I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Oh My God, the Celestial Master Is Warming Up!

In the Rule-Breaking World, great rewards came with great dangers.

The prison gang leaders here almost certainly knew the secret of the Exotic Fruit.

In fact, it was highly likely that these gang leaders had gained their formidable physical abilities by consuming such fruits.

Thus, they were determined to obtain the Exotic Fruit at all costs.

After all, everyone wanted to dominate this world.

In a realm where strength reigned supreme, power was the only path to supremacy.

The Exotic Fruit was the source of that power—the most direct way to obtain it.

This vast botanical garden surely held more than one Exotic Fruit, but the one before them had already drawn many covetous eyes.

…..

Abdul, the rule-breaker from Turban Country, had fed over a dozen corpses to the fruit when he sensed something amiss.

“Who’s there? Show yourself, or I won’t be polite.”

His survival instincts had sharpened with time.

While searching for prisoners earlier, he had carefully observed the area around the Exotic Fruit’s tree.

One detail stood out: a small flowerbed nearby, once blooming with harmless flowers, now lay trampled and wilted.

This meant someone had been here while he was away—someone who might have been watching him, waiting to swoop in and claim the fruit once it was ripe.

Abdul refused to tolerate such scheming.

He was dressed as a guard—how dare they plot against him?

The NPCs here might not be fools, but neither was he.

“Still hiding?”

Abdul began frantically pressing the red button on the controller, sweeping it in all directions.

Thud!

A prisoner in orange plummeted from a tree.

The unlucky man had been hiding nearby, only to be randomly executed by Abdul’s indiscriminate button-mashing.

Two more prisoners lurking in the bushes met the same fate, their bodies collapsing with muffled thumps.

But this only heightened Abdul’s unease.

Three dead, but surely more were watching.

Among them were superhumans, beastmen, and mutants.

The enemy lurked in the shadows, turning the already eerie botanical garden into a tense battleground.

Then, a voice rang out—raspy and aged.

“Guard, you’re in the wrong here.”

Abdul recognized it: the Mad Scientist.

If he was here, others surely were too.

Abdul feigned composure. “How am I wrong? Come out and say it to my face.”

The Mad Scientist chuckled. “Oh, we wouldn’t dare. But we’ve been feeding this fruit for a long time. For you to swoop in now… isn’t that unfair?”

From the voice’s direction, Abdul could roughly pinpoint the speaker’s location, but specifics eluded him.

The words, however, clarified things.

The Exotic Fruit needed meat to mature—how much, no one knew.

According to the Mad Scientist, they had been feeding it for a while, sacrificing many prisoners in the process.

Abdul had assumed he was the one being robbed—but it turned out he was the thief.

Still, he had contributed too much to walk away empty-handed.

After a moment’s hesitation, he sighed. “Fine. My mistake. I’ll leave.”

With that, he turned and strode off without looking back.

Turban Country’s viewers were baffled. Just like that?

Abdul had toiled for nearly two hours!

The fruit was almost ripe—how could he abandon it now?

But Abdul had no choice.

Though he held the controller, a standoff would be suicide.

His new plan? Wait nearby.

The fruit was nearly ready; the prisoners would surely harvest it today.

He’d bide his time and strike when the moment was right.

Fortune favored the bold—he wasn’t giving up yet.

He finally understood why the rules warned against cooperating with prisoners.

Most prisoners here ended up as Exotic Fruit fodder for the gang leaders.

Once their numbers dwindled, he would make his move.

Risky? Absolutely. But Abdul was willing to gamble.

He knew no prisoner would dare chase him.

Their fear of the controller’s instant-death function kept them hidden.

Even if they suspected he’d ambush them later, they’d still go for the fruit.

If they didn’t, others would.

Greed ruled here—no one would willingly surrender the prize.

Abdul predicted a bloodbath around this Exotic Fruit today.

…..

While Abdul cautiously pursued the botanical garden’s ultimate reward, some rule-breakers had already collected five Color Fruits and returned to the rest area.

For ordinary rule-breakers, survival was the priority.

Simply following the rules was perilous enough—daring to seek extra rewards was unthinkable.

Some lacked the courage; others, the skill or even the idea.

Killing a guard required both ability and judgment—failure meant death.

Only those as bold and meticulous as Abdul could attempt it.

But that was the path for ordinary rule-breakers.

The extraordinary one?

Far simpler.

Zhang Yangqing knew how to pose as a guard, but his goal this time was to be a death row inmate. No need for disguises.

If any other rule-breaker were surrounded by dozens of prisoners, their audience would already be praying for their survival.

But the Dragon Country’s viewers?

They’d lost all semblance of seriousness.

“Brothers, how many are there? That green guy blends in with the plants—is he even human?”

“Counted roughly—over thirty. Celestial Master can start fighting now.”

“Holy shit, are y’all playing ‘spot the difference’?”

“I mean, half of these don’t even look human. Hard to tell.”

“I can handle the rest, but that chameleon dude? I’m done.”

After witnessing Zhang Yangqing annihilate the crocodile-man gang, Dragon Country’s viewers felt zero tension.

As the saying went back home: “Worrying about Zhang Yangqing’s safety is an insult to the Celestial Master!”

No one knew his limits—but everyone knew he had yet to fight seriously.

Then came a moment that widened their eyes in awe.

Even Zhang Xuanjing, Zhang Yangqing’s junior brother on Dragon Tiger Mountain, gasped: “Oh my god, the Celestial Master is warming up!”

Their reaction was overblown.

Zhang Yangqing had simply sat for two hours and was now stretching.

A warm-up? For this?

Please.

As he’d said from the start: These were just corpses.

Who bothered warming up for corpses?

…..

The snake-eyed assistant’s heart raced as he surveyed the crowd.

Not just the Lightning Man and Mad Scientist—two other gang leaders stood among them.

One was a three-meter-tall stone behemoth.

Rumors said he had crushed the skulls of every disobedient prisoner in his block.

Once, his prison had three gang leaders. Now, only he remained.

Despite his rocky appearance, there was nothing slow or dull about him.

His face resembled a demon’s, molten lava seeping through his cracks.

His mere presence radiated blistering heat.

His hardest part? His gleaming, diamond-like head.

No gang leader dared take a headbutt from him.

And this was with his powers suppressed. Unrestrained, he’d be a world-shaking monstrosity.

Yet even he paled next to the other figure.

Tall, poised, exuding an eerie elegance.

He walked on tiptoe, hips swaying in an S-curve, as if maintaining some regal grace.

His reputation preceded him: the infamous “Crimson Carver.”

Legend said he enjoyed slicing victims into uniform pieces, arranging them on plates for leisurely consumption.

A perfectionist, even in prison, his appearance remained immaculate—clothes pristine, face meticulously groomed.

After the assistant’s explanations, Zhang Yangqing had a rough grasp of his “corpses.”

But one question nagged him: “This Crimson Carver’s killed so many. How isn’t he on death row?”

The assistant explained: “Connections. Plus, murder isn’t a major crime here.”

Zhang Yangqing nodded. Absurd? Sure. But this was the Rule-Breaking World. Normal.

As the viewers said, the crowd numbered over fifty, encircling the tree with no escape.

Their hostile gazes fixed on Zhang Yangqing and his assistant.

The Lightning Man’s hatred burned especially bright—his glare alone would make any prisoner tremble.

Yet Zhang Yangqing’s indifference only infuriated him further.

The stone behemoth boomed with laughter. “Brother, seems the newbie in your block looks down on you. Losing your edge?”

His voice was thunderous, shaking the area.

Weaker prisoners like the assistant covered their ears, unable to withstand the bass-heavy roar.

Even viewers at home turned down their volume.

The Lightning Man’s face darkened at the taunt.

In his prison, the stone behemoth ruled unchallenged—his arrogance boundless.

“Shut up, or I’ll feed you to the fruit next,” the Lightning Man snapped.

“Hah! The fruit wouldn’t want me,” the stone behemoth shot back, unbothered.

The four gang leaders had long eyed this Exotic Fruit, sacrificing prisoners to nurture it.

Today, as it neared ripeness, a newcomer had tried to claim it.

They’d planned to eliminate him, but the Mad Scientist suggested letting him feed the fruit first—then stealing it.

The others agreed.

Why waste their own men when others could do the work?

Now, the four gathered to “negotiate” the split.

Negotiate being a euphemism for “plotting to kill each other.”

Prisoners here weren’t known for honor.

In this world, power was everything.

To them, Zhang Yangqing—ordinary in appearance—posed no threat.

The weirder one looked, the stronger they were.

From the moment they arrived, they’d dismissed him.

The assistant sensed their murderous intent.

They hadn’t offended the other two gang leaders, but their own block’s duo clearly wanted Zhang Yangqing dead.

Counting the crowd, the assistant estimated fifty-plus enemies.

Would the leaves on me be enough? Should I gather more for the boss?

As he pondered, impatience stirred among the prisoners.

The Crimson Carver sashayed forward, hips swaying with each step.

In a lilting, effeminate voice, he addressed the Lightning Man: “Are you going to act or not? If not, I’ll take over. I’ve got a skincare routine waiting—this place is filthy. My clothes are ruined. Unwearable.”

Had a woman said this, no one would blink.

But from a man in that singsong tone?

Nearby prisoners recoiled in disgust.

Some fought the urge to vomit their lunch.

If not for his strength, many would’ve slapped him already.

The Lightning Man, already seething, moved to attack Zhang Yangchen—but the Mad Scientist stopped him.

“Wait. He took down the crocodile-man. He’s not weak,” the scientist warned.

The Mad Scientist was the brains. He’d noticed the assistant feeding the crocodile-man’s corpse to the fruit.

Whether Zhang Yangqing did the killing or not, he was likely involved.

There was another layer: the Mad Scientist and Lightning Man were allies.

If the Lightning Man fell, the scientist’s influence would wane.

His warning wasn’t altruistic—it was to secure a larger share of the spoils.

If the Lightning Man died, the other two would turn on him.

Here, the strong devoured the weak.

The Lightning Man yearned to crush Zhang Yangqing, then slaughter everyone—including the Mad Scientist—to claim the fruit alone.

If he could, he would.

But he couldn’t. Hence the alliance.

Gritting his teeth, he held back.

Hot-tempered, but not stupid.

Seeing the Lightning Man wouldn’t bite, the Crimson Carver turned to his own partner.

The Mad Scientist was too composed to provoke.

“Big guy, finish this. I can’t stand this atmosphere. If you handle it, you call the shots on the fruit.”

This wasn’t mere taunting—it was strategy.

The four gang leaders were here for the fruit.

If no one backed down, they’d split it four ways.

But who decided the portions?

By provoking the Lightning Man first, the Crimson Carver had forced his side to show weakness.

Now, he handed initiative to the stone behemoth.

If the behemoth won, their faction would claim a larger share.

The stone behemoth understood. Glancing at the Lightning Man and Mad Scientist, he said: “If you won’t act, I will.”

Subtext: Let me handle this, and I’ll divide the fruit. I’m not excluding you.

The Lightning Man tensed. If he stayed back now, he’d lose leverage.

The stone behemoth was formidable.

With everyone’s powers suppressed, physical strength ruled.

The Mad Scientist weighed the odds—should he play his trump card?

As the four bickered and schemed…

A bored voice cut through.

“Hurry up, corpses. Who’s dying first?”

Zhang Yangqing had no patience for their posturing.

He’d stood up for this. Were they really still debating?

The snake-eyed assistant considered himself decent at insults—but he at least addressed opponents as people.

His boss? Straight to “corpses.”

The ultimate disrespect.

Ignoring the gang leaders’ murderous glares, Zhang Yangqing continued: “That androgynous one—I’ve had enough of you. Step forward and die.”

They were too weak to excite him.

Might as well let them come to him.

His words decided the matter.

The Crimson Carver, singled out, had no choice but to comply.

Refusal would shame him before his men.

“Since you seek death, I’ll oblige,” he sneered, stepping forward.

His hips swayed like a lethal, flexible blade.

On his fifth step, the ground cratered, dust exploding upward.

With a sonic boom, he vanished.

Speed and precision merged—swift as lightning!

The force of his movement sent weaker prisoners scrambling for cover.

A blur weaved through trees, closing in on Zhang Yangqing.

At the last moment, the Crimson Carver feinted left—then struck right.

The maneuver drew gasps.

Changing direction mid-sprint required impeccable balance.

Even the stone behemoth nodded in approval.

But then—

As the Crimson Carver reappeared on Zhang Yangqing’s right, he spun 180 degrees mid-air.

Legs straight, arms outstretched—a perfect inverted T.

Using the momentum, he swung a hand-chop toward Zhang Yangqing’s neck.

Every motion flowed seamlessly, executed with flawless grace.

This was the Crimson Carver’s artistry—killing as performance.

Had there been gymnastics judges, they’d have awarded straight 10s.

The stone behemoth grudgingly admitted: “Impressive.”

That speed—even he couldn’t track it.

Then—

Zhang Yangqing lazily raised a hand.

Like swatting a fly.

SMACK!

The slap connected squarely with the Crimson Carver’s face, sending him crashing to the ground.

Casual as it seemed, the force plowed him through the dirt, carving a trench.

Now, he lay motionless as a dead dog, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.

His head had twisted multiple times, neck coiled into a grotesque spiral.

Undeniably, irreversibly dead.

The elegance of his attack only magnified the humiliation of his demise.

As the prisoners stared, stunned, Zhang Yangqing coolly eyed the crowd.

“Next.”