But what was the point of restrictions like these? Someone powerful enough should be able to force their way out.
Ke Meng hadn't typed anything, but that didn't mean he couldn't write.
As a video creator, he often wrote scripts for his videos, so writing prose came naturally to him, too.
Writing ten thousand characters wouldn't stump him, but Ke Meng didn't want to obediently do so. This Black Room was filled with an oppressive atmosphere that made him vaguely uncomfortable.
Ke Meng stood up and looked around.
It was a rather stylish bedroom. A six-tier bookshelf stood against the wall, packed with all sorts of novels, famous works from various countries, and books on the culture and history of different regions.
Looking back at the desk, he saw a large pile of discarded manuscripts beside it, covered with abandoned novel openings and rough outlines.
Behind him was a bed. The quilt had been folded into a neat square, clearly the work of someone who held themselves to a certain standard of tidiness.
Ke Meng walked around the room and found a water dispenser with a full jug.
He wanted to find a cup. When he turned his head, he saw that one had appeared on the desk at some point.
An ordinary person would definitely have jumped in fright, thinking the place was haunted.
But Ke Meng was perfectly calm. His composure came from his resistance, which had passed a thousand points and was nearing two thousand. It was incredibly powerful; ordinary mental interference couldn't affect his state of mind.
He picked up the cup and filled it. A clear blue stream poured into the cup with a burbling sound as pleasant as wind chimes.
After he filled the cup, the jug was still full, as though something supernatural