I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 143

Chapter 143: Eating It Is Dangerous, But Not Eating It Is Even More Dangerous!

Click, clack, click, clack…

The sound of footsteps grew louder, creeping closer, giving the chosen ones the unsettling feeling that this thing might be coming for me.

Right now, Goncharov was curled up in the corner of his cell, pretending to sleep. He knew this might be the arrival of the supernatural.

Or perhaps his cellmate had been corrupted by contamination, turning into something monstrous.

The best course of action, he figured, was to avoid drawing its attention.

Maybe it’s just passing by.

In the pitch-black night, he didn’t dare open his eyes, yet he could feel a scorching gaze fixed on him.

Please don’t let it stop at my door…

Gradually, his body began to tremble.

This was no illusion—he could even hear faint, ragged breathing.

And then, the door to his cell creaked as if someone—or something—was yanking at it violently.

The metal groaned under the strain, the lock threatening to snap at any moment.

Whoever—or whatever—was outside, if that door opened, Goncharov was certain he’d die.

Right now, all he could do was pray.

“Come on, Iron Door, hold strong! My life’s in your hands!”

He silently chanted encouragement to the door, as if sheer willpower could reinforce it.

When choosing his cell, he’d picked one with a sturdy door—but would it hold against the monstrous strength outside?

At this point, no amount of cleverness could save him. His fate rested entirely on the door’s durability.

After what felt like an eternity, the oppressive gaze finally lifted. The footsteps receded.

Goncharov exhaled shakily, feeling as though he’d narrowly escaped death. He could’ve kissed that damn door in relief.

Iron Door, you absolute legend. Without you, I’d be done for.

But before he could fully relax, a muffled grunt came from the neighboring cell.

Then—crunching.

The sound of something chewing.

A familiar metallic scent wafted into his nostrils.

Just a faint trace, but unmistakable.

After today’s horrors, his senses were razor-sharp when it came to blood.

His guess? The inmate next door had been attacked.

But why hadn’t they resisted? Had they all inhaled that strange floral scent, rendering them helpless?

Goncharov wasn’t the only one terrified. Every chosen one still trapped in the prison faced the same nightmare.

Even Abdul and Greg, dressed as guards and staying in the staff quarters, sensed the danger.

This supernatural invasion spared no one—nowhere was safe.

Their strategy mirrored the others’: stay inside, don’t move.

Abdul had skills, but recklessness wasn’t his style. Better to play it safe.

Greg, deprived of his holy energy, was powerless. He had no choice but to lay low.

Over in the death row block, the atmosphere was even more sinister.

While other chosen ones tossed and turned in fear, Zhang Yangqing had been asleep since 10:30 PM.

Before lights-out, the prison had been noisy—inmates chatting, working out, even chanting. Sleep had been impossible.

For the others, at least.

In the death row wing, once the inmates realized Zhang Yangqing was sleeping, they shut up.

They walked on tiptoes, held their breaths, and prayed they wouldn’t make a sound.

His snake-eyed lackey stood guard like a sentinel, ensuring absolute silence.

But even without the lackey’s presence, no one would’ve dared disturb him.

Provoking someone like Zhang Yangqing? That was suicide.

In this world, strength dictated the rules.

And Zhang Yangqing was the rule.

If he disliked something, it ceased to exist—permanently.

By midnight, the prison plunged into suffocating darkness.

As the contaminated pollen spread, supernatural phenomena erupted throughout the facility.

Other chosen ones began hallucinating.

Zhang Yangqing? Still fast asleep.

This wasn’t mere human corruption—it was rule-based, meaning even he wasn’t immune.

But before bed, he’d eaten rose petals and kept a few in his mouth as a precaution.

Why hadn’t the others done the same?

Because they couldn’t afford trial and error.

Some antidotes were poisonous if taken before exposure.

Zhang Yangqing, however, had test subjects.

The other death row inmates.

He made them eat first. If they survived, he’d know it was safe.

Did they have a choice?

“Eat, or die right now.”

Their terrified compliance was all the confirmation he needed.

The global audience found this hilarious.

While other chosen ones suffered, Zhang Yangqing made others suffer for him.

Even viewers noticed the stark contrast:

In other streams, inmates were hostile and unapproachable.

But in Zhang Yangqing’s? Everyone was polite, cooperative, even fearful.

It was like he was playing a different game entirely.

Back in the prison, as artificial daylight crept in, the snake-eyed lackey finally returned to his cell.

After a brief rest, the guards began cleanup duty—subduing the corrupted inmates.

The surviving chosen ones watched, hearts pounding, praying the guards wouldn’t accidentally zap them instead.

Whispers among the guards revealed the grim truth:

“More deaths, more insanity every day…”

“We need to get out of this hellhole. I’m quitting tomorrow.”

Abdul, hearing this, knew the prison was collapsing. His goal now? Escape and find a way to remove his restraints.

Most chosen ones, exhausted from the night’s horrors, sported dark circles under their eyes.

Zhang Yangqing? Fresh as a daisy.

When the cells finally opened, his lackey immediately fell in step behind him, silent and obedient.

The cruel smirk from earlier was gone—in Zhang Yangqing’s presence, he was the picture of humility.

By now, only 32 of the original 200 chosen ones remained.

The guards gave a final briefing, congratulating them on their “release” to the Paradise.

But the chosen ones weren’t celebrating.

After all, paradise in this world usually meant a new kind of hell.

They boarded a high-speed train, sealed tight, hurtling toward an unknown fate.

For most, survival depended on what they’d learned in prison.

For Abdul, the real challenge was just beginning.

And for Zhang Yangqing?

The moment his restraints were lifted, the Paradise would become the Apocalypse.