Imagine that your back was unbearably itchy, but you couldn’t reach the spot. After rummaging through everything you own, you finally find a backscratcher, only to discover that no matter how you scratched, it never hit the right place. The more you scratched, the worse it felt. And the worse it felt, the more desperately you scratched. 

A tiny itch became a maddening one until it grew into the kind of itch that haunted you for years[1]. Then your imagination ran wild, conjuring one horrific reality after another. You suffered over and over again, trapped in an endless cycle with no escape. In the end, you collapse, clutching the backscratcher and sobbing uncontrollably as you bitterly regret ever touching it.

Its capacity for torment was undeniably impressive, and the malice behind its design was unquestionable. And yet, despite all that, it was utterly, spectacularly useless.

Jian Yuan only wanted to ask one question. How did you even manage to make this?

The procedure was correct. Every step had been carried out properly. Even the underlying logic was sound, yet the...