The "confirm" you clicked is the apartment's dinner bell.
Wu Feng's mobile phone automatically installed an APP that could not be uninstalled.
There is only one initial rule in the Residential Covenant: from 2:00 to 2:03 am, turn off all light sources and close your eyes.
He did so. Then he heard the walls begin to breathe.
Here, rules are the only currency and a death sentence. Do not look at each other in the elevator for more than 3 seconds. No one should stay in the corridor for more than 30 seconds. If a neighbor calls your name, don't answer. And the most deadly one: don't look at the moon, if there is one on the window.
Breaking the rules will result in points being deducted. If the score is too low, the "real estate" will come knocking. No one has ever seen what happened to the people who opened the doors—except those who ended up on the property.
Wu Feng's palms grew strange lines that spread. His ratings plummeted and his sanity slipped into the abyss. The reflection in the mirror always moves half a beat slower than him.
A note squeezed out of a crack in the wall warned him: "Don't look at the moon." And a recording of himself rang out in the empty room 1303: "Don't count... And don't believe that old man..."
He was horrified to discover that the last resident who died in 1303 was also named Wu Feng.
Now, at eight o'clock every night, the pale moon dips into every window on time. Twisted lines were crawling towards his arms. At the end of the corridor, the sound of neat footsteps approached from far away.
Is it to follow the rules and slowly become a part of them? Or find out the "it" behind the rules that feeds on fear?
This time, before reincarnation swallows him completely, he must tear up the rule book of this apartment
