Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 356: The degree of madness is comparable
004, Hugo.
Among all the personalities who appeared in the Secret Council, he was the highest-ranked anchor. Wen Jianyan had only met him once during that meeting and had no further interactions with him beyond that. Orange Candy’s evaluation of him was: strong, but not suited for team battles.
And yet, Hugo, as a top-ten anchor, had actually entered the now-closed “Xingwang Hotel” instance before it was shut down?!
Wen Jianyan stood at the end of the group, lowering his eyes and using his lashes to conceal the shock in his gaze.
According to information previously provided by the live-stream chat, this instance was urgently shut down due to a bug just before it could achieve a platinum clear. All the anchors were locked inside the instance. Logically, Hugo should have died in that instance like the others. But the result was that not only did he survive—he survived for a long time.
Was Hugo the only anchor who made it out alive?
How did he do it?
Did he make some kind of deal with Nightmare, similar to the Oracle?
Or was it…
Countless questions swirled in his mind, but none had answers.
As Wen Jianyan was organizing his chaotic thoughts, the other anchors nearby had already begun conversing naturally with Hugo. After a brief exchange about the current situation, one of them slightly stepped aside, revealing Wen Jianyan, who had been hidden at the back of the group.
“Captain, this is the anchor we ran into on the road earlier,” he paused before adding,
“She survived leaving that street.”
Hugo lifted his gaze and looked over.
Feeling Hugo’s eyes on him, Wen Jianyan’s heart tightened slightly.
The young girl timidly raised her head and whispered, “Captain.”
“What’s your name?”
Hugo asked.
“Wen… Wen.”
“You’re saying you came out of that street alive?”
Hugo studied Wen Jianyan closely.
“Mhm.” Wen Jianyan nodded.
Next, he calmly repeated the lie he had just fabricated.
Hugo lowered his eyes, seemingly lost in thought.
“Uh,” one of the anchors beside him cautiously spoke up, observing Hugo’s expression, “Her teammates seem to have been lost on that street, so she wants to join us. Captain, what do you think—”
“Your psychography—let me see it.”
Hugo cut off his train of thought and extended a hand toward Wen Jianyan.
Wen Jianyan lowered his lashes, masking the thoughts in his eyes, and pulled out the crumpled, slightly damp piece of drawing paper from his pocket, handing it to Hugo. Hugo took the paper and examined it closely.
Soon, he lifted his head and looked at Wen Jianyan again. “Can you interpret it?”
“Yes.”
Wen Jianyan nodded. “The higher my talent is upgraded, the more information I can extract from the image.”
In the “Integrity First” live broadcast room”
[HAHAHAHAHA omg, he really just copied it word for word!]
[Rui Rui from the other stream: WDNMD]
“…”
Hugo lowered his gaze, his deep, unreadable eyes resting on Wen Jianyan, though it was unclear what he was thinking. After a moment, he nodded and returned the psychography paper to Wen Jianyan. “Alright, follow us.”
Hugo glanced at the anchor who had spoken up for Wen Jianyan and said, “Fill her in on some background knowledge.” With that, he turned and walked away.
Wen Jianyan looked up, thoughtfully watching Hugo’s retreating figure.
This was the 004-ranked anchor whom all the personalities present in the Secret Council either feared or respected—someone he had only met once.
Although the other person’s facial features and physique weren’t vastly different from his memories, the look in his eyes was noticeably distinct.
If the Hugo he had seen in the Secret Council was seasoned, restrained, and exuded an undeniable sense of pressure, the current Hugo, though already showing hints of that demeanor, could still be described as somewhat inexperienced.
Based on the information previously revealed in the live-stream chat, the original “Xingwang Hotel” instance was an ordinary, unremarkable A-level instance. From Wen Jianyan’s experience, the rank of anchors participating in such an instance generally wouldn’t exceed its difficulty level.
So, at this point, Hugo was at most an A-rank anchor.
A new question surfaced in his mind.
Logically speaking, the “Xingwang Hotel” instance hadn’t been shut down for very long.
Wen Jianyan frowned.
He remembered catching a few comments in the live-stream chat that mentioned the timeline.
Nightmare had shut down a large number of bug-affected instances simultaneously, which led to a massive shortage of anchors. That was why it had begun aggressively “recruiting newcomers” again.
And Wen Jianyan was one of the unlucky ones “recruited” during that period.
Within Nightmare, the concept of “time” wasn’t particularly strong. After all, the majority of anchors pulled into it wouldn’t survive even a single instance. Even those who managed to survive by sheer luck would quickly meet their end—the turnover rate was extremely high. However, those who survived the ruthless selection process wouldn’t become expendable so easily. As an anchor’s rank increased, the rest periods between instances would also grow longer.
An A-rank anchor who saved their points could go three to six months without entering an instance. And those in the top ten enjoyed an even more privileged status, with the luxury of not entering an instance for up to a year.
By this logic, Hugo should have been entrenched in the top ten for a long time, just like Bai Xue and Orange Candy. But…
From the looks of it now, that didn’t seem to be the case.
A trace of quiet curiosity flickered in Wen Jianyan’s eyes.
If he worked backward from the time the “Xingwang Hotel” instance was shut down, it would mean that, at least before he himself was pulled into Nightmare as an anchor, Hugo hadn’t yet become one of the top ten.
What had happened?
“Welcome, welcome. Looks like the captain agreed to let you join,” the anchor beside Wen Jianyan smiled, the wariness from their first meeting now gone. He tilted his chin toward Hugo’s retreating figure in the distance. “Don’t let the captain’s cold demeanor fool you—he’s actually a really good person. You’ll understand once you’ve spent more time with him.”
“Alright, let’s sync up on progress now,” the anchor asked. “How far did your team get before?”
We almost finished.
But we weren’t in the same instance as you.
The young girl blinked, putting on a nervous, hesitant expression. “O-our team’s rank was low, so we didn’t get very far. We only found that street because of my psychography… Our instance completion rate is basically still at the starting point…”
She lowered her eyes, speaking in a tone full of shame. “Sorry, I’m not much help.”
In the “Integrity First” live broadcast room:
[…]
[Wow, I’ve truly never seen a anchor this shameless before.]
[Even though this has happened more than once, every time I see it, I can’t help but want to yell at him to just be a decent human being.]
[JUST BE A DECENT HUMAN BEING!!!]
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the anchor even ended up comforting Wen Jianyan. “Recently, all the precognitive-type anchors have been scooped up by the Oracle. Your talent is really rare—if word got out, you’d probably be in high demand.”
Wen Jianyan’s expression sharpened slightly.
He had caught an extremely important keyword in the anchor’s words.
“Recently.”
In other words, the Oracle’s monopoly on precognitive-type anchors hadn’t existed from the very beginning. It had only started gradually after the chain of bugs caused multiple instances to collapse.
No matter how he looked at it, the timeline he was currently in was crucial—both for the “Xingwang Hotel” instance and for the entire Nightmare live-stream platform.
As Wen Jianyan was lost in thought, the anchor beside him continued, “Right now, our progress is basically at the final stage. Based on the clues we’ve gathered, there’s just one last ritual left before we can fully unlock the platinum achievement. You joined a bit too late to get the final platinum reward, but if you perform well in this instance, I’m sure the captain will recognize your potential and invite you to officially join the team.”
The young girl nodded vigorously, speaking earnestly, “I’ll do my best.”
Then, without missing a beat, she smoothly steered the conversation toward the main topic:
“By the way, you mentioned earlier that there’s just one last ‘ritual’ left to unlock the platinum achievement… What kind of ritual is it?”
“We need to hold a banquet.”
The anchor answered.
Upon hearing this confirmation, Wen Jianyan’s heart skipped a beat.
A banquet.
This was exactly the task assigned to them on the third day in the false mirrored version of the “Xingwang Hotel” instance:
Hold a banquet.
The anchor took a deep breath, adopting an expression of lingering fear.
“However, to attend the banquet without dying, you have to enter that street you survived and find a specific location. But… as far as I know, almost all the anchors who went in there ended up dead…”
“The specific location you’re looking for…”
Wen Jianyan paused before asking, “Is it a framing shop?”
The anchor across from him froze.
He stared blankly at Wen Jianyan, taking a long moment before finally snapping out of it.
“Yes!”
His face flushed with excitement, and he couldn’t help grabbing Wen Jianyan’s shoulders. “You know! You really have been there—you know—”
“Hiss.”
The young girl winced slightly, letting out a small, pained breath.
Only then did the anchor realize he might have gripped too hard. “Sorry, sorry, I got carried away.”
The girl shook her head, flashing a bright smile. “It’s fine.”
In the “Integrity First” live broadcast room:
[…]
[Keep pretending, why don’t you!]
[This scammer absolutely pretended to be weak and delicate just to avoid answering follow-up questions—god damn it!]
[Even though this appearance is really pretty, every time I remember that the person inside this shell is a six-foot-tall guy, I just feel the urge to punch him…]
The anchor still hadn’t calmed down from his excitement.
He turned around, scanning the area for Hugo, who had just left moments ago. “Wait here, I’ll go tell the captain about this—”
“Wait.”
Wen Jianyan reached out and grabbed his arm.
The anchor turned back, looking puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
“Let’s sync up on progress before you go find him,” Wen Jianyan said softly, still holding his arm. “If you tell me more details, maybe I’ll remember more. Doesn’t that make sense?”
That did sound reasonable.
After a moment’s thought, the anchor stopped in his tracks.
The two of them stayed at the back of the group, walking toward the hotel exit as they continued talking.
“Anyway, the essence of the Xingwang Hotel instance is that it’s a prison for some unknown entity.”
The anchor summed it up concisely: “The entire instance exists to keep that evil thing locked away forever in its depths. What we’re calling a ‘banquet’ is actually a sacrificial ritual—we feed human souls to the vengeful ghosts responsible for guarding the prison. Once they’ve eaten, they’ll leave.”
Wen Jianyan listened carefully, growing more and more unsettled with each word.
In other words… based on the exploration by Hugo’s team, the original Xingwang Hotel instance was a prison meant to contain Wu Zhu’s fragment. And the vengeful ghosts roaming the town—who, for those in the mirrored instance, were the “guests”—were the prison’s wardens.
As for the nature of the banquet, it aligned with the information Wen Jianyan had obtained in the “Changsheng Building” instance.
Clearly, the vengeful ghosts in the “Xingwang Hotel” weren’t the same as those in “Changsheng Building”. They weren’t incomplete fragments but had been whole from the very beginning. Thus, the process of piecing them together was unnecessary, allowing them to skip straight to the final step—by sacrificing living humans, they could send these ghosts to rest.
However, from the other anchor’s words just now, Wen Jianyan sensed something slightly off.
Feed the wardens’ souls?
Then wouldn’t that mean—
“You’re right. We plan to break open the prison.”
As if noticing the confusion on Wen Jianyan’s face, the anchor smiled slightly and explained.
Though he had expected this answer, Wen Jianyan’s breath still hitched for a moment. He couldn’t hide his astonishment as he stared at the anchor before him.
Could it be that the revival of Wu Zhu’s fragments, the forced shutdowns of multiple instances due to bugs, and the subsequent chain reactions all originated from the Xingwang Hotel instance?!
If this was the source of all the anomalies—the first step in Wu Zhu breaking free from Nightmare’s control—then it made sense why all the viewers who had once watched the Xingwang Hotel instance had “forgotten” its contents.
In other words…
What he was facing now was the very first domino to fall?
The anchor continued speaking, unprompted:
“You might not know this yet, but the so-called platinum achievement is essentially making it impossible for the instance to reopen. No matter how it’s achieved—whether by pushing the completion rate to 100% or by destroying the prison and releasing the evil entity sealed within, rendering the instance unplayable—we’ll still get the platinum achievement.”
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, suppressing the chaotic thoughts in his mind. He maintained a serious expression and nodded, offering insincere praise:
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
Though he verbally agreed, bold ideas gradually took shape in Wen Jianyan’s mind. If I were to do something at this critical juncture, would it…
No.
He couldn’t afford to entertain that line of thought.
First, Wen Jianyan wasn’t entirely sure whether he had truly traveled back in time or if he was merely trapped in an interactive recording of past events.
More importantly, the concept of a timeline might sound mundane, but in reality, it was terrifyingly complex.
If his actions now truly could influence the future, then the butterfly effect of even the slightest change would be irreversible. Even his efforts in the original timeline might be rendered meaningless, all his hard work reduced to nothing.
Before making any concrete decisions, it was best to stay with the team and observe for a while longer.
Wen Jianyan steeled his resolve.
By now, the group had reached the hotel entrance.
Unlike in the mirrored world, the main door of the Xingwang Hotel here could be freely exited, and beyond it lay the familiar town. That’s right—in the original instance, the two had always shared the same geographical location.
But in the altered mirrored world, Nightmare had erased the hotel’s main entrance and created countless passageways connecting the hotel to the town.
With a ding, the brass bell hanging on the door jingled as the entrance was pushed open from the inside. Hugo stepped out first, followed by the others.
Wen Jianyan stood at the hotel entrance, looking outside.
Though he had mentally prepared himself, the sight before him still left him stunned.
What lay before him was indeed the familiar town, with one key difference—
There was no rain.
The perpetual overcast rain that had shrouded the town from beginning to end was absent, and with it, the damp, musty scent had vanished.
Crooked bluestone paths stretched into the distance, the outlines of low, squat houses swallowed by the murky shadows. An intense, spine-chilling aura of gloom permeated the entire town.
To be precise…
It felt eerily similar to the atmosphere in the Changsheng Building.
Wen Jianyan turned his head, glancing back at the building behind him.
Unlike the interior, the exterior of the Xingwang Hotel matched the town’s aesthetic—peeling walls, crooked windows, and a squat structure only two stories tall.
Just as I thought.
Wen Jianyan’s heart sank slightly as he narrowed his eyes.
In the original Xingwang Hotel instance, the hotel itself only had two floors. Not only was there no “room snatching” mechanic designed specifically to counter the cold, but the additional mirrored floors didn’t exist either—those were unique to the counterfeit world Nightmare had fabricated.
No wonder the original Xingwang Hotel instance was only rated A. Based on the complexity displayed now, it truly didn’t warrant a higher difficulty.
As for the modified instance crafted by Nightmare, given the malice woven into every corner, its lethality was more than deserving of an S-rank rating.
“By the way,” Wen Jianyan suddenly spoke up, as if struck by a thought.
He turned to the anchor beside him and asked quietly, “Earlier, you mentioned that your instance completion rate was nearly 100%, right? Then why choose to break the prison and destroy the instance as a means to achieve platinum?”
Before this member of Hugo’s team had explained their plan in detail, Wen Jianyan hadn’t planned on asking this question.
Based on the live-stream comments he’d seen earlier and the conversations he’d overheard between anchors, Wen Jianyan had assumed that the final “ritual” was simply the last step to push the completion rate to 100%. But to his surprise, the purpose of this “ritual” was actually to destroy the prison and release the evil entity—
If the completion rate was already so high, why take the more dangerous and difficult route?
“Ah, you wouldn’t know this,” the anchor sighed, shaking his head.
“To be honest, our completion rate has already reached 92%. We’ve basically explored everywhere we could and solved every puzzle there was to solve. Aside from a few special items taken by other teams, we’ve even used Guiding Hand to comb through the entire instance. We’ve pretty much collected everything, secured help from some NPCs, and even uncovered the instance’s true nature. Logically, we should have been able to achieve platinum smoothly, but for some reason, the final 8% just wouldn’t budge…”
He shrugged. “Originally, we were going to leave it at that, but the captain said that since we’d already come this far, there was no point in leaving the instance untouched. Might as well go all the way and secure the platinum achievement.”
Wen Jianyan understood now.
He lifted his gaze, looking toward Hugo in the distance.
The man stood at the hotel entrance, facing the eerie town, seemingly discussing something with the person beside him. His tall figure exuded an inexplicable pressure.
Though Wen Jianyan hadn’t interacted much with Hugo and had no intention of judging his actions from a god’s-eye perspective, based on what his team member had revealed, Hugo was indeed a ruthless individual—harsh toward others and equally harsh toward himself.
Most anchors focused solely on earning more points and surviving to prolong their miserable existence in the anchor space. Their goal was more about “survival” than anything else.
But clearly, even as just an A-rank anchor, Hugo had already been approaching instances with a cold, utilitarian mindset. What he pursued wasn’t mere survival but rather more platinum achievements. No wonder Orange Candy and the others had evaluated him as:
Strong, but not suited for teamwork.
However, this alone didn’t fully explain why Hugo had been the only anchor to leave the Xingwang Hotel instance alive.
As if sensing the gaze on his back, Hugo turned his head slightly to look behind him.
Not far away, the girl in the white dress was chatting quietly with the anchor beside her, her expression focused, seemingly absorbed in their conversation. There was no sign she had been looking in his direction.
Hugo’s gaze lingered on the unfamiliar girl for a moment before he finally looked away and said to the group,
“Let’s go.”
With that, he pulled something out from his backpack.
A soft hiss sounded as a small flame flickered to life, its faint orange glow illuminating a small patch of the surrounding area. Wen Jianyan glanced over subtly.
Hugo was holding a lantern.
The light it emitted wasn’t particularly bright, but in this eerie, unsettling town, it inexplicably dispelled some of the shadows around them.
Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes.
If he wasn’t mistaken…
This was the same lantern the hotel manager had carried in the darkness.
He had used it to lead all the anchors who passed the “trial assessment” to the staff dormitory—the true Xingwang Hotel instance. And this lantern, much like the oil lamp in the Changsheng Building instance, was likely an item from the original instance that could ward off danger. That was why they had been able to rest undisturbed in the staff dormitory for an entire night without being harassed by the vengeful ghosts in the instance.
Seeing Hugo take out the lantern now, Wen Jianyan finally understood the intricacies of it all.
The group followed the bluestone path deeper into the town.
As the anchor had said earlier, they seemed to have already thoroughly explored and mastered the entire instance, moving with practiced familiarity. Without the hindrance of rain, their progress was smooth, unimpeded by any obstacles.
Soon, Wen Jianyan recognized that they had arrived near the commercial street.
Even with the lantern’s protection, walking in such a perilous place inevitably put everyone on high alert. The previously talkative anchor instinctively fell silent, following the team forward without another word.
Wen Jianyan stood within the group, subtly turning his head to glance at the buildings on either side of the road.
The doors of the low, squat houses were slightly ajar, the interiors swallowed by darkness.
Through the thick shadows, he could faintly make out stiff corpses standing just inside the doorways, their lifeless eyes fixed in their direction, sending chills down his spine.
“Don’t look at them,” the anchor beside him whispered in warning.
“The lantern can mask our presence, but it can’t make us disappear.”
He added quietly, “If you catch their attention, the lantern won’t help anymore.”
Wen Jianyan’s heart skipped a beat, and he hurriedly averted his gaze, nodding.
Before long, Hugo, who was leading the group, came to a stop. Wen Jianyan looked up.
Peering over the shoulders of those in front of him, he saw the familiar commercial street.
Unlike in the mirrored world, the street wasn’t shrouded in a misty drizzle. Instead, it was enveloped in an oppressive gloom. The narrow road stretched into the distance, the storefronts on either side eerily silent, filling him with unease.
The anchor beside him stared at the commercial street, his expression grave. “Many anchors have gone in to explore this street. All of them had lanterns, but for some reason, not a single team made it back alive.” He glanced at Wen Jianyan. “Except you.”
From up ahead came Hugo’s cold voice: “Wen Wen.”
“Quick, he’s calling you,” the anchor nudged Wen Jianyan.
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and made his way through the parted group to Hugo’s side.
Hugo stood where he was, his sharp features faintly illuminated by the lantern’s glow. He looked down at Wen Jianyan. “What did your psychography tell you?”
Wen Jianyan glanced at the dark, lifeless street in the distance and said, “The living can’t enter this street.”
He knew jack shit about psychography.
This was a rule he had figured out in the mirrored instance—by risking his life.
Hugo frowned, as if he didn’t quite understand the meaning behind those words.
“The reason none of the anchors who went in before came back alive is precisely because of that.”
The girl lifted a slender, pale finger and pointed at the lantern in his hand, saying without batting an eye, “It can only mask our presence, not turn us into the dead.”
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[…]
[Wow, you really just learned that and are already using it, huh!]
Hugo narrowed his eyes. “Then how did your team get in?”
Wen Jianyan raised his gaze, the side of his porcelain-like face faintly lit by the lantern’s glow, his light-colored eyes reflecting the flickering flame. He pointed at the clothing store nearby. “By becoming the dead.”
Following the direction of Wen Jianyan’s finger, Hugo’s eyes landed on the slightly ajar door of the clothing store. He nodded. “Alright.”
With that, Hugo strode toward the clothing store.
Wen Jianyan and the other anchors followed closely behind.
The interior of the store was largely unchanged from his memories.
The dimly lit shop was empty, save for countless clothing racks hung with garments, motionless as they waited in the darkness. The dusty room was filled with a musty, rotting stench.
“These clothes are made of human skin,” Wen Jianyan said.
H-Human skin?!
Hearing this, everyone instinctively shuddered, subconsciously taking a step away from the clothes.
“Wearing them can mask a human’s presence, disguising us as the dead. At least, it’s enough for the first half of the journey,” Wen Jianyan explained.
Hugo nodded. “Good.”
He turned to the anchors in the team and ordered, “Everyone, take one.”
Wen Jianyan suddenly remembered something and added,
“Oh, but be careful. If you wear these clothes for too long, you might actually turn into a ghost.”
Hugo nodded again.
“Noted.”
Listening to their exchange, the team members behind them looked somewhat dazed, staring blankly at the two figures in front—
They used to think their captain was already crazy enough…
But now, what was going on?
Why did this seemingly delicate and fragile girl match their captain’s level of insanity?!
Though still in a daze, the team members turned and walked toward the rows of human-skin garments hanging on the racks.
Despite their lingering revulsion at the clothes’ origins, they were, after all, seasoned anchors and could overcome their psychological barriers. Soon, everyone had picked out a garment for themselves.
Once that was done, they turned to leave the store.
But just as Hugo was about to step over the threshold—
From behind them, in the empty, pitch-black store, a stiff voice suddenly rang out:
“That will be eight yuan in total.”
Hearing that voice, Wen Jianyan’s breath caught, his pupils contracting slightly. This had never appeared in the mirrored Xingwang Hotel instance—
The voice echoed through the deserted shop, sounding as though it had been spoken right against their ears, sending chills down their spines. Everyone was horrified, instinctively whipping around to locate the source of the sound.
The shop looked almost exactly the same as before.
Dim corners, neatly arranged clothing racks, the motionless human-skin garments.
But behind the counter, where there had been no one just moments ago, a shadowy figure now stood.
Its face was indistinct, its form unclear—like a stain on the wall, its edges blurred as if it might melt into the darkness at any moment. It gave off an intensely ominous, chilling aura.
Without moving, it repeated in the same tone:
“That will be eight yuan in total.”
robbery!