I'm an Accountant in a Death Instance

Lin Yan opened his eyes and found himself trapped in an old-fashioned finance office.

An account book lay open on the desk. Its first page read: "The books must be balanced before the end of every workday. Figures on vouchers must not be altered. Strictly forbidden to ask where that bad debt went. Today's closing time: 17:30."

Six people. Three rules. Someone had just gotten up to smash the door when they turned into a pool of red.

The others fell to their knees and begged for mercy. Lin Yan pulled out a calculator and glanced at the ledger:

"Six lives debited, nothing credited. These books are wrong."

By checking vouchers, tracing the source, and correcting entries, he used the logic of an auditor to force a crack into a rules-based space where death was inevitable.

But just as he finally settled the first bad debt, a line of text appeared on the last page of the ledger:

"1,146 pages remain to be audited in the general ledger. Next stop: the underground vault."

This ledger had been left behind in 1927 by his great-grandfather, whom he had never met. Behind every bad debt lay an answer that should never have been uncovered.

And there were only 183 days left.

If he couldn't settle that century-old mess, all of humanity would be insolvent.

This wasn't an escape game. It was a year-end audit spanning four generations.

"Everything in this world can be entered into the books. The human heart alone cannot be provisioned for or depreciated."