WTNL Chapter 360

Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 360: Opening of prison

The previously empty corridor was suddenly packed to the brim, so crowded that not a drop of water could trickle through.

Dark red light spilled down, the wallpaper was dark red, the carpet was dark red, and the narrow corridor resembled a sealed throat. The air was cold.

It wasn’t just a simple low temperature, but that kind of eerie, bone-piercing chill that seemed to seep into the very crevices of one’s bones.

Pale, ghastly faces “looked” over.

Wen Jianyan stood frozen in place, cold sweat beading on his forehead, his hands and feet icy, his scalp tingling. An intense cramp twisted in his stomach, making him reflexively want to vomit, but he forcibly suppressed it.

Rustle, rustle. The sound of fabric rubbing against itself echoed.

The guests began to move.

In the corridor ahead, they walked stiffly toward Wen Jianyan like puppets on strings, their blurred, horrifying faces turned in his direction.

Run. Run now!

Every cell in his body screamed frantically.

Wen Jianyan instinctively took a step back—but the moment he moved—

Countless hollow, pitch-black eye sockets snapped toward him in unison.

Wen Jianyan’s hair stood on end.

But in that instant, it was as if he suddenly realized something. The dry, mechanical voice echoed in his ears once more: “To attend the banquet, proceed to the left.”

Attend the banquet!

A jolt ran through Wen Jianyan, as if he had been struck by a sudden enlightenment.

At that moment, the mask covering his face became more palpable than ever before.

The hotel manager had assumed he would attend the banquet because the mask’s effect was still active—he was still being judged by the instance as a “ghost,” not a “human.” Overwhelming fear gradually receded, and his ability to think slowly returned.

So, in their eyes, as long as he didn’t act suspiciously, he would be seen as one of them.

“…”

Wen Jianyan gritted his teeth, suppressing his instinctive urge to flee. He stood perfectly still, maintaining his half-step backward posture.

He didn’t move an inch.

Countless pale faces turned toward him, their eye sockets dark and empty. It was an unbearable test for any normal human’s mental fortitude.

Wen Jianyan’s throat tightened. Cold sweat drenched his back, his muscles trembling from excessive tension. Yet, he forced himself to show no signs of weakness.

Rustle, rustle. The sound of fabric rubbing resumed.

One by one, the “guests” shifted their gazes away from Wen Jianyan and began moving forward again.

Throughout the entire process, he remained motionless, allowing the “guests” to brush past him as they walked step by step toward the corridor behind him.

The ordeal was excruciating, each second feeling like an eternity.

He didn’t know how long it had been—perhaps a century.

Finally, the rustling faded into the distance.

Wen Jianyan stiffly turned his head, cautiously glancing behind him—

The corridor was empty. All the guests had left.

Realizing this, the strength drained from Wen Jianyan’s body. His legs gave way, and if he hadn’t hastily braced himself against the wall, he might have collapsed on the spot.

“Ghk—”

Wen Jianyan lifted the mask slightly, bent over, and retched violently.

Nothing came up.

Beneath the mask, the young man’s face was deathly pale, his forehead damp with sweat, his lips trembling slightly, and the rims of his eyes red. He leaned against the wall with one hand, his fingers gripping so hard they turned white, the veins on the back of his hand standing out like rolling mountain ridges.

Wen Jianyan took a deep, shuddering breath, suppressing the nausea rising from his stomach. He wiped his mouth and forced himself to straighten up.

No more delays. I have to keep moving.

The “banquet” was about to begin.

That meant all the guests inside the Xingwang Hotel would gradually leave their rooms. If he didn’t hurry, he might miss the woman in white before she departed, resulting in a wasted trip. All the effort he had put in since entering this place would be for nothing.

Wen Jianyan pressed a hand to his wildly pounding heart, adjusted the mask on his face, and then broke into a sprint, racing down the corridor.

The layout of the Xingwang Hotel was already etched into his mind. He deftly turned corner after corner, rushing toward Room 208 at full speed.

However, even though Wen Jianyan deliberately avoided areas densely packed with rooms, he still occasionally encountered open doors and guests stiffly stepping out.

Each time this happened, Wen Jianyan’s heart would lurch. He reflexively dodged to the side, holding his breath and staying completely still, waiting for the guests to pass before resuming his journey.

If hiding was impossible, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and blend into their ranks, then subtly slip away to continue his mission.

Though the original Xingwang Hotel had only two floors, these uncontrollable incidents made the journey to his destination take far longer than expected.

The door to Room 208 was shut, no light seeping through the gap beneath.

Wen Jianyan stood outside, steadying his uneven breathing—caused by both sprinting and tension—and glanced at his phone.

Less than twenty minutes remained before this instance closed.

He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and slowly pushed the door open.

Inside was pitch black.

Just standing at the doorway was enough to make one’s heart race with fear.

Wen Jianyan steadied himself, turned on his flashlight, and stepped cautiously into the room.

All the furniture was submerged in shadow, the air thick with the familiar stench of rot and dampness. In the deathly silent room, the sound of his deliberately light footsteps echoed.

Soon, Wen Jianyan came to a halt.

He stood in the center of the room, slowly sweeping his flashlight beam across the corners, meticulously searching, unwilling to overlook even the slightest trace.

It didn’t take long for him to realize—

Apart from himself, there was no second presence in the room. It was empty, desolate.

He turned his head toward the oil painting on the wall.

At some point, the massive oil painting had been reduced to nothing but an empty frame. The space inside, where the painting should have been, was now pitch black.

In other words—he was too late.

Room 208 was already empty.

Before he had even entered, the guest inside had already left to attend the banquet.

“…”

Wen Jianyan stood still, blinking, momentarily stunned.

Missed it.

Did that mean he had to go to the “banquet” now and search for her there?

But the mere thought of the densely packed, ghastly pale faces he had encountered in the corridor made his scalp prickle.

The mask and the combined effects of the [Painted Skin] might be able to conceal his “human” identity, but in the mirrored world, since ghosts and humans couldn’t physically interact, such disguises were difficult to detect. However, based on his experience in the corridor, it was clear that when he and the ghosts occupied the same space, this disguise wasn’t flawless. A single slip-up could expose him.

Moreover, Wen Jianyan still wasn’t entirely certain about the nature of the “space” he was currently in.

If dying here meant waking up in the mirrored world, he wouldn’t mind taking the risk.

But what if death here meant real death?

Then, as an ordinary human, attending this ghostly banquet would be like a lamb walking into a den of wolves.

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, lifted the mask slightly, and wiped his face in frustration.

He lowered his head and opened his livestream interface to check if the signal had been restored.

The moment the stream loaded, bullet comments flooded his vision:

“Ahhh—anchor, look at me!”

“AHHHHHH HE OPENED THE CHAT!!!”

The livestream signal was back?

Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“Ahhh, what a shame, he didn’t run into the ghost in Room 208… I really thought we’d get confirmation this time.”

“Too bad, just missed her.”

“But it’s fine! Your teammates found some crucial clues too—basically the same info you dug up earlier. They’ve already started acting on it, so don’t worry. Once you regroup, everything will work out!”

In international instance livestreams, there was a special rule: as long as information was shared within the same team, even if one stream’s audience didn’t see another streamer’s discoveries firsthand, the system wouldn’t censor related discussions.

Wen Jianyan lowered his gaze, a slight frown creasing his brow as he skimmed the comments.

The pale blue glow illuminated his profile, tracing a smooth line from his cheek down to his neck.

They found similar clues…

So, Chen Mo and the others had also figured out the banquet’s role and the significance of the woman in white from Room 208?

Suddenly, in the dead silence, a faint sound—like something cracking—echoed.

“Crack.”

“?”

Wen Jianyan jolted, immediately looking toward the source of the noise.

Under the dim beam of his flashlight, a thin fissure had abruptly appeared on the wall, as if something was forcing its way through from within. Dense, spiderweb-like cracks rapidly spread across the surface, the wall seemingly on the verge of splitting apart.

Shit!

Wen Jianyan’s pupils contracted—he instantly understood what was happening.

Judging by the current situation…

The original instance was likely entering its final phase.

“CRACK—!”

The entire hotel trembled as if shaken by an invisible force. The ground beneath his feet swayed violently, dust raining down from the cracks in the walls and ceiling.

The banquet had begun. The prison was opening. The instance was collapsing.

And before the instance fully disintegrated, Nightmare would forcibly intervene, taking control and sealing it off.

The tremors grew stronger.

The walls, ceiling, and floor groaned under the strain, everything crumbling, disintegrating.

Wen Jianyan could barely stay upright, staggering unsteadily as he struggled to keep his balance.

“Thud!”

The oil painting on the wall fell to the ground amid the chaos, revealing the wall behind it. Half of the wall had already collapsed, exposing a dark, gaping hole.

Wen Jianyan froze, staring at the opening.

The hole in the wall was bottomless, like a passage leading into the unknown—a pitch-black void that seemed capable of swallowing anyone who entered.

It looked almost identical to what he had seen inside the Ouroboros.

Wen Jianyan stumbled toward the hole.

But before he could reach it, his foot caught on the fallen frame.

“!”

Startled, he grabbed at the nearby wall to steady himself—but in the next instant, a searing pain erupted from his abdomen.

An invisible force pulled at him from the empty painting beneath his feet.

Countless inky shadows surged from the painting like icy hands, gripping Wen Jianyan’s arms, calves, wrists, and ankles with terrifying strength.

Unable to resist the overwhelming pull, Wen Jianyan’s hand slipped from the wall. A startled cry escaped his throat as he tumbled headlong into the painting.

Darkness swallowed his vision.

He felt himself falling—endlessly, ceaselessly falling.

The cold shadows coiled around his throat like chains, choking him, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled helplessly in the void, clawing at the invisible force binding his body.

“THUD!”

Finally, Wen Jianyan crashed heavily onto solid ground.

“Ugh—!”

He groaned, feeling as though his internal organs had been violently rearranged.

Though dazed from the impact, the suffocating grip around his neck vanished, and his limbs were finally free again.

Damn it…

Second time in this damn instance.

Wen Jianyan lay on the ground, breathing hard.

As time passed, his blurred vision gradually steadied, returning to normal.

Pushing himself up with one hand, he sat up—

And found himself in a completely unexpected place.

A vast, impossibly tall corridor stretched before him, shrouded in darkness. His phone, flashlight still on, lay beside him, casting a feeble glow that barely pierced the gloom. In the dim light, he could just make out rows of frames lining the walls—paintings of all sizes extending endlessly into the distance.

For some reason, the burning sensation in his hip flared even hotter.

The mark seared into his flesh pulsed beneath his skin, as if sending him a message—

The one who branded him was near.

Instinctively, Wen Jianyan pressed a hand to his hip.

Through the thin fabric, he could feel the heat radiating from the small patch of skin.

If his earlier deductions were correct, the Xingwang Hotel—now acting as a prison—was being destroyed, and the “bug” was spreading. That meant a fragment of Wuzhu should appear soon.

But was this fragment just a remnant of the past… or something else?

Countless questions tangled in his mind, leaving him restless.

But in this situation, racking his brain wouldn’t give him any answers. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, then picked up the flashlight and forced himself to stand.

Cautiously, he swept the beam around, confirming one thing—

Yes, this was unmistakably the corridor inside the framing shop.

The walls, the paintings hanging on them—everything matched his memories almost exactly.

Wen Jianyan looked up.

The ceiling was pitch black, with no trace of where he had fallen from.

But he knew—he had been dragged into the painting in Room 208 before ending up here.

He lowered his gaze, frowning slightly.

Outside the Xingwang Hotel was the town, within the town were the streets, and deep in the streets stood the framing shop. The paintings in the framing shop’s corridor were connected to the oil paintings inside the Xingwang Hotel—an intriguing circular design.

Wen Jianyan lowered his head and glanced at the time.

Less than ten minutes remained before the instance ended.

But eerily, time no longer seemed to follow normal rules. The digits, which should have changed every second, now sometimes took three or four seconds to shift—as if he had entered another bizarre space where everything had become unpredictable.

The livestream appeared to have disconnected again.

Given the circumstances, it seemed his only option was to keep moving forward.

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and subconsciously twisted the cold, heavy Ouroboros ring on his finger.

Though he wasn’t sure if Meng Tong was truly offline now, if the situation here became unmanageable, he could at least use the Ouroboros in his possession—along with the fragment of Wuzhu sealed within it—to deal with his own… mess.

Well, at least that’s a last-resort contingency plan.

Steeling himself, Wen Jianyan pressed onward.

Though this corridor—this framing shop—was part of the Xingwang Hotel, for some reason, it didn’t seem affected by the instance’s collapse.

Unlike the chaos outside—the shaking, the cracks, the crumbling walls—this place remained eerily undisturbed, as if frozen in time, untouched by the passage of years.

The silence was suffocating, a deathly stillness that seemed to choke the air from his lungs. The only sound was the hollow echo of his own footsteps.

Step by step, Wen Jianyan moved forward, the shaky beam of his flashlight barely illuminating the path ahead. The further he walked, the hotter the mark on his hip burned, as if guiding him.

Suddenly, he froze.

The flashlight’s beam dipped slightly, landing on the floor.

Blood?

Splatters of dried blood stained the ground, as if a brutal struggle had taken place.

Beyond the half-dried stains, a trail of bloody footprints stretched into the distance—

Instinctively, Wen Jianyan quickened his pace, following the footprints.

His footsteps grew hurried.

Then—he saw something.

He skidded to a halt.

The footsteps ceased abruptly, plunging the corridor back into silence.

Wen Jianyan stood motionless, staring straight ahead into the darkness. Slowly, his flashlight rose—

At the edge of the trembling pale light, a figure lay motionless in the center of the corridor, surrounded by a pool of spreading blood.

Half-finished, a painting rested beside him.

And on that canvas—

A familiar face, weary yet sharp, stared back.

Wen Jianyan’s breath caught.

“Hugo?!”

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