Chapter Five: The Mysterious Number 251

Two hours had passed, and the pitch-black coffin remained utterly silent, without a hint of movement. Fang Nian could distinctly feel the air around him growing thin, his breathing gradually becoming heavier, and an invisible sense of dread creeping in.

Just then, a faint rustling reached Fang Nian's ears, as if someone were speaking... No, it sounded more like singing, and the melody struck him as oddly familiar.

"Damn it, I knew there was something off. They've finally made their move."

The tranquil atmosphere shattered; in the quiet, the sound was amplified a thousandfold, turning the singing into a piercing cacophony. The air seemed to chill, and sweat soaked Fang Nian's back as unnamed fear took root in his heart.

Before Fang Nian could process what was happening, the coffin jolted violently, and the rustling grew into a harsh, persistent noise. His mind raced.

"This is bad—something's gnawing at the coffin."

It was Fang Nian's first time facing such a predicament; to say he wasn't frightened would be a lie. But after witnessing countless hunting grounds, he had learned to keep his composure.

"The coffin is buried in earth, so whatever this is, it can't be human. I have to see what it is."

Knowing he could no longer play the fool, Fang Nian lit the glow stick in his hand. As the coffin filled with light, he saw that the board beneath his feet had been chewed through, leaving a palm-sized square hole.

Sand mixed with a swarm of brown creatures was pouring through the hole, and the breach was rapidly widening.

"Oh God—desert army ants!"

Fang Nian's face drained of color. Desert army ants were terrifying communal insects, unlike ordinary ants; they never built nests and, from birth, were constantly on the move, hunting and devouring. They consumed anything in their path, leaving wastelands behind, let alone a single human.

To encounter such a vast colony in a confined space like this—holding a cannon might not be enough, and Fang Nian had only a fruit knife.

A wave of helpless despair washed over him. As the desert army ants surged in, Fang Nian twisted his body desperately, flailing the fruit knife, even hurling himself against the coffin board, hoping to break free and escape.

But at that moment, the expanding gap in the coffin board emitted a dull crack, and, before his eyes, split in two. Under the pressing force of the earth, the broken board crashed down onto Fang Nian.

"Ah..."

A guttural cry echoed; Fang Nian didn't know how many ribs the board had shattered. In the same instant, yellow sand and tens of thousands of desert army ants poured into the coffin, burying him in seconds.

Soon came the sound of flesh being torn, the crunching of meat a midnight requiem that chilled the soul with terror.

Minutes later, the coffin fell silent. After the army ants had swept through, Fang Nian likely wouldn't even leave behind a skeleton.

...

At that moment, the viewing hall was wrapped in deathly silence. Across the vast three-dimensional electronic screen, five hundred displays brimmed with despair and terror. Tens of thousands of desert army ants devoured everyone like hunting demons; the anguished cries melded together, forming a scene reminiscent of the world's end.

"My God, this is horrific. What did they endure in there?"

"Whoever designed this hunting ground must be insane. How did this get rated F-class? Are you kidding? Even E-class hunting grounds aren't this bad."

"Survive for five hours? That's laughable. With this many army ants, they'd strip even the bones in less than five minutes. Don't even offer me a thousand Hope Coins—ten thousand, and I still wouldn't play."

"Exactly, it's far too terrifying. No human could endure this; even if you escape, you'd be scarred for life."

Moments later, the screens began shutting down rapidly; each closure meant another contestant had forfeited or died. Soon, fewer than fifty displays remained lit out of five hundred.

Fatty stared gloomily at the now dark number 251 screen. Xu Zhuo patted him on the shoulder, comforting him.

"Fatty, I heard the architect of 'Buried Alive' this time is Jin Jindao, known as the Machine of Terror. Your friend lasted this long—he did well. You know, every new hunting ground is like this at first. Once people figure out how to beat it, you can try again. The prize might be less, but there's still profit."

Fatty ignored Xu Zhuo, lost in thought. He hadn't known Fang Nian for long, but he understood his nature. Though Fang Nian acted carefree, almost boyish, he was surprisingly shrewd beneath it.

Watching the video, Fatty felt Fang Nian's actions didn't match his usual style. He suspected Fang Nian was preparing something big.

With this in mind, Fatty glanced at the main screen. Only one display showed movement—a man in iron armor. While the armor held against the ants, he was soon buried in sand.

After enduring for two hours and fifty minutes, the screen suddenly went black, marking the defeat of the last contestant. The first batch of challengers had all fallen...

"Wait... there's one left—number 251 is still lit."

Everyone believed all five hundred had perished, but suddenly a sharp female voice rang out.

The cry drew everyone's attention; when they found screen 251, a commotion erupted. Though the screen was pitch black and showed no movement, it hadn't shut off, meaning the hunter was still alive.

"Damn, this guy's alive? But the feed's been frozen for ages—what's going on?"

"Did the army ants turn vegetarian? Or is his meat so tough they couldn't chew it? How is he not dead?"

"It doesn't make sense. Even if the ants didn't eat him, the sand would have buried him. How could he survive without air?"

"Could he already be..."

Before the crowd could speculate further, a flash of golden light appeared on screen 251, and a row of golden letters floated out:

"Congratulations on clearing. Time: 2 hours 55 minutes. Rating: A+."

A stunned uproar swept the hall. The reversal was so abrupt—the contestant had cleared the stage.

"Cleared? How? Are you kidding me?"

"Listen, I haven't read many books, but don't try to fool me. There's not even a scrap of bone left, and you're telling me he cleared it? And with an A+? That's a joke."

"A legend, an absolute legend. I've truly seen something today."

Fatty, gazing at the golden light, felt his spirits rebound like a goldfish leaping from the depths; his broad grin blossomed.

"Old Fang, you nearly scared me to death. If you'd made me starve another day, I'd have stabbed you myself."

Next to him, Xu Zhuo was utterly bewildered. He knew Jin Jindao's horrifying talent for constructing hunting grounds. In fact, Xu Lang had said that no one would clear this ground within ten days, a testament to the meticulous design of 'Buried Alive.'

Who could have expected its debut would be met with a flawless, unforeseen clearance? And the rating was A+—an embarrassment for the Xu Hunting Grounds, who'd invested heavily in its creation and promotion.

Yet, on reflection, the person who cleared it was truly remarkable. In the face of such adversity, how did he manage it? Did he exploit a flaw in the design, or was he a soul hunter of extraordinary talent?

The thought made Xu Zhuo's blood boil. His passion for hunting grounds surpassed all else, but his family's attitude frustrated him; they believed he lacked the ability to be an architect or even a hunter.

Now, encountering such a legend, Xu Zhuo felt an irresistible urge—he wanted to apprentice himself to the mysterious number 251.

Knowing Fatty was friends with 251, Xu Zhuo hoped for an introduction, but when he came to his senses, Fatty had vanished. Xu Zhuo hurried backstage to find the legend, only to discover the man had already collected his prize and departed.

Xu Zhuo regretted his distraction, but then a new idea struck him. He rushed to the registration desk.

"Quick, help me check the name of number 251."

The staff recognized Xu Zhuo and wasted no words, typing quickly on the computer and replying:

"His name is... Fang Nian."