Rule Horror: Paper Law Town

“Don't believe anything written on red paper, including this sentence.” Lin Yanxing's life was rewritten at 4:44 a.m. by a sheet of red paper. Seeping from bookshelf No. 44 in the university library, the paper dragged him into an eerie little town with no escape. The rules here are simple and cruel: every night at midnight, you must write your name on red paper and stick it by the door. If the wind blows the paper away before sunrise, you will “expire,” and on the seventh day, you will be “taken away.” No one ever returns. His only guide is a copy of Modern Chinese Dictionary that turns its own pages. With every new page, it adds another contradictory rule in blood ink. He must use his knowledge of linguistics to find loopholes in the rules, but gradually discovers that even his name and memories may be lies written into existence. The townspeople repeat the ritual in a numb cycle, while faceless, wordless figures hunt by the ink trails in the darkness. Every clue points to the paradoxical warning: “Don't believe anything written on red paper, including this sentence.”