The End
Chapter 725: We Won
The anchors, their movements restricted, stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the sky outside the porthole as the blood-red color gradually faded.
They didn’t know what had happened.
Yet, they seemed to vaguely understand what had happened.
Above was a clear, azure sky. A faint light had already begun to dawn in one corner, and the morning stars were fading.
Qi Qian lowered his head and opened his palm.
Under his gaze, the smartphone that originally belonged to Nightmare turned to ash, slowly slipping through his fingers and vanishing.
There would be no more never-ending death broadcasts, no more instance after instance, no more viewers, no more anchors, no more…
“…”
He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard on his back molars, as if it were the only way to force back the heat suddenly welling up in his eyes.
An Xin’s voice came to his ear, hoarse, trembling slightly, carrying the joy, unease, and daze of surviving a catastrophe:
“Guild President, Nightmare, it…”
“Yeah.”
Qi Qian heard himself respond with an equally hoarse and trembling voice.
“It disappeared.”
“It disappeared,” he repeated. “We won.”
We won.
From now on, the nightmare is over, and only the dawn remains.
Yang Fan’s legs gave out, and he almost stumbled to the ground.
Before he could fall, Ji Guan reached out and supported him tightly. His fingers dug firmly into Yang Fan’s shoulders, veins bulging on the back of his hands, as if suppressing some emotion about to burst forth. Suddenly, Yang Fan felt a scalding, warm liquid run down his collar. He was momentarily stunned, but didn’t say a word. He simply reached out, groping in the darkness beside him, and hugged the other man back.
Hugo stood not far away, his iron-gray eyes staring blankly upwards.
Extending far and wide, vaguely unable to land on anything solid, it seemed both like reminiscing and saying goodbye.
“Ha!” Chen Cheng sat on the ground, squeezing a laugh out of his throat. Blood was still seeping from the numerous wounds on his body, but he seemed unable to feel the pain—or rather, at this moment, a little pain didn’t matter to him anymore. He reached out to the side and vigorously rubbed Orange Candy’s head, who hadn’t yet regained her senses, with ninety percent malicious intent. “Look at that, I knew it, I knew it!”
“Mmhmm… let me go…”
Orange Candy still instinctively disliked this rude, blood-covered man. She struggled, trying hard to dodge away, but unfortunately, her body was too small, and she unavoidably got blood smeared all over her forehead by the other party’s hand.
“…”
She froze for two seconds, tears slowly pooling in her eyes.
“Wuwu…”
“Your hands are so dirty, waaaah—” She started crying brokenheartedly.
Wen Ya: “That’s enough!”
As she spoke, she snatched Orange Candy out of Chen Cheng’s clutches.
Chen Cheng, mercilessly pushed away by her, couldn’t help but bare his teeth in a grimace, even though she didn’t use much force:
“Hiss, do you even remember who you’ve known the longest?”
“You,” Wen Ya said, iron-faced and merciless. “But you deserve it.”
Deep within the cruise ship, the faces of the undead were still crying. Endless streams of bloody tears ran down their pale faces, leaving bright red trails. The ground continued to vibrate unceasingly, and the ship rocked as if it were about to disintegrate.
At this moment, Chen Mo stepped out from the ecstasy of victory and the accompanying sorrow. He looked at Su Cheng not far away and asked with some concern,
“How do you feel right now?”
“…” Su Cheng’s face was deathly pale. He shook his head, his voice sounding squeezed through his teeth. “Not great.”
The Nightmare that rode the ship had left, but that didn’t mean everything was perfectly fine. He could feel the intense, endlessly surging emotions of those corpses deep within the ship’s hull—sorrow, anger, hatred, despair—these feelings tore at the ship, causing the originally intact hull to begin falling apart.
And having only just become the Captain, he didn’t yet have the ability to suppress it all.
“Do you need us to help you with anything?” Chen Mo took a step forward worriedly, wanting to support him.
But the next second, he saw the other man’s body flicker slightly. Chen Mo paused, finally recalling that the other party had already lost his physical form. The hand he had half-extended halted, then slowly drew back.
“No,” Su Cheng shook his head.
He forced himself to perk up and said: “But regardless, I’ll send you all up first. We’ll talk about the rest later.”
Rumble—
Just like when they were pulled down earlier, after a brief tremor and darkness, light returned to their eyes.
Soon, the auction house appeared before them.
The ground was a muddy sea of blood. Above was a perfectly round, large hole, like a pupil looking down from above.
Those endless blood-red eyeballs of all sizes that had originally occupied the entire sky had all vanished, replaced by a pure, profound blue.
Even though they had anticipated it, truly standing beneath this sky still left them in a daze.
It was silent all around; only the soft rustle of the sea breeze could be heard.
Suddenly, Su Cheng paused and looked up.
…The crying on the ship had ceased at some point.
For no apparent reason, those undead constituting this ship seemed to have received some invisible calling. One after another, they slowly closed their eyes and fell into a pitch-black, dreamless, peaceful slumber—just as they should have been, sleeping silently and peacefully.
In an instant, the disintegration of the cruise ship stopped.
“What happened?” Chen Mo asked.
Su Cheng paused, withdrew his gaze, and said: “The ship… has stabilized.”
“Really?” Chen Mo was surprised at first, then quickly breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful…”
He knew that although Nightmare had dissipated, this cruise ship wouldn’t leave because of it. And as the Captain, Su Cheng’s fate would be tied to it, drifting together on this Dead Sea.
Whatever the case, this was a good thing.
Su Cheng’s gaze wavered.
He hadn’t even had time to do anything, yet the ship had already stabilized. This was simply beyond common sense…
It was almost as if someone—or something—had intervened.
Just as he was lost in thought, a voice suddenly came from not far away:
“Hey… Hey!”
The few people standing in the auction house were startled and turned to look in the direction of the voice. Two familiar figures appeared not far away, walking quickly towards them.
Upon clearly seeing the two of them, the group couldn’t help but be surprised:
“Qi Qian, An Xin?”
“How did you two—”
“Don’t mention it.” Qi Qian, with a dark expression, raised a hand to wipe the freezing seawater from his face and said, “Talk about bad luck.”
After Nightmare dissipated, the power maintaining that cobbled-together fake cruise ship vanished with it. It fell apart almost immediately. They were incredibly unlucky and fell into the water, only managing to half-paddle, half-swim back here by relying on a sufficiently large piece of the deck.
“Wait,” suddenly, Ji Guan thought of something. He frowned, looking him up and down. “So, you fell into the water and nothing happened to you?”
Based on his understanding of this sea area, the seawater was highly corrosive to living people. Once you fell in, it was very difficult to survive.
An Xin: “It’s not exactly ‘nothing happened,’ we’re completely drenched like drowned rats…”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ji Guan was a bit helpless. His gaze swept over An Xin and Qi Qian, confirming that the two hadn’t suffered any injuries from falling into the seawater, before saying, “Never mind, as long as you’re fine.”
“Oh right,” An Xin said while wringing the seawater dripping from his clothes, “the people who came on board with us are in the back.”
Saying this, he jerked his chin backward.
The group looked towards the back in the direction he indicated.
Sure enough, a group of anchors, equally bedraggled and dripping water, appeared in the back. They stood together, looking around half nervously, half warily.
“Why didn’t you just let them drown?” Chen Cheng, supported by Hugo and Ji Guan, still couldn’t stop his mouth from sprouting nonsense, even though he was severely injured with not a patch of good skin on his entire body. “Did you forget they were hunting us down earlier?”
“Sigh… well, they didn’t succeed, did they?” Yang Fan whispered.
“Not succeeding equals not doing it?” Chen Cheng sneered. “Them not succeeding only proves we’re badass, alright?”
Chen Mo narrowed his eyes, saying objectively: “Although these people aren’t completely innocent, at least they were somewhat useful this time.”
These anchors were indeed accomplices, but Nightmare was the true culprit. Moreover, the ones who actually attacked them had already paid the price. The ones still standing before them were just the lucky ones who hadn’t managed to run into them.
“However, basic control is still necessary,” Qi Qian turned his head, his temperatureless gaze sweeping over those people. “At least for these people.”
Although Nightmare had disappeared, their Talents still remained. Releasing these people, whose basic humanity had been mostly worn away in Nightmare, back into reality—who knew what kind of chaos they would cause?
“Ha!” Chen Cheng gloated. “I see your addiction to authority is acting up again, huh? After all, Dark Fire is gone now—”
A vein twitched on Qi Qian’s temple.
He turned to look at the others, revealing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes: “If you can’t shut his mouth, I can help.”
In the end, it was Wen Ya who helplessly stepped in to mediate, preventing the two from getting into a fight at what should have been the happiest of times.
Upon learning that they had to register their real-world names, addresses, and other information, the anchors present naturally disagreed a hundred times over. However, when their gazes fell on Hugo, Bai Xue, and the others not far away, that arrogant attitude quickly weakened—if it were just against Dark Fire, they might have stood a chance if they joined forces. But… if they added several of Nightmare’s top ten, there was absolutely zero possibility.
Having finally escaped Nightmare’s control, they weren’t ready to seek their own deaths.
Soon, every anchor’s information was registered.
Qi Qian warned: “Once we’re off the ship, I will verify all this information one by one. If I catch any of you lying, you will regret your actions today.”
The anchors nodded sullenly, their shoulders drooping, looking very much like eggplants beaten by frost.
Behind them was the empty high platform of the auction house.
The deep blue sky looked down through the giant pupil. On the blood-soaked ground, there was only one blank area, just large enough for one person to stand, that wasn’t stained red by blood.
It was as if someone had stood there, their body blocking the falling rain of blood.
But…
As time passed.
The blood slowly seeped up from the surroundings.
That tiny blank spot was quietly swallowed by the blood-red color.
As if it had never existed.
Time marched steadily forward; the world wouldn’t stop turning because of anyone’s disappearance.
After getting off the ship, Chen Mo and Ji Guan technically didn’t have any external injuries, so they mainly recuperated at home. Those with the heaviest injuries, unsurprisingly, entered the hospital.
When treating Chen Cheng, the hospital almost sent him straight to the morgue to skip the intermediate steps. But ultimately, they treated him upon the insistence of the person who brought him in, claiming he had an “exceptionally good physical constitution,” and successfully created a medical miracle. Since his admission, Chen Cheng’s face had been incredibly gloomy, but unfortunately, his body was wrapped like a mummy. He could only let the doctors come and go in his ward, staring at those numbers and clicking their tongues in amazement.
Yang Fan was the very obedient type. He honestly took his medicine and got his injections. Because he was so well-behaved, the nurses couldn’t help but sigh when applying medicine to his empty eye sockets. However, even so, he would occasionally break the rules, sneaking out of his ward in the middle of the night to find Chen Cheng to pass the time—after all, to him now, darkness wasn’t really a problem anymore.
As for Hugo…
Although he was briefly admitted for treatment, he disappeared the next day, and no one knew where he went.
During this time, Qi Qian had been very busy.
After all, not all anchors participated in that encirclement. Now that Nightmare had disappeared, they had regained their freedom, scattering across the world like shooting stars. Also scattered across the world were the instances that collapsed with Nightmare’s disappearance, and the fatal dangers once imprisoned within them.
It had to be said, this guy was a natural at politics. Based on the snippets revealed during their last contact, it seemed he had already established a connection with the authorities in just a few days, and now it seemed to have progressed to the stage of negotiating specific cooperation.
As for Orange Candy, the situation was a bit complicated.
Although she didn’t seem to have suffered any superficial injuries, her “condition” was concentrated in her brain.
Wen Ya spent a long time trying to get some information about her real life from her, but her regression was truly a bit too complete. A three or four-year-old child could barely speak properly, let alone provide much useful information. Therefore, Wen Ya had to shoulder the heavy responsibility of taking care of her daily life, getting burned out day by day from raising a child.
As for Yun Bilan and Su Cheng, their situation was even less simple. Due to identity restrictions, they couldn’t return to reality and were forced to stay in “that world.”
But even so, they managed to find a way to re-establish contact.
It was just that the method was rather primitive; a few simple sentences of communication took several days to pass back and forth.
The world continued to run smoothly like this.
Nothing much had changed.
Ring! Ring!
Chen Mo was awakened by the sound. He pinched the bridge of his nose, grabbed his phone, and put it to his ear, his hoarse voice mixed with unabated irritation: “…Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Qi Qian’s somewhat distorted voice came through the receiver.
“Sleeping?”
“Yeah,” Chen Mo grunted, frowning tightly, and said impatiently, “Get to the point.”
In that final battle, Ye Lin’s attack acted directly on his soul, making his recovery very slow. For the vast majority of the day, Chen Mo was in a deep sleep. His dreams were bizarre and colorful, but upon waking, he couldn’t remember anything, leaving only an unprovoked, complex sorrow.
“I need your help over here.” Qi Qian didn’t stand on ceremony and cut straight to the chase.
“No time.” Chen Mo refused just as cleanly.
But before he could press the hang-up button, the other party seemed to have anticipated his reaction and stopped him as quickly as possible: “Hey, don’t refuse so quickly—for the sake of an old friend, at least hear me out.”
Chen Mo couldn’t help but pause, ultimately not pressing the button immediately.
Qi Qian’s cooperation with the authorities was going very smoothly. He was born to do this line of work, actually managing to build his own organization in such a short time. However, there weren’t many people who could truly be of use—after all, in his words, the vast majority of capable, high-status anchors had died in that final encirclement battle. Among everyone he knew, the only one with combat strength, the ability and means to manage and control a large number of anchors, and rich experience in inter-guild communication was Chen Mo.
Finally, under his reasonable, sincere, and earnest persuasion (and, of course, the indispensable temptation of benefits), Chen Mo finally reluctantly agreed under additional conditions.
“First, I will only go two days a week. For the rest of the time, if there’s business, I will handle it at home.”
Naturally, Qi Qian already knew about Chen Mo’s current physical condition, so he didn’t force it and agreed without hesitation.
“Second, the compensation you’re offering is too little. At least 50% more, or no deal.”
Qi Qian gritted his teeth. Although it pained him greatly, he still nodded generously.
“Of course, and the final, most important point: don’t even think about being an armchair boss this time, otherwise…”
Chen Mo paused, suddenly getting stuck.
But Qi Qian didn’t notice: “Don’t worry about that, when have I ever been an armchair boss? Back in the live broadcast, didn’t I handle all the operations of Dark Fire with my utmost effort?”
Suddenly, he realized there hadn’t been any response from the other end of the line for a long time:
“Hello, hello? Are you still listening?”
Chen Mo finally seemed to snap back: “Huh? …Yeah, I’m listening.”
Just like that, he followed the previous topic and chatted absentmindedly for a bit. After confirming the time for their cooperation, he hung up the phone.
The curtains were drawn tight, and the room was very dim. Only a slight glimmer of light filtered in through the edges of the curtains, leaving a few bright streaks of light on the ceiling.
Chen Mo lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“…”
For some reason, this time, he surprisingly wasn’t sleepy.
Chen Mo took a deep breath, grabbed his phone from the nearby table again, unlocked the screen, and, driven by some inexplicable impulse, called someone on his contact list.
Du… du… du…
A busy tone came from the other end.
Chen Mo patiently continued to wait. After about half a minute, the phone was finally answered.
As soon as the call connected, the sounds of chaotic footsteps, panting, and a noisy racket came through. Chen Mo inconspicuously moved the phone a little further away from his ear. A few seconds later, an exasperated voice finally came from the other side: “Sigh, my little ancestor… could you stop running around?”
“What’s wrong?” Chen Mo asked.
Wen Ya, using a very twisted posture to hold the phone between her shoulder and ear, spoke through gritted teeth: “I came to pick Chen Cheng and Yang Fan up from the hospital, but I didn’t expect Orange Candy to secretly tag along. How can she be so tiny yet still as cunning as a monkey, managing to follow us all the way to the hospital like this…”
Before she could finish, her voice spiked again:
“Hey, hey! Don’t snatch other people’s things!!”
It sounded like she was having a truly miserable time.
Listening to the chaos over there, Chen Mo paused, shook his head helplessly, and seemed to find himself a bit ridiculous in that moment.
“Alright, then I won’t bother you.”
“Wait,” unexpectedly, Wen Ya stopped him. “Do you want to come out and hang out tonight?”
“Just in time to celebrate Chen Cheng and Yang Fan’s discharge. I’ll call Ji Guan later.”
Chen Mo hesitated for a moment, then agreed: “Alright, send me the address later.”
Hanging up the phone, Wen Ya took the phone down from her shoulder. But as soon as she lowered her head, she realized that Orange Candy had returned at some point, holding a fruit basket she had snatched from some unknown ward. The massive fruit basket was completely disproportionate to her body, forcing her to walk with her head tilted back, looking incredibly comical.
“…”
Seeing this, Wen Ya started getting a headache again.
She took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of her nose, and asked through gritted teeth, “Where did you find this one?”
Orange Candy tilted her head to look at her, an innocent expression on her face, posing a “I don’t understand what you’re saying” look, but she still tightly hugged the fruit basket, clearly having no intention of letting go.
“……………………”
Wen Ya closed her eyes, her heart filled with unspeakable bitterness.
What’s more terrifying than raising a child is raising a child with terrifying strength, who does whatever she pleases, and has absolutely no sense of rules.
She dragged Orange Candy along and waited on the spot for a while.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to notice anything was missing. Wen Ya looked down, glanced at the time on her phone, and seeing that the agreed-upon time was almost up, she had no choice but to leave helplessly.
However, this time, Wen Ya didn’t dare to let go of Orange Candy again. She held onto Orange Candy tightly, afraid she would take another step away from her—she more or less still remembered some past affection, and would be slightly more obedient when being dragged (although the extent of her obedience was very limited).
Soon, the two arrived at the ward.
The bandages wrapped around Chen Cheng were fewer than before, going from a full mummy to a half mummy.
He had clearly been waiting there for a long time, his expression quite impatient. Yang Fan stood beside him, thick bandages wrapped around his eyes, softly persuading him about something.
Seeing Wen Ya step into the ward, Chen Cheng raised an eyebrow, demanding an explanation:
“You’re fifteen minutes late!”
Having been tormented by Orange Candy the whole way, Wen Ya had long since exhausted her patience, and she wasn’t about to indulge Chen Cheng’s bad habits: “Wrong, I’m fourteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-five minutes early.”
Chen Cheng: “…”
The doctor had advised him to stay in the hospital for another half a month, but he simply couldn’t sit still, so he pestered them into letting him tag along when Yang Fan was discharged.
He stiffened his neck and very awkwardly changed the subject:
“Oh, hahaha, I didn’t expect Orange Candy to come along too.”
“Yeah,” mentioning this, Wen Ya couldn’t help but get a headache. She rubbed her temples and said, “I clearly settled her down before I left the house, but I didn’t expect…”
From any angle, this guy was far more difficult to deal with than a child of this age.
Yang Fan sighed: “Oh my, maybe Sister Sugar actually worries about us more than we imagine…”
Otherwise, why would she try every possible means to escape, even when locked in a room, just to sneakily follow Wen Ya to the hospital?
Chen Cheng’s gaze fell on the fruit basket in Orange Candy’s hands, and he raised an eyebrow in great surprise: “I didn’t expect that, even though her age has regressed this much, she still remembers to bring a fruit basket when visiting patients in the hospital—she really understands social etiquette.”
However, the Orange Candy he claimed “really understood social etiquette” didn’t even raise her head, coldly giving him the back of her dark head. Not only did she have no intention of paying attention to him, but she also didn’t show any concern for the two patients.
Chen Cheng found himself snubbed and had no choice but to rub his nose.
Wen Ya carefully closed the door and locked it. Only after making sure that Orange Candy really couldn’t run out again did she finally relax a little and turn to help pack up things for the two patients with limited mobility.
The group started chatting.
“So, Chen Mo is coming later too?”
“Yeah, Ji Guan just replied to my message, he’ll be there too.”
“Is that so? That’s great,” when Yang Fan raised his head, although his eyes were covered with gauze, it couldn’t hide the yearning on his face. He sighed, “This will be our first gathering since that ended, right? If Yun Bilan and Su Cheng were here too, our entire guild would be present!”
Thump.
A rosy apple fell from the side and hit the floor.
It rolled along the ground with a clatter, slowing down little by little, and gently bumped against his foot.
“…”
Chen Cheng looked down and was suddenly dazed for two seconds.
But he quickly shook his head vigorously, as if trying to shake some messy thoughts out of his head. Then he leaned down and, trying his best not to pull the bandages on his body, picked up the apple in an uncomfortable posture and handed it back to Orange Candy:
“Here, you dropped something.”
It was only then that he clearly saw what Orange Candy was fiddling with.
The fruits originally in the fruit basket had been completely emptied out at some point, piled carelessly on the empty hospital bed next to them. Apples, peaches, pears, grapes… various fruits were rolling around messily, and the apple that had just fallen to his feet had rolled off the edge of the bed.
But the fruit basket itself was now completely empty.
No, not entirely.
In the middle of it, a few candies were placed askew.
It’s just that because the fruit basket was too big, they looked pitifully few.
The candy wrappers were shiny, radiating brilliant light, flashing beautiful colors in the sunlight.
The little girl sat beside it, her head lowered, not saying a word, struggling to dig things out of her pockets.
As if still trying to put more candies inside.
