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Chapter 648: Next stop
The world returned to pure white.
The high temperature from the blood-red flames, the scorched smell of burning corpses, the earth-shaking collapse of the orphanage—everything that had just happened still seemed to linger on the senses.
The congratulatory voice for completing the live stream didn’t sound as expected. The usually noisy Nightmare system was rarely silent.
Gasping breaths and groans of suppressed pain echoed in the vast white space.
In the ‘Sweet Dream Orphanage’ instance, only three to five survivors remained.
Even teams led by anchors of Qi Qian, Chen Cheng, and Orange Candy’s caliber had suffered heavy losses.
Moreover, some of them had experienced two consecutive instances.
Blond covered his eyes. The white film covering his pupils was gradually dissipating, but the irises that had already changed color from excessive talent use showed no sign of recovery.
The blade wounds on Chen Cheng’s body gradually healed, soon leaving only ferocious scars. He glanced down at his arms, which had little intact skin remaining, and casually rolled down his sleeves.
Qi Qian’s fingers gradually grew back. He simply moved his new fingers to confirm their flexibility.
As soon as she regained mobility, Orange Candy immediately went to check on Zhao Ran’s condition.
In a pool of blood, Zhao Ran had been cut straight through from below his chest to one side of his waist by a sharp weapon. The rest of his body had been burned by flames—there was hardly an intact place on him. If not for his strong physique and timely return to the anchor space, there would have been absolutely no chance of survival from such injuries.
Thin blood threads began reconstructing from nothing, bit by bit rebuilding his body. His breathing finally gradually stabilized—but even so, on the newly grown skin, ferocious burn scars still remained.
That corpse fire seemed to affect not just the flesh but could even damage the soul. It looked like these scars would never fade.
“How is he?” Wei Cheng’s tense voice came from behind.
“He’s fine.”
Orange Candy breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.
As soon as she raised her head, she saw Bai Xue standing fixedly not far away, emotionless eyes gazing at the void, faintly reflecting the emptiness ahead.
Orange Candy walked over: “Success?”
Bai Xue turned to glance at her and nodded.
“What’s next?”
Bai Xue shook his head, still not speaking.
But Orange Candy understood his unfinished words.
—What came next was already beyond their ability to interfere with.
Orange Candy narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down for a long moment, then suddenly said: “How much longer can you hold on?”
As both were among Nightmare’s top ten, she could clearly sense Bai Xue’s condition deteriorating.
Though all of their alienation levels had reached nearly irreversible degrees, and at this point, using their talents once or twice wouldn’t cause them much impact, but…
Bai Xue now, whether his skin or hair color, had turned white to near transparency. Except for his eyes that remained distinctly black, his entire person seemed about to vanish into the air the next second.
The more exceptional the talent, the stronger the side effects, especially for abilities that could directly change causal threads.
“Don’t know.” Bai Xue shook his head.
“What about you?” he asked in turn.
“Who knows,” Orange Candy shrugged and joked with a smile, “but living past you counts as victory.”
When discussing life and death, their tone was always bland.
For them, death was just a terminal station waiting ahead. Whether dying early in a instance or completely becoming Nightmare’s puppet as an aberration made little difference.
While the two conversed, the others behind them gradually stood up.
Chen Mo looked around, his eyes suddenly sharpening: “Wait, where’s the president?”
Hearing this, everyone froze. They turned to look around. In this pale white world, everyone who participated in the final action was present, no one left behind, but only Wen Jianyan’s figure was missing.
All at once, the atmosphere that had just relaxed immediately tensed up again.
“Don’t panic yet. This has happened before.”
Wen Ya stepped forward and said.
“Yes.” Blond nodded vigorously. “The captain doesn’t always come out with us.”
Indeed, Wen Jianyan didn’t always withdraw together with them. The longest time, he had returned to the anchor space several hours after the instance ended.
But this time… could this time still be the same as before?
Even while saying reassuring words, recalling everything that happened before the instance ended, Wen Ya still wasn’t certain in her heart.
“In any case, we can only wait first.”
Wen Jianyan felt like he had experienced a long dream. The first half of the dream was dark and distant, like wading through knee-deep cold river water, never reaching the end no matter what. But at some unknown point, the darkness disappeared, replaced by warm golden firelight.
So warm…
Thus, he fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
He didn’t know how much time had passed—perhaps just an instant, or perhaps a full century.
Wen Jianyan opened his eyes in the darkness. His pupils were still confused, almost unable to distinguish whether he was still in a dream.
What had just happened, was it reality, or…
He hesitantly raised his hand, instinctively touching his cheek, only to feel dampness.
The next second, a cold palm brushed across his cheek. That sudden touch startled Wen Jianyan, pulling him from that dazed state. Only then did he realize that a pair of familiar golden eyes were currently looking down at him from above.
…Wu Zhu?
He froze, suddenly realizing he was currently lying entirely in the other’s arms.
Wen Jianyan couldn’t help being startled and reflexively wanted to leave, but strangely, his body was like it wasn’t his own—heavy as stone, almost impossible to control. What he thought were violent struggles only created faint ripples on his body, easily pressed back into place by Wu Zhu.
“This is…” As soon as he opened his mouth, he was startled by his own hoarse, grating voice.
“Wait a bit longer.” Wu Zhu said. “You still need some time.”
The division and fusion of souls was by no means simple, especially for humans.
Wu Zhu’s hand fell on Wen Jianyan’s tense, trembling neck: “Relax.”
“…”
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, forcibly suppressed the restlessness in his heart, and forced himself to gradually relax his highly tensed body.
“What about the others?”
“They went back.” Wu Zhu answered in his consistently calm tone.
Hearing this, Wen Jianyan breathed a sigh of relief.
He knew the others’ conditions couldn’t hold on much longer. Blond’s talent was exhausted and he’d lost his sight, Chen Cheng’s body was also on the verge of collapse… For them, if they didn’t receive any treatment, the situation ahead would likely not be optimistic.
Unfortunately… based on Wen Jianyan’s understanding of Nightmare and the degree of destruction these two instances had suffered, before he returned, if the others entered any instances next, they would likely face very similar crazy targeting.
If they were smart, they should stay put next.
“Also…”
Wen Jianyan suddenly stopped talking.
His lips pressed tightly together, the corners of his mouth pulling into a deep, sharp line. His face habitually wore a cold, solid mask, making it completely impossible to glimpse the real him beneath.
Wu Zhu didn’t urge him, just waited.
Finally, he still spoke, his not-yet-recovered voice dry and hoarse, hiding all fluctuations very deeply: “What about those in the instance… the dead?”
Those souls trapped in this instance.
Those lives that hadn’t had time to grow, cut down early.
Those… childhood playmates, those tragically deceased old friends.
“The orphanage has been burned down.” Wu Zhu said. “All the souls trapped here are free.”
“…Mm, that’s good.”
Wen Jianyan turned his head sideways, burying his face in the clothes on Wu Zhu’s abdomen, deeply hiding all his emotional fluctuations.
In that blurry dream, children’s smiling faces waved goodbye to him, saying they were leaving this place to go somewhere more beautiful.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
…That’s good.
“Not just them are free, but also part of you.” Wu Zhu said. “You should be able to remember many things now.”
When Wen Jianyan escaped from here, part of him was left in this instance. And souls and memories were intimately connected. Because of this, he couldn’t remember the specific details of his escape. Only now could Wen Jianyan finally reclaim that part of what “truly happened.”
As for the pain the young him repeatedly experienced in the instance loops, Wu Zhu had completely erased it as a dream, so Wen Jianyan would no longer experience it again in a “personally bearing” way.
“Mm.” Wen Jianyan responded. “But… it’s very chaotic.”
Those images were too fresh, mixed with his recent memories, making it almost difficult for him, just awakened from sleep, to distinguish what had just happened.
One second, he was still fleeing on a ship about to capsize, the next second, he was back in his young years, moving fearfully through dark corridors. He had just fallen into cold seawater when he saw the tall Momma bending down toward him…
Countless flames and deaths turned into storms, rushing toward him like waves.
“Ugh!”
Tearing pain made Wen Jianyan groan.
Familiar cold fingers pressed against his temple. The next second, the pain dissipated. Wu Zhu’s low voice came from beside his ear:
“I told you, give it time.”
“If it’s too painful, I can…”
Wu Zhu had done similar things before.
After the Asylum instance ended, due to his aversion to the intensity and complexity of those memories, he had forcibly suppressed them—of course, they ultimately slipped completely from his control, quietly growing along with uncontrollable unfamiliar emotions.
But at least now, he could completely make Wen Jianyan more comfortable.
“No need.” Wen Jianyan tilted his head, avoiding his fingers and exposing his face again.
His eyes were as usual.
Calm and resolute.
“Not necessary.”
Watching the other’s eyes, Wu Zhu silently smiled.
Right.
Just like this.
His fingertip fell on the other’s warm, trembling eyelid.
One of a kind.
Whether burned by his movement or his gaze, Wen Jianyan instinctively avoided it.
“Alright, I’ve pretty much recovered.”
He pushed Wu Zhu’s abdomen with still somewhat inflexible hands, struggling. “Let me up.”
Ignoring Wu Zhu’s hands reaching over to help him, Wen Jianyan staggered to his feet.
Wu Zhu lowered his head, glancing at his empty embrace that only retained lingering warmth, and silently sighed.
Sure enough, he was more clingy when younger.
Wen Jianyan stood steady and turned to look toward where the orphanage had once been, not far away.
Overhead was a lightless sky, underfoot was charred ruins.
Bricks, rubble, blackened timber piled together. A half-ruined wall stood to the side. Whatever pain or sin had existed here had all been destroyed by hurricane-like flames, leaving only ruins beyond recognition.
Everything was silent. There wasn’t even a breath of wind above the ruins.
“…”
Wen Jianyan stood with lowered eyes, quietly standing on the ruins of this place where he had once lived, saying nothing—like remembering, yet also like mourning.
Finally, he raised his eyes and said:
“It really should have been burned.”
Flames burned everything and also purified everything.
“This is a good ending.” He said softly.
Though saying such words, somehow his expression held no joy, instead appearing… somewhat sad.
Wen Jianyan moved slowly through the ruins. Before long, his gaze fell on the charred bricks and tiles. His movements paused slightly, as if finding something.
He bent down and picked up a box from the black ashes.
The box had been discolored by the fierce fire but still maintained its original shape somewhat—to have such performance under such intense corpse fire was truly surprising.
Wen Jianyan raised his hand to brush off the ashes on its surface, examining the empty interior.
He himself also possessed such a box.
From the ‘Yuying Comprehensive University’ instance, the last gift sent by the principal, who had once been human. The key to deciphering its message was the Dead Sea Scrolls from ‘Lucky Cruise Ship’—unfortunately, because it was still missing a page, it couldn’t be used temporarily.
After standing still for a long time, Wen Jianyan released his hand, tossing the box back to its original place, then walked out from the ruins with uneven steps.
He looked at Wu Zhu and said slowly:
“Next, I plan to return to Changsheng Building.”
Wu Zhu stood quietly, listening, not asking questions.
“Although my brain is still very confused,” Wen Jianyan tapped his temple and showed a self-mocking smile, “but thanks to these images being clear enough, I actually found a breakthrough point.”
No matter what materials these corpse oils were made from, they would essentially cause irresistible harm to ghosts and monsters.
This was somewhat illogical.
Why would Nightmare spend such great time and effort just to create a product that could potentially destroy the domain it could control?
Wen Jianyan’s instinct told him… this answer was very important. If he wanted to completely destroy Nightmare, he had to figure this out.
And there was only one place where Wen Jianyan had seen large amounts of these corpse oils—
Changsheng Building.
Naturally, he couldn’t enter through normal means, after all, Changsheng Building was an instance he had already platinum-cleared.
However… abnormal means weren’t impossible.
After all, Wen Jianyan clearly remembered that on the ticket for that train they had previously boarded, the terminal station was precisely Changsheng Building.
He hesitated, looking at Wu Zhu:
“Um, you…”
“Do you want to come along?” He said, looking away.
Wu Zhu first froze, but soon, he smiled: “Of course.”
Dear.
How could you possibly shake me off?
