(2/2)
Yuying University
Chapter 452: “How can you sleep when we can’t…”
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[So, whose handprint is that extra one?]
[Of course it’s Wen Jianyan’s! Who else could it be?]
[When everyone was on the first floor doing freshman registration, the anchor was upstairs making trouble. By the time he finished, the first floor’s registration was over, and they were already explaining the rules. He never got a chance to go to the activity room to sign in!]
[Damn… so that’s why there was one more handprint in the security office than in the club sign-in book. The teacher used that to confirm there’s a ‘ghost’ in the group.]
[Sh*t, so they’re screwed now?]
The hallway was deathly silent.
On the teacher’s order, every new club member stood in a line against the wall.
Because of the dungeon’s mechanics, none of them had facial features — but even on those blank, featureless faces, one could clearly sense their inner tension and fear of the unknown.
They didn’t know the reason behind any of this, nor could they guess what kind of unpredictable end it might lead to.
So, when a club member came up to them, they mechanically followed orders — pulling a badge from their pocket to have it checked.
It was midnight inside the Yuying Comprehensive University dungeon — the time when online viewers were usually at their lowest. But this live room’s viewer count was still way ahead, even in a league of its own.
This wasn’t just because of Wen Jianyan’s earlier highlight moments during the dungeon’s mutation, which had earned his live room a prime recommended slot — it was also because tonight’s “catch the ghost” event had drawn in hordes of curious onlookers from other anchors’ rooms.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[Uh-oh… checking badges? That’s game over. The anchor never signed in on the first floor, so he never got a badge from registration.]
[Wait, maybe not? Didn’t he pick one up off a corpse in the cafeteria earlier?]
[Forget it. He gave that badge to Orange Candy ages ago — he’s holding exactly jack sh*t right now.]
[Hahahahahaha! He’s done for!]
[Told you this would happen. Should’ve run at the start, but nooo, had to push it. Now look — he’s screwed himself.]
[Break out the champagne!]
Soon, the new arrivals from other live rooms who’d come to watch the disaster, and the regulars in Wen Jianyan’s room, were brawling in chat again. But without exception, they all agreed —
The anchor was finished.
One by one, faceless freshmen — identical, like they’d rolled off a factory line — handed over their badges for inspection and got them back.
Wen Jianyan, standing in the line, caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision of a club member walking toward him.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[Shut up, guys, watch the stream.]
[Yeah, don’t miss your precious anchor’s rare near-death moment.]
The faceless figure stopped in front of Wen Jianyan.
“Badge.”
Row after row was checked.
Soon, every anchor in line had been inspected.
Every single one of them had a badge.
The club member doing the checks looked genuinely puzzled.
They didn’t know what was going on, but they obediently went to the front of the line to report to the supervising teacher.
“….”
The teacher didn’t respond right away — only swept an eerie gaze across all the new members.
“What next…?” a club member asked tentatively.
“Didn’t you hear me?” The teacher’s voice was icy. “Until we find the extra person, no one is leaving.”
The members exchanged uneasy looks. One finally spoke up:
“But… if we don’t leave soon, the one-hour curfew will be up.”
The hallway went dead silent again.
Every anchor seemed to be holding their breath.
The teacher’s cold, poisonous stare scraped over them like a knife, making their hearts pound.
As time ticked by, even the other club members in the hallway grew restless.
Apparently, the one-hour curfew mattered to them as well.
At last, the teacher spoke, forcing the words out through gritted teeth:
“—Go back.”
The anchors had no idea why it had started, and now had no idea why it had ended. Confused, they were herded out of the administration building.
Behind them, the glass doors closed again, hiding everything inside from view.
The campus was pitch-black, no different from when they’d arrived.
Yet just one hour inside had felt like a century.
The streetlights were growing dim.
Everyone knew they needed to get back to their dorms fast.
Without wasting a second, they all hurried off toward their buildings. Wen Jianyan was no exception.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[?]
[?????]
A stream of question marks had filled the chat for over ten minutes. No one had expected this outcome.
No one could believe Wen Jianyan had actually produced a badge.
And no one wanted to accept that the tense, high-stakes scene they’d been waiting for had been neatly defused. Conspiracy! It had to be a setup!
The chat erupted into another argument.
While they were busy bickering, Wen Jianyan had already made it back to his dorm.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[Wait?]
[Wait, don’t go to sleep!]
[Explain what just happened!!]
[No, no, don’t get in bed—don’t—]
The frantic comments didn’t bother Wen Jianyan in the slightest. He climbed into bed, and the forced-sleep rule kicked in. Amid the viewers’ wails, his eyes closed.
Two seconds later, steady breathing filled the darkness.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[…]
[How can you sleep when we can’t?!]
The next day.
The shrill dorm wake-up bell signaled the start of a new day.
Outside, the sky was still black.
It seemed that ever since the start of the second academic year, daylight had been coming later and later.
Wen Jianyan opened his eyes.
Pushing himself up, he instinctively touched his cheek — the skin still felt faintly damp, but his features were back to normal.
After quickly getting ready, he glanced at his phone screen and headed downstairs.
The others were already waiting.
Orange Candy leaned against the wall. Perhaps because she had returned to her normal height again, her expression looked a little sour.
When Wen Jianyan stepped out of the building, the others swarmed over.
“What exactly happened in the administration building last night?” Wei Cheng frowned. “Why did things blow up like that?”
Su Cheng looked at Wen Jianyan and said firmly:
“That whole mess between the student council and the clubs — that was you, wasn’t it?”
Even if the others couldn’t tell, Su Cheng could. The chaos and disorder had Wen Jianyan’s fingerprints all over it — only he could make something turn out so theatrically bizarre.
“…Haha,” Wen Jianyan gave a dry laugh, looking away. “If I said it wasn’t on purpose… would you believe me?”
This time, he wasn’t lying.
At first, he’d just planned to eavesdrop on the basketball club. But when they spotted him, he’d had to flee to the second floor — which in turn brought the teacher into the matter. That forced him to stir the pot again, making the situation even messier so he could slip away…
In short, things had snowballed beyond his control, and he genuinely felt wronged.
All he’d wanted was to listen in!
Who would’ve thought he’d end up sparking a war between the clubs and the student council?
“…”
Su Cheng: “What do you think?”
His skeptical look made his thoughts obvious.
Wen Jianyan: “…”
Deeply hurt.
Before he could say more, Orange Candy spoke up.
“Hey.”
“?”
Wen Jianyan turned toward her.
She squinted up at him. “How did you know that person was me?”
In the “Integrity First” live room, where viewers had been tortured all night by this unanswered question, instantly perked up. They could feel the key to the mystery dangling right in front of them.
[Wait, what?]
[What does she mean, the anchor knew that person was her?]
[Quick! Where’s the recording from last night?]
[?!]
After comparing the replays from both live rooms, the viewers were shocked.
The faceless person who had opened the activity room door and reported the student council was Wen Jianyan. Not only that — in the chaos before the teacher arrived, the one who’d pulled Orange Candy back was also him.
But since in both streams everyone except the anchor appeared as a faceless, identical body, and the scene had been so chaotic, no one had noticed those fleeting moments.
Still, the same question arose in every viewer’s mind—
[Wait, if Orange Candy’s asking that… does that mean it wasn’t a coincidence?]
[But how’s that possible?]
[Faceless people don’t just lack faces — their height, build, and voice are all exactly the same! How could he tell?]
Wen Jianyan smiled. “First, I knew you’d definitely choose the Outdoor Activities club.”
Their elective the next day was Outdoor Activities. Choosing any other club might not have caused a scheduling conflict, but it would have meant missing the other perspective of their own elective.
For experienced anchors like them, that was unacceptable.
“So, I knocked on all the other club doors — but only stepped into that one activity room.”
Because he knew that most of his teammates were probably here.
Orange Candy tilted her head with interest. “And then?”
“You’re the most relaxed person in the whole room.”
The others, whether standing or sitting, all showed some degree of tension — but only Orange Candy, leaning lazily against the wall, had that kind of ease no one else possessed. It wasn’t just her careless personality — it came from a powerful confidence in her own strength.
“And you were the first one to follow me out of the classroom.”
When faced with danger, even the most experienced anchor would hesitate and act cautiously — but not Orange Candy.
She was the kind of little maniac who rarely cared about her own safety. Unlike Wen Jianyan, when confronted with threats, Orange Candy almost never thought about hiding in the back or avoiding danger. She always had the urge to charge straight in, eager to test herself.
“Of course, the most important thing was when the crowd started to get packed.”
This was the key moment Wen Jianyan used to confirm Orange Candy’s identity.
“You avoided every single touch from the people around you.”
Orange Candy let out a low, appreciative whistle.
“Wait,” Tian Ye said, looking puzzled. “Then… how did you know it was him?”
Orange Candy jerked her chin toward Wen Jianyan, signaling him to explain.
Wen Jianyan sighed, raising his hand. His sleeve slid down, revealing a long, slender wrist — loosely wrapped with a thin scarlet string that stood out sharply against his pale skin.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[?]
[???]
Almost immediately, someone pulled up the recording from the same time frame.
Sure enough, in the instant when the Faceless Man’s hand landed on Orange Candy’s shoulder, something red flashed faintly on the blurry screen.
In the “Integrity First” live room:
[Holy—!!!]
[What kind of item is that? That’s insane! It can actually bypass the instance’s rule restrictions so others can see it… that’s way too strong! No wonder Orange Candy treated that thing like treasure before, telling them to return it to her after the instance ends!]
[Damn, I think I’ve seen that before… I’m pretty sure she got it from an S-rank+ instance. Definitely not something you can get easily.]
[Orange Sister is generous.]
[Orange Sister is generous!]
[I just took a gamble.]
Wen Jianyan tightened his fingers around the red string, looking a little helpless.
A gamble that Orange Candy’s prized item could indeed bypass the instance’s restrictions and become a mutual recognition marker.
If the bet was right — all good.
If it was wrong — he’d probably lose an arm.
Still, for his overall plan, that wasn’t a huge deal.
Wen Jianyan flipped his palm over.
A silver, gleaming badge appeared in his hand.
It was the one he had “lifted” from Orange Candy during the earlier chaos.
Unlike other anchors, they had already made contact with the club before last night and had learned part of its basic rules. Because of that, they had more than one badge — though Wen Jianyan had given all of his to the captain for safekeeping, leaving himself with none.
So, upon confirming Orange Candy had more than one, Wen Jianyan casually swiped one — and, with her tolerance and tacit permission, managed to keep his hand intact.
The instance’s rules were mutual.
They couldn’t recognize other club members by face or features, and other members couldn’t recognize them either. So, if you wanted to find a mole in a crowd, the only way was to “spot the difference.”
Just in case, Wen Jianyan stole a badge.
But to his dismay, his hunch came true — everyone was really detained, and his identity as an “extra” was nearly exposed.
“…Hmph.” Orange Candy snorted, clearly a bit unwilling to admit defeat. “You’re clever.”
“By the way, where’s Hugo?”
Wen Jianyan scanned the area, not seeing Hugo.
Orange Candy kicked a pebble. “He’s fine. Showed up in the group chat this morning. But he’s not coming with us today.”
After all, Hugo was enrolled in Film Appreciation, while they were in Outdoor Practice.
“That guy has zero sense of teamwork.”
Orange Candy wrinkled her nose in distaste.
The others averted their eyes. “….”
Honestly, you’re not much better.
Suddenly, Wen Jianyan felt a cold, sinister sensation in his palm. Startled, he quickly looked down.
On the silver coin, the embossed human head began to writhe — like a living face. Its blurry eyes locked on him, and its tiny mouth opened, producing a high-pitched, eerie voice that sent chills down his spine:
[All club members, please proceed to the gathering point of an elective course within the set time to meet with other members.]
[Violators will have one badge deducted.]
After speaking, the face went still again, returning to its faintly blurred, lifeless relief.
“…”
Wen Jianyan and his teammates exchanged grave looks.
So this was how the club issued missions.
It also explained how the Weasel always knew where to go and what to do, even though he stayed with his team most of the time — the badges themselves transmitted orders.
And as members, they had to obey.
After all, new members only started with one badge, and losing it was essentially the same as dying.
“Let’s go.”
Orange Candy glanced sideways at the others. “Tie the red string on your right wrist. That way, even if we turn back into Faceless Ones, we’ll still recognize each other.”
Everyone nodded.
“All right — to the school gate!”
The gathering spot for Outdoor Practice was indeed the school gate.
The group followed Orange Candy toward it.
Wen Jianyan fell slightly behind.
He adjusted the red string on his wrist, his gaze dropping to the bite mark on the web of his thumb. His steps paused slightly.
Although the bite mark hadn’t completely vanished, the once dark, bruised skin had returned to normal, leaving only a faint reddish-blue trace that could easily be overlooked unless examined closely.
“…”
Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes.
In truth, he was surprised at yesterday’s “badge check.”
Wasn’t there an easier way?
The club had already linked the basketball game’s victory to the Student Council’s interference. All they had to do was use their “bite mark” sensing ability to find him easily.
So, while Wen Jianyan did steal a badge, he had already prepared himself for a desperate fight — ready to use his epic-grade item, even if it was painful to part with. In that restrictive environment, only such an item could work.
But unexpectedly, the club had chosen the most primitive — and clumsy — method: checking badges.
That gave Wen Jianyan an opening.
He glanced at the bite mark, blinking.
—Could it be that this “tracking” ability also had limitations?
That possibility made him exhale in relief.
He’d rather not get caught on the second day after barely escaping the first.
The mark hadn’t fully faded, but it bought him time to think of a solution.
The road will always appear before the cart, right?
When they reached the school gate, the sky finally granted them a faint touch of light.
The gate was still closed, but not far away, pairs of figures had already gathered — clearly other anchors enrolled in Outdoor Practice.
Unfortunately, due to their new identities as club members, they now stood on the opposite side from the other anchors.
The moment Wen Jianyan stepped into the plaza, he sensed it — like walking into a cold, invisible dome. In an instant, the dim light grew even darker.
They could still see the other anchors, but it was as if a thin film separated them — close in sight, yet distant as if miles apart.
“….”
The group exchanged looks.
It seemed that once you became a club member, even without doing anything, entering an elective’s location automatically placed you into a separate taskline.
That explained many unspoken doubts they’d had earlier.
At the same time, they noticed they had once again turned faceless, with all features erased.
It was unsettling — uncanny valley stuff.
Luckily, since they had stayed together, they could still tell each other apart.
Not far away, someone among the anchors waved at them.
But the strange near–far effect didn’t apply to him — meaning he, too, was a club member. And that was precisely where the badge had told them to gather.
Wen Jianyan’s group walked toward him.
The “club gathering point” was right beside the other anchors’ meeting spot.
But because of the rules, no matter how close they came, no one noticed them.
Orange Candy, curious, reached out to wave her hand in front of an anchor’s face.
No reaction.
Even with her right there, the person’s gaze passed straight through her, looking off into the distance.
The “barrier” couldn’t be broken.
“New members?” the faceless club member who had waved asked.
Wen Jianyan: “Yeah.”
“All right, just wait here.”
The member nodded and turned to leave.
It seemed class time hadn’t arrived, and not everyone was here yet.
Nearby, Orange Candy, now bored, wandered back to the group, resting her chin in her hand. “How long until class starts?”
Wen Jianyan checked the time. “Less than ten minutes.”
More anchors trickled in, as did other club members — though the latter were far fewer.
Wen Jianyan withdrew his gaze — and suddenly froze.
A new group of anchors had arrived.
At the front was a face he knew all too well.
Medium height, ashen skin the color of caked wall plaster, a smile at the lips, and a clammy, oppressive presence.
“…!”
Wen Jianyan’s pupils contracted.
They came to the edge of the crowd and stopped. Without a word or gesture, they radiated a faintly ominous aura that made even distant onlookers instinctively want to avoid them.
The rest of Wen Jianyan’s group noticed too.
Orange Candy’s expression darkened instantly into pure disgust.
“Damn it, why him?”
“Wait, that’s…”
Tian Ye’s eyes widened.
Wen Jianyan mouthed the words without sound.
That’s right.
—The Mason.
Electives weren’t just mixed between ordinary students and club members, but also between freshmen and sophomores.
And, of course, by some rotten twist of fate, the Mason had chosen the same course as them.
Outdoor Practice.
Making matters worse, the one person in the Nightmare livestream the Mason feared most — Hugo — just happened to be off doing something else today.
