Quick Transmigration: Help! What to do when my husband is obsessed with love?

Chapter 152 Idol Ghost Stories Rules 25

Administration Department.

Occupying an entire floor, it testifies to its former glory.

But now, the place is deserted, with only dusty department nameplates.

The moment Ling Yi stepped into this floor, she sneezed from the rotten and damp smell.

The next instant, the window in the hallway suddenly opened.

A cold wind swept through the room, leaving a sharp whistling sound. The quietly standing nameplate suddenly fell to the ground in a gust of wind, staring unhappily at the intruder.

On the wall, the old camera still flashes red, faithfully recording the every move of the visitors.

The silver-gray of the camera here is completely different from the smooth and elegant silver-gray outside, exuding a mottled and cheap feel of the passage of time.

Chen Shu followed behind Ling Yi, letting her look around the dilapidated and gloomy building. Her hair seemed to have turned a worn gray under the eerie light.

Ling Yi pushed open the office doors one by one and discovered that the original residents had likely left when the company changed its appearance.

The occasional scraps of paper on the ground and the cups left behind on the desk speak of the desolation of this place and the ruthlessness with which its owner left.

It wasn't until she pushed open the manager's office door that Ling Yi discovered the existence of a systematic set of documents for the first time.

There are unimpressive scripts that don't belong here, and contracts that should belong to the legal department, as if all the company's business is concentrated in this department.

After setting aside those scripts and plans that were destined to flop, Ling Yi finally discovered the company code of conduct that was buried at the very bottom and that even the owner of the place didn't care about.

The idol rules that her manager gave her were just a small part of this long set of regulations; there were much more extensive and even more suffocating rules to come.

For example, leaving one's seat for a few minutes is considered absenteeism, and not arriving at the company five minutes early is considered late. Ling Yi also saw many methods of "charitable donation" on it.

From these thick rules, Ling Yi could discern the inhumane exploitation that the company's owners had committed before its collapse.

He once enjoyed great success, but was abandoned by the times and the rules. He could only watch his employees and artists leave one by one. In the end, he guarded a core department and added more and more rules to constrain employees and reduce costs in order to preserve a little strength for a comeback.

Clearly, he failed.

Ling Yi knew from the business card on the table that read "Chairman of Miracle Entertainment" that this might be the company owner's last office, which also explained why the agents and teachers were so secretive about the existence of the administrative department.

The boss who was once out of reach now sits here, using the prestige he once had to control the weak and powerless employees who remain, ultimately leading to his own demise.

This is an answer that can be guessed without much effort; it's commonplace and lacks originality.

Ling Yi had no intention of delving into the boss's psychological journey, and she believed that Chen Shu was not that foolish boss.

She simply looked around the small office, trying to find the true identity of the statement.

The computer on the desktop was covered in dust, the green ivy by the window swayed gracefully, and the stylish clock ticked away.

Ling Yi didn't know which one here was his true form, or whether they were all his true forms.

The computer's old fan suddenly hummed, and the outdated system struggled to keep this antique moving forward, with small circles spinning on the desktop one after another.

The moment the computer was turned on, all the surveillance footage from both buildings popped up.

The trainees and teachers stood motionless in the densely packed squares, as if controlled by something, unable to even move their feet.

The image freezes on their terrified faces, then gradually shifts frame by frame.

Ling Yi saw the cameras simultaneously turn to monitor a strange scene that didn't need monitoring.

For an ordinary person, this scene would only seem bizarre and ridiculous.

But in Ling Yi's eyes, who had memorized the locations of all the cameras, they were all turning toward her and watching her.

boom.

The scene suddenly changed; a camera fell to the ground, and the scene shifted at that moment.

One, two, three...

Ling Yi's face appeared simultaneously on the small surveillance screen, with cameras in the distance reflecting her features from various angles.

Ling Yi was able to accurately find the broken parts among many identical versions of herself, those cameras that had fallen to the ground with shattered screens, yet were still stubbornly trying to cross time to get closer to her.

At this moment, the 21-inch computer screen was divided into hundreds of image blocks, and these image blocks were still increasing.

Cameras that weren't originally connected to this surveillance system rushed in, eager to show Ling Yi their presence.

One thousand, ten thousand.

Ling Yi used her limited human brain to analyze countless images, and finally caught a glimpse of an anomaly from a tiny, almost invisible scene.

"I've found you." As she said this, all the surveillance footage disappeared, leaving only a close-up photo of her.

The cheap, silver webcam that was located inside the computer was pointed at Ling Yi.

His somewhat distorted voice crackled through the speaker: "Hello, Lingyi."

The moment the cold, mechanical voice rang out, Ling Yi turned around.

There was no one behind me now, and the green ivy by the window swayed even more gracefully.

“Chen Shu?” Ling Yi asked softly, looking down at the faint silver luster on the mottled wooden floor.

Another electrical current emanated from the speaker, followed by a mechanical voice that transformed into Chen Shu's gentle voice: "You can call me that; it's my name when I became human."

Time ticked by, urging Lingyi to almost drift off to sleep.

She pressed herself against the table to keep herself from falling asleep, looking at her reflection on the screen and at the simple silver webcam above the computer: "Why did you become human? Do you have this need?"

She had once thought that Chen Shu might be one of her kind existing in this terrifying space, but now, in this eerie atmosphere, Ling Yi rejected that idea.

Artificial intelligence is absolutely rule-abiding, absolutely rational, and absolutely cold.

The place where it exists must be rigorous, efficient, and austere.

Everything here does not conform to the basic rules governing the existence of artificial intelligence.

Compared to artificial intelligence, Lingyi is more inclined to believe that Chen Shu is some kind of existence that cannot be explained by technology, disguised as artificial intelligence.

"Demands?" Waves seemed to rise and fall on the floor, and the body that had been melted by the statement screamed, wanting to get closer to Ling Yi, but was stopped by the supreme being.

"My need is you." That gentle voice contained both absolute indifference and absolute fervor.