WTNL Chapter 427

Thank you @Tran for the Kofi.

Yuying University
Chapter 427: “Who do you like more?”

Upon hearing that, Wen Jianyan’s pupils shrank slightly.

He turned his head.

To his right—where the seat was supposed to be empty—an overly familiar figure had appeared.

It was Wu Zhu.

He was resting his chin on one hand, staring at him without blinking, as if this had always been his seat from the start.

In the slightly swaying, crumbling field of vision, those golden eyes were especially clear, like a serpent lurking in the dark, intently watching its prey.

But the moment their eyes met, Wen Jianyan immediately looked away.

…This was bad.

He took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady his suddenly racing heartbeat.

As expected, what happened before was happening again.

When his SAN Value dropped to a certain level, hallucinations and auditory delusions would appear. And for him… those hallucinations were evidently very limited in scope.

Still, this also meant one thing—his current condition had become very dangerous.

There were only fifteen minutes left before the morality class started. He couldn’t afford to begin a new, unfamiliar subject in this state.

Wen Jianyan moved quickly and subtly. He opened his backpack and felt around inside. Soon, his fingers found the mineral water bottle.

He quickly did the calculations in his head.

With the amount of water left in the bottle, it should be enough to raise his SAN Value back above 60%, and there’d even be some left—

But then, Wu Zhu’s voice came again, interrupting Wen Jianyan’s train of thought:

“You really hate seeing me that much?”

He sounded displeased, though his tone didn’t actually show it.

The shadow on the right seemed to inch closer.

A cold breath swept by, light and chilling, stirring the fine hairs on the young man’s cheek and raising a field of goosebumps.

Wen Jianyan’s lowered eyelashes trembled slightly, but his expression remained calm and steady, as though unaffected. Only the speed of his movements increased a bit.

Just as he pulled out the bottle of water, a cold voice came from above his left side:

“No drinking allowed in the lecture hall.”

“…!”

Wen Jianyan jolted and instinctively turned his head.

At some point, a student council member wearing a red armband had silently appeared at his side—quiet and ghost-like, as if materializing from nowhere.

Clearly, no one else had noticed his approach either, because when he spoke, everyone nearby flinched and turned to look at him with alarm and suspicion.

The student council member ignored their reactions.

He simply stood there, face pale and bloodless, staring dully—eerily—at Wen Jianyan. More precisely, at the water bottle in his hand. His unblinking gaze was chilling.

“…Sorry,” Wen Jianyan said smoothly, lowering the bottle slightly with a smile.

Before the student council member could look away, Wen Jianyan added:

“May I ask—are drinks specifically prohibited, or…?”

“All food and drink are prohibited,” the student council member replied.

“And if someone breaks that rule?” Wen Jianyan pressed calmly.

The student council member didn’t answer. He simply turned around and walked toward the back of the lecture hall.

Not far away, another student council member with an armband was also walking through the room, patrolling as if searching for more violations.

Upon seeing this, Wen Jianyan suddenly understood.

That was why, even with student council members posted at the entrance of the lecture hall, there were still others inside.

—To monitor them.

Once inside the lecture hall, they were no longer allowed to use any instance props to restore their state.

“What a shame,”

Wu Zhu’s voice rang out again, though he sounded anything but regretful.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.”

As the student council member walked away, Su Cheng looked at Wen Jianyan with concern:

“What’s wrong? Do you… need to restore your SAN?”

Wen Jianyan’s eyes stayed on the retreating back of the council member. He gave a slight nod.

Up ahead, Orange Candy had clearly been watching their exchange the whole time.

She squinted slightly and turned to Wen Jianyan:

“Is it because of that club member from earlier?”

“Yes,” Wen Jianyan replied softly.

After being corrupted, the club members apparently gained some kind of ability that could affect anchors’ SAN even outside the scripted scenes.

They were basically like monsters in the instance now.

If it hadn’t been for the weasel, Wen Jianyan wouldn’t be seeing and hearing things this soon.

A trace of hostility flashed across Orange Candy’s face. “…Looks like we let him off too easy.”

“How about this—” came a whispered voice from Tian Ye behind him. “We’ll watch out for you. When that council guy’s far away or has his back turned, you can sneak a drink.”

But on his right side, a completely different voice rang out, eerily persistent, echoing in Wen Jianyan’s ear:
“Good idea, but I’d advise against it.”

Wen Jianyan ignored it.

He looked down, fingers gently stroking the surface of the water bottle. After a few seconds of thought, he looked up and said:

“No need.”

Wen Jianyan had dealt with too many instances in the Nightmare realm. He knew that once a rule was made clear, it was best not to test it—especially when the instance was making things so convenient for them.

That usually meant a trap.

That student council member had appeared far too quickly and quietly. None of them had noticed, which was extremely unusual.

So Wen Jianyan didn’t believe they could evade surveillance so easily—or if they could, it would come at a high cost.

“Smart choice.” Wu Zhu again.

“….” Wen Jianyan raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, frowning slightly.

“Is it that bad?” Su Cheng asked, scanning Wen Jianyan’s expression.

Wen Jianyan tugged the corner of his mouth into a smile. “It’s fine.”

“Who are you fooling?” Wu Zhu’s voice held a smile. “If it weren’t serious, you wouldn’t be seeing me.”

The next second, Wen Jianyan felt a cold touch on his earlobe, like icy fingers brushing against it.

He flinched instinctively but quickly suppressed the reaction.

Wu Zhu’s voice was even closer now, his chilling breath brushing past:

“If it weren’t serious, you wouldn’t be able to feel me.”

Orange Candy looked over with a frown. “Let’s go out first and deal with it there.”

“Then we probably won’t be able to come back,” Wen Jianyan replied.

Same logic: the instance would never leave such an obvious loophole.

“So what?” Orange Candy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Then screw this credit. It’s just a required course—missing one won’t make or break us.”

Su Cheng nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

Yun Bilan didn’t say anything, but it was obvious she agreed with the others.

Wen Jianyan: “…”

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped, as if deep in thought.

A few seconds later, he looked up:

“What about Hugo? Any word from him?”

Wen Jianyan had a gut feeling that the morality class was different from other required courses.

Maybe it was because the lecture hall had to be found first, or maybe because it was the last required class of the week…

Something felt off.

He didn’t share this with anyone—he had no solid proof, especially nothing concrete.

But something deep inside was telling him: something was very wrong.

And that was why, even with his SAN dangerously low, Wen Jianyan didn’t want to give up on this class.

Any update from Hugo could shift everything.

Orange Candy took out her phone and stealthily glanced at it. Then she looked up and shook her head. “Nothing.”

“…”

Wen Jianyan clenched his jaw without realizing.

If there was no word from Hugo, then this choice became much harder.

“Why are you looking for him?”

The hallucinatory voice whispered beside his ear.

Then Wen Jianyan felt a cold sensation on the base of his finger. He instinctively looked down.

A pale, wide hand had silently appeared above his own. The cold fingertip gently touched the base of his ring finger, almost meaningfully.

Under the pad of the finger was a ring—cold and heavy like black iron.

A crimson serpent’s eye glinted in the darkness, silently watching him.

“I’ve been with you this whole time, haven’t I?”

Though the tone sounded forgiving, a chill crept up Wen Jianyan’s spine.

He instinctively shifted away and casually lifted his hand to rest on the table.

There was a faint laugh—perhaps. Or maybe just oppressive silence.

The hand didn’t follow, but Wen Jianyan didn’t look. He knew the shadow on his right hadn’t vanished. Like a stain stuck to the back of his mind, the hallucination followed him everywhere.

After a brief moment of thought, Wen Jianyan looked up:

“No.”

Su Cheng didn’t quite catch that. After a few seconds of pause, he asked: “…What?”

Wen Jianyan raised his voice slightly, speaking with cool calm:

“I’m not leaving.”

“—Huh?”

Orange Candy looked at him like she’d never seen him before, one brow raised in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind?”

Su Cheng said nothing.

Yun Bilan frowned. “Do you even know what you’re saying? If—”

But Wen Jianyan interrupted her.

“Relax, I’m not brainless. I know my own state.” Wen Jianyan smiled lazily, “I just wanted to try topping off as a precaution. Since I can’t, forget it—it’s not like I’ll drop dead without it.”

He smiled.

His face was pale, but his eyes were sharp and clear—not the least bit distracted or unfocused.

“……”

The group fell silent.

Indeed, among all of them, Wen Jianyan was the only one you couldn’t call reckless.

He had gotten this far solely on his overly clever and cunning mind.

Orange Candy stared into his eyes, his expression, looking for any sign of a lie.

As expected, she found none.

“You’re sure…?”

“Of course. If it were that serious, would I really take that risk?” Wen Jianyan said.

“This is just a required course, isn’t it?”

There were no flaws in his reasoning.

Orange Candy accepted it.

“Fine, I trust your judgment,” she said, although she gave him two uneasy glances and warned, “If something feels off, tell me immediately. Got it?”

Wen Jianyan beamed and nodded. “Got it.”

However, Su Cheng and Yun Bilan weren’t so easily convinced. They couldn’t find any proof that Wen Jianyan was lying—but unfortunately, they also knew exactly what that meant.

No one knew better than they did just how cunning Wen Jianyan could be.

They stared at him without saying a word.

Wen Jianyan simply acted as if he didn’t notice.

A voice came from beside his ear—Wu Zhu’s voice, emotionless as ever:

“They really like you.”

A cold sensation spread from the right. Wen Jianyan felt as though half his body was submerged in icy water. But precisely because of that, he could clearly feel the fingers touching his body.

“And what about you?”

Wu Zhu asked.

His cold fingers trailed up Wen Jianyan’s side, stroking lazily.

His voice remained unchanged, just as calm as before:

“Who do you like more?”

Wen Jianyan: “…”

Hallucinations. These are just hallucinations.

He took a deep breath, lowered his eyes, and flawlessly ignored the shadow beside him.

He began thinking again.

Yes, despite the casual tone of his earlier excuse, his current SAN Value had dropped very low, dangerously close to the threshold. One wrong step, and he might be beyond saving.

But Wen Jianyan had decided to follow his instincts…

To take a risk.

The curriculum looped weekly—if he skipped this class, he’d have to wait until next Friday.

That was absolutely unacceptable.

Even putting aside the uncertainty of whether the instance would even last another week, by the time next Friday rolled around, the difficulty level might spike. The instance could evolve into S-class, or even SS or SSS. That would be far too dangerous. Wen Jianyan seriously doubted they’d have enough energy left to handle that kind of threat—especially if his instincts were correct.

And they usually were.

…Well, at least 80% of the time.

Maybe 60%?

No, now was not the time to calculate odds.

Wen Jianyan forced himself to focus.

This was a side effect of his dropping SAN Value—his thoughts were clunky, like a rusted machine, still running, but not smoothly.

He couldn’t afford to focus only on the immediate danger. He needed to see the bigger picture.

In any case, the overall situation was still in his favor.

All his teammates were in top shape. He was the only one lagging slightly—and it was only SAN he lacked. Any monsters attracted by that could be dealt with by his teammates. Besides, his low SAN actually heightened his perception of danger.

Even if he was wrong—even if the Morality Class really was just an ordinary required course—at worst, everyone would fall asleep and lose some SAN Points. It was unlikely that the class alone could wipe out all of his remaining 30+ points.

Of course, of course.

He couldn’t ignore the possibility either.

Wen Jianyan idly twisted the ouroboros ring on his finger.

He hesitated.

Should he use it?

If he really established a connection with Wu Zhu, he was confident that this guy wouldn’t let him die—

But…

If it were before the [Xingwang Hotel] instance, Wen Jianyan wouldn’t have hesitated to give himself a safety net.

That’s just who he was.

He was born to use people—or perhaps even non-people—their emotions, be it love or hate, rage, desire, or affection.

As long as it helped him get what he wanted, Wen Jianyan didn’t care what methods he used. He was clever, and had a flexible moral baseline.

He wouldn’t say his experience in [Xingwang Hotel] changed him—at least, Wen Jianyan didn’t think it had changed him.

And even if it had, he would never admit it.

Besides, it really hadn’t.

Wen Jianyan gripped the ring tighter.

But… how should he put it?

Yes.

It was his contact with Wu Zhu that made him feel danger.

He had a natural instinct for danger—like sharks sensing blood in the water, or birds detecting an oncoming storm.

In Wen Jianyan’s ideal outcome, he would finish dealing with Nightmare Live, destroy it completely from the inside out, and then walk away free, back to the real world, with his “startup capital” in hand, ready to live large.

But…

As time went on, Wen Jianyan had a nagging premonition.

If he kept getting entangled like this, things wouldn’t end the way he originally planned.

That’s why, after the last instance ended, he avoided returning to the ring, avoided negotiating with his temporarily-aligned “partner.” After their brief contact, he left in a hurry. And even though he’d had plenty of suspicions in this current instance at Yuying University, he hadn’t gone back inside—not even once.

Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes and stared motionlessly at the patch of desk in front of him, as if something on it had captured his attention.

The “hallucination” made no further sound, as though it had never existed.

But judging by the shadows creeping at the edge of his vision, Wen Jianyan was certain—it had never left.

“…”

Wen Jianyan felt a headache coming on.

He wasn’t sure if it was from his dangerously low SAN, or from thinking too hard about unrelated things.

Before he knew it, Wen Jianyan’s eyes slowly shut.

As if he was sleepy.

The skin of his fingertip on the ouroboros ring felt hot.

Warm. Sticky. Damp.

Like…

In that desolate graveyard after the hotel disappeared, a hand holding a knife was being pulled forward. Scalding golden blood burst from a cold chest and splashed onto his fingers.

It all felt so real, as if it were happening again—

Suddenly, a sharp pain yanked Wen Jianyan out of that overly vivid hallucination. He startled and looked down at his finger.

At some point, the finger touching the ouroboros had been nicked by the cold metal, leaving a shallow cut.

Startled awake, Wen Jianyan quickly pulled his hand back, as if burned.

His eyes locked onto the ring.

Its surface was smooth and unblemished—except for those blood-red serpent eyes.

Nothing had happened.

He sucked the cut fingertip into his mouth. The familiar metallic tang of blood touched his tongue.

Beside him, wisps of shadow coiled like mist, clinging to him like a lingering ghost.

Within the darkness, a man’s figure flickered faintly.

A hallucination.

Or rather… Wu Zhu, who had manifested in hallucinatory form thanks to the weakened spiritual bond between him and the ring’s host.

Wu Zhu leaned closer.

From start to finish, his gaze had never left Wen Jianyan.

The smoky shadows stretched like arms, enclosing Wen Jianyan completely.

The moment the ouroboros drew blood from his fingertip, a faint red gleam flickered through the man’s golden eyes, as if becoming slightly more solid.

He smiled silently.

You like me more.

---

Just as Wen Jianyan stood frozen in confusion, suddenly, the sound of even footsteps echoed from the front of the room.

He flinched, instinctively raising his head toward the source of the sound.

A figure stepped into the lecture hall, walking unhurriedly toward the podium.

It was a pale, frail-looking middle-aged man—with a bloated beer belly.

“Hello, everyone. I’m your Vice Principal.”

The man said calmly.

—Vice Principal?!

That title instantly grabbed Wen Jianyan’s full attention.

This was the highest-ranking NPC they had encountered so far—and the one seemingly closest to the truth they sought.

Wen Jianyan instinctively held his breath, eyes locked onto the man at the podium.

The man continued, unhurried:

“Today, I’ll be teaching your first Morality and Ethics class of the semester.”

The moment he stood at the podium, the entire room fell eerily silent. Even a pin drop would’ve echoed.

“There are three rules in my class. I hope you all follow them.”

“First, no eating or drinking in the lecture hall. These activities are unrelated to the course and should be done outside.”

The Vice Principal scanned the room.

“If you’re caught, the consequences will be severe.”

“Second, do not whisper or chat with your neighbors. I want your full attention. Only then can this course proceed properly—and only then can you receive the best education.”

Wen Jianyan noticed the sky outside the window had turned pitch black.

It was the last class of the day on Friday… so it was expected to be late.

But still, it shouldn’t be this dark.

Outside, the sky was as black as ink or paint—so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Just looking at it made your skin crawl.

The pale middle-aged man on the podium went on speaking:

“Third, no one is allowed to be late or leave early during my class. If you’re late, you’re not welcome. If you leave…”

The Vice Principal seemed to pause.

“If you leave, your credit for this course will be revoked, and you’ll receive a formal warning from the Student Council.”

At that moment, the two Student Council members from the hallway stepped inside. They slowly closed the doors behind them, the red of their armbands glaringly vivid.

Now there were four Student Council members in the room.

That had never happened before.

Wen Jianyan’s breath quickened, his heart pounding as if about to burst from his chest.

He had been right.

This class was anything but ordinary.

In fact, it might be the most important class in the entire [Yuying University] instance.

The Vice Principal surveyed the dead-silent classroom, then slowly spoke:

“Now… class begins.”

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