A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

When Han Yingying opened her eyes, the ceiling was white.

It wasn't the moldy gray of the game; it was a normal white, painted with latex paint. She froze for a moment, her mind blank, unable to remember anything.

She sat up and looked around. It was an ordinary bedroom, about ten square meters in size. There were a few textbooks on the desk and an easel in the corner. There was a glass of cold water on the bedside table.

Who is she?

When the question popped into her head, she was startled. She looked down at her hands; her fingers were slender, her nails were trimmed short, and there was a callus on the web of her thumb—like it was from holding a pen for a long time.

Han Yingying.

The name surfaced from the depths of her memory, but that was all. Her name was Han Yingying; everything else was a blank.

She got out of bed, walked barefoot to the floor, and went to her desk. On the desk was a student ID card with her photo and name printed on it: Han Ying, Xinghai University, Department of Fine Arts.

So she is an art student.

She looked at her student ID card over and over again, but couldn't recall anything. Just as she was about to put it down, her peripheral vision caught sight of the wall.

A red piece of paper was pasted on the wall.

There were words written on the paper in black ink, the handwriting unusually neat:

Rule 1: You must be back at your residence before 6 PM every day.

Rule 2: Do not open the door if a stranger knocks.

Rule 3: Do not look in the mirror after midnight.

Rule 4: You may not refuse reasonable requests from "family members".

Han Yingying stared at the paper for a long time.

She couldn't remember who she was, but she had an instinctive sense of unease—these rules weren't right. Normal homes wouldn't have these kinds of things posted on their walls. She reached out to touch the paper, and the moment her fingertips touched the surface, the words on it suddenly turned red for a fleeting moment.

She withdrew her hand.

Footsteps came from outside the door.

"Yingying, are you awake?" A woman's voice, sounding to be in her forties, spoke in a tone that was neither warm nor cold.

Han Ying didn't answer. She didn't know how to answer. She wasn't even sure who the voice belonged to.

The door was pushed open.

The woman who entered was wearing a dark red loungewear set, her hair was tied up, and her face was well-maintained, but the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes betrayed her age. She looked Han Yingying up and down, her brows furrowing slightly.

"What are you daydreaming about? Have you forgotten what day it is today?"

Han Yingying thought for a moment, then didn't come out.

"Your fiancé is coming today, so hurry up and get ready." After saying this, the woman turned and left.

fiancé?

Han Yingying looked down at herself. Her pajamas were wrinkled, and her hair was a mess. She was a college student; where did this fiancé come from?

She changed her clothes and went out, and saw red papers again in the hallway. One was pasted on the wall every two meters, like some kind of slogan. The content was the same as the ones in the room, but with one more:

Rule 5: No direct conflict with "family members".

In the living room, the woman was setting up a tea set. A young girl, who looked about eighteen or nineteen, with light-colored dyed hair, was sitting on the sofa, playing on her phone with her legs crossed.

"Sis, your man's here today." The girl didn't even look up, her voice carrying a hint of schadenfreude.

Han Yingying searched her memory and confirmed that she did not recognize either of the two people at all.

She walked into the living room and stood by the coffee table. The woman—presumably the "family member" according to the rules—turned around and looked at her: "What are you standing there for? Go tidy up the shoe cabinet by the door, and don't leave your stinky paintbrushes piled up outside."

Han Ying didn't move.

She was thinking about something. The rules said she couldn't have a direct conflict with "family," nor could she refuse reasonable requests from "family." But what constituted a "reasonable request"? Did tidying up the shoe cabinet count?

She thought it was okay. So she went to tidy up.

The paintbrushes were indeed hers, covered in various paints. She squatted by the door, gathering them one by one, her mind churning with the rules.

Something was wrong with this world. She didn't remember what had happened, but she was certain this wasn't normal.

At ten o'clock, the doorbell rang.

The woman put down her teacup, glanced at Han Yingying, and said, "Go open the door."

Han Ying stood up, still clutching two paintbrushes in her hand. She walked to the door and looked out through the peephole.

A man was standing outside the door.

He looked to be around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, wearing a dark gray suit jacket, his hair neatly combed. His features were regular, even handsome. But after staring at that face for three seconds, the hairs on the back of Han Yingying's neck stood on end.

She couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong. Maybe it was his posture, or maybe it was his expression—the curve of his mouth, the angle of his eyebrows and eyes, it all seemed to have been measured and fitted onto him perfectly.

Rule 2 states, "Do not open the door if a stranger knocks."

Is this man a stranger? The woman said he was her fiancé.

But she didn't know him at all.

Han Ying's hand rested on the doorknob, but she didn't turn it.

"What's wrong? Open the door!" the girl on the sofa called out.

The woman also came over, reached out from behind Han Yingying, and opened the door directly.

"Little Chen's here! Come in and sit down." The woman's voice suddenly became warm, completely different from when she spoke to Han Yingying earlier.

The man walked in. His gaze swept over Han Ying, and he smiled, "Yingying, long time no see."

Han Yingying took a step back. It wasn't intentional; her body moved on its own.

The man didn't seem to care, or rather, he acted like he didn't. He went to the living room and sat down, while the woman busied herself serving tea and water. The girl with dyed hair also put away her phone and leaned over to strike up a conversation.

Han Yingying stood in the entryway, her palms sweaty.

She didn't know this person. She didn't want to get close to him.

But rule four states that one cannot refuse reasonable requests from "family members." If that woman asks her to come and sit with her, should she go?

"Yingying, come and sit down." Sure enough, she came.

Han Yingying walked over and sat on the single sofa furthest away from the man.

The man's gaze followed her, the smile on his lips remaining unchanged. Han Yingying looked at the cup on the coffee table, avoiding his gaze.

"Yingying hasn't been feeling well lately; she's been quite confused." The woman sat down next to the man, her tone carrying a sense of instruction. "Please bear with her."

"It's alright," the man said, his voice very gentle. "I can wait."

These words made Han Yingying's fingers curl slightly. Waiting for what? Waiting for her?

"Have you set a wedding date yet?" the girl with dyed hair asked, her tone as casual as if she were talking about the weather.

"The eighteenth of next month," the woman answered for the man.

Han Yingying looked up: "What?"

All three of them looked at her at the same time.

"The wedding date," the woman's smile faded slightly, "I've told you so many times, have you forgotten again?"

Han Yingying opened her mouth, wanting to say she didn't know this man, wanted to say she was still in college, wanted to say that none of this was right. But rule number five echoed in her mind—no direct conflict with "family".

She shut her mouth.

The man stood up, walked up to her, and took a small box out of his suit pocket and handed it to her.

"The engagement ring, you said the size wasn't right last time, so I took it to get altered."

Han Ying looked at the box but didn't take it.

"Keep it." A woman's voice came from behind.