I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 118

Chapter 118: Zhang Yangqing Drops the Act—He’s Done Pretending!

This battle left the audience utterly stunned.

It made them realize just how terrifying the combat prowess of top-tier superhumans could be in the Strange Tales World.

The silver-masked tourists had forced the vast majority of players to steer clear.

Yet these two superhumans had slaughtered them all—single-handedly.

That alone spoke volumes about their strength.

Gregori’s frenzied killing spree left a deep impression.

At the very least, after his return, many would instinctively fear him at first sight.

But Zhang Yangqing’s performance was even more horrifying—because he hadn’t moved a single step the entire time.

Standing in place, he’d wiped out everyone in the Dusk Hall.

That aura of absolute control made him seem like a god.

…..

Inside the Strange Tales World, the cleanup was now underway.

“By the way, do you two know if there’s any special treasure on this ship?”

Zhang Yangqing accepted the gold masks handed to him by the two women and posed the question.

From what he’d observed in the Dusk Hall, something valuable had to be drawing so many people here.

Yet it hadn’t appeared, leaving the guests visibly puzzled.

Any player who noticed this would recognize it as the hidden quest of this ship.

The Dusk Hall was filled with treasures, yet none seemed to be the tourists’ true objective.

That meant something even more valuable had lured them aboard.

Perhaps the man-eating monsters and the eerie crew were here for that.

Zhang Yangqing theorized that this treasure should have appeared in the Dusk Hall.

Its absence likely tied to the missing captain.

Alternatively, it might only manifest under specific conditions.

Based on the rules, this world was peaceful by day—only at night would the ship’s true nature be revealed.

Hearing his question, the two gold-masked women exchanged glances before replying:

“We don’t know about any special treasure. We’re just here as tourists.”

Zhang Yangqing nodded. Though enhanced during this trial, they’d boarded as ordinary guests.

Certain secrets were beyond their reach.

He’d need to consult insiders to uncover the ship’s true prize.

Many players had caught onto this and begun gathering intel through their own methods.

They didn’t necessarily have to complete the hidden quest—but extra knowledge never hurt.

Players who’d obtained invitations questioned their gold-masked benefactors.

Having completed tasks for them, they’d earned goodwill and could extract some information.

Gregori and the British player, Penna, simply used their gold masks to interrogate the staff.

Higher-ups like department managers might know more than lowly waiters.

Zhang Yangqing took the simplest route—delegating the intel-gathering to his two free laborers.

After collecting three gold masks, he prepared to return to the crew quarters for more clues—and to recruit three more workers.

His plan was straightforward:

Once the women uncovered intel about the captain and the treasure, they could return to their rooms.

If they could rally more tourists to assist, even better.

More underlings meant more hands to exploit.

But they’d also shared a crucial detail:

After midnight, tourists were forbidden from leaving their rooms—gold-masked included.

The crew, however, faced no such restriction.

This seemed to be a tourist-exclusive rule.

Perhaps after 12 AM, Zhang Yangqing could decipher the remaining hints in the rules.

But it was only 9 PM—no need to rush.

…..

Back in his cabin, Zhang Yangqing found the pale-skinned crewmate absent—likely on duty—leaving only the coughing one in bed.

He decided to investigate.

The pale one was clearly part of the new batch, but this guy’s identity needed verification.

Though Zhang Yangqing suspected he might be the source of contamination.

The nature of this ship’s corruption still eluded him.

“Hey, you alive? Squawk if you are.”

He patted the crewmate’s shoulder.

Frankly, only he would dare address someone like this.

Others tiptoed around their words.

The coughing man stirred at the voice, regaining some awareness.

He looked genuinely weak as he slowly turned to face Zhang Yangqing.

“Are you new here?”

Zhang Yangqing nodded. “Yeah. So you’re the old-timer?”

“Cough—yes. Three years on this ship. Did that other crewmate give you any food?”

His gaze held a hint of wariness.

Like the deceased crewmate, he seemed to know something.

“Nope. Why? Was it poisoned?”

“Shh! Good thing you didn’t eat it. Don’t let him hear you say that. If you want to live, do as I say.”

This was critical—for other players, at least.

“Go on, enlighten me.”

Zhang Yangqing was indifferent. He’d listen first, then judge.

“Can you get me a meal from the mess hall? Must have purple ketchup. And don’t let that other crewmate know. They’re… White-Skin Phantoms.”

As a veteran, the old crewmate divulged vital intel:

This world had many special beings.

Though he’d spent three years on this ship, he’d sailed for a full decade.

Once, his previous vessel had been raided by White-Skin Phantoms—

Deadly at night, capable of summoning sea monsters to attack.

That morning, he’d eaten the new crew’s food and been weakened ever since.

The “poison” only affected certain people.

Just as the mess hall’s food was toxic to the phantoms but safe for him.

If Zhang Yangqing brought him the right meal, he could detox.

A decade at sea had taught him survival tricks—like a dog eating grass to cure poisoning.

Players who aided him could trigger a joint survival quest, boosting their chances.

This aligned with the rule about confirming roommates’ safety.

Which side to join? That was the player’s choice.

Some, like Edson, might double-cross first and betray later.

But most would side with the regular crew.

Sure, the enemy seemed fierce—but their big boss hadn’t even shown up yet.

No need to panic!

Zhang Yangqing saw value in the old crewmate’s experience.

“An old horse knows the way.”

A decade of sailing meant he’d know these waters—maybe even the route to the final port.

Or the ship’s secrets, saving Zhang Yangqing the trouble of digging.

Another free laborer recruited.

But when Zhang Yangqing pressed for more answers, the man was too weak to respond, barely clinging to life.

He’d need that meal first—or he wouldn’t last the night.

His death would complicate later stages.

One seemingly useless detail:

Purple ketchup could neutralize the poison.

If a player accidentally ate the phantoms’ food (or had no choice), they could prepare some.

Useless to most—but invaluable for traitors like Edson.

With their own boss absent, defecting to the enemy was the smart move.

…..

After the Dusk Hall massacre, the crew’s numbers had plummeted—

From 800 to just over 400.

The first and second decks still bustled with activity.

As players left their cabins, many ran into their White-Skin Phantom roommate—

Alive, to their dismay.

Fewer phantoms meant higher safety.

The phantom questioned where they’d been, noting their absence from the battle.

Most lied, claiming the crew leader had detained them on deck before fleeing—

Afraid of arousing suspicion.

But when the phantom met Zhang Yangqing, it asked nothing.

He’d soloed the fight—no crew involvement meant no triggered dialogue.

The phantom merely greeted him.

Zhang Yangqing nodded and walked off.

The phantom froze.

Why did this guy radiate such authority?

Like he wasn’t a crewmate—but the captain here to inspect.

Something felt off, but the phantom stayed silent.

Zhang Yangqing had broken no rules… yet.

…..

By the time the phantom returned to the cabin, Zhang Yangqing had reached the mess hall.

Crew cuisine paled next to the tourists’ gourmet fare.

One was clean and aromatic; the other was filthy, serving only to fill stomachs with dubious ingredients.

Zhang Yangqing approached a window and ordered:

“One rice bowl with purple ketchup.”

Here lay a fatal detail.

Most players whispered, requesting takeout to avoid drawing attention.

If the phantoms spotted them, death loomed.

Rules repeatedly warned: Never let the enemy know you’re onto them.

Exposure meant granting them the right to attack.

Zhang Yangqing knew this—he just didn’t care.

Sure enough, as he left with his meal, three phantoms tailed him.

In a secluded spot, they surrounded him.

“Why are you eating this?”

Their tone suggested unsatisfactory answers wouldn’t be tolerated.

They were testing if he’d uncovered their true nature.

One theory:

Only the four roommates in each cabin could spot the anomalies.

The diary mentioned two who’d left and never returned—dead.

The writer? Also dead.

One remained, poisoned in bed.

Zhang Yangqing and the phantom had been assigned as replacements.

The phantom, noticing something amiss, had fed the others.

Refusal meant attack; acceptance meant slow death.

Hearing the question, Zhang Yangqing smirked.

“What I eat is none of your damn business.”

He wasn’t in a hurry to kill them.

If they were here for a reason, why not ask first?

The phantom wasn’t angered—it smiled, producing a packaged meal.

“You should eat this instead.”

Like the wax museum’s rules, they couldn’t kill players unless rules were broken.

Only then could they strike.

When Zhang Yangqing took the food, the phantom was baffled.

He hadn’t violated any rules—they couldn’t touch him.

But then—

Zhang Yangqing shoved the entire package down the phantom’s throat.

“Funny—I think you should eat this.”

Despite its struggles, he forced the meal into its gullet.

The other two lunged—only to be kicked flying.

They crumpled, groaning—utterly helpless.

It felt like being hit by a truck.

After the phantom finished “eating,” Zhang Yangqing slammed it to the ground.

He’d still broken no rules.

The phantoms were furious.

Then, he demanded:

“Talk. Why are you on this ship?”

This did break the rules—exposing his awareness of their true nature.

But so what? They couldn’t harm him anyway.

“We’ll never talk,” the phantom spat.

A kick to the gut caved in its abdomen, nearly making it vomit the meal.

This guy had a mouth of steel.

After the fourth strike, it grinned through bloody teeth.

“Kill me. When the crew leader finds out, he’ll kill you!”

Zhang Yangqing paused at the familiar title.

They thought he was scared.

His next words shattered their hopes.

“Oh, him? You should’ve said sooner—I tossed him overboard to feed the fish seven or eight hours ago. If I’d known he had intel, I wouldn’t have killed him.”

The trio stiffened.

The grinning phantom’s face twitched.

It had clung to the belief that the crew leader would avenge it.

Perhaps that was the phantoms’ own rule.

But with the leader dead, their restraints vanished.

Similar to [Rule 1: Strict hierarchy] in the crew’s guidelines.

Now, they were truly panicked.

No wonder the leader had vanished—he’d been fish food all along!

Without their superior, they were lost.

Seizing their confusion, Zhang Yangqing offered:

“Look, I plan to take over this ship and claim its treasure. Since you’ve lost your boss, I’ll give you a choice:

“Pretend to follow me. If I seem weak or you find a better opportunity, betray me. No hard feelings.

“But if serving me works out, stick around. No pressure.”

He was done pretending.

To Zhang Yangqing, loyalty meant nothing—obedience did.

He wasn’t here to live forever—just clear the stage.

As long as they obeyed for now, he’d spare them.

Of course, if they thought him unfit, they could rebel anytime.

Their choice.

This was perhaps his most merciful approach in the Strange Tales World.

After consideration, the phantoms saw no downside.

He’d even allowed betrayal.

Not that they had a choice—refusal meant joining the crew leader in the sea.

His “offer” was a polite ultimatum.

Rising, the three bowed.

“We’ll follow your orders.”

Zhang Yangqing nodded. “Smart move.”

…..

Watching him break conventions yet again, the audience buzzed with excitement.

Most players followed the standard script—but his unorthodox methods never disappointed.

[Commentary:]

“Other players betray the crew to join phantoms—Zhang Yangqing makes phantoms betray their side to join him? Unreal.”

“His strategies seem absurd yet somehow work.”

“This might be his ‘softest’ approach yet. Before, disobedience meant instant death.”

“Wait, why recruit phantoms but kill man-eaters?”

“Man-eaters are tourists—hard to control. Their goal is eating others, which risks failing the mission. But the ship needs crew to function. Zhang Yangqing won’t kill useful people.”

“Exactly. Tourist deaths don’t affect clearance, but killing all crew strands you at sea.”

The explanations clarified Zhang Yangqing’s rationale.

This wasn’t kindness—just pragmatism.

Killing all crew was feasible—but then who’d sail the ship?

He’d only eliminate the uncooperative.

Gregori, meanwhile, took a more aggressive approach—

Exterminating all White-Skin Phantoms while sparing the regular crew.

After all, the phantoms were only a fraction of the 800.

…..

“Good. You’re with me now. Here’s your signing bonus.”

Zhang Yangqing produced three gold masks.

The phantoms gulped.

In this world, everyone knew their value—

Power and status, amplified.

How could they not covet them?

After years of struggle, they’d barely risen from lowly ghosts to mid-tier.

Advancing further was impossible.

Gold masks were game-changers.

Trembling, one phantom accepted the mask.

“Boss… these are really for us?”

That “Boss” held genuine respect.

Even ghosts were human—if this man offered benefits, why not serve him?

Their rules demanded obedience to superiors.

With none left, whoever benefited them most became their leader.

In this dog-eat-dog world, usurping authority was that simple.

“Stick with me, and there’s more where that came from. But first—tell me what’s truly valuable here.”

After dangling the carrot, Zhang Yangqing probed for identity-changing mechanics—

The ship’s hidden rules.

The minions only knew the crew’s system:

Numbered badges.

Crew badges differed from others’. Stealing one meant assuming that identity.

Zhang Yangqing inferred:

Find the captain, take his badge, and become the captain.

As for locating him? They had no clue.

Perhaps the captain was protected by rules, invisible to them.

They’d spilled all they knew—being bottom-tier phantoms, they only followed orders.

The real secrets likely lay with one person.

So, meal in hand, Zhang Yangqing returned to his cabin.

Only that old crewmate might hold the answers.