left, Yellow Weasel fell completely silent, lying motionless—as if he’d accepted being abandoned.

Orange Candy sat idly on a desk. Wei Cheng looked down at his phone. When he saw the updated exploration percentage, his eyes widened slightly.

“…We’re at 35%?”

Wen Jianyan: “Mm.”

Wei Cheng clicked his tongue and shook his head, clearly impressed.

“Damn.”

He hadn’t expected it. No matter how hard they’d explored before, the exploration bar barely moved. Now, all of a sudden, it had leapt forward in one dramatic jump.

It felt like a door had suddenly opened—a revelation.

But Wen Jianyan didn’t look particularly happy.

He lowered his head, rubbing his fingers together, lost in thought.

Before this, no matter what place they visited, no matter which film they entered, the exploration progress had always inched forward slowly. This kind of leap was unprecedented for this instance.

But not for Wen Jianyan.

He’d seen this before—in the “Xingwang Hotel” instance.

In that place, no matter how deep you dug into one side of the instance, the bar wouldn’t budge. But once you uncovered the core clue that flipped the entire logic of the instance—revealing its other side—progress would shoot up like a rocket.

If that was the case here too…

Wen Jianyan pressed his lips together, hiding the look in his eyes.

Then his previous guess might be right.

This instance’s “size” wasn’t just about surface area—it had depth, like an onion, with layers that had to be peeled back, one by one.

The existence of the “club,” the “student council,” and the many places not even marked on the map—like the tiered lecture hall, the small convenience store, the administrative building—all pointed to one thing:

This instance was packed with hidden areas. Without meeting the prerequisites, players would never access them.

And those requirements couldn’t be met by just following the main questline.

Otherwise, after all this time and all these attempts, the instance wouldn’t still be stuck at such a low exploration percentage.

Orange Candy, sitting off to the side, didn’t care much for talk of instances or game mechanics.

Propping her chin on her hand, she looked at Yellow Weasel and asked, “So, what are you planning to do with this guy?”

“Want me to handle him for you?”

She spoke while tapping her still slightly baby-fat cheeks with pale, delicate fingers. Despite the innocent expression on her face, there was a disturbing trace of cruelty in her tone.

“I love dealing with backstabbing traitors.”

Yellow Weasel’s pupils shrank.

Even though he’d already been twisted into a half-human, half-ghost thing by the instance, the survival instinct and fear that belonged to a living person were still very much present. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have turned on his own teammates without hesitation.

“Mm! Mmph!”

He began thrashing violently on the ground, his throat producing muffled, garbled sounds as if trying to speak.

“I still have a few questions for him,” Wen Jianyan said, glancing down at him with a trace of regret. “But judging by the look of things, I don’t think he’s in any state to cooperate.”

“MMPH!! MMMMPH!!!”

Yellow Weasel struggled even harder.

“Am I right?” Wen Jianyan asked knowingly.

Yellow Weasel shook his head frantically.

“What’s the point in asking him anything?” Orange Candy hopped lightly off the desk and crouched in front of Yellow Weasel, smiling sweetly. Her expression was that of a spoiled child, but her voice was soft and chilling.

“Why don’t you play with me for a bit, hm?”

She hooked a finger into his collar.

Her arm looked small and delicate—but held terrifying strength. With a light tug, she yanked him up off the ground like a ragdoll.

In her grip, a full-grown man looked as fragile as a toy.

A faint smile tugged at her pretty, doll-like face, as if she were genuinely enjoying this.

“What do you think—should I pull off your arm first?”

Her eyes roamed his body like a butcher sizing up cuts of meat.

“Or maybe your leg?”

Suffocating fear gripped Yellow Weasel. His bulging, bloodshot eyes nearly popped from their sockets as he thrashed with all his might. But he was no match for her overwhelming strength. His pale, damp face twisted in pure terror.

“MMPH! MMMMMPH!”

Wen Jianyan watched for quite some time. Then, just as Orange Candy was really about to act, he finally showed some mercy and stepped forward. “…Alright, alright.”

“…Hmm?”

Orange Candy made a lazy sound but didn’t let go.

Her tiny fingers gripped his arm tightly, and beneath her palm, his muscles and bones creaked and popped, sounding like they might be torn off at any moment.

“I think he might be willing to cooperate now,” Wen Jianyan observed Yellow Weasel’s expression calmly. “Am I right?”

“MMPH! MMPH!”

Yellow Weasel nodded like mad.

In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:

[…They seriously didn’t rehearse this beforehand?]

[That coordination is way too smooth!!]

“Tch.” Orange Candy pouted in annoyance, then reluctantly let go of Yellow Weasel. “Guess you got lucky.”

She glanced toward Wei Cheng, who immediately understood and handed her a wet wipe.

Wen Jianyan, meanwhile, crouched down in front of Yellow Weasel and removed the gag from his mouth.

Cough! Cough cough!!

The moment it was taken out, Yellow Weasel began coughing violently, like he was trying to hack up his own guts.

Wen Jianyan patiently waited.

He even took a wipe from Wei Cheng and gently dabbed the corner of Yellow Weasel’s mouth after the coughing fit subsided. “Better?”

Yellow Weasel stared at him—his look of fear had now overtaken his resentment.

Behind Wen Jianyan, Orange Candy loomed with a predatory gaze.

“…Yes.” Yellow Weasel swallowed hard and nodded.

“First, why don’t you tell me,” Wen Jianyan said, “Was everything I guessed earlier correct?”

Yellow Weasel’s face twisted slightly.

He clenched his teeth, then nodded with difficulty. “…Yes.”

His accuracy was terrifying.

If Yellow Weasel didn’t know for a fact that none of the people here were part of the club, he might’ve assumed someone had leaked their secrets.

“In that case, you’ll need to give me something even more valuable, don’t you think?”

Wen Jianyan’s tone remained peaceful.

Yellow Weasel: “…”

“Let’s start with this, shall we?” Wen Jianyan took out the badge and held it up in front of him.

His instincts told him this thing held more secrets.

“T-That’s the club badge,” Yellow Weasel’s voice was hoarse, barely recognizable. “Every time we kill someone, we get a badge. The more badges we have, the more monsters we can control inside the scene.”

Wen Jianyan’s eyes narrowed sharply.

As expected.

No wonder each slain monster only dropped one badge.

“Once we enter a scene, we can’t use our skills or any items. Even our mobility is limited—we’re just like real monsters. Against streamers who can still use their abilities, we stand no chance.”

Yellow Weasel’s voice was slow and low. His damp, cold eyes made him look no different from an actual creature of the instance.

“But if we survive the initial stage and manage to get a badge or two by chance, everything gets easier. The more badges we have, the more monsters we can control. Not only are we safer, but it’s more efficient. If we collect five badges, we can exchange them for a pass to leave the instance.”

Just as Wen Jianyan had guessed—streamers who joined the club had chosen an entirely different path to clear the game.

They had to earn credits. The club members had to collect badges.

Once the scene began, they would hide among the monsters they controlled using those badges, hunting down other clueless streamers. Every slain streamer would become a badge in their hands.

Which also meant: even though Wen Jianyan’s group had killed three monsters and retrieved three badges from their bellies, none of those monsters might’ve been actual club members—just monsters under their control.

“How many do you have?” Orange Candy suddenly asked.

“…” Yellow Weasel looked at her with fear and answered softly, “Three.”

Which meant he had already killed at least four streamers.

“So, the three badges we got—all yours?” Orange Candy sneered.

“N-No…” Yellow Weasel quickly denied it. “Only two of them are mine!”

Wen Jianyan fell into thought.

“Time’s short,” Wei Cheng leaned in to remind him quietly. “We need to go.”

They still had assignments to finish—and they needed to regroup with their teammates for the final compulsory class in the lecture hall.

Wen Jianyan looked up and nodded. “Mm.”

He crouched down once more in front of Yellow Weasel, meeting his eyes.

“I-I answered all your questions,” Yellow Weasel suddenly sat upright, staring urgently at Wen Jianyan. “I cooperated—”

“You did,” Wen Jianyan agreed.

He reached out—

And before Yellow Weasel could breathe a sigh of relief, he felt the gag stuffed back into his mouth.

“…”

Yellow Weasel froze.

“?”

Wen Jianyan stood up. “Leave him here.”

“MMPH! MMMMPH!!!”

Yellow Weasel thrashed on the ground, eyes locked on Wen Jianyan in disbelief. His entire body protested with every muscle fiber.

Wen Jianyan seemed to think of something and looked down at him.

“Do we have any items to block out his presence?”

His tone was still gentle, his pale face made softer by his low SAN value, hair falling over his forehead. He sounded no different from a polite college student.

But the words he spoke were straight from the villain’s handbook:

“If not, buy some rope, handcuffs, chains, and tranquilizers from the store. Tie him up extra tight, gag him, and make sure he doesn’t attract anyone.”

Even Yellow Weasel himself paused mid-thrash, freezing instinctively.

Wei Cheng chuckled. “Got it.”

Clearly, the team’s moral compass was already long broken.

With a ruthless leader like Orange Candy,

It didn’t even take ten minutes to tie Yellow Weasel up tight, knock him out, gag him again, and stash him in a classroom corner. They even used special props to block detection—ensuring no one but them could find him.

Only after they were done did they finally leave the classroom.

“Why are you keeping him around?”

Orange Candy glanced back at the shut classroom door. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I just handled him now?”

She tilted her head at Wen Jianyan, smiling playfully. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft?”

“Of course not.”

Wen Jianyan replied calmly.

“I haven’t finished squeezing all the information out of him yet.”

He looked at her and said, “Did you forget? He said out of the three badges, only two were his. That means… back in the cafeteria, there was another club member acting with him.”

It seemed that the club already had a basic organizational structure.

They hunted in pairs, made plans, and killed together.

“We need more intel—but we don’t have time to keep asking.”

They had plenty left to do.

Aside from their assignments, they still had to attend the Moral and Ethics class. Keeping a traitor in their team would do more harm than good.

So the best plan was to immobilize and hide him, then come back for interrogation once everything was over.

After making the necessary preparations, they entered another empty classroom.

This time, their focus was on finishing the assignments.

Oddly enough, after capturing Yellow Weasel, they encountered no more obstacles in the cafeteria. Maybe news of his capture had spread among the other club members.

With Orange Candy’s combat prowess, Wei Cheng’s medium abilities, and Wen Jianyan’s prior understanding of the “assignment” mechanism, they finally experienced what it felt like for high-tier streamers to cruise through a low-difficulty instance.

It didn’t take long at all before the three of them finished all their “homework.”

“All done?”

Wen Jianyan looked around. “We didn’t miss anything?”

“Yes,” Wei Cheng nodded after double-checking. He carefully stored the cold, eerie sheet of paper in his bag. “Nothing’s missing.”

“Alright, let’s—”

Before Wen Jianyan could finish his sentence, his phone buzzed twice in his pocket, cutting him off.

He paused, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

It was a message from Su Cheng.

“They’re out.”

Wen Jianyan’s eyes lit up, and he said:

Su Cheng, Yun Bilan, and Tian Ye had gone into the movie Brave Richard along with the Scarface. Now, they had likely just exited the film and seen the message sent by Weicheng.

Talk about a pillow arriving right when you need a nap.

Wen Jianyan quickly sent them the location, then tucked his phone away.

“Let’s go. Time to regroup.”

Su Cheng glanced at the message from Wen Jianyan, a faint smile curling at his lips.

He put away his phone and turned to Yun Bilan. “The captain’s done on his side too. He found the lecture hall. We can head over together.”

“…”

Yun Bilan stared at him, silent.

“What’s wrong?” Su Cheng asked.

“What about him? We’re just going to leave him like this?” Yun Bilan turned slightly to the side.

Behind her, the Scarface sat curled up in a corner, pale and trembling. His bloodshot eyes were filled with panic as he muttered over and over:

“Don’t come near me… don’t come near me… please, stop forcing me… stop forcing me…”

His eyes darted frantically downward, never daring to look up.

“Please… let me go… let me go…”

“What about it?” Su Cheng seemed genuinely puzzled.

“This was your doing,” Yun Bilan stared unflinchingly at him.

“A severe illness calls for strong medicine. If we hadn’t gone this far, how would we have gotten the information we needed?”

Su Cheng looked calmly back at her, his expression still composed.

“You agreed too, didn’t you?”

Yun Bilan didn’t answer directly.

“Alright. I’m not planning to leave him completely helpless,” Su Cheng walked over, crouched in front of the Scarface, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

The man flinched immediately. “No… please… don’t continue… I’m begging you…”

“I’m not going to force you anymore.”

Su Cheng’s voice was gentle.

He said, “I’ll send you the location of the lecture hall later. Make sure you go, okay?”

“…”

The Scarface didn’t reply.

He still kept his eyes lowered, trembling, not daring to lift his gaze.

As if the seemingly kind-eyed man in front of him wasn’t human at all—but something far more terrifying.

Su Cheng pulled his hand back and stood.

He looked at Yun Bilan. “Oh, and let’s not mention any of this to the captain.”

“What?” Yun Bilan’s voice was cold, her pale face framed by the blood-red thorns etched into her skin like writhing tattoos.

“To achieve our goal, sometimes extreme measures are necessary.”

Su Cheng walked closer.

His eyes were pitch-black, bottomless.

“But you know as well as I do—if the captain found out, he’d stop us.”

“He’s strong… but he’s soft-hearted,” Su Cheng sighed as if helpless, but with a touch of fondness. “Maybe… too soft.”

“But without this, we’d never get close to the truth.”

“Everyone else is expendable.”

Su Cheng paused.

As he said those words, he looked frighteningly sincere.

“But not him.”

Yun Bilan: “…”

Her usually stern and cold expression softened just a little.

Su Cheng looked at her. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

Yun Bilan met his gaze.

After a long silence, she pulled up one side of her mouth into a smile—cold and bloody, with barely a hint of amusement.

“Of course.”

“Then you should support my decision.”

“What?” Su Cheng asked, “Don’t tell me… you’d rather let him keep protecting you? Let him always carry you behind his back?”

“Don’t you want to protect him for once?”

Yun Bilan glanced down at the man on the ground, then looked back at Su Cheng. “So, what are you saying?”

“This lead is our mission.”

Su Cheng said.

“How we handle it, and what methods we use—the captain doesn’t need to know.”

After a long pause, the silence broke.

“…Fine,” Yun Bilan said.

Hearing her agreement, Su Cheng smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”

Then, like he’d thought of something, his face brightened with rare enthusiasm and warmth. “Come on, the captain’s waiting outside. Let’s not keep him too long—you know how he gets, always worrying.”

Yun Bilan cast one last glance at the Scarface behind her, then looked away and followed Su Cheng.

“Where’s Tian Ye?”

“You left him outside, remember?”

The two chatted quietly as they walked away.

The Scarface remained in the same position, eyes low.

After Su Cheng left, he cautiously raised his gaze—just slightly.

Not far from him—just a few steps away—was a small puddle of water.

An upside-down pair of shoes stood in it.

Cold, dark liquid dripped from above, splashing onto the puddle—drip drip drip.

Just two more steps, and it would be right in front of him.

The Scarface turned pale, his jaw trembling violently. Even the muscles on his face twitched. He could almost hear his teeth chattering.

It’s here.

Orange Candy’s group was the first to arrive at the location.

As time passed, the sky had grown gloomy and oppressive, casting a heavy, suffocating pressure over the entire campus.

Wen Jianyan leaned against the wall, eyes lowered, waiting silently.

Soon, Su Cheng’s group arrived.

Tian Ye waved enthusiastically, while Su Cheng and Yun Bilan walked slightly behind.

Wen Jianyan looked up. “You’re here?”

“Yep!”

Su Cheng quickly stepped forward, unable to hide the smile on his face as he spoke to his team leader. “We found a lot this time—”

“Tch.”

Orange Candy frowned at his smug expression and rolled her eyes.

“Who didn’t?”

“Ahem,” sensing tension, Wen Jianyan quickly stepped in between them with smooth diplomacy. “Good, I’m glad you found something. But this isn’t the time to exchange info. The Moral and Ethics class starts in less than half an hour—we should head in.”

Su Cheng had no objections. He nodded. “Alright.”

Orange Candy turned away. “Hmph.”

The group turned and walked into the building.

This lecture hall was much older and more dilapidated than the one in Brave Richard. The walls were peeling, and the faded wall posters gave off a sinister vibe. But the classroom layout—and even the distant bathrooms—matched their memories exactly.

Clearly, this place had already existed long before the Yuying Comprehensive University instance had fully formed.

Thanks to their prior experience inside the film, they moved quickly and without obstacles.

Before long, they arrived outside the Moral and Ethics classroom.

Two pale students stood guard outside—one on either side of the door. Their faces were ghostly, and each wore a blood-red armband that made onlookers uneasy.

On the windowsill beside them lay a neat stack of papers.

Cold air radiated off the pile.

As the group approached, the two student council members turned their heads. Their emotionless gazes locked onto the newcomers.

“…!”

Wen Jianyan froze mid-step.

He recognized one of them.

It was the same student council member he had seen on the sports field earlier.

The student’s face was blank as he stared at Wen Jianyan. His gaze lingered, like he wanted to peel Wen Jianyan apart with just his eyes.

Clearly, he remembered him well.

Unfortunately for him, Wen Jianyan’s shamelessness was unmatched.

“Ahem, hello, senior,” he said sweetly. “Is this where we hand in our Film Appreciation elective homework?”

“…”

The “senior” stared at him for a moment longer, then responded in a chilling tone:

“Yes.”

He pointed to the small stack of papers nearby. “Place it there.”

In this instance, NPCs were bound by rules that only restricted their behavior toward streamers. They could mislead and hide information—but they couldn’t lie.

Since they answered that way, it had to be true.

One by one, the team stepped forward and submitted their assignments onto the designated spot.

“Thank you, senior.”

Wen Jianyan smiled and waved politely.

The student’s gaze didn’t waver, making everyone feel on edge. Only when they stepped into the lecture hall did the pressure finally lift.

Wen Jianyan subtly exhaled in relief.

The lecture hall was massive—identical to the one from the film.

Row upon row of seats stretched from top to bottom. Several small clusters of streamers were already seated, though the room was far from full—proof that many participants had perished in recent days.

The atmosphere inside was unnervingly quiet, mostly due to the two student council members stationed at the back of the room.

They stood silently on opposite sides, deathly pale, watching everyone with blank expressions. The blood-red armbands on their arms were disturbingly vivid.

Wen Jianyan: “…”

Crap. Another familiar face.

The group walked upward and quickly chose a row near the middle—not too close, not too far. From this position, they could observe the entire hall and react quickly if anything went wrong.

They sat down.

Wen Jianyan sat between Su Cheng on the left and an empty seat on the right. Orange Candy was in front.

Outside, other streamers continued trickling in.

“Yuying Comprehensive University” live stream lobby:

[Whoa, there’s way more people who found the lecture hall this time!]

[Yeah! At least a few times more than usual—this batch of streamers is impressive!]

[Pfft, impressive my ass. Someone leaked the info and sold it to everyone!]

[???]

[WTF, I was hoping for blood and chaos. This is lame…]

Less than half an hour remained until class.

The moment Wen Jianyan sat down, he felt something off.

An eerie, bone-deep chill crept up from where his skin touched the seat and desk—like everything was soaked in ghostly energy. Invisible cold radiated into his body, making him shiver involuntarily.

“…”

Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes, frowning at his seat.

What the hell was that?

Just as he was thinking—

A shadow loomed from the right.

As if someone were approaching.

Wen Jianyan reflexively turned his head—but the moment he moved, he froze.

Wait.

Su Cheng was on his left. Orange Candy sat in front of him. And to his right…

Wasn’t that seat supposed to be empty?

Then what was—

Suddenly, a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him like a truck.

In that moment, Wen Jianyan realized something in horror.

—He hadn’t checked his Sanity value in a long time.

When a player’s SAN drops below a certain threshold, the system causes a mental blind spot: not only do you stop noticing the drop, you literally forget SAN even exists.

When was the last time he checked?

Oh, right—after the Yellow Weasel attack.

Back then, his already-low SAN had dropped hard… and everything since had been a blur of chaos, action, and danger.

And maybe—just maybe—the SAN mechanics had already started affecting him.

He’d completely forgotten to check it.

What was the number last time?

Around 40?

Way too low.

Cold sweat ran down Wen Jianyan’s back.

No wonder he felt the chill so strongly when he sat down.

With SAN this low, he wouldn’t just attract monsters—his attention span, focus, and even reality perception would begin to erode.

Even worse, he might start experiencing hallucinations, false memories—