Chi Xia died on a rainy day.
More precisely, her body died, but her soul was dragged into a glowing fissure. It appeared on the stark white ceiling of her hospital room, like an open eye. Countless scenes flickered within it: old mansions, hospitals, schools, amusement parks. Every setting was soaked in thick darkness, like scenery that kept recurring in a nightmare.
A mechanical voice sounded in her ear, cold and indifferent, like a civil servant who had long since grown tired of the job, reading from a script:
[Near-death soul detected. ID LX-0707. Meets the entry requirements for “World Rifts.” Welcome to the Rules Horror Game. Complete instance missions to earn points, which can be exchanged for additional lifespan in the real world. Remaining lifespan: 0 days. Enter an instance immediately. Good luck surviving.]
Chi Xia did not even have time to ask, “Is there a user manual?” A burst of white light exploded before her eyes. When she opened them again, she was standing outside a dilapidated orphanage, clutching a yellowed slip of paper with three rules written in crooked handwriting:
Rule One: After dark, do not answer anyone who calls you, even if the voice sounds like your mother.
Rule Two: If you see your reflection in the mirror at the end of the corridor, smile at it, then turn and leave. Do not look back.
Rule Three: The director's office is always locked. If it is open, do not go inside. You don't want to know what's in there.
Chi Xia turned the slip over. There was another line on the back, as if someone had carved it with a fingernail. The strokes varied in depth, radiating hysterical despair:
Do not trust the rules.
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