Yuying University
Chapter 457: Weak, pitiful, and helpless
In the “Integrity First” live broadcast room chat, the mood was unusually low.
Strangely, however, the number of viewers online was skyrocketing. Clearly, it wasn’t just regular audience members being drawn in—there was also a large influx of rubberneckers from rival anchors’ rooms.
They had obviously been waiting for this moment. The chat had become a carnival of schadenfreude.
[Hilarious. Finally.]
[Hahahaha, refreshing.]
[So what if you run? Go on, keep running. If you’re so capable, keep at it. Flaunting that bit of “cleverness”—rot underground, why don’t you.]
The comment stream fell into chaos again.
On the surface, Wen Jianyan’s viewers still defended and believed in him. After all, they had seen him execute desperate counterattacks and survive impossible situations too many times. They knew how many miracles this anchor had created.
But the problem was… hadn’t every “superstar” anchor who died before also created miracles?
And now—
Realizing his efforts were futile, Wen Jianyan drew his legs back and stopped trying to break the packed soil from below.
He lifted his eyes, staring up at the layer of dirt above.
Cold soil covered everything overhead. Sparse enough to faintly let light filter through—such a thin layer remained, and yet at this moment it felt as heavy as a mountain, unmoving on his crown, sealing shut every hope of escape.
It was nearly suffocating.
He turned and began feeling his way to the side.
Clearly, Wen Jianyan had realized what the Bricklayer had done. He gave up on breaking through here and started looking for a weaker point farther away.
After all, this one patch overhead was sealed—but he couldn’t have sealed everywhere, right?
The Bricklayer couldn’t.
But it was close enough.
Those who knew the truth felt their hearts sink further.
[…Damn it. The Bricklayer sealed a full 100-meter radius.]
[Christ, that’s vicious—leaves literally no way to live.]
What now?
Every viewer was at a loss.
Every possible path they could think of had been firmly blocked.
Because the one who set the trap was also an anchor—he knew an anchor’s strengths and weaknesses, knew exactly what methods an anchor would use when faced with this kind of problem.
More importantly…
The Bricklayer was more experienced, more ruthless, more unscrupulous.
Wen Jianyan’s chance of success was one in a thousand—without any margin for error.
And his first move had already been the wrong one.
Seeing that Wen Jianyan wasn’t leaving immediately but was still groping nearby, the viewers grew anxious:
[Ahhhh—don’t waste time around there! It won’t work!!!]
[Anchor, pick a direction and go straight—if you don’t move now, it’ll be too late!]
Unfortunately, because this crisis involved another anchor, all related chat comments were filtered. Even though the feed was boiling like ants on a hot pan, their advice and arguments could not reach Wen Jianyan’s ears at all.
And Wen Jianyan was still “wasting time.”
His hands moved through the soil around him, feeling carefully, as if searching for something.
[…How much time is left?]
[Fifteen minutes.]
[Don’t forget—it’s underground. There’s nothing but soil. Not getting lost would be a miracle; running in the exact wrong direction wouldn’t even be the worst case. Wandering till you die in these hundreds of meters is not impossible.]
Suddenly, Wen Jianyan paused.
He seemed to have touched something.
On-screen, the young man’s eyelids lowered; the faintest smile flickered across his lips.
A second later, he started digging hard in front of him. Soon, a purple-blue hand—belonging to a corpse—emerged from the dirt.
The “Integrity First” live broadcast room fell still.
[…Huh?]
[Good lord, scared me—where’d this corpse come from?]
[I remember—wasn’t an anchor ambushed and killed here earlier by club members? But… I don’t get it. What’s he going to do with that corpse?]
Following the hand and the arm, Wen Jianyan worked his way to the body.
Then he moved beneath it.
Palms braced against the corpse, back arched, both feet planted on its spine, coiling to strike—
In the “Integrity First” live broadcast room chat:
[Oh! He’s going to use the anchor’s corpse to flip the soil layer!]
[Will that work?]
[It’ll work, since a corpse is an inert object and can push the dirt aside. But the problem is—this won’t break the prop’s effect…]
[Meaning what?]
Just then, Wen Jianyan stretched out—and with a sudden kick—
Sure enough, just as expected, the cold, heavy corpse burst up through the soil.
[It means—although the layer of soil above is gone, the anchor will still have to remove the badge while in broad contact with earth.]
And the grave soil’s horrific corrosiveness to ordinary humans—every viewer who had watched this stream knew it all too well.
Still… the good news was—
Wen Jianyan would pay dearly, but at least he could get out.
Seeing this, many viewers couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief.
“—!!!”
The corpse suddenly opened its eyes and drew a sharp breath. The corpse-like purplish-blue rapidly drained from his skin, returning to a living human color.
The “Integrity First” live broadcast room fell deathly quiet.
[…]
[…]
[…Hah??]
[This guy wasn’t dead????]
Arno sat on the ground, shaking violently. Although the dirt had fallen away from him, the cold corrosiveness in the soil was too strong—his SAN value was still plummeting.
Even though he hadn’t fully recovered and his limbs were stiff, he scrambled away from the ground on all fours, desperate to avoid contact with the dirt for even a second.
Because he surfaced, a layer of soil had been lifted, leaving a gaping hole in the ground.
Some viewers finally put two and two together.
[Wait—if he was only feigning death… then isn’t the anchor screwed now?]
Clearly, that anchor’s “death” had been a feigned death brought on by a prop or a talent—one recognized by the instance.
That was why the club member had been able to take off the badge beside his “corpse.” But now it was different.
The corpse had come back to life—Wen Jianyan was done for.
If there was a “student” nearby, a “club member” could not remove their badge.
Without removing the badge, he couldn’t shed his monster status—couldn’t break the Bricklayer’s prop seal.
And just like that, even the earlier “costly but still possible” plan was completely invalidated.
[…Haha. It’s all over!]
Arno was trembling, but still forced himself to open his stream interface and glance at the time.
The moment he saw the numbers, his heart dropped.
Seven minutes remained.
Arno looked up, glancing around in panic. Soon he found, near the pit where he’d nearly sunk, a white cloth bag slumped in the soil.
He lunged forward and yanked it.
Once—no movement.
Twice—still nothing.
“…”
Arno stared down at the cloth bag, suspicious.
…How?
There was no time to think.
There were less than ten minutes left of this “free activity” period. If he didn’t bring the bag filled with grave soil back to the school bus in time, he wouldn’t be allowed to board and return to campus.
Thinking of this, Arno glanced around instinctively.
Under the dark sky, there was endless yellow-brown grave soil. Lonely tumuli were scattered in the distance. Everything was eerie, cold, and ominous.
He shivered, fear flashing across his face.
—No matter what, he was not staying here.
Arno grit his teeth and activated a rare prop.
A moment later, the cloth bag that had been firmly locked beneath the ground was jerked free with a heavy pull.
He staggered back a few steps, nearly falling.
Catching his breath, he looked down at the bag.
At some point, the cloth bag had been filled with soil again. It lay askew on the ground, heavy and full.
“…”
Arno froze.
He clearly remembered that before he “died,” the soil had spilled out.
Why was it full again now?
—And it seemed… too full.
Five minutes until the bus departed.
Arno decided to gamble.
He simply didn’t have time.
Loading grave soil consumed too much. If he started over, it would take at least ten minutes, and it would drain even more SAN for nothing—he’d never make the bus.
In that case, he was as good as dead.
Since that was so, he had no other option.
He stepped up, grabbed the mouth of the bag, and heaved—
—
It didn’t budge.
“?”
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Not only that, he even staggered two steps backward from the weight.
“…”
Arno stared at the bag, uncertain.
—Was a bag of soil really this heavy?
Forget it.
He activated a strength-boosting prop, clenched his jaw, swung the not-so-large bag onto his shoulder, and stumbled, lurching back the way he’d come.
From that moment on, the “Integrity First” live broadcast room was wrapped in an eerie silence.
Events had spiraled beyond everyone’s imagination. For a long beat, no one knew what to say. They could only stare silently at the screen, watching as things developed toward—
[Are you stupid? A bag that can hold grave soil—and only the grave soil from corpses—isn’t a normal item. And don’t forget—the anchor’s a “monster” right now. A club member already attacked someone from inside the bag earlier. That means this thing could hold a person from the start.]
[…]
[…]
A comment slowly posed a piercing question:
[I just want to know… was this all part of the anchor’s plan from the beginning?]
—Yes.
Wen Jianyan lay in the jolting bag, carefully shifting his posture.
In fact, he’d already had the outline of a plan in mind before he voluntarily put on the badge.
At the time, forced backward by the Bricklayer and his teammate’s relentless pressure, Wen Jianyan stumbled over something. He looked down after nearly tripping—
In the thin layer of soil lay a purplish-black dead hand.
For a split second, countless thoughts flashed rapidly through his mind—
And countless questions.
It was a corpse’s hand.
Why was it outside the soil layer?
Wasn’t this… too shallow?
If the body was buried so shallowly, why couldn’t that club member take the badge from the dead man?
Unless…
Maybe not finding the badge had nothing to do with how deep the body was buried.
In a lightning flash of insight, Wen Jianyan remembered the other anchor’s hand after he’d groped through the dirt—pale, caked with soil—
With no trace of purplish-black.
Wen Jianyan had touched the soil as well and hadn’t developed any discoloration.
It wasn’t his first time in this gravefield, nor his first contact with this dirt—but nothing like this had ever happened before.
Yet from his observation, when the other anchor put his hand into the soil, his fingers were corroded by yin energy and took on a corpse’s purplish-black hue immediately.
Looking at the corpse’s purplish-black hand beneath his feet, reeking of decay, all those tiny clues suddenly threaded together.
Wen Jianyan understood almost instantly.
—It was the other anchor’s unique talent.
If he had to guess…
This talent was similar to a medium’s.
With contact with danger, his body would manifest corpse-like traces—so when he touched the soil, his fingers turned purplish-black—while no one else did.
Encounter real mortal danger, and he became a “corpse.”
But he wasn’t dead.
Like an instinctive response some animals make when facing predators; even breath and heartbeat become faint—almost undetectable.
This explained perfectly why the body wasn’t buried deep, and yet the club anchor couldn’t retrieve the badge from him.
—Because he wasn’t dead at all.
Ha. Wen Jianyan smiled silently.
So that was it.
Thus, in full view of everyone, he donned the badge, chose to act in “monster” form, and dramatically plunged into the grave.
Wen Jianyan was a timid man.
Timid and fond of life.
Why take risks without a fallback?
At the time, though, he hadn’t fully figured out how to use this information to get out.
Not until just now.
When he discovered he couldn’t leave the soil layer, he realized at once—
The Bricklayer intended to bury him alive.
Wen Jianyan wasn’t naive enough to think that if he couldn’t get out here, he could just move somewhere else and it would work.
He’d seen with his own eyes that Wen Jianyan, in this state, could move freely underground.
If so, the Bricklayer wouldn’t seal only the tomb area—he’d cover the entire zone.
—Even Wen Jianyan himself would do that.
There was too little time left. Wen Jianyan didn’t dare gamble—he couldn’t afford to. No one knew better than him how bad his luck was. If he really got lost under the soil layer, wouldn’t that be a certain death?
In other words—
Wen Jianyan never planned to “find a way out” from the start.
Rather than scramble around, he preferred to sit tight and let the prey come to him.
Like now.
Lying in the bag, feeling the rattle of the ground beneath him, he squinted with a hint of contentment.
—He didn’t even have to walk himself. Nice.
__
The two-hour outdoor practical session passed in the blink of an eye.
On the battered school bus, the “students” and “club members” had taken their seats again.
But…
This time, compared to the trip out, there were many more empty seats, which made the bus feel much emptier. The substitute teacher standing at the door didn’t seem to care about these “missing” students at all.
He lowered his head, seemingly checking the time.
In their seats, the members of the Orange Candy squad were fidgeting.
They only learned of Wen Jianyan’s whereabouts from Orange Candy after they got off the bus.
What’s done was done. They had no choice but to carry out the plan he’d left them and keep going.
They knew—by Wen Jianyan’s habits—if he was acting alone, it absolutely wouldn’t be—
“How much time is left?” Yun Bilian asked.
“…Two minutes,” Su Cheng answered.
As club members, they were faceless; their voices were deliberately blurred so emotion couldn’t be heard.
Even so, the rest of the team could sense a thin thread of unstable danger in their exchange.
Orange Candy propped her chin in her hand:
“Relax—he’ll make it!”
She didn’t seem to know how, but she clearly had confidence in Wen Jianyan.
One minute to departure.
Urgent footsteps sounded outside the bus.
Orange Candy: “See? I told you—he definitely—”
Before she finished, a mud-covered anchor stumbled onto the bus, panting. On his shoulder, he carried a bag swollen high by grave soil.
The moment he rushed aboard, the entire bus seemed to shake.
He was clearly not Wen Jianyan.
Orange Candy: “…”
?
Thirty seconds left.
Now Orange Candy couldn’t sit still. She turned and leaned against the window, peering through the grimy glass, clearly trying to spot someone.
Outside was a dark field of tombs, and she saw no trace of a figure anywhere.
Ten seconds left.
“Goddammit…”
Orange Candy fidgeted in frustration. “Where is he?”
Five seconds.
Yun Bilian shot to her feet—only to be shoved back down by a quick-handed teammate. Tian Ye hurriedly lowered his voice to soothe her: “Sister Yun, calm down—calm down. Running out now won’t help—”
One second.
Time’s up.
With a harsh scrape of metal, the bus doors slowly closed.
The engine droned to life, and the vehicle jolted into motion.
Yun Bilian, pinned back into her seat, wore a stormy expression.
Su Cheng had not spoken once. He slowly turned his head, scanning the interior of the bus.
Orange Candy looked confused: “…Huh? Huh?? What’s going on??”
He didn’t get on? That didn’t make sense!
She pulled out her phone.
As the team leader, Orange Candy had permission to check her teammates’ status and location—limited uses, but enough to be useful in critical moments.
In the team list, the name “Pinocchio” stood out.
He was clearly still alive.
Orange Candy blinked.
“What is it?” Wei Cheng asked beside her.
Orange Candy raised her head, perplexed:
“…He’s on the bus.”
The bus rattled in the dark, gradually moving away from the gravefield.
Who knew how long had passed. Outside the grimy windows, light slowly began to appear. In the white haze far ahead, the gates of Yuying Comprehensive University came into view.
With a squeal of brakes, the bus finally stopped.
The door creaked open.
The teacher stood and faced the people on board: “Students, our outdoor practical class has now come to a pause. I hope to see you all next term.”
In the bus, the anchors slowly woke.
They looked pale and exhausted, covered in dust, giving no response to the teacher—only faces like stone.
—No one wanted a next term. Thanks.
“All right,” the teacher clapped, “you can now disembark in an orderly fashion. Leave the collected soil on your seats.”
Under his guidance, the anchors filed off the bus.
The club members followed after.
The bus slowly emptied.
Orange Candy dawdled at the very end.
Soon, the open bus door was right in front of her.
Just as she was about to brush past the teacher, she moved.
Her explosive power was fierce; with her back arched like a leopard, she sprang toward the driver’s cabin in a blink.
In less than a second, she was at the driver’s area.
Whatever she did, the next second the opaque safety glass warped and bent under a terrifying force.
Gasps erupted across the live rooms.
But before she could take the next step, her wrist was gripped tightly.
She turned her head. The teacher stood beside her, looking down.
The false smile on his face had vanished. His pale face was calm, and for no reason it was terrifying: “For your safety, student, it’s best not to approach the driver’s cabin.”
“…”
Orange Candy glanced at her hand.
Her slender wrist was already deformed in the grip. The other’s cold, corpse-like fingers were embedded in her skin. A ghastly blue-black color spread from the point of contact.
Her HP began plummeting.
“…”
Orange Candy smiled with innocent sweetness:
“Okay. Thank you, teacher.”
The teacher released her hand.
Orange Candy cast one last look toward the driver’s cabin, then turned and walked off the bus without a backward glance.
The moment she stepped down, her smile vanished completely, leaving only a grim, icy glare.
“He’s not there.”
She spoke to her teammates in front of her.
“…” Wei Cheng frowned. “Not there? Then where could he be?”
There were only so many places on the bus. If he wasn’t in the cabin, and he wasn’t in the passenger area… where could he be?
Su Cheng looked at Orange Candy and suddenly asked:
“So—what was in the driver’s cabin? Did you see?”
Orange Candy’s expression soured.
“…A paper figure.”
What?
The others stared.
Yes—inside the plastic partition, the driver’s seat was occupied by a paper effigy.
A pale face, mouth corners pulled high, black eyes, and bright red cheeks. In the dim light, it was extra eerie and horrifying.
It was what had brought them to that frigid, terrifying gravefield.
And from the rearview mirror dangled a bobbing Lucky Boy charm.
Su Cheng fell silent, pensive.
“So, what now? What do we do next?” Tian Ye asked.
“What else?”
Orange Candy shot him a look, irritated.
“Obviously, we finish the plan.”
Although Wen Jianyan’s whereabouts were currently unknown, based on what the captain could access, he was at least not in mortal danger. Which meant the only option left to them…
Was to keep doing what they hadn’t finished.
“Oh…” Tian Ye ventured, cautious, “then… what’s our next step?”
Back in the gravefield, due to time and setting, Orange Candy hadn’t fully explained the plan to them.
So they’d been following instructions without really knowing why.
As they spoke, they had already left the bus area.
Hearing Tian Ye’s question, Orange Candy didn’t answer right away. She smiled instead, showing a row of white teeth:
“Look—who’s that?”
Not far ahead, a familiar silhouette appeared—
“…The Weasel?” They froze, blurting out.
Then it clicked: “Wait, he joined our elective too?”
“Yeah.”
Orange Candy shrugged. “I don’t know how that guy pulled it off. But on the bus, he clearly noticed that person was also in the outdoor course.”
“And he’s working in a team.”
That was also Wen Jianyan’s discovery.
As club members, identities were unknown to each other—yet some people still managed to cluster together. In fact, when Wen Jianyan was ambushed by the Weasel in the cafeteria, he’d already realized the Weasel wasn’t acting alone.
There were at least three attackers in that incident.
Since it wasn’t crucial information at the time, he’d kept it to himself.
On the bus, by observing the Weasel and his interactions with those around him, Wen Jianyan confirmed one thing:
Even after falling out with Swamp and the others, the Weasel definitely still had teammates in the club.
Their bond was weaker, though.
At best, a temporary arrangement.
Even so, in such an arrangement, they must have known each other’s “student” identities—or at least had a way to contact each other and move together in “student” form.
Which meant Wen Jianyan’s plan was simple.
—Lock onto the Weasel during the outdoor class and, through him, confirm the identities of those around him and how many badges they carried.
The club indeed forbade internal fighting.
But…
If they took off their badges and turned back into normal humans, that wouldn’t count as “internal fighting,” would it?
Orange Candy smiled brightly—sweet and adorable, yet with a strange hint of ferocity that made one’s skin crawl.
“So, guess what we’re going to do?”
She flexed her fingers, blinking expectantly, excited:
“Robbery, of course.”
The bus interior was deathly still.
On the floor of the third row, a bulging cloth bag suddenly twitched.
Wen Jianyan listened. The footsteps outside had completely faded.
The “students” should have disembarked.
He was preparing to get out of the grave soil and remove the badge.
But before he could open the bag, Wen Jianyan felt his body lurch.
“…!”
The vehicle seemed to start moving again.
“???”
Huddled in the bag, Wen Jianyan’s pupils dilated.
Wait—hold up. The bus is moving again?!!
Class was over—where were they going?!!!
He struggled up and poked his head out, took a careful glance, and, after confirming no one was nearby, furtively looked out the window.
This time, the bus didn’t drive out of the school gates. It drove within the campus.
Less than a minute later, it stopped again.
“Scree—”
The doors opened once more.
“!!!”
Startled, Wen Jianyan flinched and dove back into the bag.
In the dark, through the cloth, he sensed someone boarding.
The battered bus shuddered and swayed.
Wen Jianyan waited, heart in his throat.
Soon, he felt the bag he was in being lifted.
“!”
He froze in the soil, completely still.
Soon he realized he was being carried off the bus—and transported somewhere unknown.
“…Heavy.”
Voices spoke above him.
“Looks like this run was a good haul.”
“Great—ta will be pleased.”
“…”
Curled in the bag, Wen Jianyan was small, pitiful, and helpless.
Save—save me…
