Grotesqueries of the Old Domain

Chapter 4: Rules

In a groggy daze, Zhang Wenda woke up once more and realized he was still alive, though that was nothing to be glad about.

Whether it was the torment to his body or the despair in his heart, both made him feel suffocated at that very moment.

At this point, his body was almost beyond his own control; he trembled and curled into a ball, instinctively shrinking under the pitch-black bed.

Only after a painfully long five minutes did he finally exhale a long breath and regain control from the negative emotions.

“It was… it was being late! No, it was skipping class, I skipped class, I didn’t follow the rule! This is my punishment!” Zhang Wenda shouted the thought from his heart.

Not because he did something, but because he didn’t.

Judging from the fact that only TV #6 reacted to the meat hanging, this world clearly had its own logic—it was just that he didn’t understand it for now.

If he wanted to survive, he had to obey this world’s logic.

Zhang Wenda lifted his nearly numb right leg, trying to crawl out from under the bed, but the pain in his joints made him suck in a sharp breath; at this moment, his whole body felt like it was burning, hurting all over.

It wasn’t until three minutes later that he managed to crawl out from beneath the bed; looking into the mirror at his bruised and battered self, Zhang Wenda raised his bruised left hand to touch the gaping wound on his forearm—the ripping pain made it clear this pain was real.

If the meat-hanging TV was just a lifestyle difference, more odd than harmful, this was different—he knew if this trouble wasn’t resolved, he might really die!

This time he only passed out, but what would the cost be next time? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to know.

Glancing at his two broken fingers, Zhang Wenda gritted his teeth, grabbed his right hand and forcefully snapped them back into place. With a crack, they were aligned again.

His face turned pale from the pain as he looked at the still-bleeding dark red wound on his arm. The fear of death made his breath quicken again. “No, I can’t sit and wait for death. I must save myself.”

His first problem now was how to avoid that kind of attack. He couldn’t let himself be attacked again—that feeling of being unable to resist while consumed by negative emotions was unbearable.

Zhang Wenda looked up at the time and saw it was already twelve-thirty in the afternoon. He had actually passed out for the whole morning.

He glanced once more at this incredibly familiar home, gritted his teeth, and limped out the door.

The dire situation allowed no pause—he had to go find Fatty and get to the bottom of this.

The street was still the same one, the Tianshan Road he had walked countless times before. The phoenix trees along the sides, the cicadas chirping on their branches, and the disc-shaped white water tower on the left—all of it was so familiar, yet Zhang Wenda felt no nostalgia whatsoever.

He kept his head down and hurried forward, trying to look and think as little as possible, fearing he might trigger another rule.

Fatty’s house wasn’t far, just next door in the factory family compound. If they’d lived farther apart, they wouldn’t have played together as kids.

When Pan Dongzi came out after Zhang Wenda called, he was still holding a bowl of rice, piled high with meat and vegetables.

“What do you want? I’m eating.” Pan Dongzi complained between bites, showing no reaction to the wounds on Zhang Wenda’s face.

Zhang Wenda looked at him with a complicated expression. Though this guy’s personality and appearance were just like the Fatty he remembered, for some reason, he gave off a feeling of being fake.

He was this badly hurt and the guy wasn’t even surprised? Or maybe, as a local of this messed-up place, he had seen all sorts of strange things already?

But so far, no matter how odd this guy was, he hadn’t harmed him. And right now, he had no one else to get information from.

Without saying anything, Zhang Wenda simply rolled up his sleeve and showed his wounds. “I’m injured. Tell me—is this because I skipped class?”

“Huh? Who beat you up? That’s rough.”

“Fatty, just answer me—yes or no.”

“Uh… I don’t really know. Probably? I think you should follow the rules more—at least go to class.” After saying this, the chubby boy pulled a small palm-sized booklet from his pocket and handed it to Zhang Wenda.

Zhang Wenda took it and looked. The four large characters on the cover made his heart skip a beat. *Student Handbook.*

He glanced at the chubby boy who was still swallowing mouthfuls of food, then cautiously opened the booklet. First line of the first page: “Students must not skip class, be late, or leave early.”

“Damn! It’s actually true! I got attacked because I skipped class!”

He asked the chubby boy, “Do you have to read what’s in here too?”

“Of course! It’s mine. I follow the rules. I’ve even memorized it.” Pan Dongzi said proudly.

Hearing that, the tense Zhang Wenda finally let out a sigh of relief. “Good. As long as there are rules, you can avoid them.”

He no longer cared how strange the rules of this world were. He just didn’t want to be attacked again—

that feeling was just too terrible, and he never wanted to experience it again.

He sat down on a long strip of white ceramic tiles nearby and began reading intently.

Thankfully, the rules in the handbook weren’t overly harsh. Most were easy enough to follow—things like cherishing food, maintaining hygiene, keeping clothing neat, not spitting, loving labor, and thinking things through yourself before asking the teacher.

But he understood that this wasn’t the kind of stuff you could just brush off like when he was a kid.

Break these rules, and it could really cost your life.

When life and death were on the line, he couldn’t afford the slightest carelessness. If he wanted to survive in this world, he had to not only read the rules but memorize them.

Just as Zhang Wenda was absorbed in reading, a chubby hand reached out and pointed to the wound on his forearm. “What happened to your arm?”

“What?” Zhang Wenda followed the direction of the finger and saw a crooked red scar on his swollen skin.

All the other wounds hurt, but strangely, this one didn’t. “I remember… this one might’ve been from the flashlight?”

He carefully reached out to touch it and, to his surprise, found that it really didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like a wound—more like some sort of red tattoo.

“What’s going on? What is this strange thing? Is it good or bad?” Zhang Wenda had no idea.

This world was bizarre. He didn’t even know if wounds behaved normally here.

Glancing at Fatty, Zhang Wenda stretched out his hand and asked, “You don’t know what this is?”

“This grew on you—how would I know?” The chubby boy shook his head.

The sudden development made Zhang Wenda frown deeply. One problem wasn’t solved before another popped up. Could he really stay in this cursed place?

“Hey, you still didn’t say—who beat you up?” Fatty asked again, eyes full of curiosity.

“It was something invisible—” Before Zhang Wenda could finish, a sharp, ripping pain shot through his scalp and back. He instantly shut his mouth, hands trembling as he clutched at his shirt.

“You can’t say it. You can’t ask others.” He remembered the rule he just read in the handbook: when encountering a problem, think it through yourself first, don’t ask others.

It seemed to be a warning. The pain didn’t continue, but this told Zhang Wenda something new—this punishment didn’t stop when he left his house. It had followed him all the way here.

He stopped thinking about anything else. Right now, he needed to adapt to this world.

This broken place had strange TVs, a strange “Student Handbook”… who knew what other weird things it had?

Only by thoroughly understanding this world could he think about escaping its rules and regaining his freedom.

Just as Zhang Wenda put down the handbook and prepared to start memorizing, he saw the chubby boy had already finished his food, slung on a backpack, and was coming down the stairs.

“Hey, Mouse, I’m heading to the Youth Center this afternoon—coming with?”