(12/20)
Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 290: Woman in the painting
Accompanied by the sound of rolling wheels, a man dressed in formal attire pushed an empty cart, turned around, and disappeared down a hallway connected to the lobby. His figure was quickly swallowed by darkness, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
The lobby fell silent, and the atmosphere became heavy in an instant.
Wen Jianyan watched in the direction the man disappeared, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face.
“[The assessment content for interns will appear in the booklet, please complete it promptly]… is it?”
He lowered his head, looking once more at the small black booklet in his hand.
The yellowed pages remained blank, showing no changes.
It seemed that the time had not yet come.
Wen Jianyan put the booklet and pocket watch away, then turned to the Blond: “Help me check if there’s a layout of the hotel in this lobby.”
The Blond responded with an “Oh,” raised his eyes, and began to search the lobby slowly.
Soon, his gaze settled in a certain direction: “Over there!”
Wen Jianyan said, “Let’s go take a look.”
The group crossed the lobby and soon arrived at what appeared to be an emergency exit. There, on the wall, a piece of rusted metal was nailed, displaying a floor plan of the “Xingwang Hotel.”
Unexpectedly, from the map’s appearance, the hotel layout wasn’t very complex.
From the outside, Xingwang Hotel had only four floors, and they were currently on the top floor.
The elevator connected to the east side of the lobby, while the west side led to several hallways. The corridors were linked in the middle, with an emergency exit in the center and on each side.
The layout of the other floors wasn’t much different from that of the fourth floor; at most, the first floor had an additional lobby, and the third floor had a restaurant.
“Based on this, there’s a good chance the Black Team is on the first floor,” Chen Mo, who was scrutinizing the layout, said quietly.
Wen Jianyan nodded, “Indeed.”
Yun Bilan tilted her head, looking at the rusty layout map, and said with some confusion, “But I honestly didn’t expect the structure of Xingwang Hotel to be so simple. It’s almost…”
“Almost unlike an S-rank instance, right?” Wen Jianyan glanced at her, continuing her sentence.
“I thought the same.”
Retracting his gaze, Wen Jianyan added meaningfully.
Although the layout was quite simple, Wen Jianyan took out his phone just to be safe and snapped a picture of the map.
At that moment, a clear cough sounded from the lobby behind them.
“…Ahem.”
The deliberate clearing of a throat broke the dead silence, sounding especially abrupt in the vast room.
Wen Jianyan looked up, along with the other anchors, in the direction of the sound. It was a familiar face.
It was one of the three people they had just encountered in the corridor.
He was short, young, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and his eyes sparkled with a keen gleam, clearly marking him as a seasoned anchor experienced with multiple instances.
“So far, this instance has revealed very little information. Both the way to clear it and the basic rules are vague. More importantly, this instance is a competition mode, meaning we’ll also have to compete against another team. However, so far, the form of competition remains unknown, and it seems it’ll take some time to clarify these details.”
None of the anchors here were newcomers to the Nightmare. Naturally, they had noticed this as well.
Based on the information so far, this instance seemed relatively relaxed. There were no areas strictly off-limits, no forbidden floors, and not many restrictions on what anchors could or couldn’t do. Even the main mission was quite ambiguous.
Aside from the odd man with the strange smile earlier, there were currently no signs of danger—one could almost describe it as “peaceful.”
This seemed at odds with its “S” rank rating.
Yet, no one dared to let down their guard.
The man adjusted his glasses and spoke rationally:
“So, I have a suggestion.”
After glancing around and seeing everyone’s eyes focused on him, he continued: “Since we’re all on the Red Team, there’s no competitive relationship among us in this instance. Instead, we should work together. However, since the information in this instance is too minimal and too vague, I suggest that we select a senior anchor as team leader to consolidate information and coordinate actions.”
In the lobby, some anchors nodded in agreement, while others watched indifferently.
“What’s the criterion for choosing a team leader?” one of the anchors asked.
The man with glasses said, “How about ranking on the leaderboard?”
After all, rankings on the Nightmare’s point leaderboard held substantial reference value. Higher-ranking anchors usually had more experience with instances and were more adept at handling issues.
The anchors exchanged looks.
“No objections from me.”
“Me neither.”
This proposal received support from the vast majority of anchors. Although some were not inclined to be led by the so-called “leader,” they were all shrewd enough not to voice dissent in such a setting.
Yun Bilan, standing nearby, asked, “So, Captain, are you planning to join the selection?”
As sharp as he was, Wen Jianyan raised his eyes without a word, casting a glance at the bearded man standing a short distance behind the young proposer.
The bearded man stood neither too close nor too far behind the young man, maintaining a distance that was neither intimate nor detached. With his arms crossed, he silently observed other anchors in the lobby.
Wen Jianyan chuckled, “Looks like he wants to be the Red Team’s captain.”
The young man was merely the proposer, while the actual decision-maker was his captain.
It was clear that the man was confident in his own ranking, hence the suggestion—most likely a member of one of the top three guilds and in a high position too.
“So what?” Yun Bilan scoffed, crossing her arms. “Even if he’s ranked high, he’s probably not higher than you.”
“No, thanks,” Wen Jianyan looked away and replied casually. “I’m not interested in getting involved in that.”
This wasn’t just any ordinary competition instance; on the other side, the Black Team also had two players in the top ten. Moreover, the position of Red Team captain would inevitably attract attention—not to mention the need to coordinate everyone’s actions, which wasn’t Wen Jianyan’s strong suit.
Of course, the suggestion was sound.
In such a chaotic environment, choosing a leader to consolidate information was essential. However, Wen Jianyan had zero interest in the role.
He preferred to act as a flexible opportunist rather than a commanding leader.
What followed was almost exactly as Wen Jianyan had predicted.
The bearded man soon became the temporary leader of the Red Team. His code name was Locket, ranked 32nd on the leaderboard, and he was a senior anchor from the guild Eternal Day.
…Ranked 32nd.
Wen Jianyan scanned the room, seeing no other anchors stepping forward.
It appeared that the overall quality of this instance’s participants was slightly lower than the last.
This was understandable.
After all, this instance had four anchors ranked in the top ten, but its difficulty was only rated “S” rather than a higher tier.
So, to maintain balance and prevent a brute-force clear from too many high-ranking anchors, the other anchors’ levels were likely kept around mid-to-high ranks.
Wen Jianyan looked away.
He’d already lost interest in this “captain selection” farce.
Lowering his head, he glanced at the old-fashioned pocket watch in his hand.
The delicate hand had almost reached the edge of the white zone. In a maximum of ten minutes, it would move into the black zone.
In other words, the first uncontrollable change in the “Xingwang Hotel” instance was likely about to occur.
“Let’s go check out other areas.”
Wen Jianyan said.
Rather than wasting the remaining time on “selecting a leader,” he thought it would be better to investigate the instance more thoroughly.
The “Xingwang Hotel” instance was set to last three days, with no restrictions on movement. This meant that anchors had a high degree of freedom to explore.
In a four-story hotel packed with over 200 veteran anchors, with such a long activity time and so much freedom…
There was only one possibility.
The “Xingwang Hotel” instance was far more complex than it appeared.
The others nodded.
Led by Wen Jianyan, the group turned and walked toward one of the hallways.
Bai Xue followed in silence, his head lowered, a quiet, ghostly presence trailing behind them.
Behind them, several scrutinizing gazes followed, carrying a subtle, ambiguous intent.
The hallway of Xingwang Hotel was painted in dark red hues. The narrow walls on either side created an indescribable feeling of oppression. Thick carpet on the floor absorbed all footfalls.
The small group walked along the corridor.
As they moved, Wen Jianyan checked each room they passed.
Unexpectedly, every door in the hallway could be pushed open.
Inside, each room was empty, with identical layouts. Some rooms showed signs of having been rifled through, while most were untouched, with smooth, pristine white bedsheets and an air of eerie calm.
Each room contained an oversized painting that was disproportionate to the wall. The content of each painting varied, but the style was eerily similar.
The scenes were gloomy, with darkened skies and endless falling rain. Whether indoor or outdoor, every scene was empty, without a single person.
Wen Jianyan examined a painting in front of him, a contemplative expression appearing on his face.
This painting depicted a dimly lit, low-ceilinged room filled with dusty, outdated furniture. Thick dust covered everything, and the windows and doors were wide open, leading to an expanse of continuous rain outside.
Still, there was no one in sight.
So far, Wen Jianyan had searched over ten rooms, each containing landscape paintings.
…Except for Room 408.
The image of the indistinct white-clad woman by the narrow window in that painting flashed through Wen Jianyan’s mind, sending a chill down his spine.
He couldn’t shake the feeling…
In this Xingwang Hotel instance, his luck seemed worse than usual.
Without a trace of expression, Wen Jianyan cast a sideways glance at Bai Xue.
He stood by the doorway, head slightly lowered, with long bangs covering part of his face, looking distant and indifferent.
At that moment, footsteps sounded in the hallway outside.
Wen Jianyan turned to look.
It was a team of over ten people.
The leader was a tall man. He saw Wen Jianyan inside the room, squinted slightly, then turned and walked in. “You’re the team that just left first, right?”
Wen Jianyan’s gaze settled on the unfriendly face of the man but didn’t answer.
“The Red Team’s captain just assigned different search areas,” the tall man stepped further in, looking down at Wen Jianyan. “You’re supposed to be in another area.”
Yun Bilan asked, “Exactly where?”
“How would I know?” The man shrugged indifferently. “Ask the captain.”
Chen Mo frowned, “He’s probably not in the same place anymore, and even if we go now, we might not find him. Why don’t we just—”
Before he could finish, the man rudely cut him off, “Don’t you get it yet?”
One of the people behind him snickered, “This isn’t your place. Get lost.”
Wen Jianyan instantly understood the situation.
In an instance like this, there were many veteran anchors. Unlike newcomers, they weren’t easy to control. They might not object openly during the leader selection and might just observe in silence, but that didn’t mean they accepted the leader’s authority. When critical moments came, they’d likely ignore the captain’s orders, and they certainly wouldn’t share information or clues.
Clearly, that Eternal Day anchor was set on becoming the de facto captain of the Red Team, not just in name. To achieve that, he’d been trying to “establish authority” from the start—
By finding a scapegoat to show everyone the cost of defiance.
And they had unfortunately become the unlucky scapegoats.
The anchors assigned to this hallway must have been carefully selected and might even have been subtly prompted to trigger conflict upon encountering them.
Sigh.
Wen Jianyan sighed inwardly.
This was exactly why he disliked working with mid-level anchors.
These anchors, while more experienced than rookies and no longer struggling to survive in every instance, rarely braved the high-stakes, extreme-difficulty instances and stayed within their comfort zones.
Throwing people like this into such a challenging instance would inevitably lead to problems.
They were too hungry for power.
These people always wanted to “seize” something—control, authority, fame, profit… Under the drive of such strong desires, they might overlook the danger right in front of them.
In the past, Wen Jianyan might have simply agreed with the others, choosing to leave.
After all, he valued efficiency above all, cared little about “dignity” or “face,” and was unwilling to waste energy on meaningless infighting.
If bowing slightly and yielding would make him seem “congenial” again, why not?
But the problem was…
Wen Jianyan lowered his head and glanced at the pocket watch in his hand.
The hand had unknowingly reached the edge of the white zone; in less than three minutes, it would enter the black zone.
There was no time left.
He raised his head and looked at the unfriendly group in front of him, breaking the tense atmosphere with a sudden suggestion: “I suggest you come inside before we continue.”
The man in the lead paused, “What?”
“I said, I suggest you come inside,” Wen Jianyan repeated patiently.
The man’s expression darkened. “Are you deaf, or what—?”
Wen Jianyan replied lightly, “The work hours are from nine in the morning until nine in the evening. After nine, it’s rest time. Once the lights are out, please don’t linger in the hallway. Isn’t that right?”
In instances, such rules were fairly common, restricting anchors from leaving their rooms at night. Disobeying often triggered fatal conditions, leading to danger… or instant death.
“Why do you think they don’t let anchors leave their rooms?” Wen Jianyan chuckled softly.
“Is it because it’s rest time or because the lights go out?”
The man hesitated, not responding immediately.
“If it’s the former, then there’s no issue. But if it’s the latter, then we have a problem,” Wen Jianyan hinted.
“During work hours, the lights in Xingwang Hotel turn off for an hour every three hours, right?”
Upon hearing this, all the anchors in the corridor looked grim.
Wen Jianyan’s gaze swept over them, capturing every expression.
He lifted the pocket watch, giving it a slight shake. “If my guess is correct, it’s about to be the first lights-out.”
Wen Jianyan stepped aside. “So, are you coming in?”
He gestured toward the narrow, dark corridor outside, smiling faintly, “Or do you want to gamble on the first option?”
Under these circumstances, their choice was clear.
No one wanted to stake their lives on a worthless gamble.
Watching the group of anchors hurriedly entering the room, Wen Jianyan’s eyes curved slightly in satisfaction—fair enough.
Though not exactly bright, they weren’t entirely hopeless.
Tick, tick, tick.
The clock’s hand moved silently.
Soon, the hand reached the boundary between black and white.
Click!
The ceiling light in the corridor made a faint sound and went dark in an instant.
The narrow hallway instantly plunged into pitch darkness, with only the light from inside the room illuminating patches on the floor through the half-open door, casting dim, yellowish blocks of light.
Everyone held their breath, bodies tensed, and their eyes fell collectively on the corridor.
Someone placed their hand against the door, seemingly ready to shut it immediately if anything appeared.
But nothing happened.
Although the lights had turned off, the hallway remained silent, with faint sounds of movement from other anchors further away, as though no danger was imminent.
The opposing team’s captain turned to their medium, “Any danger?”
The medium closed their eyes, sensing for a few seconds, then turned and replied, “No.”
Immediately, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
In an instant, all hostile gazes turned towards Wen Jianyan.
Despite misjudging the source of the danger, Wen Jianyan’s face showed no regret.
He shrugged and, smiling, said, “Ah, it seems I guessed wrong.”
It couldn’t be helped; it was the lingering effects from the Changsheng Building instance that made Wen Jianyan instinctively alert at the mention of “lights out” or “darkness.” But it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
If this instance were as fast-paced as the last one, Wen Jianyan wasn’t sure he could handle it.
He raised his head, glancing to the side.
Wen Jianyan’s pupils shrank, his breath nearly faltering for half a beat.
However, his face remained calm. “In that case, we’ll be taking our leave. After all, this isn’t our territory, right?”
With that, he gestured for the others to follow, “Let’s go. We’ll find somewhere else.”
Bai Xue, who was closest to the door, lowered his head and turned to step into the pitch-dark hallway. But the doorway was too tightly packed, and he almost bumped into one of the opposing team members.
Irritated and still simmering from Wen Jianyan’s warnings, the other team’s hostility surged, now mingled with humiliation, erupting in anger.
“Watch where the hell you’re going!”
With a malicious grin, the person reached out to grab Bai Xue roughly.
But his wrist was intercepted by another’s hand.
Wen Jianyan stepped forward, still smiling, though his gaze was icy. “It was just an accident; no need to get upset.”
Those usually gentle, light-coloured eyes now exuded an intense pressure under the dim light behind him, enough to make one’s breath hitch.
“I apologize on his behalf. Will that do?”
Standing behind Wen Jianyan, Bai Xue paused, then silently lifted his unsettlingly pitch-black eyes—entirely contrasting with his skin tone.
The person opposite them flinched, momentarily stunned by Bai Xue’s gaze, and instinctively took a step back.
Wen Jianyan replaced his expression with a harmless smile once more.
“That’s better.”
After speaking, he released the person’s wrist, gestured to the others, and quickly left the room.
Though the hallway was dark, the number of lit guest rooms on both sides made it manageable to navigate.
Wen Jianyan moved swiftly.
“So, where to now?” Yun Bilan jogged slightly to keep up. “Are we really going to find the Red Team captain?”
Wen Jianyan didn’t respond, instead casually choosing a room they had previously entered, turning to step inside.
The others exchanged surprised glances but followed him nonetheless.
Once in the room, Wen Jianyan didn’t stop. He walked directly to the center of the room.
He stopped in front of a painting, lifting his gaze and staring at it intently.
Chen Mo and the others quickly caught up, following Wen Jianyan’s gaze.
They froze.
At some unknown point, the scene inside the exaggeratedly large frame had changed.
A gloomy, rain-soaked gray sky hung over dilapidated houses.
A woman stood by the window, her blurred face ghostly pale and featureless, staring silently. It was clearly the painting from Room 408!
Everyone inhaled sharply.
They had just been in this room, and while they hadn’t remembered the painting’s details exactly, it was impossible for it to resemble the painting from Room 408!
Yun Bilan seemed to realize something.
She turned to Wen Jianyan, “So, in the last room…”
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and nodded, “Exactly.”
After the lights went out, the painting in the previous room had also transformed into the one from Room 408. That was why Wen Jianyan had chosen to leave and find a new room.
And now… his uneasy premonition had been confirmed.
The painting was “following” them.
Realizing this, everyone felt a chill down their spine. They couldn’t help but glance back at the painting.
The woman with the blurred face stood silently behind the rain-blurred window, unmoving, watching them. There was an inexplicable sense of being “observed.”
Wen Jianyan seemed to have suddenly thought of something.
He pulled a hardcover notebook out of his pocket.
He opened to the first page.
On the previously blank, yellowed paper, a line of crimson text had appeared:
【Intern Evaluation】
【1. Please welcome a guest to check into Xingwang Hotel.】
