WTNL Chapter 435

Yuying University
Chapter 435: Sad to the point of vomiting

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[?]

[?]

[Damn, back to the old tricks again, huh?]

[Hahahaha I’m dying—our stream’s traditional performance is back on, lucky for the newcomers.]

[But seriously… I don’t think this is gonna work?]

[Yeah, same. Just wearing a red armband and claiming to be in the student council? Feels impossible. This might fool low-level instances, but in a high-level instance like this… nah, I don’t think so.]

[Hard to say though.]

[Don’t forget, the anchor’s SAN value is already below threshold—hovering around 10. Any other anchor would’ve fully merged with the instance by now. He may still be alive, but honestly, he’s only a step away from being an NPC. So, maybe… just maybe.]

The entire office was dead silent.
No sound at all.

Under the blood-red lights, the young man’s pale face looked practically corpse-like.

The female teacher stood not far away. Her nails and lips were blood-red, and her cold, pitch-black eyes stared at him without any sign of life.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

A few seconds later, she finally spoke:

“You’re from the student council?”

She took a slow step forward. Her high heels clicked sharply against the ground—“clack.”

Expressionless, she asked, “Which department?”

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[Whoa, straight to the point.]

[Hahaha anchor’s done for—there’s no way he knows what departments the student council has here.]

[Bet he’ll just make something up.]

“I haven’t been assigned to a department yet.”

Wen Jianyan replied.

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[?]

[???]

[We’re doomed. I’m seeing black.]

[Bro, at least MAKE SOMETHING UP. Even if it’s a lie, don’t make it so easy to expose, my god…]

[Tsk tsk, looks like the only option left is to fight. I haven’t seen the anchor go head-to-head with a teacher before—curious who’d win, hehe.]

Maybe it was just an illusion, but the air seemed to grow even colder.
A bone-chilling cold seeped into their limbs, the blood-red light flickering ominously.

The female teacher slowly furrowed her brows, her icy-black eyes fixed tightly on the young man. The tension in the air was like a fragile string pulled to its limit, ready to snap any second.

Then she suddenly spoke:

“…You’re a student union member?”

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[???]

[???]

The teacher frowned even deeper:

“They actually made a student union member guard the key alone?”

She tapped her blood-red nails on the partition wall—tap, tap, tap—her face looked even more sinister under the red light.

After glancing around the empty office, she looked back at Wen Jianyan, her voice expressionless:

“Report to my office when they return.”

With that, she turned and left.

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[…]

[…]

[Huh??? That’s it???]

[What the hell is this instance logic? That crappy lie actually worked? Don’t treat us like idiots, come on!]

[Is he cheating? He didn’t even use his skill, how did that work? I don’t get it!]

As the clacking heels faded away, Wen Jianyan’s tensed body slackened. He swayed—nearly collapsing if not for catching himself on a nearby desk.

His face was ashen, lips bloodless, like he might pass out any moment.

The smoke behind him vanished, and the others reappeared in the office.

Su Cheng rushed up and grabbed Wen Jianyan’s shoulder, frowning:
“You okay?”

Wen Jianyan glanced at him, his voice weak:
“…I’ll live.”

Hugo slowly stepped forward, his brows furrowed, his gaze heavy on Wen Jianyan. After a long pause, he asked:

“What happened?”

As an experienced anchor, Hugo knew: in high-level instances, NPCs—especially ones this dangerous, the kind they could barely survive against in a direct fight—don’t get tricked that easily.

Especially not by such a flimsy lie.

He didn’t even name a department, yet still managed to bluff through?

That’s only possible in low-level instances. At their level, it was basically impossible.

Unless—

As if confirming Hugo’s suspicion, Wen Jianyan looked up. His pale eyes, bathed in red light, appeared shockingly intense against his colorless face.

He weakly tugged the corner of his mouth, murmuring:
“Because I wasn’t lying.”

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[Huh?]

[What did he just say?]

[Wait, I’m confused—what does he mean? I don’t get it…]

[Not lying?? Wtf is he talking about?]

Actually, long before this, Wen Jianyan had already started piecing together the instance’s underlying mechanisms and patterns in his mind. Those scattered, fragmented clues seemed useless at first glance, easily ignored by anyone else.

But not him.

Like a child assembling a puzzle without the final picture, he memorized the shape of every piece, quietly waiting for the next one to surface. He would never stop until the whole image was clear.

So yes—

Rare for someone so skilled at lying, this time, Wen Jianyan told the truth.

“I wasn’t lying,” he muttered.

“The ‘roles’ in this instance… are replaceable,” he said, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Like in a movie, the cast changes over generations. In this instance, every role we encounter might have already been replaced by someone before—like ‘Richard.’”

The “Richard” they met wasn’t the original, but a anchor who died here during a previous run.

The warning on the film appreciation classroom wall? Left by him.

“And the same applies to club members. They were probably anchors too,” Wen Jianyan continued.

The experience with the weasel had inspired this theory.

That weasel was supposed to be a student but somehow ended up on a completely different path, becoming a club member.

So what if, like the “Richard” line, a anchor with SAN dropping below the threshold—what happens then?

Would they die?

No…

Wen Jianyan guessed: they’d be assimilated, transformed, forever becoming part of the club.

“So why not the student council?”

He lifted his eyes, voice calm.

Everyone was stunned by his deduction.

And so were the viewers.

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[…Holy shit.]

[Wait, let me get this straight…]

[Damn, I get it now—the logic! Every NPC in this instance was once a anchor who died here. From the electives NPCs to clubs and student council… just with different death conditions, right?]

Wen Jianyan looked exhausted, resting against the partition for a few seconds before continuing:

“The ‘students’ may look the same, but they’re strictly divided. Ordinary students are hunted in electives, while club members are the hunters. But obviously, clubs must have their own deadly risks too.”

Otherwise, the weasel wouldn’t have looked so pale and cold so early in the instance, even leaving cold water stains on his bed.

“Student council has more power, sure, but if they were once anchors, there must be some selection process.”

Wen Jianyan spoke slowly, as if thinking aloud.

“…So what is it?”

Everyone looked down instinctively.

The armband wrapped around Wen Jianyan’s arm—its red cloth looked ominous under the blood light.

“…The armband,” Hugo muttered.

“Exactly.” Wen Jianyan chuckled weakly. “Looks like becoming a student council candidate is way harder than joining a club.”

Wei Cheng held his temples, brows tight:
“So the selection criteria is?”

Hugo stared deeply at Wen Jianyan and slowly said:

“Break the school rules… and survive the student council’s pursuit.”

Yes. Only those who directly challenged the rules and lived through the student council’s hunt received the red cloth strip.

Like an armband.

Or… the prototype of an armband.

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[So he really is a student council candidate…]

[Wait, I just realized—the student council’s office is in the admin building, so they must interact with teachers a lot. If he’d made up a department like we thought, he’d probably be dead now.]

[Thinking back… damn, that was close.]

[When everyone thought he was lying, he actually told the truth. I’m speechless.]

Of course, the most critical factor was his current state.

Wen Jianyan’s SAN was only 16. He was barely holding on by willpower. But since SAN thresholds varied, it was hard to tell whether he was still a student being hunted, or already partially assimilated into the instance.

“Of course, this is all just a guess,” Wen Jianyan shrugged slightly, eyes half-closed, voice low. “I was just gambling.”

Gambling on the time gap between being assimilated and officially joining the student council.

Obviously, he won.

That’s why the pure, unvarnished truth worked—and was accepted.

In the teacher’s words, someone like him was called a “Student Council Candidate.”

Hugo stubbed out his cigarette, glancing at Wen Jianyan with an expression that was both probing and approving:

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

Wen Jianyan:

“Thanks.”

With Su Cheng’s help, he stood up, forcing a faint smile:

“Though I guess that’s pretty much all I’ve got left.”

Wen Jianyan raised his hand and tossed the key to Hugo:

“Here.”

Hugo caught it.

The rusty iron key was heavy and icy cold, looking especially ominous under the blood-red lights.

This was the key to the building.

And that building was their ultimate destination.

They had endured so much in this instance, patiently uncovering clues, all for this moment.

Yet instead of relief, the key felt like it had pushed them one step closer to the abyss.

“Let’s go.”

Hugo took a deep breath and looked away.

They turned and quickly made their way toward the office door.

Overhead, the red lights flickered. The sharp clicks of high heels were long gone. The corridor beyond was engulfed in darkness, still and silent like an eternal night.

All they had to do now was exit the office, turn right, walk forward for a few dozen seconds, and they’d reach another fire escape. Climb the stairs, open the iron door, and they’d be inside the building.

The entire process wouldn’t take more than five minutes.

They moved swiftly toward the wide-open office door.

Suddenly, Wen Jianyan felt a chill run across his body, the hairs on his arms standing on end—like a warning.

“Wait.”

Everyone instinctively stopped, a wave of tension sweeping through them.

“What is it?” Wei Cheng asked in a low voice.

“I’m not sure…”

Wen Jianyan hesitated, his throat tight as he swallowed.

“I just… feel uneasy.”

They followed his gaze. Outside the door, the floor bathed in red light looked empty—no one in sight.

Wei Cheng cautiously stepped forward, stopping just a step before the threshold. After a few seconds, he turned back with a puzzled look:

“I don’t sense any danger.”

Wei Cheng’s talent was to sense imminent lethal threats. If he said so, it meant that even if there was danger beyond the door, it wasn’t directly targeting them—or it wasn’t deadly.

Yet Wen Jianyan still hesitated.

“I…”

Just then, Hugo seemed to notice something. He paused, then suddenly lifted his head and sniffed the air.

“?”

Everyone froze.

“…Smoke,” Hugo said slowly.

They exchanged confused looks.

Huh? What’s the problem?

Wasn’t it Hugo who had lit the cigarette earlier to create smoke and shield them from the teacher’s perception? Of course there’d be smoke lingering.

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[?]

[I don’t get it.]

While the viewers were still baffled, Hugo pulled out a small pouch, poured a bit of ashy powder into his palm, and blew it gently into the air.

The ashes scattered into the dark hallway, fluttering down to the floor.

Then, on the red-lit corridor floor, two blank spaces appeared amidst the pale ashes.

Footprints.

Standing right outside the door—utterly still, silent, waiting for them.

“!!!”

The moment they saw the footprints in the ash, every single person felt a chill run down their spines.

“What the fuck!”

The chat erupted in curses.

The footprints were far too close. If any of them had stepped out of the office, they would’ve bumped straight into it.

They didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened.

It was bone-chilling.

“How… how is this possible?” Wei Cheng’s pupils contracted, disbelief on his face.

When he approached the door earlier, he hadn’t sensed any danger.

That shouldn’t be!

“I think… it’s because it hasn’t ‘found’ us yet,” a weak voice spoke behind them.

Wei Cheng turned around.

Wen Jianyan, pale and cold under the lights, stared unblinkingly at the doorway.

“Don’t forget, when we were outside the office earlier, we couldn’t sense anything inside either—not even the Seer could detect the key through the door.”

Meaning, for some reason, the office blocked all forms of perception.

Perhaps that was why the owner of those footprints didn’t enter, just standing motionless outside.

Since it didn’t “know” where they were, it posed no threat, and thus Wei Cheng couldn’t sense it.

Only when they stepped out would the real danger be triggered.

Wei Cheng shivered and stepped back from the threshold.

“Then… what the hell is this thing?”

“I think,” Hugo spoke up, “it followed us from the guardroom.”

Earlier, he had smelled smoke.

Part of his talent made him sensitive to such scents.

But he realized—the burnt smell wasn’t from inside the office but coming from the corridor.

That’s when he realized the threat was waiting outside.

“I only scattered ashes once after entering the admin building,” Hugo said, eyes on the footprints.
“Right before we went up to the second floor.”

He had done it to stop whatever was in the guardroom from following them—but somehow, it had still come.

It had tracked them to the second floor.

Even though they had prepared mentally for the admin building, they were still chilled to the bone.

Compared to the rest of the instance at Yuying Comprehensive University, the admin building was terrifyingly difficult.

In less than half an hour inside, they’d already faced multiple life-threatening crises, forced to split up—and if luck hadn’t been on their side, even with someone like Wei Cheng who could foresee danger, they would’ve unknowingly stepped into the trap just now.

Even with their experience, any wrong step could’ve cost lives.

Wei Cheng’s forehead was soaked in cold sweat.

He stared at the still footprints and asked:

“So… what now?”

The office had only one door—and it was blocked. Unless they wanted to trigger it by stepping out, there was no other way.

Did this mean they had no choice but to confront it head-on?

The room fell silent, oppressive and heavy. Everyone’s heart sank.

“…”

Wen Jianyan closed his eyes, struggling internally.

Ever since a few instances ago, when he learned the true rules of Nightmare talents, he had consciously avoided using his ability—even as a high-ranking anchor who climbed back into the top ten, with increased uses, strength, and cooldowns.

By now, after countless instances, his apple tree was lush with little white blossoms, fruits heavy—but still unpicked.

In his ears, the familiar system voice echoed:

“Confirm activation of your talent?”

They’d been lucky so far—no casualties yet—but they were only on the second floor.

Hugo had already started using his own talent.

They had broken all the rules in this place. The teacher might be gone for now, but the danger wasn’t. Plus, their current safety was only thanks to what the others like Orange Candy were doing elsewhere. If things went wrong on that end, every threat would explode at once.

His mind was still barely clear, but…

Realistically, with his current SAN, if anything happened—he’d be the first to break.

They couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

The longer they delayed, the worse it’d get.

If they stalled until the morality class ended and the Vice Principal returned…
They’d be doomed.

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, finally making up his mind.

A small white apple blossom silently floated down, landing in his palm.

Apparently, with his upgraded talent, it now had a physical form like Su Cheng and Hugo’s abilities.

[Flower of Piercing Delusions] activated.

“We can force our way through if we have to,” Hugo said, eyes serious though his tone stayed calm. “I’ll go first. Wei Cheng, come with me—”

But before he finished, Wen Jianyan interrupted.

“Don’t.”

“?” The others paused, turning to look.

“The thing standing outside… it’s the guard of the admin building,” Wen Jianyan said slowly.
“And its level of threat is directly linked to how many rules we’ve broken.”

Right now, they hadn’t just broken one rule—they’d broken all of them.

Meaning, the guard was now at an almost unsolvable level of terror.

That was why even with his SAN restored to nearly 20 earlier, Wen Jianyan had still felt immense pressure on the first floor.

If they had followed all the rules, they might have stood a chance. But in their current state, even the best outcome would cost at least one life.

After he spoke, the air—already heavy—grew even more suffocating.

No one doubted Wen Jianyan. Even without knowing where his intel came from, instinct told them he was right.

The admin building, supposedly just a hidden zone in an A-grade instance, was as deadly as an S-grade instance.

And this was only the beginning.

It was a place filled with deadly traps, danger at every turn.

“…Don’t worry.”

Wen Jianyan leaned against one of the partitions, raising his eyes to the rest of the team. Though his face was still pale, his gaze remained calm:

“It’s not like there’s no way.”

Everyone looked stunned.

“The office does block perception, which is why we couldn’t scout it from outside. But the problem isn’t with the door.”

Wen Jianyan explained.

“Then what is it?” Su Cheng asked.

Wen Jianyan lifted his hand and silently pointed upward.

Everyone followed the direction of his finger.

On the ceiling, the light tube crackled and hummed, bathing the office in eerie blood-red light.

“The light?” Wei Cheng was surprised.

“Yes.”

Wen Jianyan lowered his gaze, looking back at them:

“So the first step is: we need to turn off the lights.”

---

Soon, everything was in place.

Everyone stood in their designated spots.

Only Wen Jianyan stood toward the back center of the office, leaning against the desk that had hidden the building’s key. He nodded to Su Cheng in the distance.

Su Cheng took a deep breath and raised his hand.

“Click.”

A soft sound.

The light tube went dark, the red glow vanishing instantly.

In that moment, the office was plunged into pitch darkness, blending seamlessly with the corridor outside.

Like a shackle disappearing, the ash on the floor outside the door scattered.

The footprints moved.

A pale footprint stepped into the office, symbolizing that the former barrier was gone, and nothing could stop whatever was outside from coming in.

The instant the footprint crossed into the office, even those whose SAN hadn’t dropped too far felt a bone-piercing chill, as if thrown into an ice cellar. A freezing dread engulfed them from head to toe, making them instinctively want to flee as far as possible.

Another step.

The footprint left in the ash was fainter—only the front half of the foot.

It was as if some power was swallowing the ash entirely during its movement.

Another step.

This time, only a trace of ash was disturbed.

After that, no further footprints appeared.

But that didn’t mean the guard was gone—it meant they’d lost track of its position.

If they were still on the first floor, they could’ve used the large mirror to locate it. But in this office, there were no mirrors—nor any light to make one useful. They had switched it off themselves.

The darkness inside the office was suffocating.

No footsteps, no shadows, no evidence to suggest the thing’s presence—yet everyone knew:

It was here. And it was getting closer, second by second.

Everyone’s heart leapt to their throat, fear of the unknown pressing down on them, like they were standing on a tightrope over an endless abyss.

One wrong step, and they’d fall.

But they forced themselves to stay still, gritting their teeth, waiting.

And waiting.

Time stretched unbearably, tension snapping at their nerves—until suddenly, the silence broke.

“Ding-a-ling.”

A mechanical, stuttering sound, crackling with electric noise.

“Welcome!”

【Integrity First】 Livestream Chat:

“!”

“Wait, that’s…”

“Run!” Wen Jianyan’s decisive command rang out in the darkness.

But no one even needed him to say it. The moment the machine’s voice sounded, everyone sprang into action, teeth clenched, sprinting desperately toward the open door!

In the “Integrity First” Live Stream Chat:

[AAAAHHHH!]

[My heart’s going to burst!!]

[Damn, that’s why they positioned themselves like that before turning off the lights!!]

[I get it now. The anchor knew he was the primary target, so he stood dead center to lure the guard straight down the middle. That trinket from the convenience store was to mark the guard’s location. Once it reached that point, the office partitions that used to be obstacles now shielded them.]

[It was all positioning… insane.]

[Wait, the anchor’s talent can give this much info? That’s crazy.]

Of course not.

But for Wen Jianyan, once he knew the guard’s intel, it wasn’t hard to piece together the strategy.

Back on the first floor, his voice had disrupted the silence, causing the guard to stop approaching Hugo and turn its “gaze” on him—meaning Wen Jianyan had regained aggro.

With his experience in countless instances, once he attracted aggro…

The chances of it shifting again were slim.

No tricks—just sheer strength.

Though the guard’s form couldn’t be seen, it wasn’t a ghost in the traditional sense. It couldn’t phase through walls; it had to navigate the building’s layout, and its movement speed was fixed.

Which meant—they could use the office layout to outrun it.

Once it reached the calculated position… all they had to do was follow the pre-planned route to escape.

In this plan, the only person at mortal risk was Wen Jianyan.

To lure the guard onto the predetermined path, he had to stay deepest inside the office—farthest from the door, in the most dangerous spot.

Wen Jianyan ran through the darkness.

In mere seconds, the terrifying chill swallowed him whole. He willed his legs to move, but could barely feel them—like his limbs were no longer his.

A sharp ringing buzzed in his ears. Everything was chaos and horror.

He knew without looking: his life force was rapidly draining.
He had been “targeted.”
Death was inches away.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard Hugo’s voice:

“…Almost there, hold on!”

The next moment, gray smoke enveloped Wen Jianyan, cutting him off from the threat.

Su Cheng’s voice echoed:

“Now! Do it!”

Wen Jianyan’s mind cleared briefly. He shook his head and reached toward the beckoning lucky cat charm hanging on the partition.

But it was too late.

Just a centimeter away from the trinket, a powerful force yanked Wen Jianyan outward—only this time, instead of hitting hard floor, he was caught by his teammates’ waiting arms.

“Go.”

Hugo grabbed his left arm, Su Cheng his right. Together, they sprinted.

Wen Jianyan’s head spun as his body was dragged, legs flailing—but he still grimaced and protested:

“The thing… I didn’t grab the thing…”

“Forget it!” Su Cheng snapped at him, his rare glare stern:
“You’ll die before you get a damn trinket!”

Wen Jianyan:

“…”

Sobs internally.
So sad I could puke.

---

They sprinted madly down the corridor.

Hugo tried scattering ash again to block the guard’s pursuit.

But this time, maybe because too many rules had been broken, the guard’s terror level was beyond any human countermeasure. The ash was wiped away by an invisible force before it even settled.

“We can only charge upwards.”

Su Cheng glanced back, gritting his teeth.

Hugo:

“…Yeah.”

As much as he hated to admit it, their only hope lay in leaving the second floor and entering the upper building.

“Wei Cheng.”

He tossed the iron key, which Wei Cheng caught with precision.

“Go unlock the door.”

Wei Cheng nodded and quickened his pace, darting into the stairwell.

By the time the others caught up, he had already opened the heavy iron door to the next floor.

Pressing against the door, Wei Cheng called tensely:

“This way!”

Hugo and Su Cheng dragged Wen Jianyan through. The iron door clanged shut behind them—but just before it fully closed, an invisible force stopped it. The hinges creaked ominously as the door was forced open again.

Everyone’s heart sank.

It was catching up.

“Hurry!”

Their footsteps echoed heavily through the dark stairwell as they raced to the next floor.

It was still pitch black.

Compared to the second floor, this place was much more spacious, with fewer offices lining the corridor. Instead, smooth walls stretched on either side.

Which meant the moment they arrived, they could see the whole floor layout.

To the left, beside a tightly shut office, a shiny metal plaque read:

[Principal’s Office]

To the right, an identical plaque marked:

[Vice Principal’s Office]

The moment they saw the sign, everyone let out a breath of relief.

They’d bet right.

Sure enough, the Principal’s Office was on this floor. The item they needed was just behind that door—within reach. One step away.

Once they retrieved it, all problems would be solved.

Their accumulated points could be exchanged to exit the instance, even if the instance wasn’t fully explored. They didn’t care—after all, the real S-rank bounty was complete. No reason to stay.

“Let’s go.”

Hugo supported Wen Jianyan, striding toward the Principal’s Office.

But unexpectedly, he felt resistance.

Surprised, he turned.

Wen Jianyan gripped his arm tightly, his pale face ghostly in the dark. His light-colored eyes flickered with a strange, complex emotion.

“Wait.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Wait for what?” Wei Cheng was sweating anxiously.
“Don’t forget, the guard is right behind us. If we don’t—”

“…We can’t go there.”

Wen Jianyan’s voice was weak, trembling like he was fighting a terrible internal battle. Every word squeezed out painfully:

“Go to the Vice Principal’s Office.”

“What?” Hugo froze.

Sure, heading to the Principal’s Office was risky, but the gamble was necessary.

Everything so far had been on shaky coincidences. If they wasted time, any slipup—whether with Orange Candy’s side or if the Morality Class ended—would unleash an unprecedented terror. Every threat would stack.

The guard, the Student Council, the Red Teacher…

Any one of them alone meant near-certain death. Together?
Certain death.

The Vice Principal’s Office might be safe, but it was useless for the main objective. Going there would be a waste—and likely a deathtrap.

It made no sense.

“I mean it.”

Wen Jianyan lifted his eyes, staring directly at Hugo. His face was deathly pale, fingers trembling violently from strain, but his voice was firm:

“Go right.”

Just as Hugo was about to step forward, Wen Jianyan’s mind flashed with a long-forgotten memory—a fleeting image that made his hair stand on end, blood running cold, breath nearly stopping.

A white-haired, pale-skinned boy sat silently opposite him, black eyes staring eerily.

Then, slowly, the boy pushed a scrap of paper toward him.

On it, scribbled in hasty handwriting, was a single word:

[Right].

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