WTNL Chapter 366

Xingwang Hotel
Chapter 366: Diorama

[Although the source of the bug has been brought under control, the aftershocks are still spreading.]

The electronic mechanical voice continued to report beside his ear. [Instances are being continuously shut down for disaster control.]
[Anchor, please eliminate the source of the bug as soon as possible to remove any further impact.]

The darkness gradually thinned, like ink dropped into water, dispersing outward. It didn’t disappear—instead, it was more like it had lost its master, and began to flee aimlessly.

The false god had already fallen back into slumber.

He hung in the air in calm suspension, slowly, once again sinking into the mirror.

His jet-black long hair flowed down like water. His head drooped low, eyelids shut, covering those golden, otherworldly eyes.

Pale and muscular arms were bound high by chains, pitch-black runes spread across his skin like waves, exuding a kind of twisted religious aura, like one offering his neck to the blade.

But for some reason, time seemed to halt—this process was inexplicably paused.

In the faint, gradually brightening light, the human young man walked forward step by step. Soon, he stopped in front of Wu Zhu.

Beside his ear, the mechanical electronic voice still kept repeating in a monotone:

[Ding! System bug detected. Anchor, please clear it promptly!]

Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes slightly, quietly studying the man’s face.

——

The brass knife hung heavily in his palm. Cold, hard, and heavy, it felt like some invisible force was dragging Wen Jianyan’s hand forward.

In truth, if within the nightmare-controlled world, changing the past truly held meaning and wouldn’t cause any time-space paradoxes—

Then this might be the perfect opportunity, a flawless solution.

Wen Jianyan’s fingers tightened slightly, subconsciously gripping the hilt of the brass knife.

According to the system’s report just now, the bug’s aftershocks that affected multiple instances occurred after Wu Zhu fell into slumber. In other words, everything could still be changed.

If the bug had never infected multiple instances from the start, then the Nightmare wouldn’t have had to forcibly shut down so many instances. And if that didn’t happen, the system wouldn’t have needed to recruit more anchors. And naturally, he wouldn’t have signed a contract with the nightmare, becoming one of the anchors in the broadcast room. He would still be in the real world, holding a large sum of money, carefree and enjoying life.

Everything that happened after joining Nightmare—the luxury hotel in Round Five, the key instances, the girls in those instances—none of it would have happened.

He could have had decades of peaceful life.

The pressure at his fingertips increased, turning slightly white.

A boundless temptation stirred within him, urging him to strike.

[Ding! System bug detected. Anchor, please clear it promptly!]

The system repeated over and over.

The voice held no inflection or rhythm, but it somehow disturbed the mind and weakened the will, like a subconscious voice calling out to him again and again from the darkness.

The heavy brass knife in his hand continued to pull downward. The lotus imprint on the hilt faintly glowed, as if it possessed a will of its own, guiding Wen Jianyan’s hand, slowly raising it—

The man before him remained asleep.

The marble-like pale, cold chest did not rise or fall. Sharp facial lines were half-submerged in shadow, like a lifeless object that did not belong to this world.

The chains were tightly locked on his arms, even piercing deep into the curves of his shoulder blades and collarbones, as though they had grown inside his muscles and bones, like trees sprouting from within.

The brass knife’s blade gleamed under the gradually brightening sky. It looked dull, but hid some unknown power.

Soon, it was raised high above—

Then, after a short pause, it came crashing down.

“Crack!”

The blade embedded deeply into the mirror. Web-like cracks spread out, and glass shards scattered.

Drip.

Drip.

Wu Zhu’s head remained bowed. A narrow gash appeared on the side of his face, with golden blood faintly shimmering within.

——

Wen Jianyan gripped the hilt with his right hand. His other hand clutched the blade itself, forcibly diverting the direction of the slash. Crimson blood spilled from between his fingers, dripping onto the ground. He stared blankly at his fractured reflection in the mirror.

Cool light-brown eyes quietly stared back at him from the blade’s point of impact.

——

The countdown that had never stopped from the beginning continued beside his ear:

[Your location anomaly will automatically be repaired in one minute.]

[10, 9, 8…]

Wen Jianyan exerted some force and pulled the blade out from the mirror, then glanced down at his palm.

The wound carved by the brass knife was so deep the bone was visible. Flesh torn apart, steaming hot red blood gushed from it—

Obviously, although it was a tool made for use against supernatural entities, it could still cause damage no ordinary weapon could inflict on a human body.

The blood seemed to be dragged from within by some invisible force, dripping to the floor.

Both the half-damaged mirror and the faintly cracked, still shadow-covered ground were stained with glaring red.

Wen Jianyan looked up at the slumbering false god in front of him and, with a bloodied finger, touched his face, leaving behind two blood streaks.

His lips moved, voice low and flat:

“I didn’t do it for you.”

[3, 2, 1.]

The moment his voice fell—

The young man standing at the boundary between darkness and light vanished.

The sleeping god slowly sank into the mirror once more.

The blood was absorbed by the corner-chipped mirror. The cracks that had spread began to blur and smooth—but they would never fully disappear.

Inside the mirror, Wu Zhu kept his eyes closed.

A few drops of blood landed on his pale face, sliding slowly downward along the arc of his jawline. The stark contrast between pale and crimson was striking, making it a shocking sight. The blood slid to his tightly closed lips and little by little seeped inside.

The darkness dispersed, and the gallery returned to deathly stillness.

Only in the very depths of the corridor did a tall mirror silently appear.

“!”

After a brief dizziness and suffocation, Wen Jianyan’s figure swayed. He braced one hand against the wall, finally managing to steady himself.

Before he opened his eyes, a damp, slightly rotten smell had already rushed into his nose. From afar came the pattering sound of rain.

Wen Jianyan’s eyelids moved slightly, and he opened his eyes.

The scene before him was very familiar.

On both sides were well walls covered in moss, bumpy and uneven. Above his head was a gloomy patch of sky. Ice-cold muddy water soaked up to his knees, chilling him to the bone.

[Ding! Your location has been repaired!]

The system’s voice came from his ear.

[Internal check in progress—check complete.] The voice continued without pause. The stiff electronic tone echoed in his ears. [Ding, detected that the bug fix in this instance has failed, first warning issued!]

[After three warnings, you will lose qualification to repair bugs, and will be punished—anchor account terminated, live stream cut off—]

“Ha.” Wen Jianyan let out a cold laugh. “Since we can talk now, why not have a little chat?”

He stood at the bottom of the well, head slightly raised, his jawline drawing a sharp arc, as though staring at a certain point in the void. Wen Jianyan made no effort to avoid the fact that the live stream had resumed, and said coldly:

“You can’t seriously think I’d work for you under these circumstances, right?”

[Zzzz———]

The signal of the “Integrity First”livestream had just been restored for less than half a minute. The audience hadn’t even had time to cheer before it was immediately cut off again. Staring at the blank screen in front of them, all the viewers were dumbfounded.

[?]

[What’s going on?]

Down in the well.

Wen Jianyan waited patiently.

Only two crackling electric sounds were heard before the system’s voice rang out again in his ears:

[Hello, anchor. According to the prior agreement made with you, you are responsible for assisting us in clearing instance bugs. In return, we granted you privileges beyond those of other anchors. However, your performance greatly disappointed us. Not only did you fail to clear the most conspicuous residual bug in this instance, you even refused to cooperate, wasting the golden opportunity we created for you—]

“Golden opportunity?” Wen Jianyan laughed again. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“First of all, before entering that so-called ‘abnormal location,’” Wen Jianyan mockingly gestured air quotes, “I had no idea of its nature. I couldn’t even buy or use tools. That looks more like your negligence than any kind of golden opportunity you deliberately prepared.” 

“Even after I figured things out, I never received any explanation.” Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes.

The electronic voice timely followed up:

[Please understand that in this instance, due to special circumstances, we were unable to intervene too much or provide excessive hints. However, at critical moments, we still gave you operational guidance—]

“Operational guidance?”

Wen Jianyan seemed genuinely shocked.

He paused, then sneered: “Wait, you’re not talking about those few seconds at the very last moment, are you?”

The young man tilted his head upward. The gloomy sky reflected in his eyes like an impenetrable curtain of rain.

He had thrown away all gentleness, hypocrisy, will to survive, honeyed words and slick talk. He appeared cold and distant, rarely showing his ironclad toughness. “Although I voluntarily became your pawn, the premise of everything is that I must stay alive. For a deal made to preserve my life, there’s no way I’d die just to fulfill it.”

That “abnormal location”—what kind of existence was it, really? Would any actions carried out inside affect the future? Would they create a time paradox? Would they cause a butterfly effect? Would he end up dying as a result?

One question after another.

Each sharper than the last.

Wen Jianyan stared into the void, expressionless, and asked:

“Even if I did successfully clear the bug and corrected the timeline, how can you guarantee that no unexpected anchor casualties would occur afterward, or that I wouldn’t be pulled back in again without warning sometime in the future?”

“All the initiative is in your hands, and all I can do is hope you’re credible enough not to let me die in this chaotic mess, or suddenly go back on your word and make me sign another contract in the future?”

Even if Nightmare didn’t lie and everything really would return to normal once the bugs were completely eliminated—it would still only treat the symptoms, not the root. Although Wen Jianyan left, Nightmare remained.

It would forever lurk in the cracks between reality and shadow, operating silently. No one knew where it came from, where it went, what its purpose was, or what it would do next.

Wen Jianyan was never someone who would place his fate in the hands of some behemoth’s occasional mercy.

And at the final moment, that nearly forceful “manipulation” touched upon the very thing Wen Jianyan hated most. He looked at the void again and gave a warm smile.

“Based on your previous behavior, your credibility is even lower than mine.”

Silence fell.

“If I can’t guarantee my own life,” Wen Jianyan shrugged, a nonchalant look on his face, “then I’d rather you shut down my livestream right now.” Of course, he was afraid of death.

But in this game, Nightmare’s loss was obviously greater than his.

He only had one life left, while Nightmare feared the bug that slumbered within its system, a bug that could awaken at any moment and seize control.

And Wu Zhu, for the sake of saving Wen Jianyan’s life, negotiated with the system, and even took the initiative to choose a contract—an unexpected course of action—which clearly greatly increased his importance in the system’s evaluation. Nightmare had already formed a pattern, and if it wanted to eliminate the bug, it had to rely on Wen Jianyan.

That’s why he could now be so fearless and unrestrained.

Those barefoot are not afraid of those wearing shoes; the ruthless fear those who don’t care about their lives.

As long as one was willing to risk everything, one could seize the upper hand.

This was the truth of negotiation.

---

Dead silence in his ears.

Wen Jianyan looked straight at the void and said coldly, “If you really need my help to eliminate bugs in the future, then we must establish a proper cooperative relationship—not like before, where the imbalance of information caused the operation to fail.” He shrugged and showed a regretful expression:

“Tsk, tsk. What a great opportunity.”

The adjective that Nightmare used just now was borrowed by him, full of mockery.

After a long time, Nightmare’s voice finally rang out again. It asked in its usual, flat, emotionless tone:

[What information do you need?]

Almost there.

“First of all, I need to know what exactly was that ‘abnormal location’ I just entered. Was it a memory? Or did we really return to the ‘past’?”

Silence fell again.

Wen Jianyan waited patiently.

Finally, the mechanical voice rang out again:

[Yes, and also no.]

Wen Jianyan was stunned.

What kind of answer was that?

[The original Xingwang Hotel instance was never closed.]

Wait a minute—never closed?!

Wen Jianyan’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

[We only forcibly stopped observation of the instance.] The mechanical voice continued nonstop. [So, both completed and uncompleted states exist simultaneously within the sealed Diorama.]

This…

Schrödinger’s cat?

Wen Jianyan was frozen in place.

Put a radioactive substance and a poison capsule in a sealed lead box. The radioactive material might decay, and if it did, it would trigger the poison capsule—but it might also not, so the cat would both be dead and alive at the same time. Until someone opens the box to observe it, the cat remains in a superimposed state of life and death.

Wait—if viewed from this perspective…

Weren’t all the viewers watching the livestream equivalent to observers?!

If this logic were pushed further, then the reason Nightmare used the form of a livestream room wasn’t a matter of choice—it was a necessary form?

Just as Wen Jianyan’s mind was about to collapse under the weight of this overwhelming information, the system’s voice rang out again:

[To ensure smooth progression afterward, after forcibly stopping observation, we chose the most feasible and least difficult path to continue based on calculations. But we always preserved the original diorama.]

Wen Jianyan quickly came back to his senses and revealed an enlightened expression:

“So, you created a mirrored copy of the instance to lead me into the original diorama, and then restarted the livestream to observe the Xingwang Hotel instance again?”

“Yes.”

The voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

“Then, what about the staff break room we entered before?” Wen Jianyan frowned and asked, “Isn’t that also part of the original instance? Why didn’t our entry there restart the operation of the diorama?”

[Yes, and also no.]

It gave the same answer.

“In theory, it is indeed located within the diorama. However, it is merely a manufactured safe zone, not in a critical position, and is shrouded in unobservable darkness, unable to influence the internal operation of the diorama”

Wen Jianyan was stunned.

No wonder the Xingwang Hotel he later entered through the well was perfectly normal, while the staff break room was sealed in darkness, only lit by the manager’s lantern. It was probably some method Nightmare used to block observation in order to maintain the stability of critical regions in the diorama

[Unfortunately, although observation was restored, due to your lack of cooperation during the process, we ultimately failed to cause any substantial changes and lost the opportunity to preserve this important node.]

Once Wen Jianyan stepped slightly deeper into the real [Xingwang Hotel], observation resumed, the box was opened, and the cat was no longer in a state of both dead and alive. The instance could no longer return to the black box state. The branching reality was pruned, and the divergent paths were…

Cut off.

Wen Jianyan forcefully suppressed the stormy waves in his heart, pulled the corners of his lips, and said dryly:

“I see.”

“In addition, regarding your life, to prove our sincerity—”

As the system’s voice sounded, a giant parchment appeared out of thin air and slowly drifted down in front of Wen Jianyan. At the top, written neatly, were the words:

[Soul Contract]

Below were rows upon rows of tiny text, densely packed, detailing the so-called “contract terms.” Wen Jianyan glanced over them roughly.

Every term was extremely unequal. It could practically be called a modern-day slave contract.

His gaze fell to the very bottom of the Soul Contract.

In the signature area, there were three crooked characters: Wen Jianyan.

And above it, a neat brownish-red seal mark, like solidified blood.

Wen Jianyan froze for a moment, but stormy waves suddenly surged in his heart.

That was his own handwriting.

At the bottom of the densely packed text, a line slowly emerged:

[Addendum 1011: Party B shall assist Party A in completely eliminating all bugs. Once this is accomplished, this contract shall be immediately terminated and cannot be generated again.]

“Are you satisfied?”

Wen Jianyan forcibly averted his gaze from the contract and stiffly nodded.

A pen appeared out of thin air.

Wen Jianyan grabbed the pen and, in one smooth motion, signed his name beneath the addendum.

Both the pen and parchment vanished.

“Due to the damage your actions have caused to the Nightmare Livestream Room, the warnings issued in your stream remain effective,” the system repeated. “After three warnings, the agreement will be voided. We hope you can seize the opportunity and actively cooperate in bug removal.”

“I definitely will.”

Wen Jianyan had already recovered his earlier ease and composure, smiling up at the empty air.

The voice disappeared.

The sound of drizzling rain reached his ears again, and the bottom of the well became particularly sealed and deathly silent.

Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and wiped his face hard with his hand. 

This time, the amount of information was really a bit too much. Even now, he hadn’t fully recovered. 

But now was not the time for him to sit down and sort through the clues bit by bit. Although he had just entered the former diorama, the [Xingwang Hotel] instance was still ongoing, not yet over. In other words, he was still in the midst of an active instance and far from being able to relax.

Wen Jianyan opened his phone and glanced at the faintly glowing screen.

23:12

His breath caught, and his heart nearly stopped.

Clearly, during the time he was away, the mirror instance had continued to run. The second day was about to end, and it would soon enter the most critical third day—

The final banquet.

Images of the horrifying scene he’d seen earlier in the original instance’s corridor flashed through his mind, and Wen Jianyan felt a chill on his back, shivering instinctively.

Wait a minute, what about the others—?!

Wen Jianyan hurriedly opened the list and let out a long sigh of relief.

Thankfully, everyone was still alive.

In fact, this was also one of the reasons that had stopped him from stabbing that knife just now.

If he had really completely wiped out the bug and was then incredibly lucky to be spared by Nightmare, managing to return to the real world and enjoying a luxurious and free life—then what about the others? Su Cheng, Blond, Yun Bilan, Ji Guan, Chen Mo, Orange Candy, Bai Xue…

Wen Jianyan didn’t consider himself a particularly selfless or noble person. He didn’t mind sacrificing others’ happiness for his own benefit.

But he wasn’t a cold-blooded bastard either. In his life full of indulgence, jokes, and lies, there was still a faint trace of moral bottom line.

At the very least, no matter what, he couldn’t bring himself to let those who had handed their future, hope, admiration, trust, and even their lives—whether intentionally or unintentionally, actively or passively—into his hands, just die.

Wen Jianyan asked himself honestly: he couldn’t do it.

So, he’d rather give up that illusory, seemingly “correct everything” chance and return to this swamp.

Besides rational consideration, there was also a bit of personal feeling.

—

For some reason, a pale face suddenly flashed through his mind without warning.

Black, flowing long hair, a lifeless, statue-like face, and chains that grew within the body like tree roots.

Wen Jianyan frowned deeply as if burned.

Of course, not because of him.

It had nothing to do with him at all.

At most—at most—it was just to repay a favor.

After all, he really hadn’t expected that guy would actually choose to compromise with Nightmare and fall back into slumber just to save his life.

Wen Jianyan always believed in not owing anyone, so naturally, he wouldn’t do something like turning around and stabbing his own savior.

That’s all.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to shift his thoughts away from that guy, refocusing on the phone screen.

Beside it, the black and red bar graphs representing revenue were neck and neck, but clearly, the black side’s revenue surpassed theirs by a bit. The competition had entered its most intense phase, and with only one last banquet remaining, the final outcome would soon be decided.

Wen Jianyan frowned deeply.

While bandaging the still-bleeding wound on his palm with his teeth and one hand, he rapidly calculated in his mind.

But now there was less than an hour left until the banquet started. It was impossible for him to cross the whole town, get into the store, and find—

He froze.

Wait a second.

Wen Jianyan reached into his pocket with his uninjured hand.

A cold, porcelain-textured mask fell into his palm, glinting an excessively pale light in the dim well.

Ha.

Still here, just as he thought.

Wen Jianyan’s lips curved up slightly.

This was the mask he had bought with ghost money in the real original instance. So, although he had left the street, the mask hadn’t disappeared. This one was genuine.

He lightly placed the mask over his face, and his light-colored eyes glinted behind the eye holes.

It was, of course, also the admission ticket for the upcoming banquet.

It was time to leave here and rejoin the game. Wen Jianyan looked up toward the narrow slice of sky above the well.

But just as he looked up, a decayed, horrifying face flashed unexpectedly at the edge of his vision.

“?!”

Wen Jianyan’s breath hitched, his limbs went cold, and he staggered back two steps, his spine slamming hard into the well wall.

All the calm, cunning, decisiveness he had when confronting Nightmare, and the joy of finding the mask, vanished in an instant, leaving only panic and confusion.

Ahhhh what the hell is that?!

At the bottom of the well, a rotting corpse dressed in indistinguishable cloth strips leaned against the wall. The flesh had long since decayed, and only two dark, hollow sockets remained in the skull.

—

Wen Jianyan swallowed with difficulty, pressing tightly against the cold, damp stone wall, nervously and fearfully staring at the terrifying corpse not far away.

D-Dead, right?

Definitely dead, right?

In this kind of situation, it must just be a normal corpse—

“Click click.” “Click click.”

A strange sound of bones grinding echoed in the narrow, dark well, chilling to the bone and making the scalp tingle. The corpse’s head slowly turned, its spine emitting a harsh scraping noise.

Slow. Rigid.

On that decayed skull, the two pitch-black eye sockets were like bottomless caves, silently staring in this direction.

Wen Jianyan’s face turned deathly pale.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH DON’T COME OVER HERE!!

Support me on Ko-fi

Join my Discord