(5/10)
Anchor Hall
Chapter 390: I’ll win next time.
“……”
Wen Jianyan was trapped in the space formed by the other’s arms and the sofa—narrow, chaotic, and suffocatingly enclosed, making it hard to breathe.
The moment he understood what the other had just said, his mind went blank for two whole seconds.
Wu Zhu leaned over, those clear, untainted golden eyes gazing at him as if he had no idea what he had just said.
“You agreed?”
He leaned in a bit closer.
“Agree my ass!”
Wen Jianyan snapped out of it like waking from a dream. Gritting his teeth, he shouted in anger.
“……………Get lost.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the sound of chains clinking rang out once again. They yanked at Wu Zhu’s arms, forcibly pulling him away. Long metal chains like silver serpents embedded themselves deep into his collarbones, lifting him several feet off the ground.
Wen Jianyan propped himself up from the sofa with one hand. His face was so red it looked like he had a fever, capillaries beneath his thin skin flushed and throbbing, his chest rising and falling sharply. He glared fiercely at Wu Zhu a short distance away, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
The brand on his hipbone was burning intensely, crackling with electric currents like it was trying to incinerate bone and blood.
The air was utterly still.
Wu Zhu, suspended in midair, looked down at him.
He tilted his head slightly, long black hair falling along his pale, solid chest, his expression even carrying a trace of genuine confusion:
“Why wouldn’t you agree?”
His posture resembled that of a divine child being punished—pure and sacred—but the words from his mouth were absurdly jarring:
“Last time, you clearly enjoyed it.”
“……”
Wen Jianyan’s heart stopped, and his mind went blank again.
Wu Zhu genuinely seemed confused, unable to understand why Wen Jianyan would refuse his proposal. Though the other had deceived him before, Wu Zhu didn’t think his judgment was wrong this time.
Even if Wen Jianyan curled up to avoid his touch, trembled in apparent pain, gasped and clenched his teeth—Wu Zhu was not human. He could taste the pleasure seeping from every pore, smell supreme ecstasy from tears, and savor the fear of bliss from the man’s sweat.
Still, Wu Zhu had always been tolerant with Wen Jianyan.
He was willing to accept his own mistakes.
After all, he truly had no experience with this and might have gotten something wrong.
“You can teach me again,” Wu Zhu said seriously. “This time, I will—”
Wen Jianyan raised a hand to cover his face, finally losing it:
“…Shut up.”
Whether out of guilt or not, those two words didn’t take effect as a command this time.
“What didn’t you like?” Wu Zhu remained fixated on it.
“The pressure? The temperature? Or—”
Before he could finish, Wen Jianyan vanished.
Everything came to an abrupt halt.
In the room, Wen Jianyan’s eyes snapped open. He shot up from bed, finally waking from that absurdly depraved “dream.”
That’s right—he ran.
To stop the other from continuing, he had decisively chosen to escape.
“……”
Wen Jianyan buried his face in his arms and took a deep breath—
AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Although Wen Jianyan didn’t think his moral bottom line was particularly high, the content of Wu Zhu’s words had still far exceeded what he could accept.
Did that guy even know what the hell he was saying?!
Wen Jianyan was falling apart.
And what’s worse…
Wen Jianyan buried his head even deeper, breathing heavily, rubbing his face furiously. For once, he actually felt ashamed of his own extreme hedonism.
When Wu Zhu had made that “suggestion,” for just one brief instant—even though he didn’t want to admit it—there was a moment when Wen Jianyan had the urge to nod.
In fact… he wasn’t even sure why he had left the Ouroboros dreamscape so quickly. Was it really because he didn’t want to hear any more of Wu Zhu’s nonsense—or was he afraid he might actually say yes?
After all, what did it matter?
The other was still a prisoner locked in his ring, a fallen god, while he held the dominant position. That hidden, dark desire was starting to take root, whispering in his ears, tempting him: No matter what you do here, there will be no consequences.
Why not indulge a little?
The Wen Jianyan before the last instance wouldn’t have refused. After all, what was wrong with enjoying pleasure? And from a certain point of view, they were highly compatible. He held the unbreakable chain—he could enjoy all the benefits without taking any real damage.
But…
After everything he’d been through, when Wen Jianyan met Wu Zhu again, his instincts told him to avoid getting further entangled with the man.
It was as if giving in to Wu Zhu’s will, allowing himself to sink into instinct, would invite some kind of invasion—disrupting the chaos, freedom, and peace he had always relied on.
“…Fu-ck.”
Wen Jianyan raised a hand and rubbed his hair in frustration.
Through the thin sleepwear, the mark on his hip radiated heat, a slow-burning intensity that spread outward, bringing a terrifying sense of losing control.
It had to be the mark.
Maybe it had other functions besides anchoring, or perhaps Wu Zhu had tampered with it… Yes, that must be it.
The moment Wen Jianyan disappeared, the restriction chains he had ordered into existence began to fade, until only those wrapped around Wu Zhu’s wrists remained.
Wu Zhu was lowered back down.
He looked around and confirmed it.
In the dim, gray room, he was the only one left.
He had already left.
The traces of the human presence were slowly fading, and the warmth lingering in the air was gradually dissipating, replaced by a chilling cold.
This place—soaked in darkness and void—was clearly what Wu Zhu was most accustomed to, yet at this moment, it seemed dull and meaningless.
The vivid expressions on his face, the ones that existed only when Wen Jianyan was present, slowly faded away. What remained was the initial calm indifference—neither joy nor anger.
He raised a hand and touched his own chest.
On the pale skin marked with black incantation symbols, a new, still-unhealed gash had split open from a deep, hideous scar. Within it, glimmers of golden blood faintly shone through, the sight disturbingly gruesome.
Wen Jianyan’s initial suspicion hadn’t been wrong—Wu Zhu was indeed “recovering”.
As more fragments returned to his body, his power was gradually being restored. On the silver chains binding his wrists, hairline cracks had unknowingly begun to appear. Given enough time, they would no longer be able to restrain him.
Wu Zhu began walking through the room, searching for any traces Wen Jianyan might’ve left behind.
The disheveled carpet, the crumpled blankets and sheets, and the bag of chips torn open but not finished.
Wu Zhu paused, bent down, hesitated, then picked it up and placed a chip into his mouth.
He seemed to recall someone once holding his chin and saying, “Chew.”
Crunch. Crunch.
Soft, cautious chewing sounds echoed.
Wu Zhu frowned.
So strange…
Why did humans like eating this?
Although he didn’t enjoy it, for some inexplicable reason, he finished the remaining chips anyway.
Letting go of the empty bag, the surrounding darkness surged in, devouring it, compressing it into a thin, flat sheet, which he then carefully and meticulously stored away.
He stepped away from the bed and continued “patrolling” his territory.
Soon, he arrived at the place where Wen Jianyan had spent the most time.
The Ouroboros’ space was very dreamlike in nature.
So without the master’s permission, prisoners couldn’t change anything in the environment—because dreams cannot affect reality. They could only passively accept whatever the controller dictated.
But Wen Jianyan, as the holder of the Ouroboros, wasn’t bound by those restrictions. That’s why he was able to bring real-world objects into this space.
However, in his hasty departure, he hadn’t realized that the physical objects he left behind could still be touched by Wu Zhu.
Books were scattered across the carpet—some novels, some magazines—all things Wen Jianyan had used to pass the time.
They lay haphazardly across the floor—some facedown, some half open—and the smooth pages were densely printed with tiny characters.
Aside from actual-world newspapers, most reading materials in the Nightmare Live Room had little censorship. They even awarded points and published their own periodicals. Contributors weren’t only streamers from within the room, but since there were no legal restrictions here, the content was often unfiltered and boundless.
Wu Zhu bent down, casually picked one up, and flipped it open.
It was about fashion advice.
Humans enjoyed this sort of thing?
Wen Jianyan’s image flashed through his mind. Wu Zhu glanced down at the dark robes he had never changed out of. Maybe… he could try something new.
He flipped to another page.
Entangled bodies. Wild, primal gazes.
…………
Wu Zhu lowered his eyes and read the passage slowly, word by word.
At first, he froze.
Then, a thoughtful expression slowly formed on his face.
So that was it. There was a reason the other party had refused. He truly needed to study and improve.
—
During this period, the internal operations of the guild remained in full swing. Members worked around the clock, processing the flood of new applications. The guild’s points continued to climb steadily. Eventually, the [Law-Abiding Good Citizen] guild stabilized at third place on the leaderboard.
The veteran guild Eternal Day was pushed down to fourth, even nearing the score of Dark Fire.
And Wen Jianyan—the hot topic that no one could ignore—had become even more sought after. Many speculated that the threatened guilds wouldn’t just sit back and do nothing. But surprisingly, things were much calmer than expected.
Eternal Day’s stance was ambiguous, which wasn’t unexpected. Of the top three guilds, they had always been the most low-profile, rarely initiating conflict, maintaining a peaceful and non-confrontational image.
What was more puzzling was Dark Fire’s silence.
In the past, they had always been the most aggressive and xenophobic among the top three. But oddly, this time, they didn’t seem to react much.
However, among more experienced streamers, there were quiet rumors: Dark Fire was having some internal issues.
After a round of invisible power struggles and political maneuvering, a relatively overlooked new vice president—Qi Qian—had unexpectedly emerged as the victor. He not only removed several old senior VPs but also gathered a powerful faction under his wing.
According to insiders, this vice president seemed quite indulgent toward the rise of the new guild. Moreover, one of his heavy-hitting deputies, An Xin, visited their headquarters whenever she got the chance.
And in the center of all this buzz, Wen Jianyan… was surprisingly at ease.
Since they were about to enter the next instance soon, he had no mental pressure at all about becoming a hands-off manager.
However, he didn’t get to relax for long before Orange Candy contacted him again.
“I remember you had plans with Bai Xue.”
Wen Jianyan thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah.”
Orange Candy’s response came quickly, just as brief: “Count me in.”
“Then I have to ask Bai Xue first,” Wen Jianyan said.
Orange Candy: “Ok.”
She added a bouncing kitten emoji at the end.
Wen Jianyan relayed Orange Candy’s request to Bai Xue, and not long after, the other replied with a single character: “Okay.”
The meeting time was quickly decided. The place was chosen by Orange Candy.
Wen Jianyan glanced at the average point cost per person at the restaurant, she sent him and almost felt his heart bleeding, but since he had already made a promise, he gritted his teeth and agreed.
Soon, it was time for the meetup.
Wen Jianyan arrived early, only to find Orange Candy was already there.
She sat on a high chair, lazily stirring her brightly colored juice, her legs swinging back and forth aimlessly.
Wen Jianyan sat down beside her.
Orange Candy lazily glanced at him and took a sip of her juice.
“Why did you suddenly want to contact Bai Xue?” Wen Jianyan raised his hand and made a suave gesture to the bartender, signaling that he wanted a glass of plain water.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Orange Candy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Because of the next instance, duh.”
“You know how Nightmare’s damn anti-spoiler system works. We can’t know anything about the instance type or task content until we’re inside.”
Even though Orange Candy had received the task, along with its difficulty level and the instance’s level, some key information was still redacted. It would only become clear once they entered the instance. As for now, all she knew was that her task was to obtain a certain item.
Wen Jianyan immediately understood Orange Candy’s intention. “You want Bai Xue to point you in the right direction.”
Just like that time before they entered the Prosperity Hotel.
Almost all prophecy-type streamers could only activate their abilities after entering a national-level instance. But Bai Xue was different. His ability was, in a sense, a passive curse—he didn’t need to enter the instance. As long as he saw the specific person, he could give advice.
“Bingo!”
Orange Candy nodded enthusiastically while chewing on her straw.
Unfortunately, even though they were both members of the Secret Guild, the ten members weren’t exactly close. Bai Xue was especially unique among them—he barely talked to anyone, completely sealed off in his own world. Even in the Secret Council, where members often disliked each other, he was a solitary island, ghosting in and out. Outside of meetings, almost no one could get in touch with him.
This time, since they finally had someone Bai Xue seemed slightly interested in, Orange Candy wasn’t going to miss the chance.
Just as the two were chatting, Bai Xue arrived.
He still had that emotionless, socially-withdrawn look. His skin and hair were so pale they were almost translucent, and his pitch-black eyes looked in their direction.
Orange Candy jumped off the stool and waved cheerfully. “Over here!”
“But I should tell you in advance, our relationship isn’t that close,” Wen Jianyan said in a low voice to Orange Candy as he watched Bai Xue walk over. “The chances of him refusing you are still high. He’s unlikely to change his mind because of me.”
Wen Jianyan was just being honest.
He and Bai Xue had only teamed up temporarily during the last instance. He also knew that using Bai Xue’s ability might come at a cost. Strictly speaking, it was unlikely that Bai Xue would help someone who had only teamed up with him once.
So to prevent Orange Candy from having any unrealistic expectations, he decided it was best to give her a heads-up.
“Sure.”
After hearing Orange Candy’s request, Bai Xue nodded.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
Huh?
He agreed just like that?
So that warning he gave earlier was completely unnecessary?!
“Wow, yay!” Orange Candy cheered.
“But I have one condition,” Bai Xue said.
Orange Candy beamed. “No problem, name it!”
Bai Xue tilted his head slightly, his deep, bottomless black eyes falling on Wen Jianyan. In that instant, a strong sense of foreboding surged from the pit of Wen Jianyan’s stomach, making him shiver involuntarily. As if to confirm his fears, the pale-skinned, white-haired youth before him said expressionlessly:
“Play another round with me.”
Cough, cough cough!
Wen Jianyan nearly choked on his glass of water.
Orange Candy stared at him with bright eyes, as if she wanted to hold his head down and force him to nod.
There was no backing out now.
Wen Jianyan grimaced and put down his cup under the expectant gazes of the two before him. “…Fine.”
It was just one game. Whatever. He decided he’d throw the match.
Not only did he want to avoid being hunted down for cheating, but he also wanted to avoid being endlessly entangled with Bai Xue if Bai Xue lost again.
Unfortunately, Bai Xue seemed to see right through his plan.
“If you win, I’ll use my ability to help you both with your prediction,” Bai Xue said. “If you lose, not only do you play another round with me, but you also have to use your ability for me unconditionally once.”
Wen Jianyan: “…”
…Dude, do you maybe have a bit of a gambling problem?
Under the eager stares of the other two, Wen Jianyan nodded stiffly. “Fine. But before that, I need to use the bathroom.”
Twenty minutes later.
Bai Xue was staring intently at the cards scattered across the table, still expressionless.
After a long while, he looked up at Wen Jianyan.
Those pitch-black, emotionless eyes flickered with strange brilliance—a paranoid glint that sent chills down one’s spine. “I see.”
He tore off a slip of paper from the notepad on the table, scribbled something down quickly, and handed it over. Orange Candy took it and whistled excitedly.
“Thanks!”
Just then, the waiter approached. “Excuse me—”
Wen Jianyan quickly stood up. “I’ll take the check.”
“No,” Bai Xue said. “A bet’s a bet.”
Without even blinking, he paid the bill.
Wen Jianyan hurried to stop him, but it was too late. “Wait, but I was supposed to treat this time—”
Bai Xue continued to stare at Wen Jianyan, his calm voice tinged with a stubborn edge: “Next time, I’ll win.”
Wen Jianyan: “…”
He glanced at the bill—and nearly passed out. Holy crap, that’s a lot.
This was no place to linger.
He forced out a laugh. “W-Well then, see you next time.”
After a few quick goodbyes, Wen Jianyan slipped away like a greased weasel.
Bai Xue didn’t stop him. He remained seated, staring thoughtfully at the cards on the table, as if trying to decipher some hidden pattern or strategy.
Orange Candy quickly caught up.
She widened her eyes and tilted her head, eyeing Wen Jianyan in surprise. “Wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone actually beat Bai Xue at something like this. How’d you do it?”
After all, with his ability, Bai Xue was practically unbeatable at these kinds of games. Honestly, Orange Candy had thought she’d be leaving empty-handed. But to her shock, Wen Jianyan somehow pulled off a win with a dazzling series of moves. It all happened so fast, she didn’t even process it in time.
Wen Jianyan glanced at her. “You got what you wanted?”
Orange Candy: “Yup.”
She waved the slip of paper Bai Xue had just written for her and remained full of curiosity. “So? How’d you do it? Tell me!”
At that moment, Wen Jianyan could feel Bai Xue’s gaze from behind—cold, piercing, like needles on his back. He gave a dry laugh. “Secret.”
Bai Xue’s ability was undoubtedly powerful.
But…
When it came to certain things, compared to a street-smart, worldly trickster, he was just too naive.
“Alright, stop asking. Let’s get out of here.” Wen Jianyan quickened his pace.
He was feeling extremely guilty.
Not only did his conscience prick at him a little, but more importantly—after winning two rounds in a row and scamming the guy out of a ridiculously expensive dinner—he had a sinking feeling…
Peace and quiet were probably not in his near future.
