Lin Xu is an ordinary high school senior.
So ordinary that he goes to bed at 10:30 every night and gets up at 6:20 every morning, his routine as precise as a number in a filing cabinet. His only quirk is carrying a pocket notebook everywhere and writing things down wherever he goes. He can’t explain where the habit came from himself. It feels like he’s had it for a very long time, so long that he can’t remember the first day.
At 10:54 that morning, the broadcast for the eye exercises came on a minute early.
The woman’s voice over the speakers said: Those with their eyes closed, do not open them. Those with their eyes open, do not close them again. Someone will come to collect you.
Then a two-meter-tall shadow appeared in the corridor. A crowd of people tiptoeing appeared on the sports field. A classmate was killed by the rules right in front of him, becoming a gray mark on the wall.
Everyone panicked.
Lin Xu did not.
He opened his notebook and recorded each rule, numbered them, analyzed their logic, and looked for loopholes. His heartbeat was steady, his hands were steady, as if he had been through this countless times before.
But he hadn’t. Not that he could remember.
He didn’t remember ever being afraid. He didn’t remember when he had learned this method of analysis. He didn’t remember who had given him the old fountain pen in his pocket. He only knew he couldn’t lose, because one line on the System panel read:
Failures remaining: 2.
Three failures, and the world would collapse.
He had to survive one rule-based scenario after another, uncover the truth, and save a world being devoured by the rules.
But as the truth drew ever closer, he gradually discovered that the rules weren’t the most terrifying thing.
He was.
What had he forgotten?
