Faraxville City, X City Residential Complex, Block 4, Apartment 404.
Today was Monday, the day the rules refreshed once again.
Byrne opened his eyes, reflecting on his experiences in the dream. It felt as though a lifetime had passed. He hadn't expected to encounter his own avatars within that white mist space. In the future, if he faced a particularly difficult urban legend, he could consult them. As the saying goes, "Three heads are better than one"—having the help of those three avatars was surely better than relying solely on himself.
With that thought, Byrne sat up and first checked his hands; there was no blood-red text. He didn't get out of bed immediately, remaining seated while scanning the entire bedroom. The walls, the nightstand, the wardrobe, the desk, the floor... he didn't miss a single spot where the blood-red text might appear.
Ever since Byrne had stumbled over the windowsill rule, the first thing he did every Monday upon waking was to meticulously search his bedroom. After a thorough inspection, he still found no blood-red text.
Phew, looks like it hasn't refreshed yet.
Byrne breathed a temporary sigh of relief before getting up and leaving the bedroom. After a quick wash, he went into the kitchen to prepare a simple breakfast—two slices of toasted bread, a sunny-side-up egg, and a cup of warm milk.
Just as he brought the plate to the dining table and before he could pick up his chopsticks, a rapid knocking sounded at his door.
Strange, I haven't ordered anything online recently. Who would be knocking this early in the morning?
Byrne set down his chopsticks, stood up, and went to the door. When he opened it, he saw his neighbor, Bryce, standing outside. Seeing him, Byrne was momentarily stunned. Although they were neighbors, they rarely crossed paths and had almost no interaction.
Furthermore, in this world where rules-based urban legends existed, Byrne viewed any abnormal person or event as a potentially fatal trap—especially at the sensitive moment when rules were about to refresh.
"Byrne, sorry to disturb you."
Byrne didn't open the door fully, only leaving a gap about the width of an arm. Keeping one hand on the doorknob, he asked curiously, "Bryce, it's so early. Is something the matter?"
"Do you have any vinegar? I wanted to borrow some."
Borrowing vinegar?
Heh, did Bryce make a batch of dumplings?
But on second thought, it didn't seem right. There was a 24-hour convenience store at the entrance of X City Complex, less than a five-minute walk away. Thinking of this, Byrne smiled. "Bryce, the convenience store at the entrance sells it. Why come to borrow from me?"
As he spoke, Byrne observed the other man closely. Bryce had a smile plastered on his face, but it looked somewhat stiff. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were bunched together as if they had been deliberately pulled into place.
"Sigh, I already went to the convenience store. Unfortunately, they were out of vinegar. I had no choice but to swallow my pride and come to you."
The convenience store is out of vinegar?
Hearing this, Byrne's suspicions deepened. Even if he only counted the time since he transmigrated, he had lived in this complex for nearly two months. He clearly remembered that the store always kept a healthy stock of condiments, especially a common one like vinegar. Besides, even if they were truly out, there was a fresh food supermarket not far from the complex, only a fifteen-minute walk away.
No matter how he looked at it, it shouldn't warrant knocking on a neighbor's door first thing in the morning. Though it felt strange, Byrne didn't overthink it; the man was only asking for vinegar, after all.
"Alright then. How much do you need, Bryce?"
Byrne agreed verbally, but his hand didn't move from the doorknob, and his gaze remained fixed on the old man's face.
Hearing that Byrne was willing to lend it, the smile on Bryce's face grew wider. "Good, I want to borrow a whole bottle."
How much?
It was just borrowing vinegar—no one borrows a whole bottle at once. Usually, a family cooking a meal would borrow a spoonful or two at most for an emergency.
Heh, Bryce, with that much vinegar, are you dipping things in it or drinking it?
Byrne's brow furrowed. He was about to refuse when Bryce seemed to read his mind. The old man suddenly leaned in, his stiff smile becoming even more distorted as he said excitedly:
"I'm only borrowing one bottle. Just one bottle. Today is Monday, Byrne—you understand."
Monday?
Oh, I see.
No wonder Bryce was acting like this. It seemed borrowing vinegar was part of his newly refreshed rule, and he couldn't state it explicitly. But truthfully, this rule was bizarre enough.
"Alright, Bryce, wait a moment. I'll go get it."
Without waiting for a reply, Byrne closed the door. However, he didn't go to the kitchen immediately. Instead, he stood at the door and observed the old man through the peephole.
Although he hadn't been in this world for long, through the information he gathered online, he knew of many bizarre or eerie rules—including those that required harming others to complete. In this world of rules-based urban legends, any seemingly normal interaction could hide a lethal trap. Especially since today was Monday, the refresh day.
One could never be too cautious.
The peephole didn't offer a wide view, but it was enough for Byrne to see the activity outside. Bryce stood in place with his hands behind his back, staring intently at the door. He didn't look around or show impatience; he simply waited in silence.
Byrne watched him for a while and saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he turned and walked toward the kitchen. From the moment he grabbed the vinegar bottle to the moment he returned to the door, Byrne kept searching for the blood-red text. After all, the new rules could refresh at any second. If the rule refreshed right as he was handing over the vinegar and it happened to contradict the act of lending it, he would be done for.
Fortunately, he still hadn't found the refreshed text.
Byrne opened the door again, this time a bit wider. He held out the bottle of vinegar. Seeing Bryce take it, Byrne immediately moved to close the door. However, before he could, Bryce reached out to stop him.
"Byrne, don't be in a hurry to close the door. I borrowed this vinegar because I have to drink the whole bottle in front of you."
Drink it directly?
Good grief, this requirement is far more ridiculous than borrowing a whole bottle.
As he spoke, Bryce had already unscrewed the cap. Then, under Byrne's astonished gaze, the old man tilted his head back and chugged the entire bottle like he was downing a beer. When the last drop was gone, Bryce clutched his aching stomach and said painfully, "Byrne, thank you for the vinegar."
With that, Bryce turned around and returned to his own home. Watching his neighbor's retreating back, the corner of Byrne's mouth twitched.
Heh, what a truly bizarre rule.
Byrne didn't close the door until Bryce had returned to Apartment 403. He hadn't expected the old man next door to chug an entire bottle of vinegar in one go right in front of him. If it weren't for the requirements of a Rules-Based Urban Legend, who would ever believe such a thing? Byrne could already imagine Bryce leaning over the toilet and vomiting uncontrollably once he got home.
Sigh, he's a man in his seventies. That must have been hard on him.
Returning to the dining table, he found his warm breakfast had mostly gone cold. Combined with the spectacle of Bryce "shotgunning" the vinegar, Byrne had lost his appetite. He took a few hurried bites and set down his chopsticks.
After finishing his meal, he changed his clothes. Checking the time, he grabbed his laptop bag and headed out for work.
In the early spring morning, a thin mist had not yet dispersed, shrouding the X City Residential Complex like a hazy veil. As he passed Block 3, he saw a woman in pajamas standing by a trash can, about to toss a red garbage bag inside. This was normal enough; taking out the trash in the morning was a common chore.
But the moment the woman threw the red bag, she suddenly froze, as if someone had pressed a pause button. In the next second, something eerie happened. Starting from her right hand—the one that had thrown the bag—the woman's body began to dissolve. It wasn't the decaying of flesh; rather, starting from her fingertips, her body turned inch by inch into tiny specks of light that drifted away into the morning mist.
In just two or three seconds, the woman vanished without a trace, leaving behind only her pajamas and slippers. A living human being had simply disappeared.
Byrne stared at the pile of discarded clothing and the red garbage bag that had become a death warrant. His heart felt as though an invisible hand were squeezing it, and his breathing slowed. He knew without a doubt that her disappearance was a result of violating a newly refreshed blood-red rule. The culprit was almost certainly that red garbage bag.
Now, the mist around the trash can was empty, as if the woman's existence had been a hallucination. But the folded, pink pajamas on the ground and the overturned cotton slippers bore silent witness to the horrific truth.
Byrne instinctively took two steps back, his eyes darting around. There weren't many people out this early. Within his line of sight, there was only a cleaning lady in the distance, slowly swinging her broom with her head down, seemingly oblivious to the anomaly.
Did she really not see it, or is she pretending not to?
The thought popped up only to be suppressed by Byrne. He shook his head, refusing to linger or dwell on it further.
Just as he stepped out of the complex gates, Byrne stopped to check himself once more. His palms, wrists, and arms—all exposed skin was clean, with no trace of blood-red text. It seemed his rules hadn't refreshed yet.
His workplace was in an office building in the city center. It required taking the Route 307 bus. This half-hour commute was undoubtedly a dangerous period on a refresh day. Moving crowds and enclosed spaces were the easiest carriers for blood-red rules.
Hopefully, this trip goes smoothly.
With that, Byrne tightened his coat and headed toward the nearest bus stop. A few people were scattered at the station, mostly commuters with the weary faces of those who hadn't slept enough. Byrne found a spot near the edge and stood still, maintaining his vigilance. He watched the passing vehicles while scanning himself and his surroundings.
The morning mist gradually lifted as sunlight pierced the clouds, but the warmth couldn't dispel the chill in Byrne's heart. The image of the woman vanishing into thin air replayed in his mind, every detail a reminder that danger was omnipresent, especially on a Monday.
Beep! Beep!
Two crisp honks sounded as the Route 307 bus pulled up. Since his stop was near the beginning of the route, the bus wasn't crowded. There were empty seats in the middle and back. After boarding and paying the fare, Byrne didn't choose the back; instead, he picked a single seat near the door. This spot offered a clear view, and in case of an emergency, he could exit immediately.
Once seated, Byrne scanned the interior of the bus. A few people were sitting separately. In a window seat near the front, a girl in a school uniform was looking down at her phone. In a seat by the middle aisle, a man in a baseball cap had his head lowered, seemingly catching up on sleep. In the center of the back row sat an elderly man clutching a sword, clearly heading to the park for morning exercise.
Soon, the bus started moving, followed by the automated announcement. "The vehicle is starting. Please hold on firmly. Next stop: Deram Road. Passengers getting off, please be prepared."
As time passed, more passengers boarded, mostly office workers rushing for the early shift.
"X Complex. Please take your belongings and exit through the rear door."
As the announcement finished, there was a stir in the cabin. Many people squeezed toward the door. Before those getting off could leave, new passengers were already pushing their way in. Byrne shrank back into his seat to avoid excessive contact with others.
Just then, the body of the girl in the school uniform froze. The finger scrolling through her phone screen stopped. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, but her pupils dilated rapidly, her once-vibrant gaze turning hollow.
Then, her wrist began to twist in an extremely grotesque manner. The surrounding passengers didn't seem to notice; they continued with their own business. Some were looking at their phones, some were resting with closed eyes, and some were talking in low voices.
A commuter sitting next to the girl finally noticed something was wrong. "Hey, little girl, are you alright?"
However, the girl didn't respond. She maintained her bizarre posture as the angle of her twisted wrist grew larger, nearly wringing itself into a knot. Then, her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a loud thwack.
Before the nearby passenger could react, the girl's body began to change. Unlike the woman in Byrne's complex who had vanished into light, this girl began to wither. Her once-fair, plump cheeks collapsed instantly. Her eye sockets sank deep, and her lips shriveled into a mass of wrinkled black skin. Her smooth hair lost its luster, turning yellow and dry like weeds.
In just a few short seconds, a vivid young girl had turned into a dried corpse.
"Ah!"
The commuter who had spoken earlier was the first to react. Seeing the girl's horrific transformation, she let out a piercing shriek and bolted from her seat, nearly knocking over a nearby handrail.
That scream was like a stone thrown into a still lake. Passengers who had been looking at their phones or resting with closed eyes all turned their heads. When they saw the girl's dried corpse, chaos erupted in the cabin.
Some turned deathly pale, clutching their mouths and not daring to make a sound. Others scrambled toward the doors, terrified that they would be next. A few bolder individuals pulled out their phones to film the girl's gruesome state, hoping to gain social media traffic.
The driver, hearing the commotion from the back, looked down at his monitor and saw the girl's body. Perhaps because this wasn't his first time encountering such a situation, he appeared remarkably calm. Recognizing that a death had occurred on board, he knew the bus could not continue its route.
The driver picked up the radio nearby and began reporting: "This is Route 307. We are stopped at the X Complex station. A 'Rules-Based Death' has occurred on board. Please dispatch personnel to handle the scene immediately."
After reporting, the driver set down the radio. His expression darkened, but he maintained a forced composure as he stood up to direct the passengers. "Everyone, stay calm. Exit the bus in an orderly fashion and wait for the next bus at the platform."
Although the driver was being responsible, the panicked passengers—having witnessed such a terrifying sight—ignored all sense of order. They swarmed toward the front and rear doors like headless flies, creating a cacophony of pushing, crying, and cursing.
Byrne was swept up by the crowd, his body leaning forward involuntarily under the pressure of the throng. Before long, everyone had exited. The driver closed the doors and drove the bus a hundred meters away from the stop to park at the roadside. He cut the engine, stepped out, and stood by the road silently smoking a cigarette while he waited.
Inside the cabin, the girl's corpse remained in its bizarre posture, leaning stiffly against the window seat. Her yellowed hair hung down, covering most of her face and leaving only a section of shriveled, blackened lips visible, exuding an unspeakable sense of gloom.
The passengers gathered at the platform, standing in shaken groups and discussing the horror they had just witnessed. Some speculated on what rule the girl had broken, some worried about their schedules, and others pulled out phones to message family and friends that they were safe.
It wasn't long before another Route 307 bus arrived at the platform. Because it was a mid-route boarding, there were no empty seats left. Byrne had no choice but to stand as close to the rear door as possible. Perhaps influenced by the girl's tragic death, the passengers who boarded were exceptionally silent; even the usual morning small talk had vanished.
"The vehicle is starting. Please hold on firmly. Next stop: Chaoyang Park. Passengers getting off, please be prepared."
As the announcement played, the bus started moving toward the next station. Ten minutes later, a sharp siren wailed in the distance. Two SUVs marked "Bureau of Rules Supervision" pulled up. Five people in uniforms and masks stepped out. Their movements were perfectly synchronized and highly disciplined.
After a brief exchange with the driver, two of them guarded the bus doors to prevent anyone from approaching, while the other three entered the cabin to process the scene. They efficiently placed the girl's body into a black body bag. Next, they picked up her phone from the floor and sealed it in a transparent bag before beginning a comprehensive inspection and disinfection of the interior. Their movements were standardized and methodical—from bagging the body to gathering evidence and disinfecting—as if handling a "Rules-Based Death" was a daily routine.
Faraxville City, 8:30 AM.
Twelfth floor of an office building, Shangyage Fashion Decoration Company.
Byrne walked through the company doors carrying his laptop bag. The office area was bright and spacious. Most employees were already at their desks. The sound of typing and printers working wove into the usual corporate hum. To Byrne's ears, however, this noise felt surreal and disconnected. After all, he had witnessed two horrific deaths caused by blood-red rules in a single morning.
Robert, the receptionist who was touching up her makeup, stood up and greeted him warmly. "Good morning, Team Leader Byrne."
Byrne clocked in and replied casually, "Good morning, Robert."
Before Byrne could get far, Robert called out, "Byrne, Manager Jones asked me to inform you that the 10:00 AM project meeting has been moved to 10:30. Please make sure to be on time—no tardiness allowed."
Byrne paused, his brow furrowing slightly. Project meetings were standard procedure, and time changes weren't rare. But on a refresh day, the added emphasis of "must be on time" and "no tardiness allowed" made his skin crawl. He shook his head to suppress his doubts and smiled. "Alright, I've got it. Thanks for the heads-up."
He didn't linger and headed straight for his office. Robert didn't seem to notice anything unusual; she sat back down and continued with her powder compact.
As he walked through the office area, Byrne instinctively slowed down, scanning each workstation. Most colleagues were busy with their tasks, appearing normal. Yet, beneath this veneer of normalcy, Byrne caught subtle signs of anomaly.
David, who sat near the pantry and usually loved to gossip, was silent today. His fingers tapped mechanically on the keyboard, and his eyes stared blankly at the screen as if his soul had been hollowed out. Then there was Xiao Zhou from accounting; despite her desk being near the window, she was sitting with her back to it, as if she were deliberately avoiding something.
The behavior of these two was no coincidence. On a refresh day, any abnormal behavior could be linked to a blood-red rule.
Entering his office, Byrne set his laptop bag on the desk. He didn't start working immediately but brewed a cup of coffee—a habit he had kept since before transmigration. With his coffee ready, he took his laptop out of his bag.
He plugged it in and waited for it to boot. Just as he was about to click on his work software, two lines of blood-red text suddenly appeared on the screen.
[Weekly rules have been refreshed.]
[New Rule: Eyes open after dark.]
The blood-red text on the computer screen was crimson and eye-stinging, looking as if it had just been drawn from a vein. It even came with a 3D effect; under Byrne's gaze, it looked as if it might drip off the screen at any moment.
Byrne's heart sank, and his hand gripping the mouse tightened instantly. He instinctively turned his head to look at the office window. Outside, the sun was shining brightly; it was clearly still daytime.
Eyes open after dark...
Byrne stared at the blood-red text on the screen, his brow furrowed. The content of this rule was not only brief but also extremely vague.
What counted as "dark"? Did it mean the night when the sun was gone, or did it have some other special meaning?
What counted as "eyes open"? Did they have to remain open the entire time without a single blink, or was the act of having them open sufficient? If he blinked, would that count as a violation?
Looking at the text, the more Byrne thought about it, the more frustrated he became. The rules he had encountered before, no matter how tricky or contradictory, were at least explicit in their phrasing, letting one know what to do and what to avoid. But this rule was like a malicious riddle; every word leaked uncertainty. In the world of Rules-Based Urban Legends, vague rules were often more lethal than explicit taboos, because you never knew which casual movement might cross the "kill line."
Did the difficulty level of my rules increase?
On second thought, Byrne dismissed the idea. Even counting his experiences before transmigration, this was only the eighth time he had faced a blood-red rule. He was still one instance away from a difficulty spike.
Byrne picked up his coffee and took a sip, trying to calm his agitated emotions. According to past experience, the blood-red text would vanish after three minutes. But in the next second, not only did the original text remain, but new lines began to emerge.
[Supplement: "Darkness" is not natural darkness, but the darkness of one's vision. "Eyes open" is not about keeping the eyes physically open, but about maintaining clear consciousness.]
[Please note: The first "Darkness" will begin in ten minutes. Violating the rule will result in being devoured by the Night Demon.]
Seeing this new text, the corner of Byrne's mouth twitched.
Gave me a heart attack. Why does this text have to be so dramatic? Couldn't it just display everything at once?
Complaints aside, Byrne didn't dare delay for a second. His eyes fixed on the supplement as his brain worked at high speed.
"Darkness" referred to the darkness of one's vision, not natural darkness. That meant he didn't have to wait for the sun to set; as long as his vision fell into darkness, it met the condition. And "Eyes open" meant maintaining clear consciousness, which completely overturned his previous guess.
It meant that simply keeping his eyes open was useless; if his consciousness became blurred, if he fell into a deep sleep, or if he were hypnotized, he would still violate the rule and be devoured by that "Night Demon."
"Night Demon..."
Byrne chewed on the word as a chill crawled up his spine. From the two death scenes he had witnessed earlier, the punishments for breaking rules were horrific; being devoured by a Night Demon would likely be even more terrifying.
What frustrated Byrne was that the first "Darkness" would begin in ten minutes. This meant he didn't have much time to prepare. He turned his gaze to the bottom right corner of the computer screen. The time displayed was 8:37:21 AM. The countdown had begun the moment the supplement appeared. By his calculation, the first darkness would strike around 8:47 AM.
Byrne stood up immediately and walked to his office door, pulling it wide open. He didn't do this to flee the company, but to connect his space with the outside area. He wanted to see if the "vision darkness" would affect his colleagues outside when it arrived.
Returning to his seat, he scanned his office. It wasn't large, about ten square meters, furnished with a desk, a filing cabinet, and two guest chairs. The walls were covered in light gray wallpaper.
Vision darkness...
If I can maintain constant brightness, can I avoid triggering the rule?
During his time since transmigration, Byrne's understanding of the blood-red rules came from both his own experiences and the shared stories of others online. He knew it was possible to "cheese" the rules. "Cheesing" meant finding a loophole in the rule's description and using external means to bypass the trigger. For instance, someone once faced a rule about "not hearing a bell at midnight," and they chose to wear noise-canceling headphones and listen to music, passing the midnight hour safely. That was an example of using a loophole where the rule didn't forbid "physical isolation of sound."
Looking at it this way, if "vision darkness" meant the sight falling into dark, then as long as he kept his surroundings bright enough so his vision couldn't fall into darkness, wouldn't that work?
He first walked to the window and pulled the curtains completely open, letting as much sunlight as possible flood the room. The sunlight spilled across the office, making the gray wallpaper much brighter and fading the shadows at the corners of the desk.
But Byrne knew in his heart that natural light alone might not stop the "vision darkness." The rule emphasized it wasn't natural; no one could predict in what form it would descend. He went to the door and switched on the electric lights. Then, he returned to his desk and began rummaging through the drawers.
The drawers were mostly filled with files and office supplies. After a moment, he found a small flashlight. He pressed the switch, and a piercing beam of white light shot out—it was bright enough.
Hopefully, this method allows me to cheese the rule successfully.
Finished with his preparations, Byrne checked the computer screen. The time was 8:42 AM. Only five minutes left until the darkness. He sipped his coffee, silently waiting for the countdown to end.
Suddenly, the internal phone on his desk rang.
"Team Leader Byrne, Manager Jones wants you to come to his office right now," Robert's voice came from the other end.
Byrne frowned. "Now?"
"Yes. Manager Jones said he has important matters to discuss with you and asked you to come over immediately."
Jones really knows how to pick his timing—right at this moment.
Hanging up the phone, Byrne sighed, stuffed the flashlight into his pocket, and left his office. Arriving at Manager Jones's door, he knocked.
"Come in."
Byrne pushed the door open and walked in. Manager Jones was sitting behind his desk, his back to the door, looking out the window.
"Jones, what did you want to see me about?" Byrne sat down directly in front of him.
Manager Jones turned around and rubbed his hands together. "About the project meeting's time change—Robert told you, right?"
"She did. 10:30, right? I've got it. Don't worry, I won't be late. If that's all, I'll head back." Byrne made a move to stand up.
Seeing this, Manager Jones immediately reached out to stop him. "Don't be in such a hurry. I'm not finished. The reason the time was changed is that we just received notice that the client will be attending the meeting. Brother, this project is vital for the company. Whether we succeed or not depends entirely on you. You must..."
But Manager Jones didn't know that halfway through his sentence, Byrne could no longer hear his voice. Not only that, but the sight in Byrne's eyes was beginning to blur.
The countdown had ended. Darkness was coming.