Thank you @SS for the Kofi (1/7)~
Yuying University
Chapter 402: Why you should never be too brave in horror movies
Brother Hu was the first to react. He stepped forward and patted Wen Jianyan on the back:
“Hey, are you okay?”
Wen Jianyan propped himself up against the headboard with one hand and weakly shook his head.
He was already good-looking, and with his disheveled black hair falling over his sweat-drenched forehead, he looked even younger and more pitiful, completely harmless.
Definitely someone who still needed protection. Even if he managed to unlock his full potential in a moment of crisis, his psychological resilience still wasn’t that high.
Brother Hu sighed and gently rubbed his back, helping him steady his breath.
But it was understandable. That scene just now—forget this young man—even he could barely take it.
A-Bao was breathing heavily as he stretched his hand, which had cramped up from moving chairs earlier, and slowly stepped back two paces.
“Bro… so what do we do now?”
His voice was a little shaky.
“Just wait here?”
“No way.” Zhao Ze immediately shook his head.
He glanced nervously toward the door.
Outside, a few pale and swollen faces could faintly be seen. One of them was pressed right up against the window, its pitch-black pupils, devoid of any whites, staring straight at them, completely blocking the already dim hallway light.
“Didn’t you see those doors opening just now?”
Zhao Ze took a deep breath and forced himself to look away, speaking heavily, “From the looks of it, the water is causing the doors to open wherever it reaches…”
Dorm 404 was closer to the front, so it was safe for now.
But eventually, the water from the communal washroom would reach them too. And once their door opened, they were as good as dead.
With that statement, the atmosphere in the dorm turned grim.
Everyone looked deeply worried.
Wen Jianyan still looked pale and weak on the side, swaying like he might collapse any second.
“Bro, you alright?”
Brother Hu asked with concern, “Why don’t you lie on my bed for a bit?”
Wen Jianyan shook his head with difficulty, still pale: “N-no, it’s fine.”
“Sigh…” Brother Hu sighed again.
Yeah, in a situation like this, who could really lie down and rest?
But the next moment, they watched as the young man weakly pointed at his own bed, looking a bit embarrassed: “I… I can only sleep in my own bed.”
Brother Hu: “……”
?
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[?]
[???]
The answer was so unexpected that Brother Hu was momentarily stunned. He just blinked, and Wen Jianyan had already turned and climbed up his ladder bed, curling up onto his own bunk.
Leaving Brother Hu standing there, completely confused.
…Huh?
Meanwhile—
Once Wen Jianyan was back in his bed, that weak and pitiful expression vanished without a trace.
He frowned in disgust at his damp bed, then rolled the sheets and mattress pad up together and shoved them to the foot of the bed.
Then, he pulled his backpack from under his arm to the front, retrieved a sheet of paper that radiated a cold aura, and spread it across the bed board. From the bag, he also pulled out a pen, ready to write.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[……]
[……]
[Bruh I’m dying—so you faked being tired just to get back to your bed and secretly study???]
[Somehow… weirdly relatable.]
Wen Jianyan twirled the pen between his fingers, staring thoughtfully at the sheet in front of him.
Now came the real question—what should he write in the review?
For someone like him, who lied as naturally as breathing, making up a 1,500-word review was child’s play. The issue was… was there a trap here?
After a moment’s thought, Wen Jianyan decided to just give it a shot. Judging from the difficulty of the instance and the recent dangers they faced, it was unlikely there’d be another trap hidden in something so minor.
He tentatively started writing.
The soft scratching of pen on paper echoed through the cramped space.
Wen Jianyan wasn’t drafting anything mentally—once he started, the words just flowed, fluid and confident, without hesitation.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Whoa? He’s really writing?]
[What could he possibly write? I’m dying to know. Move the camera closer!]
Almost like responding to the audience’s demand, the camera zoomed in slightly, focusing on the draft paper.
The handwriting was neat, strong and flowing, with a certain elegance.
But before the audience could admire the penmanship, their attention was stolen by the title of the essay:
“Reflections on Brave Richard: Why You Should Never Be Too Brave in a Horror Film.”
[……]
As the camera panned lower, more of the content was revealed.
In the body of the essay, Wen Jianyan argued his points clearly and logically, citing examples and drawing on different perspectives. Within just a few short minutes, he had already outlined several major paragraphs, eloquently analyzing from multiple angles the necessity of maintaining a cowardly instinct as a supporting character in horror films.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[……]
[………………]
[He really practices what he preaches, huh.]
As the pen glided across the paper, Wen Jianyan felt a burning sensation on the skin of his chest and abdomen, like something sharp was scraping against it.
“Hiss—”
He sucked in a breath, turned slightly, and lifted his shirt.
In the dim light, the young man’s toned, fair waist and abdomen rose and fell with the pain, his muscles tensed, covered in a sheen of cold sweat that shimmered like satin.
Scarlet welts were slowly emerging.
One by one—like claw marks, or as if some kind of written strokes were taking form.
Blood seeped from the wounds and trickled downward along the lines, carrying a kind of broken, haunting beauty.
Wen Jianyan made a rough estimate of his word count, then glanced at the health bar in the upper right corner of his view.
At exactly 300 words, his health bar dropped by 10 points.
As if they could smell the blood, the bloated faces outside the door seemed to grow more restless.
Those pitch-black eyes swirled and shifted, pressing harder against the window, banging on it rhythmically. The door thudded loudly under the impacts, causing the people in the room to flinch and back away, putting more distance between themselves and that frail-looking door.
Using a spyglass item to observe the end of the hallway, one player’s face turned grim.
“H-hey! Is it just me, or is the water flowing faster now?”
What had previously been a slow trickle across the corridor floor had sped up, rushing in from the direction of the communal washroom. Accompanied by a creaking, rasping sound, more dorm room doors began to creak open.
One after another, swollen, water-logged faces emerged, moving steadily toward Dorm 404.
Wen Jianyan could also hear the flustered voices of his dormmates below.
He took a deep breath and let his shirt fall back down.
As expected, his earlier guess was right—this sheet of draft paper was directly tied to his life force. Even writing on it with a pen caused damage to his body.
And the lower his HP got, the more aggressive the attacks outside became.
Wen Jianyan adjusted his posture so it wouldn’t press on the wounds and continued working on his “homework.”
At 500 words, a ding rang in his ears, followed by a familiar system notification:
[Congratulations! You’ve completed this stage of the learning task. Would you like to continue?]
Hm.
So that’s how it works.
Wen Jianyan tapped the bedframe lightly with the tip of his pen, narrowing his eyes slightly.
A 1,500-word film review—if he wanted to complete the assignment, he would have to re-enter the film scenario. During that time, both he and the draft paper were bound by life force and would continue to be attacked.
However, after reaching 500 words, the instance would offer the host an option to exit.
This was the standard difficulty level of an A-rank sub-instance.
If the anchor was strong enough, they could stay longer in the scenario and finish the “assignment” faster, gaining more points. But if their ability was lacking, they could take a conservative approach and complete the essay in three segments.
Once you figured out the rules, the difficulty dropped significantly.
“How far has the water reached?” Wen Jianyan asked.
Below, Brother Hu replied, “Room 421.”
He assumed Wen Jianyan was getting scared and reassured him, “Don’t worry, at this rate, we should still be safe for another fifteen minutes.”
But… what would happen after fifteen minutes, he had no idea.
Wen Jianyan glanced at the blood-soaked patch of his shirt.
Fifteen minutes probably wasn’t realistic, but ten should be more than enough.
Then let’s continue.
[Yes]
Wen Jianyan twirled his pen again and resumed his unfinished “review.”
Soon, he reached 600 words.
His health bar continued to drop—another 10 points gone.
“Ngh…”
Wen Jianyan pressed his lips together, suppressing a tremor in his breath.
The pain in his chest intensified, as if tiny invisible knives were carving into his skin.
But his pen didn’t stop.
900 words.
Only 60 HP left.
From below, panicked voices shouted:
“Shit! There’s more and more of those things in the hallway…”
“How far has the water gotten?!”
“Just four rooms left before it reaches us!”
It wasn’t like they didn’t have stalling talents or items—but they all knew: unless they found a way to exit this scenario, those measures could only delay death, not prevent it.
Wen Jianyan pushed on and hit 1,000 words.
[Congratulations! You’ve completed this stage of the learning task. Would you like to continue?]
He exhaled in relief and set his pen down.
Only one more session here, and he’d be done.
Wen Jianyan moved his arm slightly, but the pulling of his torn skin made him wince.
“Damn, that hurts.”
He tugged at his collar and peeked inside.
“…!”
Wen Jianyan froze.
In a sudden motion, he sat upright and yanked up his shirt.
In the dark, his pale, well-toned chest and abdomen were streaked with a mess of bloody wounds—like wild scribbles from a child, but deeply etched into his flesh as if carved with a knife. The crimson blood flowed along the jagged lines, soaking into his pants and even staining the golden marks faintly visible at his hip bones.
What had earlier looked like random scratches now formed crooked, wobbly letters. Although a few strokes were still missing, it was already possible to make out the rough message they spelled out.
Stop looking any further.
The moment he recognized that line of text, a cold sweat once again broke out across Wen Jianyan’s back.
The sweat stung his wounds, and the sharp pain forced his mind into an acute state of clarity.
He remembered—this was the exact phrase that had appeared earlier on the wall of Dorm Room 504 in the movie.
But for some unknown reason, it was now carved across his own chest.
In his mind, the image of Richard lying dead in the center of the washroom surfaced—his corpse sprawled in a pool of blood, with a pair of eyeballs still connected to their optic nerves bobbing gently beside him.
Beneath that line of text, there was a small string of numbers.
483
And a dash after it, but the rest of the content was unknown.
A number…
A password?
“……”
Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes, a flicker of emotion passing through his expression.
He bent over again and resumed writing at his desk.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Damn, what is he doing?! If he misses this opportunity, he’ll have to wait until he finishes all 1500 words to get out!]
[Teammates, please use voice chat!]
[Aaaaaaa there’s only one door left, we’re screwed we’re so screwed…]
In the corridor, the sound of rushing water echoed. It gushed across the floor and began seeping through the gap under their door.
1200 words.
HP down to 50 points.
Wen Jianyan swiftly finished writing, then stood up with a jolt: “Quick, everyone to the top bunk!”
“?”
The others were stunned.
Why climb to the top bunk?
Brother Hu caught sight of the blood soaking through Wen Jianyan’s shirt and was startled: “Holy crap, what happened to you?”
Didn’t he just go up to rest? How did he end up injured after just a few minutes?
Wen Jianyan didn’t explain. He simply reached into thin air and, like performing a magic trick, summoned a hammer that looked entirely out of place in their current surroundings.
He raised it high and, with a loud BANG, smashed it down on the ceiling.
Dust fell. Cracks spread out.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[?]
[???]
[What the hell is he doing?]
[There’s no way to leave this floor via the stairs—so even if he breaks through the ceiling, there should just be more walls…]
Before that last comment had fully scrolled past the screen, another BANG sounded. Chunks of concrete rained down as Wen Jianyan smashed a massive hole in the ceiling.
[……]
[…Huh?]
This was not what they expected!
The others were stunned as realization dawned on them.
Since this floor was being overtaken by water, the level above should still be safe!
They all scrambled to the top bunk, full of adrenaline, and began smashing upward as well. But strangely, their hammers didn’t even leave a scratch. Instead, they glanced off the surface as if hitting solid metal—no chips, no cracks, not even a dent.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Damn, I get it now! The anchor is technically inside the movie, and his identity is recognized by the instance as one of Richard’s roommates—that’s why he can interact with the objects inside the film!]
[If that’s the case, then I bet earlier he could’ve entered the fifth floor by himself too—but because he’s accompanied by a team of players who haven’t watched the movie, he was dragged down and stuck on the fourth floor.]
[Wait, what room is the anchor in again? 404?]
[Wasn’t Richard in 504?]
[!! That’s right above! Holy crap!]
Hair in the hallway began to creep upward through the bottom of the door, slowly twisting the handle. A bloated, pale face pressed flat against the window on the door, squashed and grotesque, clearly impatient.
Click.
The doorknob turned.
Wen Jianyan glanced downward.
Filthy water, filled with strands of hair, spilled in. Several corpse-like figures—bloated, stiff, composed of worms and hair—crept into the room.
Those eyeless, pitch-black pupils stared fixedly at them.
“Quick! This way!”
Wen Jianyan stashed the hammer and climbed up through the hole he’d just made.
The others followed in a panic.
They scrambled over one another, tugging and hauling their way upward in a frenzied hurry.
Several damp, hair-covered hands reached for Brother Hu, who was last.
“Hurry! Hurry up!”
Brother Hu was drenched in sweat.
“Hold on! Almost there!”
The others reached out, desperate, and with a final heave, they yanked the flushed, soaked Brother Hu up just in time—mere centimeters from the grasping hair.
They collapsed on the floor, breathless, gasping like they had just escaped death.
Through the gaping hole, they could still see the swarm of floating corpses and tangled hair gathering below.
“Move!”
Just then, Wen Jianyan’s voice came from behind.
The others scrambled aside, and the next moment, with a loud CRASH, a nearby cabinet toppled over and landed perfectly over the hole, sealing it off from the rising flood and the monstrous, swollen faces below.
Only now did they finally feel safe.
They lay on the floor, panting hard, overwhelmed with relief.
Wen Jianyan leaned against the bedframe, his trembling hands barely able to hold him up, and stood with effort: “Everyone get up—those things can’t be blocked by physical means. This place isn’t safe…”
Nerves that had just begun to settle immediately tightened again.
True. Those things obviously didn’t obey the laws of physics.
“No matter what, we have to leave this room with the hole.” Wen Jianyan said.
Everyone nodded.
They didn’t care how tired they were anymore—they got up and hurried out the door after Wen Jianyan.
Just like the fourth floor, the hallway on this level was brightly lit.
“Wait a second…” Zhao Ze wiped the sweat off his face and looked around in a daze. “Doesn’t this place look a bit different from the floor we were just on?”
Indeed.
It was different.
The stains and scratches on the walls were far fewer. The entire corridor looked much newer than the place they’d just come from.
If the previous floor was a place invaded by monsters from the movie, then now, they had completely entered one of the actual scenes from Brave Richard.
“It does seem that way,” Wen Jianyan also showed a confused expression. “Could it be that this is what the fifth floor looks like?”
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[You’re acting!!]
[Still acting!!!]
The group exchanged glances, not sure what the answer was.
After all, none of them had ever actually been to the fifth floor of the dorm building.
“Even though we’re not back in a safe zone yet, at least we’ve gained a bit of breathing room. Everyone should split up to search for clues—shout immediately if you find anything,” Wen Jianyan suggested.
That made sense.
It was a solid plan with no reason to object.
“But I think it’s best to stay away from the water room,” Wen Jianyan added, blinking. “We do have experience from downstairs, don’t we?”
With everyone in agreement, the group moved to investigate the side of the corridor farthest from the water room.
Once everyone had disappeared from view, Wen Jianyan’s innocent and clueless expression vanished from his face.
He casually rolled his shoulders, then turned and walked straight back into room 504.
The interior of 504 was identical to his memory.
A messy, dark boys’ dorm room—only now fully restored to its original state before Orange Candy had ransacked it in the film.
Wen Jianyan walked directly to the bed, pulled back the corner of the bedding, and reached inside.
Soon, his fingertips touched something hard.
He withdrew his hand.
In his palm lay a very familiar diary.
It was the same diary Orange Candy had gotten hold of in the movie but was unable to bring out of it.
He gripped the diary in one hand. With the other, he lifted his blood-soaked shirt, clenching the edge between his teeth.
Across his marble-white skin, a jumble of bloodstained characters had formed.
At the bottom were four digits:
【4837】
Wen Jianyan released the cloth from his mouth, letting the shirt fall. With slightly bloodied fingers, he spun the lock mechanism beside the diary and entered the numbers.
A second later, a soft click sounded.
The diary opened.
Yes!
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Holy…]
[Holy sht…]
[HOLY FCK!!!!]
[I can’t believe this actually works??[
[He hasn’t even reached the second movie appreciation class and already got the diary? Is this a speedrun??]
[As someone who studies Yuying Comprehensive University lore: in theory, yes, this move is possible. But pulling it off this early is dangerous…]
Just then, the silence in the room was broken by a sudden sound.
Drip.
Like a drop of water falling to the floor.
Wen Jianyan froze.
Water drips weren’t uncommon in this game, but the issue was…
This one sounded… too close?
Drip. Drip.
Wen Jianyan stiffly turned his neck, slowly looking in the direction of the sound.
In the dark, silent room—somehow—a figure had appeared.
A person, drenched from head to toe.
He stood with his back to Wen Jianyan, facing a corner, body swaying ever so slightly.
Wen Jianyan recognized that tracksuit immediately.
It was the same one Richard wore in the movie.
The moment he realized this, his heart leapt into his throat.
Which meant…
This was Richard?
But he had already died in the water room. So this…
Wen Jianyan’s scalp went numb, goosebumps rising all over his body.
Drip.
Cold water trickled from the wet hem of the figure’s clothes, striking the ground with tiny splashes.
Suddenly, “Richard” stopped swaying.
Still facing away from Wen Jianyan, he stepped backward.
“!!! Holy sh*t!” Wen Jianyan cursed aloud, immediately turning and bolting toward the door!
But at some point, room 504’s door had been firmly locked shut. No matter how hard he yanked and shook it, the flimsy-looking door felt like it had been filled with concrete—utterly immovable.
Drip. Drip.
The dripping grew louder as the figure slowly, stiffly stepped closer.
Tools, tools—
Wen Jianyan hurriedly opened his inventory—and froze.
Familiar words popped up in front of him:
[Items unavailable for use]
Just like what had happened during the core curriculum.
Wen Jianyan’s face turned pale.
Damn it!!
Why did the item bagpack always fail at the most critical moments?!
Then he heard the footsteps stop behind him.
“……”
Pressed tightly against the door, Wen Jianyan slowly turned his head—trembling, looking both scared and pitiful.
That shadowy figure was standing just one step behind him.
Still facing away.
At this distance, he could smell the pungent, rotting moisture clinging to the figure’s clothes, laced with a sickly-sweet metallic tang.
Crrrk—
The sound of bones grinding against one another echoed.
“Richard’s” torso remained still, but his head… began to twist, turning slowly, inch by inch… toward Wen Jianyan.
