WTNL Chapter 425

Thank you @Jill for the Kofi. (1/2)

Yuying University
Chapter 425: Keep up the good work!

Wen Jianyan sat upright behind the table, calmly enduring the baptism of countless eyes on him.

Meanwhile, Wei Cheng, sitting beside him, was visibly uneasy.

No matter how you looked at it, their current operation was a bit too high-profile. Obviously, quite a few anchors had already caught wind of it. But out of caution, no one dared to be the first bird to stick its neck out.

Vague, probing stares came from all directions—like hundreds of hidden needles pricking against one’s skin.

Wei Cheng subconsciously turned his head.

In the distance, Orange Candy sensed his gaze and immediately turned her face even further away, as though pretending she had nothing to do with them.

Her attitude of “none of my business” was just a little too obvious.

Wei Cheng: “…”

Suddenly, he understood why only he and this guy were sitting together.

Wei Cheng retracted his gaze, leaned slightly toward Wen Jianyan, and whispered:

“…Are you sure this is going to work?”

Wen Jianyan turned his phone screen-down on the table and replied in an equally low voice, “Relax.”

Sure enough, it didn’t take long for the first ones who couldn’t hold back anymore to appear.

A tired-looking team approached them cautiously.

Wen Jianyan said, “What do you need?”

The man across from him stared for a few seconds before pointing at the sign beside them. “You’re saying… you know where the lecture hall is?”

“Of course.” Wen Jianyan smiled. If this weren’t inside a dangerous instance, he could probably be the poster child for customer service. But precisely because the environment was so perilous, his spring-breeze-like smile looked all the more out of place.

“What do we need to pay?”

The man asked.

“Ten thousand points,” Wen Jianyan replied.

“……” The group was stunned.

Ten thousand points—neither a small amount nor a large one.

For low-tier anchors, without side missions and limited starting resources, it was hard to even gather five thousand points. But for those with a decent viewer base, this amount was easily affordable.

Still, the fact that Wen Jianyan went to all this trouble just to earn points was unexpected.

“That’s all you want?”

The team leader looked suspicious.

“Don’t worry,” Wen Jianyan smiled. “We run a legitimate business. There’s a contract. No scams.”

As he spoke, he pulled out a stack of papers.

The man looked down.

Yellowed parchment, with a faint embossed watermark in the lower right corner.

He froze.

It was clearly a contract sold in the Nightmare Store—once signed, both parties would be bound by the rules and unable to violate it.

“Of course, everyone needs to sign,” Wen Jianyan added.

“After all, this is an information trade. I have to ensure none of you go around leaking it.”

The man looked up, stared at Wen Jianyan for a few seconds.

Wen Jianyan, still seated across from him, wore a sincere and kind smile.

“You can discuss it among yourselves. I don’t mind.”

They didn’t hesitate for long before making their decision.

Ten thousand points—some items in the store cost more than that. Buying this information was clearly worth it.

As their hands clasped, the parchment glowed and vanished into light particles.

The first deal was a success.

Once someone took the plunge, the restless crowd could no longer sit still.

Then came the second deal, the third, the fourth…

Wen Jianyan welcomed them all with a smile.

Like a true businessman, he accepted all willing buyers without resistance. He seemed completely unconcerned with the information spreading—letting more anchors find the lecture hall.

Buzz buzz.

The phone Wen Jianyan had placed face-down suddenly vibrated twice.

Wei Cheng paused and glanced over.

Wen Jianyan picked up the phone, scanned the screen, and a faint smile curled his lips.

Then he typed a reply.

“What is it?” Wei Cheng couldn’t help but ask.

He knew Wen Jianyan wasn’t doing all this just to snatch business from the Nightmare or earn a few points. After all, one transaction only brought in 10,000 points. For high-tier anchors with loyal followers, they could easily earn far more by simply chatting on-stream.

“Nothing,” Wen Jianyan looked up and winked. “Just helping a friend with a small favor.”

Wei Cheng had to swallow his curiosity and continue handling the endless stream of “orders.”

Soon, another group approached.

“I’ll leave it to you,” Wen Jianyan’s eyes lit up. He turned to Wei Cheng, then quickly stood and ran forward.

Wei Cheng: “…”

Alright then.

The newcomers were Zhao Ze’s team.

“What you said earlier… was it true?” Zhao Ze asked doubtfully.

“Mhm.”

Wen Jianyan still smiled, but unlike his previous confident grin, now his lips were lightly pressed together, and the sharp curve at the corners of his mouth softened into something innocent and youthful. “Our captain worked hard to find the location of the lecture hall, but our team isn’t strong enough. It’s already the fifth day of the instance, and we’re running low on survival points… so we were forced to take this route.”

In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:

[…I’ve stopped trying to count how many lies he tells in a single sentence.]

[Can’t believe a single word!]

Zhao Ze looked at him, then at the long line of customers and satisfied anchors leaving after successful trades. He relaxed.

“Alright then. Come with me.”

Wen Jianyan smiled again.

He led Zhao Ze and his group to the front of the line and repeated the same words he’d told the first customer:

“To ensure information isn’t leaked, everyone must sign.”

Zhao Ze nodded and signed his name, stamping a handprint.

Wen Jianyan shook his hand.

The parchment dissolved into light.

Then came the second person, the third…

Finally, it was the weasel’s turn.

He still looked cold and pale, but clearly worse than before.

His face was corpse-white, eyes sunken, gaze stiff and eerie. A damp aura clung to him, as if he’d been soaked in water.

He said nothing, simply glanced at Wen Jianyan before lowering his head and signing the paper.

In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:

[Oh! Now I get why the anchor’s doing this!]

[?]

[Don’t you remember? These contracts only bind agreements between anchors. If one side is a ghost, the contract won’t work.]

[Ohhh! That’s right!]

[Yeah, the anchor was dealing with this issue for a long time. Finally getting clarity now.]

[That’s the reason? Seems a bit too over-the-top…]

Wen Jianyan remained calm, smiling as he extended his hand.

The weasel hesitated, then grasped it.

The paper dissolved into light.

In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:

[Tut.]

[Didn’t expect that. He actually didn’t die. Kinda disappointing—I was hoping for a ghost infiltrating the team plot.]

[Hahaha same. It’s more fun when they’re dead.]

[But wait, didn’t the anchor see his corpse in the swimming pool? What gives? Why would a living person show up there?]

[No idea…]

[That’s weird. Anyone check out the weasel’s stream?]

[Nope.]

[Same. Too many anchors in this instance. Too much work to find that guy’s room after we’re out.]

[Yeah haha, with so many powerful anchors around, who has time for the small fries?]

The chat was buzzing with chatter when—

Suddenly, something happened.

Wen Jianyan suddenly pulled hard on the weasel’s arm.

“?!”

The move came so fast, even the weasel—right in front of him—didn’t react in time. He stumbled forward, upper body folding downward.

Wen Jianyan grabbed his sleeve with his other hand and yanked it up.

Something flashed briefly in front of him.

No one on-site saw it clearly.

But the livestream audience did.

In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:

[?]

[???]

[?????]

[What the hell?! Wait, what was that?!]

[Holy crap—replay! Replay now!]

The weasel’s expression changed instantly!

In the next second—whatever he did—Wen Jianyan’s figure swayed. His hand reflexively let go, and his sharp gaze went unfocused. He staggered back, nearly falling.

Freed from Wen Jianyan’s grip, the weasel spun around and bolted.

But he didn’t get far.

Like a boulder dropped on him from above, he was smashed to the ground.

The ground cracked beneath him like a spiderweb, and he was pinned down in the center—no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t move.

“That him?”

A young orange-haired girl strolled over slowly, sucking on a candy. Her cheeks puffed as she mumbled.

Clearly, this was her doing.

Wen Jianyan leaned on the table, still swaying. He forced his gaze up to the top-right corner.

His already-low Sanity had taken another hit, now down to 40.

That familiar buzzing returned in his ears. The edges of his vision shimmered with strange halos.

He shook his head and straightened up. “…Yeah.”

Zhao Ze, finally recovering from the sudden chaos, rushed forward, glaring at Wen Jianyan with hostility on his taut face. “What the hell are you doing?!”

The rest of his team looked the same.

In an instant, the air grew tense, like gunpowder filling the room.

“Let him go!”

Behind the desk, Wei Cheng lowered his hand slightly, fingers curling—clearly ready for a direct confrontation.

Wen Jianyan lifted his slightly pale face. Behind his thin glasses, his gaze was calm—but there was a kind of unwavering, intense willpower that couldn’t be ignored.

“Are you sure about that?”

Zhao Ze looked like he had just choked on his words.

“You really don’t know why I did what I did?” Wen Jianyan didn’t back down; instead, he leaned forward, locking eyes with the other, catching every flicker of expression as he pressed further:

“During this time, you honestly didn’t notice anything strange about your teammate?”

One question after another came out, and under Wen Jianyan’s aggressive questioning, the firm hostility and suspicion on Zhao Ze and the others’ faces began to crack. A sliver of doubt and uncertainty leaked through, like a fragile ant hole beneath a dam.

Clearly, just as Wen Jianyan had previously guessed, Zhao Ze’s team wasn’t completely unaware.

Seeing their gaze start to falter and hesitation creep into their expressions, Wen Jianyan reached out and pressed a hand on Zhao Ze’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper:

“Let’s talk somewhere else.”

—

Less than two hours after opening for business, the makeshift information booth was shut down.

The group, dragging along the immobilized Yellow Weasel, moved to a secluded and empty spot.

“Alright, I’ve done everything you asked. Isn’t it about time you tell us what’s really going on?” Orange Candy crunched her candy with a loud crack, revealing a set of sharp white teeth. “If you keep playing cryptic, you’ll be the next one lying on the floor.”

Wen Jianyan raised his hands. “Okay, okay.”

“I don’t know if you noticed… but in most of the dangerous scenarios we’ve experienced so far, some of the monsters have shown signs of intelligence.”

He looked at Orange Candy and spoke softly.

“…?”

Orange Candy blinked in surprise.

Huh?

At first, Wen Jianyan hadn’t realized it either. But once he got solid evidence and reviewed everything that had happened since entering the instance, he was shocked to discover that the signs had been there all along.

The first time, while doing homework and entering the movie, a monster slipped into their dorm through the open door—and even more specifically, hid on his bed.

That was exactly where his backpack with the homework sheets was placed.

If Wen Jianyan hadn’t activated his decoy doll before rushing into the dorm, the consequences would have been disastrous.

That incident could still be chalked up to coincidence—or perhaps unfinished homework sheets were simply enough to attract monsters.

But it wasn’t until “A Day in the Life of Wang Ni” that the signs became impossible to ignore.

A monster had heard his voice and entered the kitchen. Though it never actually spotted him, it lingered for a long time. Then the sealed pot was knocked over, releasing a severed head. If the movie timer hadn’t ended right then, Wen Jianyan might’ve been forced to use his valuable life-saving tool.

That’s when Wen Jianyan first realized—

These monsters might be intelligent.

They knew where he was. They knew how to draw him out.

And when he managed to trick Orange Candy into entering the cafeteria with him, that vague unease returned—and intensified.

He had made no noise. Orange Candy was outside attracting all the aggro. Yet somehow, a “monster” still found him.

That meant that beyond being “intelligent,” these monsters also had memory.

But the problem was: why did the same monsters appear in completely different locations?

The combination of “intelligence,” “memory,” and the sudden appearance of a mysterious item—badges—caused Wen Jianyan’s suspicions to snowball. Previously ignored details started connecting, like mold threading together after a damp storm.

Then came the second ambush.

This time, it was clearly coordinated.

He was attacked from both ends, and a monster even grabbed his ankle from below, trying to drag him down. If he hadn’t activated a fire-related item in time, he might not have survived.

That incident confirmed one thing for Wen Jianyan:

Some monsters could think, and even organize.

They could move together, coordinate, even hunt.

Clearly, not all monsters had intelligence—just a select few. Perhaps only those ones carried the badges.

From then on, Wen Jianyan stopped acting solo. He found an excuse to stick close to Orange Candy.

——And ever since they teamed up, no matter how many monsters they killed, not a single badge dropped.

As if…

Those intelligent monsters were now afraid of the two of them working together—so they stopped appearing.

So, to test his theory, Wen Jianyan arranged for them to split up again.

A doll carrying Wen Jianyan’s scent lured the nearby monsters, while Orange Candy dealt with them. Wen Jianyan himself, equipped with the decoy doll that could redirect damage, ventured alone into the heart of the monster nest.

This time, everything became crystal clear.

A sudden attack. Pale hands stretching from under desks. A corpse’s wrist, showing distinct burn marks.

Wen Jianyan pulled two badges from his pocket.

Orange Candy blinked. “Two?”

“Yes,” Wen Jianyan said.

He held up the first one: “I got this from the corpse I dissected.” Then he picked up the second. “This one—I got after I was dragged down and killed that monster. I found it in its stomach.”

“Wait,” Orange Candy shook her head, clearly dazed. “You mean…”

“I mean, after we split up, the monsters with badges reappeared—but they didn’t go after you. They chose to kill me.”

Wen Jianyan calmly returned the two badges to his pocket.

“…………”

The air fell into a rare silence.

“To sum it up: among a group of brainless, instinct-driven monsters, there’s a subset that has thought, memory, can travel between danger scenes, can cooperate, set traps, and predict danger—and they all carry the same identifying item.”

Wen Jianyan looked at Orange Candy. “What does that sound like to you?”

After a long silence, Orange Candy answered:

“Humans.”

“Oh, right,” Wen Jianyan smiled, squatting down and lifting Yellow Weasel’s arm. He pulled up the sleeve for everyone to see.

The detail that had only been briefly shown in the livestream earlier was now on full display.

There was a very obvious wound on that pale, clammy wrist.

Bumpy. Scarred. Like a burn.

“…Fire item.” Orange Candy’s voice came out through clenched teeth. She stared at the wound like she wanted to gouge out the flesh with her eyes. “It was him?”

Wen Jianyan said, “Yes—and no.”

“More accurately, it was them.” He emphasized the last word.

It wasn’t just one person.

It was a group.

Wen Jianyan let go, letting Yellow Weasel’s limp arm fall back to the ground with a dull thud.

They were anchors killing on behalf of the instance.

That’s why, when Wen Jianyan had hidden inside the kitchen cabinet, the corpse outside hadn’t left—because the iron pot on the table was sealed with a anchor-only item.

That’s why, after the pot was knocked over and the head rolled out, Wen Jianyan was forced to flee from the cabinet—and suddenly, the “corpse” outside vanished, leaving only the open door.

Because even those sounds could hurt it.

They knew who was easy prey, who was tough, who was good in a fight, who could only run.

And the only beings who could fulfill those conditions—

Were humans.

Not just one.

But a group of anchors—of various skill levels and ranks.

So how had these people been selected to enter the instance?

Wen Jianyan looked down at Yellow Weasel, lying limp at his feet.

His body was tied up tight, unable to move. His mouth was sealed shut. Only his cold, malicious eyes still swiveled with hatred.

Clearly alive, but so steeped in darkness he seemed fused with the instance.

A anchor—but one who didn’t attend class, didn’t return to the dorm, didn’t participate in any “group activity.”

Wen Jianyan enunciated each word:

“This is the ‘club’ you joined, isn’t it?”

Just as the words fell from Wen Jianyan’s mouth, a crisp chime rang in his ear.

【Instance Exploration Progress: 35% – Reward: 30,000 Points】

A cheerful mechanical voice followed:

 “Congratulations! You’ve broken the exploration record for [Yuying Comprehensive University]! You’ve made history—please keep up the good work!”

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