I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 120

Chapter 120: Either You Give It to Me, or I Take It Myself!

Hearing Zhang Yangqing’s blunt declaration, the crew members on deck erupted into murmurs.

Whether they were pale-skinned ghosts or ordinary sailors, no one knew how to react.

Though Zhang Yangqing claimed he was “reluctantly” nominating himself, his tone made it feel like he was holding a knife to their throats, forcing them to choose him.

But they misunderstood. Zhang Yangqing’s message was simple: I’m not asking for your opinion. I’m announcing that I’m the new crew chief.

Your only job is to listen.

“Speak up if you have something to say. Let’s keep this fair,” Zhang Yangqing encouraged, seeing the silence.

But viewers familiar with him knew this wasn’t about fairness—he just wanted to see who dared oppose him.

Out of the 700+ crew members, most stayed quiet. After all, who became crew chief didn’t matter to them. They were just here to make a living.

But a few took Zhang Yangqing’s words at face value and stepped forward.

“Fair competition, huh? Then I object. I think I’m fit for the role,” said a burly crew member with a thick beard, clearly a seasoned sailor.

“Sure, fair competition. What’s your advantage?” Zhang Yangqing asked, playing along.

Everything needed a process, after all.

“I’ve sailed for eight years, worked on this ship for four. No one knows this ship better than me. That’s my edge,” the man said, then turned the question back: “What’s your advantage?”

As the saying goes, a soldier who doesn’t want to be a general isn’t a good soldier.

The more capable someone was, the less willing they were to stay mediocre.

This man had confidence—and backup. The moment he finished speaking, cheers rose from his supporters.

People naturally backed those they knew, hoping for favors in return.

Zhang Yangqing nodded.

“My sailing experience is limited. But my advantage is that I can throw anyone who disagrees with me overboard. Like this.”

With a surge of energy, he slapped the burly crew member.

A deafening boom echoed as the man was sent flying dozens of meters, a bloody palm print seared into his chest, his clothes torn.

The crew watched in stunned silence as their near-crew-chief-level comrade sailed through the air and plunged into the sea.

“Anyone else who thinks they’re qualified, step forward,” Zhang Yangqing said, dusting off his hands.

The crew broke into cold sweats.

What kind of ‘fair competition’ is this? No matter what ‘advantage’ we claim, it all comes down to brute force?!

With their strongest contender gone, no one dared speak up.

But in a world ruled by strength, power was the ultimate advantage.

This was one of the rare times Zhang Yangqing bothered to reason with people. He hoped they’d appreciate it.

Yet, inevitably, another bold soul stepped forward.

“I object to you becoming crew chief!”

This was a pale-skinned ghost, his face marked with a moon symbol invisible to others.

The crowd instantly backed away, isolating him. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

Zhang Yangqing was puzzled. Are people in this world just naturally fearless?

As he prepared to deal with the ghost, the moon-marked specter abruptly changed his tune:

“I object to you being crew chief—because someone of your caliber should be captain! Our Mary needs a leader like you to guide us to glory!”

The crew was speechless. Even Zhang Yangqing was taken aback.

This guy’s shameless! The new boss hasn’t even settled in, and you’re already sucking up?

What are we supposed to say now?!

Zhang Yangqing, however, appreciated the cleverness. He liked dealing with smart people—it saved trouble.

The ghost had pieced things together:

Their former leader, the pale-skinned ghost crew chief, was gone. With no one to follow, some ghosts had already defected to Zhang Yangqing, even earning golden masks.

Kissing up to the new boss was the smart move.

If Zhang Yangqing took over, early supporters would reap rewards.

In a world of pirates and killers, loyalty was flexible. And this new boss? Unbelievably strong.

The moon-marked ghost had no idea his single act of flattery would alter his fate forever.

Without it, he’d have remained a nobody.

But the moment Zhang Yangqing deemed him useful, he became the chosen one of this strange-tale world.

Just like that, Zhang Yangqing effortlessly neutralized the pale-skinned ghost threat.

For ordinary crew, rules were simple: obey superiors.

Meanwhile, Cardinal Grigory was on a killing spree.

Using his golden-masked tourist status, he lured pale-skinned ghosts to secluded spots and slaughtered them.

After dumping over a hundred corpses into the sea, his cruise crisis was resolved.

Now, he could relax and enjoy the ship’s amenities until midnight.

Compared to Grigory’s brute-force approach, most viewers preferred Zhang Yangqing’s style.

Grigory merely solved a problem. Zhang Yangqing took over the ship.

That was a whole different level.

Put simply, Grigory was replicating Zhang Yangqing’s past strategies, thinking he could outdo him.

But Zhang Yangqing? Every round, he innovated.

Other chosen ones were still copying tactics Zhang Yangqing had used three rounds ago.

…..

Among the remaining chosen ones, Britain’s Penalf, with his golden mask, had it easier. His high status let him record ghost IDs without confrontation.

Most played it safe, avoiding unnecessary fights that might trigger hidden dangers.

Brazil’s Edson, leveraging his cruise experience, ingratiated himself with the crew chief, uncovering secrets that boosted his final score.

These were the safer players.

The rest faced greater risks—sneaking around ghosts, memorizing IDs, fleeing if caught.

Out of 116 surviving chosen ones, none matched the top two transcendents.

But thanks to Zhang Yangqing’s trailblazing, strategies had evolved.

Expert teams documented every move, decoding survival rules.

Now, barring fatal missteps, most could rely on rules to survive.

…..

As experts studied Zhang Yangqing’s screen, they noted his refined tactics.

After “reluctantly” becoming crew chief, he replaced a department manager with his own lackey, securing control over the service staff.

By 10:30 PM, while others scrambled to record IDs, Zhang Yangqing was recruiting tourists.

His goal? Make everyone know who really ruled this ship.

He enlisted 300 tourists—intimidating them with a display of power, then bribing them with silver masks (leftover from the 300+ silver-masked tourists he’d slaughtered earlier).

Rewarded, they obeyed willingly.

Zhang Yangqing managed the golden-masked tourists, who directed the silver-masked, who policed the ordinary tourists.

By midnight, he controlled the ship from top to bottom.

The captain would wake to a mutiny.

…..

While others endured tense waits, Zhang Yangqing relaxed, enjoying cruise amenities like a vacation.

Many wondered: Why bother with such elaborate control?

Even experts didn’t fully grasp his reasoning but recorded every move.

After all, he was the true pioneer—others just followed his old playbooks.

…..

As midnight neared, most chosen ones hid in prepared ninth-floor rooms.

Only the two transcendents stayed active.

Grigory rested in his cabin, conserving energy for the coming boss fight.

Zhang Yangqing, having exerted little effort beyond the Twilight Hall, lounged on the tenth floor.

His old roommate, nervous, suggested hiding.

Zhang Yangqing waved him off. “Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

His six loyalists—golden-masked tourists, crew, and the moon-marked ghost—stood by, unwavering.

They’d seen his power. They believed.

…..

At midnight, the ship transformed.

The tenth-floor pool turned murky; diving boards writhed like living things.

Movie screens became giant eyes, seats like teeth, doors like mouths—waiting to devour passersby.

Library shredders roared to life, ready to grind intruders.

The amusement park? A nightmare of churning meat grinders, boasting of daytime carnage.

Demons partied.

The tenth-floor “attractions” spotted Zhang Yangqing—then pretended they hadn’t.

Him? The guy who split the sky?

Yeah, no. Let’s not die tonight.

His reputation preceded him.

…..

Reaching the ninth floor, Zhang Yangqing found glowing passages—only one led to the bridge.

No hints were given, but logic dictated: the bridge is at the ship’s front.

With seven followers, he marched forward.

The old crew member, weakest of the group, trembled.

Then—footsteps.

A cursed sailor emerged, rotting flesh clinging to his frame, organs visible through decay.

His skull was cracked, brain wobbling with each step.

The aura of death pressed down.

Most chosen ones fled or dodged, navigating a monster-filled maze to the bridge.

Edson, after meticulous planning, used a drunk tourist as bait—dosing him with Bloody Mary, then shoving him into a guard’s path to create a diversion.

Zhang Yangqing? He cleared the maze.

A golden flash—his sword sliced the cursed sailor into seven pieces.

His followers gaped. The golden-masked women smirked. You haven’t seen anything yet.

Reviving, the cursed sailors were baffled. What just killed me?

…..

At the bridge door, a sign read: Knock gently. The captain has a temper.

Zhang Yangqing understood.

He gently kicked the door open.

Inside, a dozen senior crew members froze.

The captain—white-bearded, weathered, number plate “0001”—glared, fury boiling.

“You’d better have a good reason,” he growled, smoke curling from his pipe.

Zhang Yangqing smiled.

“Two things. First, I’m the new crew chief.”

The captain’s eye twitched. “And?”

“Second, they want me to be captain.”

Silence.

Then—the captain exploded.

Muscles bulged, veins pulsed, his shirt straining.

The crew dove for cover.

Unfazed, Zhang Yangqing stepped closer.

“I’ll give you two choices. Either you hand over your number plate—or I take it. Your call.”