Forbidden Rules

The incident cleaved our fragile team in two.

Rick, traumatized, became withdrawn and paranoid, like a startled rabbit, flinching at every sound. Hank grew even more resolute in his conviction. He saw Rick's shattered state as definitive proof that the "Forbidden Rules" were a death trap, believing Rick only survived because the unknown woman had served as a sacrifice.

As for Li and me, we fell into a deeper, more agonizing state of confusion.

"Something's wrong," Li pulled me into a corner of the library the next day, his voice a low whisper. "Mike, have you considered the most crucial question: why didn't Rick die?"

I paused. "Maybe... he got lucky? Or like Hank said, someone else died for him?"

"No." Li shook his head, his gaze sharp as a razor. "The core of a 'rules-based horror' scenario is logic—a tight, coherent system hidden beneath a veneer of madness. Luck is the one thing that doesn't exist in such a system. Rick followed 'Forbidden Rule A.' He saw something terrifying, but he survived. We violated 'Survival Protocol 2' by being forced into the dark, and we also survived. What does that tell you?"

I followed his train of thought, and a startling possibility, one that made my hair stand on end, began to form. "It means... that neither set of rules is absolutely right or wrong? It's not a 'choose one' question?"

"Exactly!" Li's eyes flashed with a scholar's near-fanatical excitement. "They might not be a choice, but... different parts of the same instruction manual! Torn in half!"

He ripped a blank page from a red book and, with a pencil he'd found somewhere, began to write and diagram furiously.

"Look. The 'Survival Protocols' teach us how to survive. Eat on time, stay out of the dark, don't talk to the NPCs. These are all passive, defensive strategies—the baseline that ensures we aren't eliminated by the environment's 'passive kill' mechanics."

"But the 'Forbidden Rules,'" he paused, drawing a heavy circle around the words, "they teach us how to win. But winning involves risk. They aren't commands; they're missions! Turning off the lights, for example, is a 'mission' that must be triggered at a specific time. Completing it might grant us some kind of 'qualification' or 'points,' but the process itself is extremely dangerous. That thing slithering in the dark is the mission's 'guardian' or, perhaps, its 'examiner'!"

"So you're saying..." I felt my mind being pried open. "The 'Survival Protocols' are the foundation, the manual for staying alive, the game's 'floor.' And the 'Forbidden Rules' are advanced missions, triggered under specific conditions, that determine the game's 'ceiling'? We can't just blindly follow one set; we have to walk a tightrope between them, finding the delicate balance in the cracks?"

"It's highly probable!" Li pushed up his glasses. "It's like a video game. The 'Survival Protocols' are the tutorial, telling you not to fall into the lava. The 'Forbidden Rules' are the hidden quests, telling you that jumping into a specific volcano can get you a legendary weapon. But if you jump into the wrong one, or in the wrong way, you're vaporized! The key is to find the 'specific conditions' and the 'correct method'!"

Li's theory was a bolt of lightning that split through the fog in my mind. It seemed the only logical explanation for what we had experienced. Rick had undertaken the mission, while we, by virtue of being in a rule-certified "safe zone," had luckily avoided the "examiner's" direct attention.

I immediately relayed Li's analysis to Hank. His locked brow finally showed a flicker of release. He was stubborn, but not stupid. Li's theory had far more logical depth than the black-and-white "kill or be killed" dichotomy.

But convincing Rick was now impossible. He had become a ticking time bomb within our group.

The third day arrived, and with it, a new crisis. This time, the one who lit the fuse was Rick himself.

A staff member in a pristine, pure-white uniform appeared without warning at the end of the corridor. He was expressionless, his eyes vacant, and he walked with a rhythmic, pendulum-like precision, neither fast nor slow. The length of his stride, the height of his raised foot—it was all perfectly uniform, like a robot controlled by a precise program.

We immediately recalled the two contradictory rules.

[Survival Protocol 5: Ignoring them is the highest form of respect.]

[Forbidden Rule D: If you notice any abnormal behavior in your companions... you should report it to them immediately.]

Hank's first instinct was to pull us into a nearby room and hold the door shut. But Rick, driven mad by fear, suddenly unleashed a surprising burst of strength, shoved Hank aside, and shot out like an arrow from a bow!

"Rick! Come back!" I yelled in despair.

He paid me no mind. He ran straight up to the white-uniformed staff member, pointed a shaking finger at the room we were in, and shrieked hysterically, "Them! They're the abnormal ones! They're trying to hurt me! They don't believe the real rules! Quick! Get them! Eliminate them!"

He had reported us.

From the room, we watched through the crack in the door, horrified.

The white-clad staff member slowly came to a halt. His vacant eyes gradually focused on Rick, like an old camera finding its subject. He didn't speak. He simply tilted his head, the movement as stiff as a rusty gear turning.

Then, he raised his hand, as pale and bloodless as his face.

We thought he would grab Rick, or attack our room. But instead, he extended a single finger and, slowly, like a scene in slow motion, pointed it at Rick's own forehead.

"No... no..." A look of terror even greater than what he'd shown in the dark contorted Rick's face. He tried to back away, to dodge, but his body was frozen as if bound by invisible chains, able to do nothing but watch as the finger drew closer.

The finger touched Rick's forehead.

There was no sound, no bloody spectacle. But Rick's entire body, like a punctured balloon, began to rapidly "wither." In a matter of seconds, his flesh, skin, and bones lost all moisture and substance, collapsing into a fine, grayish-white powder that settled softly on the floor.

Only the once-flamboyant silk shirt remained, floating down to lightly cover the human-shaped pile of dust.

The staff member expressionlessly withdrew his finger, turned, and resumed his precise, pendulum-like walk, disappearing down the other end of the corridor as if he had merely crushed an ant in his path.

Witnessing this scene, which defied all logic and shattered our worldview, our stomachs churned. After a long moment, Hank slammed his fist against the wall, cracking it. His voice was filled with pain, rage, and profound self-blame. "Damn it! Damn it! I shouldn't have let him go! I should have knocked him out!"

Li's face was just as pale, his lips trembling, but he forced himself to maintain a final shred of sanity. "Now... we understand. 'Forbidden Rule D' was wrong. Or rather... Rick... he used it the wrong way. He didn't meet the 'specific conditions' to trigger it."

"What damn condition would let someone who reports his own teammates live?!" Hank roared back like a wounded beast.

Li was silent. He couldn't answer that question. Rick's death was like a bucket of icy, filthy water, extinguishing the faint flame of hope that had just been kindled in our hearts. The "Forbidden Rules" now seemed more like a meticulously crafted death list, with every option leading to a different hell.

Only three of us remained. Rick's death planted guilt in Hank, fear in me, and in Li... a massive logical fissure. We were like three startled birds, abandoning all exploration and retreating into the library, the only place we deemed safe. We survived by taking turns to fetch our life-sustaining food from the dining hall each day, living like zombies.

We stopped discussing the rules. We simply, numbly, mechanically, followed the first "Survival Protocols." We barely spoke, avoiding eye contact, terrified that any "abnormality" would summon the next white-clad man. Our fragile alliance had completely disintegrated, leaving only three lonely individuals awaiting their end in despair. Friendship, trust—things so precious in the real world—were crushed to dust under the shadow of death.

Until the fifth day. A turning point—or perhaps, the final judgment—arrived.

It was my turn to fetch the food. To my horror, I found something new next to our meals.

A blue-covered book.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Rule 4 had explicitly warned us not to touch the blue books, that they would "contaminate your thoughts." But why was it here, in the dining hall, placed alongside food certified as "safe" by the rules?

My mind raced. A trap? A hint? I said nothing. With the resolve of a man walking to his execution, I hid the book, which felt unnaturally cold, under my shirt and brought it back to the library.

When I took it out, Hank's first reaction was to slap it out of my hand. "Mike! Are you crazy?! Do you want to end up like Rick?! Have you forgotten how he turned into a pile of ash?!"

"Wait!" Li, as if seeing a lifeline, snatched the book before it hit the floor. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the cover, his breath coming in short gasps. "Hank, Mike, look closely. This book... it's different from the other blue books in the library!"

We leaned in. The blue books on the shelves had smooth covers. This one had an extremely fine, almost invisible texture, which felt strange to the touch. And it didn't have the musty smell of the other books. Instead, it carried a faint... wheaty scent, just like the sandwiches.

"Rule one says, 'Do not consume, or even touch, any other items within this facility,'" Li's voice trembled with excitement. "What's the inverse of that statement? Doesn't it imply that everything provided in the dining hall is 'acceptable' for us to use?"

"You mean... this book is 'food'? Food for thought?" Hank's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I don't know," Li shook his head. "But it's a 'variable.' A variable that could break our current stalemate of waiting for death. We can't just sit here anymore. In two days, even if we're still alive, who knows what's waiting for us? The prize money? Or becoming the next batch of 'NPCs' like those white-clad men?"

Li's words were a dagger that struck the deepest fears in our hearts. We were silent. Do we embrace an unknown, potentially fatal risk, or wait for the end in this slow-boiling despair?

In the end, it was Hank who made the decision. This man, who had been the most cautious and risk-averse, now had the resolute look of a gambler in his eyes. He picked up the blue book, his voice hoarse but firm. "I'll open it. If something happens to me, you two forget this ever happened. Stick to the first set of rules and survive."

"No," I pressed his hand. The same hand that had once gripped me in pain now transmitted a warm strength. "We came in this together. Rick is already... We can't split up again. If we face this, we face it together."

Li nodded emphatically. He took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and when he put them back on, all hesitation was gone from his eyes. "He's right. Either we find a way out together, or we turn to ash together. I choose the former."

In that moment, in this white, hopeless library, our three hearts connected as never before. United by shared fear, but also by shared hope. We were no longer just individuals struggling for money. We were true comrades, who could entrust each other with our lives.

Taking a deep breath, we opened the special blue book together.

It contained no words.

Every page was filled with simple stick-figure drawings, yet they conveyed an astounding amount of information.

The first page showed a stick figure pulling a light switch down, plunging himself into darkness. A massive, featureless monster appeared beside him. But the figure didn't run. He curled into a ball, tightly covering his ears and eyes. Next to the drawing was a small check mark: ✓.

The second page showed a staff member in white. A stick figure approached him, not pointing fingers, but bowing deeply. The staff member returned a slight bow and handed the figure a small key. Next to it, another ✓.

The third page showed the library. A stick figure held a blue book, but instead of reading it, he stood on a stool and placed it on the highest shelf, in what looked like a deliberately empty space. Again, a ✓.

Page after page, it was like being struck by lightning. A profound revelation washed over us.

We were wrong. We had been wrong from the very beginning.

The "Forbidden Rules" were not a trap, nor were they some hidden strategy! They were just as real as the "Survival Protocols"! But they weren't in opposition! They were complementary! Yin and yang, the surface and the core!

Li's first theory was right: the "Forbidden Rules" were missions. But none of us had understood the correct way to complete them!

Rule A, turn off the lights. The goal wasn't to fight the monster, but to demonstrate absolute "harmlessness" and "reverence" in the darkness, to evade its scrutiny through silence and ignorance. Rick saw the monster and was scared out of his wits, but perhaps it was precisely because he was too terrified to move or fight back that he survived. The screaming woman was likely killed because she panicked and ran, and was thus judged a "threat."

Rule D, report to the staff. It wasn't about reporting a companion's actions, but about "reporting" the "contamination of your own thoughts"—fear, suspicion, betrayal—when you felt them arise within yourself. And the method of reporting wasn't snitching, but a humble bow, an expression of "repentance" and a "request for correction." Rick used the rule as a tool for malice and exclusion, so he was "cleansed."

And Rule C, the blue books held the shortcut. The goal wasn't to "read" their secrets, but to "return" them to their rightful place! To complete a ritual!

We finally understood the game's core logic. The organizers weren't testing our intelligence or courage. They were testing our comprehension and humility. They demanded that we be neither blindly obedient nor rebellious, but act as precise decoders, understanding the true, deeper meaning behind each rule and the subtle, complementary relationship between them.

The "Survival Protocols" were the "shell," ensuring our physical survival. The "Forbidden Rules" were the "core," a trial of the soul, demanding we rectify our inner state and execute missions with the correct mentality.

We took the special blue book to the shelves. Following the drawing's instructions, Hank, being the tallest, crouched down without hesitation. Li and I stood on his broad, solid shoulders, and with a sense of sacred ceremony, we placed the book firmly into the single empty slot on the highest shelf.

The moment the book clicked perfectly into place, the entire library emitted a sharp click, like a giant lock being opened. The bookshelf before us slowly, silently, slid apart, revealing a downward staircase, also pure white.

At the bottom of the stairs was a door. And through the crack, we saw it: a sliver of warm, dusty sunlight, a sight we had forgotten for five long days.

We had made it.

...

Years have passed.

The prize money did change our lives. Hank opened a thriving gym and became the "muscle uncle" adored by local kids. Li became a respected professor of logic, his lectures always packed. And I paid off all my debts. My daughter received the best treatment and is growing up healthy and happy.

We became the best of friends, brothers bonded by something stronger than blood. The kind of friends you can call at 3 AM, say nothing but "I need you," and they'll drive hundreds of miles without a second thought.

Every year, we gather at my house for a backyard barbecue. We never shy away from talking about those seven nightmarish days. That memory didn't become a scar; it became a unique, sacred brand that fused our three different lives together forever.

"Honestly," Hank would say, downing a large gulp of cold beer, a haunted smile on his rugged face, "I still have nightmares about that library, hearing that shhhh-slissssh sound. I always wake up in a cold sweat."

"I was thinking, if that thing had actually come in," Li would joke, a rare occurrence for him, his glasses reflecting the setting sun, "Hank's the biggest, with the most fat. He probably could have stalled it for a few extra seconds, long enough for Mike and me to make it to the dining hall."

"Hey! You skinny little nerd!" Hank would laugh, giving Li a gentle shove with his bear-paw hand.

I'd watch them, smiling, a profound warmth filling my heart. The sunlight on my skin banished the memory of that eternal, cold white. I often think that the real prize of that game wasn't the money. It was what it taught us in the most extreme, twisted environment imaginable—something more important than life itself.

It taught us that when faced with incomprehensible, malevolent "rules," division and suspicion lead only to destruction. Only by setting aside deep-rooted prejudice, by trying to understand, by choosing to trust, and by bravely placing your back in the hands of a former stranger, can you find the one and only staircase leading to the light.

The game was called "Ultimate Survival." But what it taught us was how to live, together. And those "Forbidden Rules," the ones that brought us so much terror and cost us Rick, ultimately became the most profound, absurd, and precious testament to our unbreakable friendship.