—A 100% death rate?
Those words landed like a heavy blow—like a hammer slamming down directly on one's chest, so forceful it left one dizzy.
"What?"
Wen Jianyan was stunned. He turned to look at Bai Xue.
Although they stood close together, in this pitch-black darkness where one couldn't even see their hand in front of their face, he still couldn't make out Bai Xue's figure—let alone anything else.
"You mean… Chen Mo?"
"Yes. But not just him."
Bai Xue calmly shook his head.
"In any case, don't go over there. He's beyond saving."
To Bai Xue's eyes, the space ahead was like a massive black hole—one that had swallowed up all potential outcomes. No light remained.
Even if Chen Mo hadn't technically died yet, he was already no different from the dead.
That was a black hole that would devour anything that drew near.
All possibilities would be reduced to zero.
Under such circumstances, the most rational thing to do was to avoid approaching—play it safe this round.
After all, there were fewer than twenty minutes left until the banquet ended. They only needed to endure for one more round at most.
Upon hearing this, Wen Jianyan paused and instinctively looked into the distance.
Not far away, at the edge of the darkened long table, Chen Mo sat upright and motionless. His expression was blank, his face pale as death, like a corpse that had been dead for a long time—eerily still.
The tablecloth under the tray, the floor beneath his seat—everything was soaked in crimson blood.
The blood wasn't from Chen Mo, but from the three skinned faces piled on the bronze tray.
The entire scene was sinister, foreboding, and deeply disturbing.
Wen Jianyan stood still, gripping his tray, a cold sweat running down his back in waves. Even his palms were damp with sweat.
The situation was far more complicated than he'd imagined.
It was clear now—unlike the other residents of this instance, unlike the mindless ghosts acting purely on instinct, this white-clothed woman was the only one who might possess the ability of free will.
Whether it was the way she "guided" them at the very beginning, or the fragmented hints found later in the notebook, everything pointed toward that fact.
She wasn't just some unconscious, wandering spirit. She was something far more terrifying—an entity with a dangerous, active will.
Chen Mo falling into her hands… definitely wasn't just an accident.
The pain in Wen Jianyan's wrist worsened.
A chilling, deep ache seeped out from his bones, pressing heavily on his skin.
Wen Jianyan lowered his head and rolled up his sleeve.
On his wrist was a dark, bruised handprint. The skin beneath it seemed slightly sunken, as if an invisible hand were gripping him tightly.
His mind was in chaos.
Noisy, overwhelming thoughts jammed into his head—details he'd overanalyzed fighting to be heard: "I'm the most important." "No, I am!" It was giving him a headache.
Stop. Stop.
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and forced himself to break free from the swirl of thoughts.
He turned to Bai Xue and asked, "If I go near him—will I die?"
"…What?"
Bai Xue blinked, momentarily confused by Wen Jianyan's question.
"I remember—you can see the probability of specific events happening, right?" Wen Jianyan asked patiently. "So if I walk over there—will I die?"
Bai Xue turned his head and looked toward the table once more.
Behind the mask, his eyes gleamed with a strange, inky blackness.
After a few seconds, he hesitantly replied:
"…I'm not sure."
Indeed, within the blood pooled by the table, there was a black hole that could devour all possibilities. But when Bai Xue tried to search for a path where Wen Jianyan could survive if he approached—he surprisingly sensed a sliver of hope.
It was very strange.
Bai Xue had never encountered anything like it before.
"I see."
Wen Jianyan felt his heart sink slightly. He exhaled slowly and nodded.
Bai Xue's answer confirmed his suspicion.
Finally, Wen Jianyan understood what was really going on.
That thing had been trying to get close to him all along.
From the very beginning—when the painting appeared in his room, to the supposed guidance afterward—everything was an attempt to approach him, perhaps even manipulate him.
Including what was happening now.
That's why out of everyone, only Chen Mo had been caught.
And Chen Mo wasn't just anyone—he was an experienced anchor: rational, calm, and without any obvious weaknesses. He had the experience to immediately recognize that the white-clothed woman wasn't something to deal with rashly.
Which meant there was only one explanation:
He was the decoy.
And because of that, Wen Jianyan was the true target.
That's why only his death rate wasn't 100%.
Because this trap had been set specifically—for him.
But why?
What did it want?
Wen Jianyan believed he would know very soon.
He turned to Bai Xue again and said solemnly, "Next, I'll need a favor from you."
Bai Xue: "You're still going?"
"Yes." Wen Jianyan nodded. "I need you to adjust the death probability when I go over."
Bai Xue wasn't surprised.
After all, that was the only way he could help.
It was a familiar request.
Bai Xue had long gotten used to it.
"Alright."
He nodded.
Uncharacteristically, he added a few more words. Calm, rational, and matter-of-fact:
"At least in this instance, I'm one of your teammates. You don't need my permission."
"Well, that won't do."
Wen Jianyan turned to him and said seriously.
In the darkness, Bai Xue suddenly felt a weight on his head.
His head had been firmly ruffled.
"?"
Bai Xue was momentarily stunned.
Then he heard Wen Jianyan's faintly amused voice:
"Such a beautiful color… I'd hate to see it disappear."
"…"
Bai Xue took a step back, tilted his head away to avoid Wen Jianyan's hand, and coldly muttered:
"Lowering the death rate comes at a cost."
Adjusting probabilities wasn't some profitable cheat—it was, in a way, a form of equivalent exchange. Especially when it came to death.
Like the threads of fate spun by the goddess—if you tug one, the surrounding threads shift as well. Saving a life wasn't easy.
One life saved often meant another lost.
"I know."
Wen Jianyan had already seen this in action near the start of the instance.
"Anyway…"
Wen Jianyan smiled sheepishly, almost apologetically, and said in a low voice: "When I give the signal, I need you to adjust Chen Mo's death probability and stack his crisis onto me."
"…?"
Bai Xue blinked, confused, and let out a puzzled sound: "Hmm?"
"Can you do that?" Wen Jianyan asked.
Bai Xue was silent for a long time. Then he said: "I can."
But…
Chen Mo's death probability was 100%.
Bai Xue hesitated, as if wanting to say something.
"That's good, then." Wen Jianyan patted him on the shoulder with a cheerful grin. "Once we get out of here, I'll treat you to a big meal."
Bai Xue hesitated briefly—but didn't dodge Wen Jianyan's touch.
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath, loosened his stiff shoulders a bit, then stepped forward, holding the tray in his hands, walking straight into the darkness.
Behind him, Bai Xue lifted his eyes, watching as the figure was swallowed by darkness. Behind the mask, his pitch-black pupils flickered faintly.
…What a strange person.
Bai Xue stood in place, gazing into the area where even the lights could no longer be seen, silently waiting for Wen Jianyan's signal.
The moment the signal came, he would adjust the probability.
He would give the doomed Chen Mo a chance at survival—and make the originally safe Wen Jianyan encounter an "accident" and become the one destined to die.
What would the final outcome be?
Bai Xue didn't know.
Those dark, eerie eyes were empty and void, as if nothing from the real world could reflect in them—only something irrational and beyond reason could be seen in their depths.
So strange.
Bai Xue never considered himself particularly kind.
Or rather, no one who survived the nightmares was truly good—and he was clearly worse than most.
After all, "selfishness" was the essence of his innate ability.
That was, to plunder the possibility of others surviving.
At first, those who knew his ability were overjoyed. They thought it was a chance to change fate and naturally treated him like a precious gem.
"Bai Xue, please, I beg you, save us!"
"Please, Bai Xue, I don't want to die! I really don't want to die!"
"Help us, just change the probability of our death, just a little!"
They pleaded with sharp cries, weeping and screaming, hoping for a chance to change fate and escape death.
Each request was so familiar, so similar, like they all came from the same mold.
"…Alright."
Bai Xue would always give in.
Why wouldn't he?
After all, he was a boy born with an immune deficiency, protected in an isolation ward from birth, who had never left the hospital or interacted with anyone other than doctors and nurses. Pure as a blank sheet of paper, untouched by malice.
So, he would always give in. Always be moved by others' pleading.
Unfortunately, everyone who depended on him would eventually taste bitter consequences.
The course of fate could not be easily altered. The cost of saving one life often meant the death of one—or even several—others.
Bai Xue's interference only brought greater danger to those around him.
He was like an evil wish-granting machine—the more beautiful the wish, the more horrifying the disaster it brought.
And he never refused.
Death became frequent; teammates were replaced rapidly.
They still kept him around.
After all, even if things got worse after changing fate, no one could resist the hope of being saved when facing death.
Even if the aftermath was more tragic, people always wanted to live. They always held on to the irrational fantasy that they could escape death's grasp.
Yet, even if they didn't notice it themselves, their gazes gradually changed—from hope to fear and distance.
Bai Xue grew increasingly silent.
He wasn't good at communication, nor did he react to others' shifting attitudes. No matter how tainted the surrounding stares became, he remained unmoved.
Later…
His teammates gradually realized something.
Sometimes, Bai Xue's ability didn't need to be actively triggered.
If he faced a mortal threat, his ability would automatically activate—stripping color from his body to save him temporarily—then claim more lives through the ensuing crisis.
The wariness and distance turned into complete fear and disgust.
How terrifying.
Wasn't this basically a parasitic ability?
They huddled together, speaking venomously.
Yeah, just like that bastard.
Seemingly fragile and harmless, with no means of attack, longing for more possibilities—but living in an isolation ward that burned tens of thousands a month, feeding off the possibility of his blood relatives living better lives, just barely clinging to existence, all to survive from one day to the next.
Sure, he wouldn't die. But everyone around him would go to hell.
Just like his ability—parasitic, exploitative.
But still useful.
"Bai Xue, there's a team that wants your help with a task. You'll go, right?"
Bai Xue nodded.
"Great," the captain laughed with delight. "You'll get a share of the points."
One team after another.
In these instances, accidents were common. Team wipes could happen in an instant.
"This guy's so useful. Just send him to a rival team, tweak things a bit to put him in danger, and boom—the team's done for."
"Hahaha, right? Who'd have thought even the Plague God could be useful to us?"
"No kidding, our points and rankings are skyrocketing like a rocket!"
"But hey, word's getting out. The forums are starting to talk about the 'curse.' Might be harder to pull this off in the future."
"Eh, who cares. If we can't use him anymore, just dump him."
"He's no real use in a team anyway. We have to carefully control how we use his ability, keep him alive or we all suffer. What team can afford to support that kind of liability?"
"I don't buy it. Just toss him into a place full of ghosts and leave—he won't last long."
In the distance—
A white-haired boy stood still, his pitch-black eyes gazing far ahead, silent as ever.
Then, another team was wiped out.
They had started off strong, brimming with energy—only to inexplicably fail in a relatively easy instance.
No one knew why.
But someone on the forums claimed they saw, after that instance ended, the sole survivor—Bai Xue—appearing alone in a pale white space. His ghostly white skin and hair nearly blended with the background. His face was blank, his body splattered with thick, sticky blood. His eyes were black as ink, eerily strange.
The rumor of the "curse" spread further and further.
Bai Xue became a fearsome legend.
Some teams even tried to use it to their advantage—but none of them met a good end.
Stepping over corpses, feeding on the lives of everyone around him, the lone survivor continued surviving instance after instance. He couldn't die—and everyone around him kept dying, whether they were kind to him, tried to kill him, or tried to use him…
They all disappeared.
Turned to white bones, left far behind.
Fortunately, Bai Xue later made it into the Top Ten. For the top ten anchors, the platform reduced mandatory streaming frequency—now they only had to stream once every six months.
Of course, most top anchors didn't stick to that bare minimum. By this point, surviving the instances was easy for them. They craved more—more things to plunder.
But things were different for Bai Xue.
He really only streamed once every six months.
As long as he met the minimum requirement, he never entered an instance again.
So, as the frequency of his appearances dropped sharply and his contemporaries either died or rose, the so-called "curse" became something only a few long-lived veteran anchors still remembered.
Bai Xue stared into the thick darkness before him.
With time, Wen Jianyan's figure could no longer be seen.
Under the mask, that cold, expressionless face slowly revealed a trace of confusion.
That guy… really is strange.
Just like he said earlier, Bai Xue knew—technically speaking, he was part of this man's team in this instance. As the captain, such a request was perfectly reasonable.
And this guy had repeatedly defied Bai Xue's predictions, bursting with vitality. Just for that, Bai Xue was willing to expend a use of his ability to save him once.
He wasn't disappointed or reluctant. On the contrary, he was rather used to it.
But the man's request was so strange that even Bai Xue was stunned upon hearing it.
He had voluntarily asked for his own death probability to be raised to one hundred percent?
Bai Xue had never heard such a request before.
He didn't understand.
Could it be that this always-smiling man was some kind of saint, sacrificing himself to give his teammates a better chance of survival?
No, that didn't seem right.
The man was even making promises about "after the instance," like he was hopeful about making it out alive—not like someone walking willingly to death.
He even said something like… not wanting the colors to fade.
What a smooth talker. A glib, frivolous liar who only said pleasant-sounding things.
Bai Xue frowned beneath his mask.
So annoying—he even made Bai Xue remember things he thought he had long forgotten.
Just as he grew more irritated, the man's cheerful voice suddenly echoed in his ear, without warning.
"If you get caught up in the probability of a single card, you'll lose sight of the bigger picture."
And—
"If you can't even bear a cursed rumor like this, then you'll die in the Nightmare one way or another anyway, won't you?"
…
Bai Xue stood in the darkness, motionless, as if deep in thought.
Time ticked by.
Only after a long while did he slowly exhale.
All right then.
The boy lifted his eyes, his calm, emotionless gaze falling into the distant shadows.
Let me see how much you can actually bear.
Wen Jianyan walked forward with a food tray in his hands.
The farther he went, the stronger the stench of blood became.
The pool of blood ahead shimmered strangely, glaring scarlet, as if it could swallow a person whole.
Chen Mo sat motionless with his back to him, his spine straight like a wooden plank. Behind him, a faint white silhouette loomed vaguely.
Wen Jianyan felt the weight on his wrist growing heavier. An invisible hand was tightening its grip, dragging him toward the death trap ahead.
One step, two steps, three steps.
The suffocating pressure felt like a heavy stone crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Finally, he stopped beside Chen Mo.
Balancing the food tray with one hand, Wen Jianyan bent down and picked up a match.
With a sharp "crack," a flame fueled by blood flared to life, lighting the half-burnt candle in front of Chen Mo.
The moment the candle was lit, the atmosphere around the long table changed abruptly.
The air turned icy cold, the putrid stench of long-decomposed corpses lingered in the air, and under the ghostly red glow, Wen Jianyan saw—every "guest" sitting at the table slowly began to move their heads.
"Clack, clack—"
A grating sound of bone grinding against bone echoed.
Pale faces turned in his direction, hollow, lifeless eye sockets "staring" at him.
Even though he had mentally prepared himself, Wen Jianyan couldn't suppress the goosebumps crawling all over his body.
According to the prior arrangement, he quickly signaled Bai Xue.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his wrist.
"Hiss—!"
Wen Jianyan gasped in pain and instinctively turned to look.
In the crimson light, a bluish-white hand slowly materialized. It clamped onto his wrist like a cold iron shackle, sending waves of sharp pain through his arm.
Hand, wrist, forearm, torso…
A human figure slowly emerged.
A filthy white dress, a pale, stiff face, and pitch-black, hollow eyes.
It was the woman in white.
She stood beside Wen Jianyan, her rotting, chilling scent wafting through the air. Wen Jianyan could even feel the icy coldness emanating from her body.
Too close.
Aaaaaaah!!!!
Wen Jianyan screamed silently.
Hurry, please hurry.
He prayed in his heart, hoping Bai Xue's ability would soon take effect.
Time stretched endlessly, yet also seemed to pass in an instant.
"Clack."
The sound of bones grinding was right beside him.
The woman in white slowly turned her head.
Faster!!!
As if responding to his prayer, a drop of blood oozed from the bronze plate nearby, trickled down the bloodstained tablecloth, and hit the ground with a "drip."
Just that single drop easily connected the two separated pools of blood into one.
A large, complete, sticky pool of blood spread beneath him, completely enveloping the area where Wen Jianyan stood.
At that moment, an ominous feeling surged over him.
He shivered and instinctively looked down.
In the blood-red glow, Wen Jianyan could vaguely make out the scene within.
Roads, houses… human figures…
Among them, only the figure of the woman in white was crystal clear, standing motionless beside him, radiating a chilling aura.
The next second, a sensation of weightlessness hit.
The ground seemed to crack open.
"Ah!!"
A scream escaped his throat, and Wen Jianyan fell straight in.
The pool of blood beneath his feet was like a massive, dark tunnel, covered with a thin layer of ice that easily gave way and swallowed the young man standing above.
—As if the hotel had swallowed him whole.
The downward pull was far stronger than the woman in white's grip, tearing Wen Jianyan from her hand and dragging him into the crimson world.
At the same time, as some hidden probability shifted, Chen Mo—who had been sitting rigidly at the long table—suddenly snapped awake.
Cold sweat drenched his forehead, and his previously numb face twisted with fear.
Though still groggy, his reflexes as a veteran anchor saved him.
Chen Mo activated a prop, stumbled backward, and quickly retreated from the terrifying area. His hand brushed against the bronze plate Wen Jianyan had dropped nearby.
In a flash, realization struck.
Gritting his teeth, Chen Mo grabbed the plate and placed it where he had just been sitting.
He had no idea what had just happened, but based on his experience, he instinctively took action.
On the dark long table, one crimson lamp went out.
A seat at the table was now empty.
Wen Jianyan was falling.
The taste of blood flooded his mouth and nose, suffocating him, preventing him from screaming. His head spun, and he felt nauseous.
It was like falling into a massive vat of thick blood.
When he asked Bai Xue to alter the probability, Wen Jianyan had known what he was doing.
It all started when he realized something was wrong.
To be precise, from the moment he was lured into the real hotel—before the Black Team threatened him—he had already sensed a strange inconsistency.
He couldn't quite explain it then, but now, things were different.
As time passed, he began piecing these anomalies together and even…
Started seeing a pattern.
In the past, he might have turned a blind eye to minor inconsistencies. But as these details accumulated, Wen Jianyan felt an overwhelming sense of unease.
The woman in white was a projection of some higher-dimensional consciousness—the only ghost in the entire instance that might possess autonomous awareness.
Her appearance and the emergence of the hotel were likely connected.
After all, before she appeared as the "second personality" of the diary's owner, the town had no trace of the "Xingwang Hotel".
It was she who appeared in the room where Wen Jianyan first entered the instance.
According to the instance's rules, no matter how many rooms he explored afterward, he would always enter the town through the painting she inhabited.
Then, by tracking the Black Team, Wen Jianyan got an early lead on the next task location.
In the gallery's hallway, she pointed the way again—this time, to the dry well behind the house.
Inside the well, Wen Jianyan entered the instance's diorama, uncovered the truth behind it, and made contact with the white-clothed woman's corpse, acquiring a critical item.
She seemed… quite helpful.
Always guiding him along the way.
Of course, Wen Jianyan hadn't strictly followed that script, but looking back, he realized that every action he took still fell within her framework.
That influence was subtle, yet terrifying.
Because Wen Jianyan realized… much of the instance's information had been spoon-fed to him.
Once he understood this, he knew he had to take a risk.
He hated being a puppet.
Especially a puppet manipulated by something terrifying, indifferent, and vastly more powerful.
So, Wen Jianyan chose to resist.
But with his teammates restricted and a ghostly grip on his wrist, any resistance seemed futile.
Thankfully, Bai Xue was in the team.
His talent might be the key to breaking the deadlock.
Wen Jianyan realized: although the ghost had used Chen Mo as bait to lure him over, she clearly had no intention of killing him—otherwise, all of it would be meaningless.
And Bai Xue's "sight" confirmed this.
Chen Mo was doomed. Everyone who got close to that area would die—except Wen Jianyan.
He was the only one uniquely able to survive.
That's why Wen Jianyan had Bai Xue alter the odds.
Because he understood that the woman in white wanted him to live, and wouldn't willingly harm him. So if he was "destined" to die, it had to be due to an unforeseen variable.
And that variable must stem from a force even more powerful than the woman in white—otherwise, her influence wouldn't have been so easily overridden.
Wen Jianyan sensed that behind this lay…
An opportunity.
A chance to break free from the puppet strings—and uncover the instance's deeper secrets.
Of course, it was risky.
But under the circumstances, he thought it was worth the gamble—if all else failed, he could still confront Nightmare directly and activate the Ouroboros Ring. Though that would carry a price, it was better than dying here.
A leap of faith.
A gamble.
To see if he could survive.
"Cough, cough!"
Wen Jianyan coughed hard.
His mouth and nose were filled with the metallic taste of blood. His whole body ached as if his bones had shattered, making him tremble uncontrollably.
He might have broken a few ribs.
He pressed against his chest and struggled to his feet.
Under his rolled-up sleeve, the dark bruise of a handprint still lingered on his wrist—but the eerie cold weight it once carried was gone.
Wen Jianyan looked around.
And his heart sank. His blood nearly froze.
An endless, impenetrable darkness stretched before him. Beneath his feet was soft, loamy earth—stepping on it felt disturbingly like stepping on human corpses.
In the distance, countless mounds of graves rose and fell in the shadows.
Darkness. Cold. Deathly silence. A fear that seeped deep into the bones.
Even worse, Wen Jianyan immediately recognized where he was.
—This was the space outside that endless, shadowy road that extended into the void.
That road, though its length and width were subjective, was still created by humans. As long as you walked on it, you'd be relatively safe from being devoured by the darkness. But the moment you deviated from it, you'd step into a boundless black void with no way to return.
Wen Jianyan had once used visual tricks to lure members of the Black Team into this very place—but never thought he'd end up here himself.
And all alone, at that.
As far as the eye could see, there was no road—only countless mounds of graves, and a deathly, pitch-black silence.
Wen Jianyan glanced around nervously, then couldn't help but shiver.
That leap just now was…
Effective.
He'd indeed escaped the manipulation.
But at the same time… he had undeniably ended up in a place of certain death.
Wen Jianyan let out a bitter laugh in his heart.
He looked up at the place he'd fallen from, a slight frown forming beneath his mask.
But the strange thing was—why had he fallen here?
More specifically, why had that pool of blood, created by the woman in white, been connected to this place?
Wen Jianyan couldn't figure it out—and didn't plan to waste energy trying.
Right now, getting out was the top priority.
Because merely standing there for a few dozen seconds had already made him feel like he was freezing to the bone. The cold here was so eerie, so soul-piercing, it felt as if it could erode his very essence.
Wen Jianyan raised a trembling hand to touch the mask on his face.
Thank goodness this mask was a genuine item he'd bought with ghost money in a legitimate instance. If it had been some pirated copy obtained through shady means in a mirror instance, there was no guarantee it would've fallen in with him—much less offered any protection.
Honestly, if not for this mask, Wen Jianyan suspected he might've turned into one of the ghostly residents of the hotel the moment he set foot here.
However…
Wen Jianyan lowered his hand and let out a long sigh.
While the mask could keep him alive for now, as long as he didn't find a way out, death was still only a matter of time.
Still…
Wen Jianyan considered for a moment and opened his livestream interface.
In the "Integrity First" live room barrage:
[AAAAAAAHHHH!!]
[AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!]
[BULLET COMMENTS ARE BACK ON AAAAAAHHH!]
Wen Jianyan was momentarily stunned by the barrage of messages.
Honestly, he hadn't expected that even in a place like this, the livestream signal would still be intact. It was such a stark contrast to the last instance.
But he had to admit…
These comments genuinely eased his anxiety. He let out a deep breath.
Noisy, yes. But definitely less terrifying than silence.
[Waaahhh hubby hubby you scared me to death!!]
[100% death rate and you still went for it?! We really thought this was it for you!!]
[Hey, don't lump us all together—I always believed in the anchor's ability to survive!]
Wen Jianyan snapped out of his daze almost instantly and slipped into his familiar, professional host mode.
"So you're all still here."
His voice carried a warm smile.
"Sorry, I can't take off the mask right now."
On screen, only a pair of light-colored eyes could be seen smiling gently through the holes in the mask. "Can't be honest and open with you all—my apologies."
[AAAAHHHHH!!]
[No need to apologize, really!!]
['Honest and open'… damn… that's hot…]
Wen Jianyan stepped back slightly and turned sideways to give a better view. "By the way, you guys remember where this is, right?"
[…wait a sec, this looks familiar.]
[!!!]
[Holy crap! Isn't this that cursed place outside the ghost road?!]
Sure enough, someone recognized it—pretty quickly, too.
So…
"I remember a Black Team anchor fell in here before, didn't they?" Wen Jianyan asked calmly.
[...]
[...]
[Bro, don't act innocent. You were the one who lured them in here, remember?!]
Wen Jianyan easily ignored that comment.
[How long did they survive? Did anyone make it out?]
He didn't really expect a direct answer. The system would censor anything it deemed a "spoiler". But that didn't stop him from getting the information he wanted from the comments.
If the anchor was still alive and viewers were sharing their experiences, the spoiler filter would kick in, and the number of comments would drop sharply.
But if the anchor had already died, then the system wouldn't bother, and everything would show.
Unfortunately, the comment flow remained steady.
[No one made it out.]
[I really haven't seen any of them again. Their streams all seem to be down.]
[Yeah, I just checked—they're completely blacked out.]
Wen Jianyan's heart sank.
So no one had survived this place.
It truly was a one-way ticket to death.
[Wait, one of the livestreams is still running!]
What?
Wen Jianyan perked up instantly.
[And that anchor seems to have used a massive amount of points to lift the confidentiality and issue a coordinate-based SOS!]
That was a feature only veteran anchors could access—more symbolic than practical.
After all, if someone had to resort to that feature, they were usually far beyond saving.
"Oh? How do I view it?"
Wen Jianyan's interest was piqued.
With the audience's guidance, he soon located the direction indicated by the request.
After accepting the task, a small red arrow appeared in the dark sky.
Wen Jianyan trudged through the yellow dirt, following the arrow's direction.
The darkness was thick, the soil heavy, and the mounds of graves varied in height, with no trace of human activity—only endless cold and terror.
He chatted with the bullet comments to keep his courage up while following the guide.
Eventually, the arrow stopped.
It pointed to the far side of a large grave mound.
Wen Jianyan took a deep breath to steady himself, then closed the livestream interface and walked around the mound.
Behind it lay a man, half-buried in yellow earth. A cracked white mask covered his face, and a bright red talisman was stuck to his motionless chest. He looked completely lifeless.
Wen Jianyan frowned.
Dead?
He crouched down and touched the man's body.
Cold as ice.
Definitely dead.
But the man's stream still seemed to be online. Nightmare wouldn't waste resources on directing help to a corpse.
With that in mind, Wen Jianyan cautiously reached out and peeled the talisman from his chest.
"—!!"
The man who had been deathly still suddenly gasped sharply and sat bolt upright, scaring Wen Jianyan half to death.
As expected.
Wen Jianyan's gaze lingered on the man's mask.
A mask not bought with ghost money wouldn't last long in this place.
This guy had probably survived by using the talisman to fake death, entering a suspended state.
"You—It's you—"
The man seemed to recognize the one who had "saved" him and raised his voice in surprise.
"Yes, it's me."
Wen Jianyan made a gesture, calmly cutting him off. "But stop."
"Time is short. I don't want to waste words in a place like this."
"Let's make a deal."
The young man in the white mask stood above him, backlit by the infinite darkness and grave soil.
He looked down at the "corpse" beneath him. His voice was as warm and smiling as ever—but carried an unmistakable pressure.
"Follow every one of my orders and tell me everything you know. I'll get you out of here. Deal?"
The other man, though from the Black Team, was clearly a veteran who'd survived many instances. He quickly understood that survival mattered far more right now than faction loyalties—or who had landed him here in the first place.
He took a deep breath, recovering from the fake-death state, and after a brief moment of composure, cautiously asked:
"You… you actually know a way out?"
Behind the mask, Wen Jianyan seemed to smile silently.
"Of course."
His voice was calm and cool, full of quiet confidence and undeniable authority—enough to make anyone instinctively believe him.
"Otherwise, why would I offer this deal?"
He countered.
In the "Integrity First" live room barrage:
[...]
[...]
[…Wow. You really lie without batting an eye, huh?]