The Land Without Tombstones

Thirty-seven years after games invaded reality, humanity had learned how to survive.

Never answer the calls from inside the clock tower.

Never leave your hospital room after midnight.

When the red moon rises, everyone must remain silent.

No one knew why these rules existed.

People only knew that behind every rule lay thousands upon thousands of corpses.

Zhou Ye had never doubted them either.

Until that day.

In a dungeon, a newcomer broke every prohibition everyone had recited since childhood.

He survived.

And those who had followed the rules to the letter

all died.

In the deepest part of the clock tower, Zhou Ye found a sentence left behind by the first players, from thirty-seven years ago:

"If you can still see this sentence, it means it has already learned our rules."

Only then did he realize:

Humanity had spent thirty-seven years writing a guide.

And now

The game was reading it.