[SYSTEM RECORD: FILE #008]Subject: Localized Safe Zone (Compromised)Location: Dacun Township Vineyard, Tool ShedTime: 02:08 AM

  [Investigator's Record]

  I spilled into the shed, stumbling onto the dusty concrete floor. I immediately clicked off the tactical flashlight and shoved it into my jacket pocket, plunging the shed into darkness. I slammed my weight against the rotting wooden door to force it shut and threw the heavy, rusted iron deadbolt just as something wet and heavy slammed against the outside.

  The entire shed shook. Dust rained down from the corrugated tin roof.

  My knees finally gave out. I collapsed onto the cold concrete, my chest heaving, listening to the squelch, squelch of rubber boots pacing outside the door.The entity—the "A-p?"—was out there. But she didn't attack the door again.

  I dragged myself backward until my spine hit a stack of heavy, chemical-smelling sacks. My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom.

  The shed wasn't completely dark. In the far corner, two small, blood-red bulbs—traditional Taiwanese altar lamps (神明燈)—cast a sickly crimson glow over the room.

  The air was suffocating. It smelled like a toxic mixture of strong chemical pesticides, rotting wood, and the heavy, sweet scent of stale sandalwood incense.

  My Hyperthymesia automatically cataloged the room:

  Twelve sacks of local brand fertilizer stacked to my left.

  A rusted pesticide sprayer (農藥噴霧桶) in the corner.

  An old, battery-powered radio sitting on a wooden stool, silent.

  And the altar.

  I pushed myself up on trembling legs and limped toward the red glow.

  It was a traditional wooden shrine table, the kind you see in almost every rural home in Taiwan. But something was horribly wrong. The wooden statue of the Earth God (Tu Di Gong) sitting in the center had been desecrated. Its face had been violently gouged out with something sharp, leaving only jagged, splintered wood.

  A large sheet of yellow joss paper (黃紙) was pasted over the ruined face. It was written in the same sharp, mechanical handwriting as the system's rules.

  I leaned closer, squinting in the red light.

  [Shed Maintenance Protocol]Notice to Workers: This shed is a designated shelter until sunrise (05:30 AM).Rule 1: The twin red altar lamps must remain on. If the bulbs flicker and die, close your eyes and do not open them until you hear the rooster crow.Rule 2: The entities outside cannot enter unless invited, or unless you answer their questions.Rule 3: The radio on the stool is broken. It does not have batteries. If it starts broadcasting a Taiwanese Opera (歌仔戲), hide under the fertilizer sacks immediately and cover your ears.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  I memorized the text instantly.Rule 2 was my lifeline. Cannot enter unless invited or answered. As long as I kept my mouth shut, the wooden door was an impenetrable barrier.

  But I knew the system. It never gave you a perfect safe zone without a catch.

  Click.

  The sound was sharp and mechanical in the quiet shed. I snapped my head toward the wooden stool.The old, battery-less radio had just clicked on.

  Static hissed through the speaker. A low, rhythmic scratching sound followed. But it wasn't a Taiwanese Opera.

  It was a voice.A voice I recognized perfectly from my memory files. It was Pan. My missing roommate.

  "Hey... is someone in there?" Pan’s voice crackled through the radio, filled with raw panic.

  Then, the radio cut to dead static. A split second later, the exact same voice came from outside the shed.

  Thump. Thump.Two frantic knocks on the wooden door.

  "Please!" Pan screamed from the other side of the wood, his voice breaking. "She's right behind me! Open it!"

  My hands clenched into fists. My memory cross-referenced the audio perfectly. The pitch, the cadence, the slight nasal tone—it was a 100% match to Pan.

  But I looked at Rule 2 on the altar. Unless you answer their questions.The entity wasn't trying to break the door down. She was trying to trick me into answering, trying to get me to verbally acknowledge her so she could bypass the rule.

  I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I didn't say a word.

  "Fine. Don't say anything," the voice outside shifted instantly. The panic vanished, replaced by the wet, giggling sound of the A-p? from the vineyard. "But A-p? knows you are in there, young man. A-p? can wait."

  I looked down at the altar table.Sitting right in front of the faceless wooden statue was a small, white porcelain bowl. Inside it was a thick, dried layer of dark red paste.Cinnabar (朱砂). Traditional red ink used by Taoist priests to write talismans and seal anomalies.

  This was their medium. This was the ink of the system.

  I reached inside my jacket and pulled out the empty metal pen nib.I vigorously wiped my mud-caked thumb clean on the inside of my collar. A half-dried nosebleed wouldn't offer enough liquid to dissolve a thick paste. I didn't hesitate. I gripped the metal nib and punctured the pad of my clean thumb, driving it deep enough to break the skin. I squeezed a steady stream of fresh blood into the dried cinnabar in the porcelain bowl.

  I stirred it with the metal nib. The dried paste dissolved into my blood, creating a thick, glowing crimson ink.

  The game was on. The entity was waiting outside the door until 05:30 AM.

  I didn't just need to survive the night. I needed to rewrite the rules of this shed to turn it from a trap into a weapon.

  I didn't open my notebook. The shed's rules weren't in there; they were on the yellow paper pasted to the ruined god's face.

  I lifted the dripping metal nib from the porcelain bowl, took a deep breath, and stepped right up to the desecrated altar.

  But I stopped. Writing red ink under red light is impossible; the words would be invisible. I pulled the tactical flashlight from my pocket, muffled the lens against my jacket so it only leaked a faint, white sliver of light onto the yellow paper, and prepared to write.