Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 343: “Captain, who are you rooming with tonight?”
Wen Jianyan subtly took a step forward, avoiding the cold hand on his lower back. His gaze swept over the large mirror facing the bed, briefly meeting the eyes of the man standing beside him—both a confirmation and a warning.
Their exchanged glances were fleeting, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of the water, vanishing in an instant.
Wen Jianyan turned his attention back to the others in the room.
Numerous eyes were fixed on him, their heightened vigilance and focus revealing lingering unease over his earlier abnormal behavior.
In an instance like this, he absolutely could not afford to reveal any signs of unusual behavior.
Not to mention, their meeting had yet to conclude.
“At any rate…”
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and said, “The true key to determining victory lies on the second day.”
In the Xingwang Hotel instance, the primary purpose of the first day was for the anchors to familiarize themselves with the mechanics of the instance. The second day was the most crucial, as the third day would be occupied with the banquet, which, from both a practical and an instance perspective, could not possibly last an entire day.
In other words, if the final outcome of the instance was indeed tied to the total earnings, then the second day would be the most decisive.
“I get it!”
Blond clenched his fist and smacked his palm in realization.
“That means tomorrow we need to bring in as many guests as possible and fulfill more of their requests!”
That way, they could earn even more wages!
Wen Jianyan glanced at him.
“If you’re thinking in purely linear terms, then yes.”
Blond: “…?”
Why did it feel like he was just subtly called slow-witted?
“Although our time in the town is no longer restricted by the lights turning on and off, the total number of trips remains unchanged. Have you forgotten?”
Wen Jianyan emphasized:
“We only have three trips in total.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
“Each trip into the town lasts only one hour, and we can bring only one painting back to the hotel per trip,” Wen Jianyan continued steadily. “So, even under the most ideal conditions—if we bring back more than two new guests each time and successfully complete one request per trip—the maximum possible earnings will still remain the same.”
Blond was stunned.
“Then… what do we do?”
Wen Jianyan did not respond immediately. Instead, he turned to Rui Rui and Zhong Shan and instructed, “Go back to your rooms and check if there are any clothes or money inside the wardrobes.”
The two were momentarily taken aback but soon nodded, standing up and exiting the room.
“So what do we do now…?” Blond asked.
“Wait.”
Wen Jianyan spoke as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
The moment he did, he felt the mattress sink beside him, as if someone had just sat down as well.
“…”
Wen Jianyan fell silent for a moment, then discreetly glanced at the mirror.
Wu Zhu had mimicked his actions, sitting down beside him. His head was lowered as he curiously examined the soft mattress beneath him, as though it was something novel and intriguing.
Then, as if sensing Wen Jianyan’s gaze, he looked up.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
Perhaps he shouldn’t have sat down.
As if to confirm his thoughts, a pair of icy arms wrapped around him, and the weight on his shoulder suddenly increased.
Even without looking into the mirror, Wen Jianyan knew—Wu Zhu had once again rested his chin in the hollow of his shoulder.
For some reason—whether it was the proximity to a major artery, a residual memory, or just a habit—Wu Zhu seemed particularly fond of this position, regardless of whether he was whole or fragmented.
Cool strands of hair brushed past Wen Jianyan’s ear, and an icy nose tip barely grazed his cheek.
Even without looking, he could feel the substantial weight of Wu Zhu’s gaze.
Wen Jianyan’s back stiffened, and he suddenly felt like he was sitting on needles.
He regretted sitting down.
Yes, he definitely should not have sat down.
At that moment, the door creaked open.
Rui Rui and Zhong Shan had returned from their search.
Seizing the opportunity, Wen Jianyan immediately stood up, slipping his shoulder free from Wu Zhu’s head. The weight on him vanished.
Success.
He discreetly glanced at the mirror, just in time to catch Wu Zhu being unexpectedly thrown off balance. The man’s expression momentarily faltered as he almost toppled over.
Wen Jianyan’s lips twitched slightly, barely restraining a smirk.
Ha.
Turning his head back, he refocused on the two who had just entered.
“So? What did you find?”
“We found money.”
Zhong Shan nodded and lowered his voice. “Four yuan as well.”
Beside him, Rui Rui clenched her hands nervously but also nodded. “Me… me too.”
Wen Jianyan seemed unsurprised, as if he had already expected this result.
“It seems my guess was correct. Wages are not distributed per individual anchor but rather by team.”
“You mean…”
Chen Mo’s eyes widened slightly as he grasped the implication.
“A numbers strategy?”
“Exactly.”
Wen Jianyan snapped his fingers.
Since wages were awarded per participating team, then logically, the more red faction teams completed tasks, the higher their total earnings would be.
“From my observations, the black faction has a considerable advantage in this regard.”
Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes.
“Back in the lobby, I counted—on the first day, five teams from the red faction passed the assessment, while six teams from the black faction did.”
The black faction had a larger base of teams.
“In other words, even if both sides complete the same amount of work, their side will receive higher wages.”
Upon this realization, everyone’s hearts sank.
The current situation was overwhelmingly unfavorable for them.
“Therefore, unlike the black faction, we cannot completely disregard those anchors who have yet to pass the internship assessment,” Wen Jianyan said slowly. “Of course, personally guiding them through it is unrealistic. However…” He paused. “Tomorrow, I’ll give them hints on how to pass. Whether or not we can increase the number of red faction teams that qualify as full employees will depend on—”
Wen Jianyan’s voice abruptly faltered.
Because at that moment, he suddenly felt—
His hand, which had been resting at his side, was once again caught.
This time, Wu Zhu skillfully threaded his fingers through Wen Jianyan’s, reversing their grip with practiced ease—smooth, effortless, and incredibly familiar.
“…”
Wen Jianyan’s brow twitched.
He clenched his teeth and finally finished his sentence:
“—it will depend on their own luck.”
As the others sank into contemplation, Wen Jianyan discreetly moved his tightly held hand behind his back, attempting to shake free—only to fail.
Perhaps in retaliation for almost being knocked over earlier, Wu Zhu’s grip tightened even more, even pulling him slightly closer.
“…”
Wen Jianyan dared not make any large movements.
His expression remained composed as he faced the group, silently swallowing his frustration.
“However,” he exhaled, forcing his thoughts back on track, “even without me saying it, you should already realize—this plan alone is not reliable. After all, we can’t pin our hopes on teams that might pass… but also might not.”
The others exchanged glances and nodded.
“That’s why,” Wen Jianyan looked around, “I have another plan.”
“Do you all remember the three ways to earn wages?”
“Of course,” Blond nodded. “Bringing in guests, completing a guest’s ‘wish,’ and…”
He hesitated.
Wen Jianyan picked up where he left off, reciting the employee handbook word for word:
“If a guest is satisfied, they may provide a tip of varying amounts.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“And this,” he continued, “is the only form of compensation that does not specify an exact amount.”
Wen Jianyan had a strong feeling that this undefined ‘extra income’ could very well become the key variable influencing the final outcome of the instance.
“But…”
Zhong Shan frowned. “We’ve been busy all day, and so far, we’ve only earned three yuan for bringing in guests and one yuan for running errands. No one has tipped us at all!”
“You’re wrong.”
Wen Jianyan shook the four paper bills in his hand and smiled.
“Theoretically speaking, our last errand was never actually completed.”
Zhong Shan was taken aback.
“The first guest we brought in directed us down the hallway inside the gallery,” Wen Jianyan explained. “Then, within that hallway, they pointed to a specific painting.”
He paused.
“We entered room 329 through that painting, so the instance considered the guest’s request fulfilled. But in reality, all we did was go to the place they indicated. We never actually obtained what they truly wanted.”
“So, as full employees of Xingwang Hotel, our job actually consists of three steps.”
“Step one: Bring guests into the hotel.”
“Step two: Follow the guest’s lead to a designated waypoint.”
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath.
“Step three: Fulfill the guest’s actual request.”
The first two steps offered very little pay—bringing in a guest was only worth one yuan.
That meant, as official employees, their real earnings must lie in step three.
“I see.”
Yun Bilan finally spoke for the first time that night.
She looked at Wen Jianyan thoughtfully. Without the mask covering her face, the crimson thorn-like markings on her pale cheeks stood out even more starkly.
“So, that’s our game plan for tomorrow?”
“First, we help the red faction anchors pass their assessment. Then, we return to the abandoned house from the beginning to find the dried-up well—completing the request from room 408.”
“Exactly.”
Wen Jianyan nodded approvingly.
“That’s the plan.”
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Honestly? Even though this is only the first day, and we barely have any concrete information, I have to say—our anchor is a genius.]
[Right?! His combat skills aren’t great, and he doesn’t have any insane innate talent, but he makes up for it with sheer intellect. The hotel’s system deliberately keeps the rules vague, yet somehow, he manages to piece everything together from the tiniest scraps of information!]
[Yeah! It’s actually mind-blowing how quickly he connects the dots. He doesn’t just make random guesses—everything he deduces is logical and backed by evidence. I’ve played through this instance before, but the way he’s breaking it down makes it feel like this was exactly how it was meant to be played!]
[Wait, you guys are all talking about his deduction skills?! Am I the only one completely distracted by the transparent BUG next to him?! That thing is way too noticeable!!]
[RIGHT?! That thing hasn’t said a single word since the start, but he never stops moving—one second he’s sniffing his hair, the next he’s tugging at his clothes, and now he’s holding his damn hand??… I CAN’T NOT LOOK AT HIM!…]
[And also—am I the only one who noticed?! He never took his eyes off the anchor the entire time! Not even for a second! I get that my wife is absolutely radiant when he’s deep in thought, but do you really have to stare that intently?! I’m furious!]
[Wake up, your ‘wife’ is about to become someone else’s wife. (schadenfreude.jpg)]
“Does anyone else have any questions?”
Wen Jianyan asked.
The others exchanged glances and shook their heads.
To be honest, Wen Jianyan had already considered every critical issue. Even if they wanted to ask something, they couldn’t think of anything.
“If that’s the case, we’ll leave it here for tonight,” Wen Jianyan said.
“Those with keys, pick your roommates and get some rest. Meet back here one hour before lights-on tomorrow morning.”
He added, “Tonight, we may not have to worry about ghosts, but that doesn’t mean we can ignore humans. After all, the black faction is staying in the same hallway as us. So even while resting, stay extremely vigilant.”
Everyone nodded.
Since Yun Bilan and Rui Rui were the only two women in the group, they naturally shared a room. That left the remaining five with more options. However, with seven people in total, someone would inevitably have to sleep alone.
Blond turned to Wen Jianyan.
“Captain, who are you rooming with tonight?”
Wen Jianyan remained silent for a moment.
He could still feel the cold hand tightly clasping his right one.
He hesitated briefly, then tugged at the corner of his lips.
“I’ll…”
—Sleep alone.
Although staying with a teammate would feel safer, the presence of Wu Zhu, this unstable variable, meant that Wen Jianyan did not want to risk having anyone else in the same room.
However, before he could finish speaking, his gaze swept across the room—and suddenly, he froze.
His eyes darted past a pair of eerily black pupils, staring at him intently from the side.
It was Bai Xue.
The pale-skinned, white-haired boy sat silently, his deep, abyssal black eyes fixed on Wen Jianyan without blinking.
There was something strange in his gaze—something nearly unnatural.
“…!”
For a fleeting moment, Wen Jianyan’s heart skipped a beat.
Bai Xue—the strongest recognized medium.
An extremely reclusive and almost invisible anchor.
Ever since they parted ways in the hallway earlier, Bai Xue hadn’t uttered a single word. He had followed the group like a ghost, silent and unobtrusive, so much so that it was far too easy to forget he was even there.
Wen Jianyan locked eyes with the boy in the distance.
And a question surfaced in his mind.
As a medium, could Bai Xue sense Wu Zhu’s presence?
Or worse—
Could he see him?
A loud buzz erupted in Wen Jianyan’s brain.
His concerns were no longer just about how to explain things.
More importantly—
Wen Jianyan mentally replayed every single thing Wu Zhu had done earlier.
And now, realizing that someone might have been silently watching the entire time…
Wen Jianyan’s vision darkened in mortification.
He could practically feel his entire body burning—as if even his capillaries were on fire.
In that instant, all the tiny details he had nearly overlooked came flooding back.
Wen Jianyan was highly sensitive to the way others looked at him.
Back in the framing shop, though the situation had been tense and he hadn’t had time to think deeply about it, he could now recall…
Back in the hallway, Bai Xue’s gaze had been off—subtle, yet unmistakably unusual.
But after leaving the hallway—when Wu Zhu disappeared—
That strange, knowing gaze had vanished as well.
Until now.
The moment Wu Zhu reappeared, that indescribable look returned to Bai Xue’s eyes.
Flashes of past experiences within the instance flickered through Wen Jianyan’s mind.
And then—something clicked.
His expression stiffened for a split second, his pupils sharpening.
The words that had been about to leave his lips circled once in his mouth before transforming into a single, decisive sentence:
“I’ll room with Bai Xue tonight.”
Blond was startled.
He hadn’t expected Wen Jianyan to make that choice.
He couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Bai Xue, but the moment his eyes landed on that strange-colored hair and eerie pupils, he quickly averted his gaze, feeling inexplicably guilty.
Chen Mo seemed to catch on to what he meant and offered an olive branch:
“If you don’t want to room with him, you can bunk with me instead.”
“R-Really?!” Blond looked deeply moved, his eyes sparkling.
At that moment, Zhong Shan finally processed what had happened and let out a wail:
“Wait, no way— does that mean I’m the only one sleeping alone?!”
Yun Bilan, standing beside a timid-looking Rui Rui, remarked coldly:
“Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
A faint, frigid smile graced her lips.
“With your thick skin, you practically count as an entire squad on your own. I doubt you’ll be in any danger.”
While the others bantered back and forth, Wen Jianyan remained silent, his gaze fixed on Bai Xue.
Wu Zhu’s golden eyes flickered.
Beneath his damp hair, the tips of Wen Jianyan’s ears were still faintly flushed—blood lingering beneath the thin skin, a soft red that stood out glaringly against his complexion.
Wu Zhu’s gaze drifted slightly.
Following Wen Jianyan’s line of sight, he turned his attention to Bai Xue.
The white-haired boy stood silently in the corner of the room, head slightly bowed.
His delicate features remained expressionless—like an oversized porcelain doll.
“…”
A non-human golden gaze darkened slightly.
After the room assignments were settled, the others gradually left.
With a soft “click,” the door locked behind them.
Now, only Wen Jianyan and Bai Xue remained in the room.
And, of course—the unseen Wu Zhu.
Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes slightly, deep in thought.
“…”
Wu Zhu’s fingers tightened around his hand.
Still immersed in his own thoughts, Wen Jianyan failed to register the added pressure.
The black-haired, golden-eyed man remained as expressionless as ever, yet within his gaze, something darker, something far more dangerous, seemed to be brewing.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Wait… is it just me, or is the atmosphere getting really weird??]
[AHHH what’s happening?! Is it just my imagination, or is the instance bug’s expression so dark right now?!]
[Yes yes YES. Like, he’s not showing anything obvious, but why does he feel so pissed off?! Anchor, GET A CLUE ALREADY. WAKE UP!!!]
“!”
Suddenly, Wen Jianyan shuddered.
Something cold and soft slithered into his sleeve, slipping in smoothly through the gap in the fabric.
It coiled around his arm, winding upwards in a slow, deliberate spiral.
It moved fast.
In the mirror, his damp shirt clung to his body, yet—
The fabric seemed to bulge slightly, as though something unseen was shifting beneath it.
Beneath the semi-transparent material, a hidden shape flickered faintly, writhing along his skin.
“???”
Wen Jianyan’s pupils contracted sharply.
He whipped his head toward Wu Zhu, his face twisting into sheer, horrified disbelief.
What the fu-ck—
What the actual fu-ck do you think you’re doing?!?!?
