Yuying University
Chapter 430: “We’ll know if we try, won’t we?”
The darkness descended without warning. In an instant, all five senses were sealed off. The anchors inside the lecture hall couldn’t tell if this was part of the instance’s design, so they had no choice but to abide by the iron rule of “no talking in class”, bracing themselves in their seats with tension and fear for whatever threat might arise.
A dead silence filled the air.
The four student council members stood stiffly in the darkness, like wind-up dolls that had suddenly wound down, frozen in place.
The plan was supposed to be foolproof, but—
There was still a variable.
Only the student council member stationed near the back door of the classroom slowly turned its head the moment Wen Jianyan passed behind it, as if it had sensed something.
“Creak.”
A faint sound emerged in the darkness, but thanks to the item’s effects, it was confined within a very small area.
No one heard it.
In the blink of an eye, Wen Jianyan had already passed through that area, striding swiftly forward. The open back door was just a few steps ahead.
“Creak creak.”
At some unknown point, the student council member’s head had fully twisted backward. A pair of dull, gray, lifeless eyes slowly fixated on Wen Jianyan’s back.
Wen Jianyan remained oblivious.
In the “Integrity First” live room barrage:
[The anchor’s been spotted by the NPC, ahhh!]
[Ahhhh I totally forgot, his SAN value is way too low right now! To monsters and NPCs, he’s a prime target! Others might get by, but he’s basically a giant bullseye!]
[Crap, crap, this is bad!!]
[Turn around! Turn around right now!!]
A cold, pale hand reached out for Wen Jianyan’s back, and in just an instant, it was nearly at the back of his head.
At that critical moment, Wen Jianyan suddenly shuddered, as if sensing something. On instinct, he turned his head.
The pale hand halted mid-air, unable to move forward.
Facing the ghostly pale face just inches away, Wen Jianyan’s pupils shrank, his heartbeat nearly stopping—his extremely low SAN value made him a prime target, but it also heightened his sensitivity to danger, allowing him to sharply detect imminent threats.
In that instant, he felt a chilling dread approaching from behind, and his muscle memory instinctively kicked in. A defensive item he had prepared before leaving his seat was reflexively activated.
All of this was pure instinct, but when he actually turned to look, he realized just how close it had been.
Even half a second slower, and it would’ve been too late.
Within mere seconds, Wen Jianyan’s back was drenched in cold sweat, his shirt clinging to his skin. The chill of the lecture hall made him shiver.
I have to move.
He took a slow step back, about to avert his gaze—
But suddenly, a wave of dizziness struck.
That familiar sweet, metallic scent at the tip of his nose grew stronger.
As he looked up again, something seemed to have changed…
The student council member still stood not far from him, its blank, pale face blurred in the dark, hand frozen mid-air, unable to advance, seemingly unchanged—except for one thing.
A blood-red, squirming, fleshy tube descended from the dark above, tightly connecting to the NPC.
Wen Jianyan’s heart jumped, and he instinctively stepped back again.
His view widened.
He realized—there seemed to be more people in the classroom now.
In the darkness, the vast lecture hall appeared completely full, not a single seat empty. Every seat was occupied by a stiff, upright figure.
No—the number of people hadn’t increased.
The anchors were still the same.
The ones that appeared… weren’t human.
Those silhouettes were pale and blurred, exuding an eerie sense of horror.
Sensing Wen Jianyan’s wary gaze, the once motionless, shadow-like “people” all began to move in unison.
In the lecture hall, over a hundred seated figures simultaneously stirred, their heads slowly twisting backward.
This grotesque, surreal scene forcibly drew his eyes—he couldn’t look away.
Dozens of pale, indistinct faces looked directly at Wen Jianyan.
All at once, chilling to the bone.
The moment their gaze captured him, Wen Jianyan instantly realized something was wrong.
His SAN value began plummeting.
The world spun. The walls seemed to close in instantly, warping his sense of space. Even the floor beneath his feet no longer felt flat.
He wanted to move—but his body felt trapped, paralyzed, as waves of terror assaulted him from all directions, draining the living warmth from his body.
Move.
He urged himself, his fragile reason desperately trying to regain control—but his mind was too muddled to command his limbs. He even felt as if he were walking forward, step by step, deeper into their midst.
Suddenly, without warning, a cold hand covered his eyes.
“Close your eyes.”
His vision was blocked.
The coldness of that hand pierced through his skin, soothing his hallucinating, agitated, and terrified mind.
The next moment, Wen Jianyan felt himself yanked by a tremendous force, his entire body flying backward. Before he could react, he was slammed heavily to the ground.
The impact rattled his bones and churned his insides, as though he’d vomit any second.
Bang! The back door of the classroom slammed shut right before his eyes.
Above him, Orange Candy’s furious voice snapped:
“What the hell were you spacing out for?!”
After the main group had left the classroom, they suddenly realized Wen Jianyan was missing.
When they looked back, they saw him still standing there, staring blankly into the darkness, as if watching something unseen. With the item’s effect about to expire, they made a snap decision and used an item to forcibly drag him out of the classroom just in time.
“Shit, the item’s wearing off,” Tian Ye, who was watching the door, suddenly said.
Sure enough, as he spoke, the thick darkness inside the classroom began slowly dissipating—it would completely fade in about 30 seconds.
“Retreat first,” said Orange Candy.
Although they weren’t sure what dangers lurked outside the lecture hall, the back door remained the highest-risk area. Staying close would render all their previous efforts meaningless if they were discovered.
Su Cheng reacted quickly. He and Yun Bilan helped Wen Jianyan up and swiftly retreated with the group, away from the back door.
Unlike the well-lit lecture hall, the corridor outside was bone-chillingly cold and pitch black.
It felt like something more terrifying had overtaken the space beyond the classroom, lurking in the shadows, silently waiting for them.
Wei Cheng led at the front to guard against any life-threatening dangers.
Soon, the group reached a relatively safe spot.
Orange Candy turned to Wei Cheng:
“Is this place okay?”
Wei Cheng nodded, signaling it was safe.
“Good. Let’s rest a bit,” Orange Candy said.
She then looked at Wen Jianyan, still supported by Su Cheng and Yun Bilan.
The young man’s arms hung on their shoulders, his head drooping heavily. His disheveled, sweat-soaked black hair obscured most of his pale face, his lips colorless and tightly pressed.
He looked utterly worn out and pitiful.
And this wasn’t the first time they’d seen him like this.
It meant Wen Jianyan’s SAN value had dropped to an extremely dangerous level, beyond self-recovery. Clearly, his pause during the “recitation” and his freezing up while “skipping class” were both because of this.
“Get some mineral water,” Orange Candy ordered. “Help him recover quickly.”
Even without being told, the experienced Su Cheng knew what to do.
He quickly unzipped Wen Jianyan’s backpack and started searching.
Meanwhile, Orange Candy, after confirming no one was following, pulled out her phone and typed in the group chat:
Don’t Mess With Me: [Where are you? @Hugo]
Don’t Mess With Me: [We escaped, but we can’t move yet. You need to come find us. @Hugo]
As a veteran anchor, Orange Candy knew better than to act rashly with so little knowledge about the outside dangers—especially with a teammate’s SAN value this low. Acting now would risk more than reward.
This time, Hugo replied quickly:
Hugo: [Where are you?]
Orange Candy put her phone down and began scanning the area for landmarks.
Suddenly, she stopped, raising her head to look at a certain corner above.
In the endless darkness, there was a half-open door ahead, its interior pitch black. Above it hung a very familiar sign:
[Men’s Restroom]
The men’s restroom was outside the first floor of the lecture hall.
This was familiar territory.
During the elective course, the first scene of Brave Richard took place here.
“……”
Orange Candy stared at the sign briefly, then lowered her head and quickly described their current location to Hugo.
Before the moral education class began, she had already shared the directions to the lecture hall with Hugo, though he hadn’t replied at the time.
Given that, once he reached the lecture hall, finding them would be easy.
Hugo: [Got it.]
Orange Candy pocketed her phone and turned back.
Su Cheng knelt on the ground, supporting Wen Jianyan’s upper body, while Yun Bilan carefully opened a bottle of water and fed small sips to Wen Jianyan’s parched lips.
The youth’s head hung low, deep shadows cast across his pale, bloodless face.
“How is he?” Orange Candy asked.
“Still unconscious,” Yun Bilan replied.
That was unusual.
Last time Wen Jianyan’s SAN dropped critically low, though he lost consciousness, he woke up almost instantly when water touched his lips.
Though sluggish, his awareness returned.
But this time, despite being fed two or three mouthfuls already, he showed no sign of waking…
Orange Candy frowned, a sense of dread creeping in.
Just how little SAN does Wen Jianyan have left?
And no one knew the answer to that question better than the viewers in Wen Jianyan’s livestream.
For once, the “Integrity First” livestream chat was dead silent. The viewers stared closely at the screen, eyes locked on the glaring red number in the top-right corner, almost forgetting to breathe.
That number was simply too shocking.
[9]
That’s right — Wen Jianyan’s current SAN value had dropped to single digits.
And this… was after he’d been fed recovery items. When he was just pulled out of danger, the number was a terrifying [5].
Honestly, no one in the chat was surprised that Wen Jianyan hadn’t woken up yet. In fact, compared to that, the fact that he was still alive was what seemed impossible to them.
[Holy shit, did I see that right?! His SAN value was 5???]
[Bro, this isn’t even funny. At that number, isn’t he basically supposed to be fully assimilated by the instance? How is he still alive?!]
[Don’t tell me human willpower can really do this much? I don’t buy it, okay!!]
[By the way, didn’t you guys notice? Just before the anchor left the lecture hall, he paused — it was subtle, but I feel like he saw something.]
[Really? I didn’t catch that… too bad the Nightmare app can’t project the hallucinations the anchor sees.]
[Yeah, weird. Other instances can do that. Why not this one?”
[You got me there.]
While Su Cheng and Yun Bilan were still trying to wake Wen Jianyan up, Wei Cheng suddenly took a step back.
Orange Candy immediately grew alert.
“What is it?”
“I feel… something’s wrong.” Wei Cheng stared intently at the pitch-black void ahead, his gaze flickering as he spoke slowly.
“What do you mean?” Orange Candy frowned.
Normally, Wei Cheng could only perceive immediate fatal threats, but this time, his reaction was subtle — something she’d rarely seen from him before.
“I don’t know,” Wei Cheng stepped back again, now visibly cautious. His eyes darted around like he was searching for something — though even he didn’t know what he was looking for. “The danger is deadly enough, but… I can’t tell when or how it’ll strike.”
Almost the moment he finished speaking, even the other anchors, who lacked medium abilities, felt the sudden drop in temperature.
The chilling sensation wasn’t normal — it was like tiny icy blades slicing across their skin, delivering shivers and pain.
Something was approaching.
Something terrifying.
Yet in their field of vision, there was nothing. The hallway was empty, pitch black, and completely silent. Nothing could be seen.
It was all unknown.
Suddenly, Tian Ye let out a muffled groan of pain:
“Ugh!”
Everyone’s eyes snapped toward him.
Orange Candy strode forward.
“What happened?”
Tian Ye moved his hand away, revealing his arm.
Blood had soaked through his sleeve.
Orange Candy flipped a dagger in her hand, slicing the fabric away with ease.
A chunk of flesh was missing from Tian Ye’s arm, like something had taken a fierce bite out of it, exposing the white muscle underneath. The bite marks resembled human teeth.
Something in the dark had bitten Tian Ye.
His face was unnaturally pale, breathing hard.
“Something’s wrong. Really wrong.”
Orange Candy pressed,
“What is it?”
“My HP…” Tian Ye gritted his teeth, “That one bite just cost me 20 points.”
His words sent a chill through everyone — an audible gasp of horror.
Losing 20 HP in one attack was no small matter in this instance.
Even previous threats only chipped away health gradually, but this time? A single bite took a fifth of his life!
If their HP hit zero, that would be death — but the worst part was, they had no idea where the attack came from.
Suddenly, Yun Bilan stumbled.
Everyone jumped.
Su Cheng frowned:
“You got attacked too?”
Yun Bilan paused, then rolled up her pant leg — her pale ankle bore a terrifying bruised handprint, deep and stark.
“I lost 20 HP too.”
“…F*ck.”
Orange Candy swore under her breath, face grim.
The corridor was empty, deathly silent. No footsteps, no shadows — just their own ragged breaths and pounding hearts.
The darkness amplified the fear of the unknown.
Fear so immense, it could break any ordinary person.
“Everyone back up,” Orange Candy ordered coldly.
In the next second, a familiar man-sized blade appeared in her hand, along with an antique European-style oil lamp, greasy and old, glowing faint yellow and lighting up a small area around them.
“Quick, back up!” Wei Cheng, recognizing the item, urged everyone to retreat.
It was one of Orange Candy’s trophies from the Black Death Team instance. While it could force all dangers within its light to reveal themselves, it also emitted a deadly plague. Staying in the light too long would kill both the user and anyone nearby.
In a blink, blackish-purple sores began forming on the back of Orange Candy’s hand, spreading fast.
Yet the girl didn’t flinch. She scanned the surroundings, searching for something.
Then — a familiar voice called out:
“Don’t bother. It’s useless.”
Everyone paused, turning toward the voice.
A tall figure approached down the hallway, the dim yellow glow revealing a handsome, weary face.
It was Hugo.
“Useless?” Orange Candy asked darkly. “Why?”
“Different system,” Hugo replied simply.
“……”
Orange Candy was stunned.
Different system?
What the hell did that mean?
“Seems I’m still late,” Hugo muttered, eyes sweeping around, lingering on the bite on Tian Ye’s arm and the handprint on Yun Bilan’s ankle. His brows furrowed.
“You’ve already been marked by it.”
Tian Ye clutched his arm, voice trembling:
“W-what? That bad?”
“Very bad,” Hugo said.
He kept scanning the shadowy, empty hallway, body tense like a beast ready for combat.
Lowering his voice, Hugo said:
“This thing can’t be revealed, so it can’t be fought. Follow me — we have to leave, now.”
He traced a cross on his chest — not like a prayer, more like activating some item:
“Let’s hope we can escape before it catches us.”
Just as he was about to move forward, a weak voice stopped him:
“…Don’t.”
Hugo froze and turned toward the sound.
Wen Jianyan, still held up by Su Cheng, had woken up at some point. He lifted his head, his face and lips pale as death:
“Don’t go that way.”
He weakly pointed behind them:
“Go the other way.”
Hugo frowned:
“Why?”
“There is one chasing us, yes,” Wen Jianyan’s cracked lips barely moved, “but there’s another one following you.”
His eyes passed over Hugo’s shoulder, gaze locking vaguely onto something.
“Right there. Waiting for us.”
Instantly, goosebumps rose on everyone’s backs.
If Wen Jianyan was right…
If they followed Hugo’s path, they’d be caught between two of them — whatever “they” were.
“…!!”
Hugo’s pupils shrank in shock — he hadn’t expected such an answer. He strode forward, disbelief on his face:
“You can see it?!”
“I’m not sure.”
Wen Jianyan’s voice was faint, like it could be blown away by the wind.
“I don’t know if what I’m seeing is real or a hallucination… Actually, I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”
“But…”
He paused, then looked up.
His blood-red eyes, glazed and unfocused, looked like those of a dying man.
Yet in that weak smile was a chilling ruthlessness.
He whispered:
“We’ll know if we try, won’t we?”
