Leave the Light 601

You'd better not rent room 601. The rent is 800, with one deposit and one payment. The agent said that the landlord is in urgent need of rent. On the first day I moved in, the property management company sent me a copy of the Resident Rules. Each of the six rules is very simple: say "I'm back" to the door in the middle of the night; don't wear strange shoes when you see them at the door; don't respond to the sound outside the door at midnight. I did. Then the next day there was a pair of cloth shoes at the door, with the toes facing inwards, facing my bedroom. Someone in the group said that the previous resident "put on his shoes and was gone." I thought I'd hit a ghost. Until I discovered that the rules in the code will grow on their own. The neighbor in the building disappeared in the corridor for three years and is still alive, and my name was signed on the lease of this apartment twenty years ago. This is not a ghost building. This is an underground server designed as a residence. The memory fragments of a group of people are artificially extracted, spliced, and stored alive. The "past" in my mind that does not belong to me is the stolen lives of seventeen real residents. The rules say: Every person who lives in 601 will be replaced by another person. But I discovered something: I wrote the rules. If I am pieced together, then I am qualified to take myself apart and return the pieces to their owners. Twenty years of reincarnation, the memories of seventeen people, an old building that eats people. It's up to me to bring this to an end. --- "My name was signed on the lease of this building twenty years ago." It is not the person who is chosen by fate, but the person who chooses to end it for fate. Concept: The world uses pieces to piece me together, and I use gentleness to save the world Destiny can fabricate your origin, but it cannot define your way of life. An old building transformed into a neural data collection station devoured the memory fragments of seventeen residents over the past twenty years to create a complete prefabricated person - Lin Yu. He was identified by the system as the "last piece of the puzzle" and was destined to fill the vacancy in a closed cycle and become a new living server. But he discovered a loophole: He wrote the rules. The first line written on the blank paper, "Don't believe anything written on this paper," became the only paradox of the entire system. He does not need to sacrifice himself, he only needs to put the rule paper that carries all cause and effect into the circle. What the system swallows is the rules themselves, not people. When everyone thought reincarnation would continue, he turned and walked outside the building. The greatest resistance is not to overturn the chessboard, but to turn all the chess pieces on the chessboard into free people.