(7/7)
Yuying University
Chapter 408: Student Council
Wei Cheng was a little surprised as he looked at Wen Jianyan.
Good lord, is there actually such a use for low SAN value?
At the same time, the anomaly within the gymnasium had intensified to a degree that could no longer be ignored. The frigid air funneled fiercely into their open collars.
Whether due to the passage of time or the expanding influence of the black water, footprints on the ground were rapidly increasing, appearing one after another on the dust-covered badminton court floor. Handprints identical to those previously seen on the ping-pong table were now emerging on the walls and the ceiling as well.
However, these prints still remained confined within the fragile boundaries of the badminton court, overlapping wildly with each other.
“Alright, fine,” Wei Cheng gritted his teeth, agreeing to Wen Jianyan’s suggestion.
After all, for them at this moment, there seemed to be no better option.
The window above wasn’t exactly high, but it certainly wasn’t low either—climbing it barehanded would be difficult, especially since there was nothing around to use for support.
But this wasn’t a problem for a seasoned anchor with plenty of points.
Soon enough, a ladder was exchanged and materialized before the two of them.
Wei Cheng said, “I’ll go up.”
In this situation, the one staying below to keep watch was actually the safer role. After all, the danger inside the badminton court was visible, while breaking the window might bring some unknown threat—but Wei Cheng’s ability could handle it with ease.
“Alright.”
Wen Jianyan clearly understood this as well.
He nodded and reached out to steady the ladder.
Wei Cheng prepared his items, took a deep breath, and started climbing the ladder.
Although his SAN value hadn’t dropped as much as Wen Jianyan’s, even so, he gradually understood what Wen Jianyan meant. The closer he got to the window, the more the icy temperature inside the gym seemed to recede, giving him the illusory sense of approaching safety.
Very soon, Wei Cheng reached the top of the ladder.
The window was coated with thick dust, making it extremely blurry—only the faintest trace of light filtered through.
Wei Cheng didn’t sense any danger.
He lowered his head and glanced down.
Wen Jianyan remained by the ladder while the black water had unknowingly spread almost to the edge of the badminton court. From his elevated angle, Wei Cheng could clearly see pale limbs churning beneath the water’s surface, surging like waves—as if they were living creatures—crawling towards Wen Jianyan.
“…!”
Wei Cheng’s heart tightened in shock.
So it wasn’t an illusion just now—this was real danger.
He had to speed up.
“I’m going to start!” Wei Cheng shouted. “Watch the water below!”
Wen Jianyan didn’t look up—it was unclear if he heard him.
Wei Cheng withdrew his gaze, activated the Power Pill to boost his strength, along with a buff item that enhanced his vision to partially perceive supernatural entities. Bending his arm, he gathered all his strength and smashed his elbow hard into the window!
Bang!
Though the window looked terribly old, perhaps because of the inherent danger of the gym itself, it was far sturdier than expected.
Wei Cheng’s strike was strong enough to shatter stone, yet the glass only produced a few fine cracks.
This should’ve been frustrating, but for Wei Cheng, it was like a burst of encouragement: cracks meant Wen Jianyan’s guess was right—this window could be broken, and it was a way out.
Wei Cheng didn’t hesitate—he swallowed three more Power Pills, and began hammering the window with all his might.
Once, twice, three times.
With each strike, the cracks spread faster and faster. Finally, after the fifth hit, the glass gave way with a loud crash, shattering completely.
“No problem! We can get out!” Wei Cheng shouted.
Placing his hands on the window frame, he leaned out—only to feel a sudden, familiar surge of deathly fear shoot up from his feet. His pupils shrank.
No!
Every time he felt this sensation, an unavoidable, deadly attack was about to strike.
Familiar with his own ability, Wei Cheng didn’t hesitate—he instantly activated his last-resort life-saving item.
In the very next moment, something strange swelled deep in his throat.
It felt like…
Something was wriggling inside.
Wei Cheng bent forward, retching violently. Black water dripped from his lips as clumps of strange objects clogged his throat, suffocating him. His eyes rolled back from lack of air. Trembling, he reached down his throat with his fingers.
Fistfuls of slimy, wet black hair came out—mixed with pale, squirming maggots.
“Urgh!!”
His SAN value plummeted, but thanks to the item, for every ten points lost, five were restored.
However, the item’s duration was limited—not much time left.
Fighting for breath, Wei Cheng croaked toward the bottom:
“…Careful, an attack’s coming!”
He didn’t have time to check Wen Jianyan’s status. Grabbing the bloody window frame without feeling the pain, he mustered all his strength and shoved his body through the gap!
The Power Pill’s effect still lingered—Wei Cheng forced himself through the broken glass, falling hard from a height of nearly three to four meters.
Thud!
A crisp crack echoed—his rib snapped.
Wei Cheng groaned, brows furrowing from the pain.
But the moment he hit the ground, the suffocation and nausea vanished. Yet the foul taste of hair and maggots lingered in his mouth, making his skin crawl as if bugs were creeping all over him.
Not the time to worry about that.
Struggling, Wei Cheng propped himself up: “You can come down—quickly—”
His eyes fell on the window he’d just squeezed through.
His unfinished words stuck in his throat; his expression went blank.
The window above was coated in dust, blurry and smooth.
No exit.
No cracks.
Perfectly intact, without a single flaw.
Wen Jianyan stood below the ladder, eyes locked on the black water creeping steadily closer.
The black liquid surged rapidly; in the blink of an eye, it reached the badminton court’s edge.
“…”
A sense of foreboding gripped him. Raising his voice, Wen Jianyan called out, “Hey, how’s it going up there?”
No reply from above.
Ever since Wei Cheng had climbed the ladder, Wen Jianyan hadn’t heard a single sound.
Worry crept in—he glanced up.
What he saw froze him in place.
The top of the ladder was completely empty—not a soul in sight.
The window was untouched, without a crack, as if Wei Cheng had vanished into thin air.
Wait a minute…
What the hell is this?
He’d heard nothing—and Wei Cheng was gone? What the hell—?
As Wen Jianyan’s mind raced, the thick, dark water slithered past the boundary of the badminton court.
“?!!”
A bone-chilling cold swept over him.
A jolt shot down his spine like he’d plunged into an icy lake. He snapped his gaze back to the water.
The moment the black liquid crossed the line, some invisible barrier shattered. The frenzied footprints and handprints on the walls and ceiling broke free—rushing straight at Wen Jianyan.
Shit!
Wen Jianyan stumbled backward.
The black water swelled, pale limbs surfacing more clearly.
Cold sweat broke out all over him.
He spun around, grabbed the ladder, and scrambled upward.
Though Wei Cheng was gone—likely ambushed—the window might still be the only way out. If he hurried, there might be a chance.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Wen Jianyan smashed at the window.
With the help of his items, cracks quickly spread across the glass.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Damn, the host’s approach is correct, but he doesn’t have Wei Cheng’s ability… if he tries climbing out, he’s basically dead meat!]
[Ughhh I’m so nervous right now!!]
[Tsk tsk, the anchor’s screwed this time. That next wave is a guaranteed death ambush—even Wei Cheng nearly died there. And both of their intel feeds got jammed just now, no way they could’ve warned each other. Looks like he’s done for.]
The barrage of comments in the livestream chat refreshed rapidly—dense and endless—as all the viewers grew increasingly anxious.
Unfortunately, Wen Jianyan hadn’t opened the stream, and even if he had, the anti-spoiler mechanism would have blocked the viewers’ frantic warnings.
Black water bubbled up, slowly swallowing the lower rungs of the ladder.
The cracks in the glass spread further, splintering into countless fine lines as tiny shards flaked off. Just one more hit, and it would shatter completely.
Sunlight filtered through the fractures, scattering into the space below, chasing away the oppressive chill—like a spider’s thread dangling into the depths of despair.
Wen Jianyan slowly let out a breath. But just as he prepared to land the final elbow strike, he hesitated.
In that fleeting moment, he remembered—Wei Cheng, who had climbed this ladder before him, had vanished.
What had happened to him?
Could this be a hidden trap, concealing certain death?
The viewers in the “Integrity First” livestream room perked up the moment they saw suspicion flicker across Wen Jianyan’s face, their excitement practically tangible as if he could see them:
[Yes, yes, don’t go out now!]
[Skill! Use your skill!!]
[Doesn’t the anchor have a damage-avoidance item?! Why isn’t he using it? I’m about to die of anxiety in front of my screen!]
As Wen Jianyan wavered, his peripheral vision caught something below.
The black water was now less than ten centimeters from his feet. Bloated, swollen faces drifted up and down within it, their pupils pitch-black and eyeless, staring straight at him.
Wen Jianyan froze, suddenly stunned.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[?]
[Why did the anchor suddenly freeze?]
[Hey, wake up! You’re still in the instance—why are you sleepwalking!]
[If you don’t get out now, you’re dead, you know that?! Damn, this is driving me crazy!!]
……
Crouched at the top of the ladder, cold, greasy sweat beading in his palm, Wen Jianyan’s heart pounded violently as he locked eyes with the drowned faces below.
A mistake?
No, impossible.
Even though it had only flickered for the briefest second, he recognized a familiar face.
That thin, narrow, gaunt face.
It wasn’t any NPC.
It belonged to a fellow anchor.
The one who had taken his lower bunk and chosen the Club route—the only person who hadn’t been pulled into the Brave Richard movie last night.
Yellow Weasel.
Wait… why him?!
What was this guy doing in the black water of the gymnasium?
Was he dead?
When did it happen?
Before they left the movie and woke up in the scene again? Or earlier? After all, although Weasel had returned to the dorm last night, no one had seen it with their own eyes.
More importantly… what exactly was the Club route in this instance?
Countless questions spun in Wen Jianyan’s mind, none with answers, disturbing his focus.
And in that moment of hesitation, the black water crept higher, lapping at the edge of the ladder.
Suddenly, he heard the familiar sound of bones grinding together—clack, clack, clack.
From within the stinking, icy water emerged a terrifying, broken-boned corpse. Its hollow, bloody eye sockets locked onto Wen Jianyan, drifting toward him with the current.
He couldn’t hold back any longer.
Gritting his teeth, Wen Jianyan prepared to burn an emergency skill or item—but just then, there was a sudden loud crash! beside him as a window smashed open from the outside.
“?!”
Wen Jianyan was caught completely off guard, staring dumbly.
And as the window broke, it set off a chain reaction like the first domino toppling over—one after another, waves of mutations surged forth, each more intense than the last!
Before Wen Jianyan could react, the black water surged again, rising several centimeters in an instant. A pale, twisted arm burst from the depths and latched tightly onto his ankle.
“Hiss!”
His pupils shrank, drawing in a sharp, chilling breath.
A freezing coldness flooded from the grip on his ankle, spreading swiftly—ankle, calf, thigh—turning skin, blood, and bone into ice from the ground up.
Above his head, his sanity and health points plummeted rapidly—ten points gone from each in a matter of seconds!
Then, without warning, a hand seized the back of his collar from behind and yanked him sharply.
As if burned, the bone-crushed hand suddenly released him.
“!!!”
Wait—wait—I can’t breathe!
As dizziness and weightlessness overwhelmed him, Wen Jianyan’s vision whited out, eyes rolling back as the grip on his neck tightened.
In a flash of light and heat, sunlight poured in as the chaotic surroundings blurred into a nightmarish haze.
He flailed wildly, but the hand at his collar didn’t let go—dragging him forcibly through the window.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[The anchor looks like a kitten being grabbed by the scruff of the neck.]
[God, I’m hallucinating cat ears now.]
[Hahaha dead—I can totally see that image!]
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
When Wen Jianyan came back to his senses, he’d already been hauled out the window.
“Catch him.”
Hugo said casually, letting go.
Wen Jianyan: “???”
Next thing he knew, he was falling freely, head spinning, but instead of crashing hard, he landed on something soft.
Like a sponge.
Su Cheng’s voice came from above: “Got him!”
Hugo braced his tall frame between the door and the window, pressing a familiar cloth tightly against the window.
Something beneath it pulsed and writhed as if trying to break free, but it was forcefully pinned in place.
He barked: “Back off!”
Su Cheng, Yun Bilan, and the others moved quickly, dragging the cushion and Wen Jianyan away.
Lying dazed on the sponge mat, Wen Jianyan felt like his brain had been knocked loose.
Yun Bilan waved a hand in front of his face: “Hey, you okay?”
“…”
Wen Jianyan instinctively nodded.
Su Cheng glanced down and shook his head: “You’re damn lucky.”
Wen Jianyan: “?”
This was the first time anyone had ever said that to him. It… felt kind of strange.
And Su Cheng wasn’t wrong.
Although the gym’s rear door couldn’t be opened again, Hugo hadn’t lied—he really did have one final, desperate way out: a chance to forcibly break a window.
But the method came with many limitations and risks.
First, the whole process could only last a minute—if they couldn’t seal the window by then, the “thing” inside would escape the gym, and they’d all die.
Worse, the gym was huge with multiple windows. Once the rear door closed overtime, all signals were cut—they couldn’t precisely locate Wen Jianyan and Wei Cheng. And they only had one chance to break a window. If they smashed the wrong one while the two were at another, they’d lose their only rescue shot.
In this critical moment, Su Cheng’s prophecy skill became their last hope.
But before he could even use it, they suddenly heard a crash and a heavy thud—not far away—followed by a painful grunt.
Wei Cheng had fallen out.
Guided by him, Hugo and the others pinpointed the correct window—and in the nick of time, dragged Wen Jianyan out of the gym, seconds before he could be lost to the black water forever.
The entire process was heart-pounding—if either team inside the gym had made even a single mistake, disaster would have been inevitable.
Wei Cheng approached, pale and limping, clutching his ribs with one hand:
“How are you feeling?”
“…Still okay,” Wen Jianyan replied.
Wei Cheng twisted open a water bottle, rinsed his mouth with a grimace, and spat it out. “Then you’re luckier than me.”
“……”
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[Although the anchor spent more time inside the gym and almost lost his life in the end, at least he didn’t have to vomit hair and maggots, and his ribs aren’t broken. From that perspective, he really is luckier!]
[Hahahahahaha that’s true!]
[The first time Wen Wen gets lucky: starting to doubt life because he’s not the unluckiest one this time.]
Above them, Hugo was still maintaining the same posture. As time passed, the bulge beneath the red cloth slowly shrank, as if being pressed back into the gym.
Judging by this, in less than three minutes, everything would probably return to normal.
But before Wen Jianyan could relax, urgent footsteps sounded not far away.
It was Tian Ye.
“The captain sent me to find you!” Tian Ye’s face was full of obvious panic. “P.E. class has started!”
With trembling hands, Wen Jianyan pulled out his phone and checked the time.
It was about time for class.
“Alright, once Hugo finishes here, we’ll head over immediately—”
“No,” Tian Ye shook his head. “You don’t understand what I mean.”
His expression grew even more anxious:
“This time the student council is taking attendance!!!”
“?!”
Everyone froze, staring at each other in shock.
What?
Student council taking attendance???
They all knew that in this instance university, poor attendance came at a steep price.
That was why they had been extremely cautious when selecting electives, carefully avoiding schedule overlaps to prevent missing any classes.
But none of them expected the first attendance check to come so soon—right when they were caught unprepared!
“You guys go,” Hugo called from above, glancing down. “I’ll be there soon.”
The situation was urgent, and Hugo clearly couldn’t leave yet. The others had no choice.
They nodded. “Alright. Hurry as soon as you can.”
Wei Cheng, face pale, pulled out painkillers from his backpack, swallowed them, then finally let go of the ribs he’d been clutching. Limping badly, he followed the others as they ran off.
The soccer field was dead silent.
All the anchors were already gathered.
But the atmosphere was like death itself—no one dared breathe. Everyone stood perfectly straight in formation, anxiously waiting.
At the front, several student council members patrolled with armbands.
Just like on that first night, their faces were deathly pale, completely expressionless. They held thick rosters in hand, slowly walking between the rows, checking each name one by one.
They called out student ID numbers.
As each number was called, the corresponding person immediately responded, “Here.”
In the crowd, Wen Jianyan spotted his cheap dormmates: Brother Hu, A-Bao, Zhao Ze, and…
He froze.
Standing beside Zhao Ze was a thin, familiar face.
That face, bloated pale and swollen, the same one he had seen floating in the black water—not submerged now, but right there in the crowd, alive and real. His features were deathly pale and blurred, as if half-melted wax, making the viewer’s skin crawl with unease.
“…”
After vanishing for a night, the weasel-faced man was back.
As Wen Jianyan stared blankly, the weasel seemed to sense his gaze and slightly turned his head—
“!” Wen Jianyan’s scalp tingled, and he instinctively averted his eyes.
“What are you standing there for? Let’s go.” Su Cheng tugged at Wen Jianyan’s sleeve. “Hurry, Orange Candy’s waiting for us over there. Looks like a student council member is about to check our row.”
Wen Jianyan gathered his chaotic thoughts and glanced toward the weasel again.
But the man had already turned away, showing only half of his paper-white face.
Taking a deep breath to suppress his ominous premonition, Wen Jianyan nodded and followed Su Cheng toward Orange Candy, who was waving frantically at them from not far away.
Panting, they reached her side.
“You’re too slow!” Orange Candy pouted in annoyance, sweeping her gaze over them before suddenly frowning. “Where’s Hugo?”
Before anyone could answer, the student council members were only a few steps away.
Orange Candy raised her hand, signaling silence.
One of the student council members slowly raised his head, his lifeless eyes sweeping over them.
Wen Jianyan shuddered as his sanity points dropped to 43, an instinctive urge to flee rising within him. But he forced himself to stay put, waiting for the council member to approach.
“180035,” the member intoned.
“Here,” said Orange Candy.
“180036.”
“Here,” Su Cheng responded.
“180037.”
“Here,” Yun Bilian answered.
“180038.”
“….” No reply.
If the numbers were assigned by registration order… then the third person listed should be… Hugo.
Wen Jianyan slightly turned his head, glancing behind him.
The field was empty.
Hugo was nowhere to be seen.
“180038.” The student council member looked up, lifeless eyes fixing on them. Or maybe it was a trick of the mind, but Wen Jianyan could have sworn he saw a faint, strange smile on the man’s lips.
Still, no one answered.
Orange Candy frowned slightly, her fingers tapping her phone screen in a subtle, practiced motion—clearly urging Hugo to hurry.
“180038.”
Hugo did not appear.
The student council member smiled coldly, lowering his head, ready to mark something in his roster.
“Here,” Wen Jianyan said.
“?!!”
The others gasped in shock, whipping their heads around to stare at him in disbelief—as if they couldn’t understand why he’d just done that.
The student council member paused and looked up. “You are 180038?”
“Yes.”
Wen Jianyan’s expression did not change as he stared straight ahead.
“If you’re caught signing in for someone else, the punishment will be very severe,” said the student council member with a sinister smile, enunciating each word slowly. “Are you sure you are student number 180038?”
Wen Jianyan blinked, wearing an innocent expression. “Of course I am. Why, do you have any proof that says otherwise?”
“……”
The student council member fell silent, shooting Wen Jianyan a dark, chilling look before finally lowering his pen.
“180039.”
This time, he called out Wen Jianyan’s actual student number.
His gaze stayed firmly locked on Wen Jianyan, cold and sticky as a serpent, repeating slowly again: “180039.”
Wen Jianyan didn’t look at him, his expression remaining calm and composed.
“180039.”
One final time.
Still, no one answered.
The air froze to ice. Everyone stole frequent glances at Wen Jianyan, but with the student council member still nearby, they could only swallow down the words they were dying to say.
At last, after a moment of dead silence, the student council member’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“Looks like this student is absent after all.”
He lowered his head and circled something on the list with a red pen.
Then he slowly moved on to the next row, the process continuing smoothly as if nothing unusual had happened.
As the chilling presence finally drifted away, Wen Jianyan let out a shallow breath.
Su Cheng suddenly turned his head, gritting his teeth and whispering harshly:
“What the hell were you thinking?!”
Signing in for someone else and getting yourself marked absent instead—what kind of idiot move was that??
Wen Jianyan shrugged with a careless little smile. “Can’t be helped. He was late because of me, after all.”
On this point, his calculations were perfectly clear.
He was the one who had insisted on entering the gym. Even though Hugo’s prediction about the timing had been off, the man had still done his duty, cleaning up the mess, even risking a class absence to save him and Wei Cheng from that deadly place. Under such circumstances, letting Hugo take the penalty as well would have been truly shameless.
Not to mention…
Wen Jianyan also had his own selfish little schemes.
Based on Wei Cheng’s earlier description—and his terrible physical condition—Wen Jianyan guessed that trying to force a way out through the window probably came at a great price.
And judging from how Hugo had completely vanished after breaking the window, it was clear that the act of breaking out carried a hidden lethal trap. Wei Cheng had likely escaped death only because of the special benefits of his unique ability.
Wen Jianyan, too, had escaped through the window—but he hadn’t paid any price.
The only difference between him and Wei Cheng… was that Hugo had intervened.
Wen Jianyan subtly turned his head, his gaze landing on the student council member walking away—or more precisely, on the armband around his arm.
The sun’s pale light fell upon the cloth, making its dull gray fabric appear jarringly strange and out of place.
“…”
Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes, hiding the flash of realization within them.
If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the very same cloth Hugo had used to block the window.
A student council armband.
Even though they had only parted ways for a brief moment, Hugo had clearly chosen a completely different path—bold and dangerous—connected to the student council itself.
Wen Jianyan was deeply curious about the information Hugo possessed.
But Hugo was notoriously independent—he not only refused to act as part of the team but also withheld all useful intel. Trying to pry the truth from him would not only be difficult, but it could also risk exposing their encounter in the “Diorama” instance. This could remind Hugo of his previous “fraud” incident or provoke more inconvenient questions that Wen Jianyan could neither explain nor evade, leading to endless consequences.
This would seriously harm their cooperation and progress in the instance.
So what could he do?
Wen Jianyan retracted his gaze, hands stuffed casually into his pockets. He smiled lightly, the kind of dashing, carefree grin that made his pale eyes narrow under the sunlight, like some elusive feline predator.
He wasn’t a saint.
Every “sacrifice” he made had to be carefully weighed and measured.
But then again…
If one wanted to become friends with someone, there always needed to be an opening, didn’t there?
