You reached out and grasped the talisman, which radiated a cold, grey light. 'Falling from the altar to the mortal realm is far more interesting than eternal silence,' you replied coldly.
The talisman shattered and the white platform began to twist and turn black. You felt a sense of divine control being forcibly stripped away. Your bones contracted and the dark purple dragon scales were forced back into the deepest recesses of your genes. They transformed into a hidden, non-glowing pattern.
[Plane Suppression: Mortal Shackles]
Current Identity: Tenant of Room 404, Linjiang Apartments
Physical state: Extremely exhausted (the body of a corporate slave who has worked sixteen consecutive hours of overtime).
Divine residue: [Eye of Annihilation] (activated to see through illusions, consuming 10 sanity points each time)
Attribute Panel: Sanity (San): 100/100; Physical Strength: 5 (10 for an average adult); Skills: Not yet unlocked.
You abruptly opened your eyes, your nostrils filled with the smell of cheap instant noodles and mouldy wallpaper. The neon lights of a bustling city shone outside the window, but in the dimly lit Room 404, everything felt extremely oppressive.
On the desk, an orange lamp flickered on and off. Under the mouse mat was a blood-red sticky note with messy handwriting, as if the writer had been gripped by extreme fear: 'This building does not have a 14th floor. If the lift stops on the 14th floor, close your eyes and do not step out.'
After 11 pm, if you hear piano music playing next door, knock three times on the wall until it stops. Do not attempt to communicate with the person playing.
The cat in this room is blue. If you see an orange cat crouching by the door, immediately lock the door and turn off all the lights.
The mirrors here only reflect reality. If you see someone behind you in the mirror, don't turn around – it's just your shadow playing a trick on you.
Remember, you're just an ordinary tenant. 'Ding-dong!' The doorbell rang crisply in the deathly silent room. It was 11:05 pm. You instinctively looked through the peephole. The motion-activated light in the hallway cast a pale glow and you saw a plump orange cat sitting upright in the doorway. Its dark golden pupils were fixed on the peephole as if it could see you through the door.
At the same time, intermittent piano music drifted from room 405 next door. The melody was extremely familiar — it was the 'Rebirth Mantra' that Shen Qingchang had played three years ago — but the rhythm was off, giving it a grating, puppet-like quality.
Your sanity wavered slightly. Your brain tried to activate the power of the 'Dragon Heart', but you only felt a dull, aching pain in your chest — you were now just a mortal with physical strength of only 5.
You swiftly suppressed the remaining divine aura emanating from you. In this malevolent, fantastical world, blind arrogance was a surefire way to lose your sanity. As a 'mortal', the rules were your only shield until you understood the underlying logic. You deftly switched on the lamp, plunging the room into thick darkness. In the darkness, the white light filtering through the door was particularly glaring. The orange cat's shadow stretched out, forming a distorted human shape on the floor. You rolled out of bed and leaned against the cold wall. The piano music emanating from room 405 next door was grating. 'Thump, thump, thump.'
You bent your fingers and tapped the wall steadily three times. The "Rebirth Mantra" music from next door stopped abruptly, as if it had never existed, and the scratching at the door outside vanished simultaneously.The 'thing' wrapped its arms around your waist from behind, its cold fingers tracing your chest and finally lingering on the hidden dragon-scale pattern on your skin. 'This part of yours is beating so fast. But this pattern... it's so beautiful. Have I seen it somewhere before?' Although it didn't seem to mean any harm, large patches of black began to appear at the edges of your vision as it drew closer, and your sanity was steadily declining.
You notice a new sticky note on your bedside table at this moment. There was a line of small, crooked handwriting on it, as if it had just been written: 'Rule 6: If a "roommate" appears in Room 404, do not let her know that you can see her.'
You swiftly suppressed the instinct to retaliate and your body instantly switched to deep sleep mode, like a precise machine.
Your muscles relaxed and your breathing became long and rhythmic, accompanied by the soft snores of a weary office worker.
You felt that icy breath on your neck and those cold hands caressing your dragon-scale tattoo, the nails grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine.
'Really asleep?' she sighed softly, her long hair falling onto your face and leaving a damp touch.
You felt the pillow sink as she turned onto her side and stared closely at your profile. If you had opened your eyes at that moment, or rolled your eyeballs rapidly beneath your eyelids, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
Sanity: 98 -> 92 (Maintaining this deep disguise consumed a great deal of your mental energy).
Status: [Completely calm]. You successfully deceived her.
After an unknown amount of time, the chill on your back suddenly disappeared, followed by the soft 'thud' of bare feet on rotting wooden planks. Your 'roommate' seems to have left the bed and headed towards the small bathroom attached to the room.
The sound of a tap being turned on came from the bathroom, followed by the chilling sound of something being sharpened mixed with the running water: 'Sharpening... sharpening... sharpening...' Peeking through a crack in the bathroom door, you saw that what was seeping out wasn't clear water, but a viscous, dark purple liquid slowly spreading towards the foot of your bed.
[System Malicious Warning] A ghostly voice in an extremely low frequency mode said:
'Mr Zhang, because you chose "endure", your "roommate's" wariness of you has decreased, but her appetite has increased. That black liquid is the embodiment of 'regret'. Once it touches your skin, your sanity will instantly evaporate.'
You notice that the orange cat shadow, which had previously vanished, has reappeared in the shadows under the bed. It was frantically gesturing towards you as if to say, 'Jump onto the desk to avoid the liquid!'
However, a grey-white supplementary rule is now displayed on the desk that you hadn't noticed before: 'Rule 7: In Room 404, your feet must not leave the ground by more than 30 centimetres; otherwise, you will lose "gravity".'
In this world of rule-based absurdities, you calmly conclude that wordplay is often the only way to survive. Since the rules require your feet to stay on the ground, you add an extra layer of 'isolation' — you don't leap onto the desk like startled prey nor contaminate yourself like a madman. Instead, you extend your foot precisely and step into those worn-out slippers with their white-washed heels.
The moment you stand up in the slippers, the dark purple liquid has already spread to your feet like living tentacles trying to climb. However, when they touch the cheap plastic sole, they emit a harsh 'sizzling' sound, as if they have encountered an insurmountable logical rift.
You remain grounded, avoiding the 'loss of gravity' trap.
Sanity: 92 → 88 (facing the mental pressure of rule conflicts).
Status: [Logical Closed Loop]
You exploited the grey area of the rules. The bathroom door was pushed open completely and your 'roommate' stepped out. She was carrying a rusty pair of long-nose pliers. Due to your 'absolute defence', her faceless features contorted for a moment.
You didn't give her time to react, pushing the door open and striding into the midnight-dark corridor. The motion-sensor lights in the corridor flickered on as you walked, the light even whiter than before. You glanced back and saw that the door to apartment 404 wasn't closed. A white figure holding scissors stood silently in the doorway. She didn't chase after you; she just watched you leave with her empty eyes.
You reached the lift. The Linjiang apartment building had thirteen floors — that was common knowledge. But when you pressed the button for the lift, you noticed a blood-red number on the panel: 14.
'This apartment building does not have a 14th floor. If the lift stops on the 14th floor, please keep your eyes closed and do not get out.' However, a strange thing happened: the lift was empty, yet it stopped on the 14th floor and the doors slowly opened in front of you.
You closed your eyes, preparing to follow the rules, when you heard a faint voice that seemed to emanate from the depths of the ocean yet was so familiar. The voice said, "Mr Zhang, don't be fooled by that button. This elevator is the oesophagus of the 'big guy'. Come in quickly and turn off the lights on the 14th floor. The real 'door' is inside."
It was the voice of a ghost, but it sounded extremely weak, as if it were being devoured by some force. With your eyes still closed and standing at the elevator entrance, you could feel a cold, damp wind blowing from the 'fourteenth floor', carrying the scent of rotting azaleas. Inside the elevator, the ghost's voice was calling to you.