I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 38

Chapter 38: The Maverick Chosen One, Fallen from Grace?

Zhang Yangqing wasn’t interested in her excuses. She could either let the mouse go or stay off the bus.

“How could I possibly mistake that for anything but a mouse?”

Left with no choice, the old woman tossed the mouse aside, and only then did Zhang Yangqing allow her on board.

However, Zhang Yangqing noticed one thing: she didn’t seem afraid of the mouse.

“Not sure if these details will matter, but I’ll keep them in mind.”

He wasn’t just relying on brute force to bulldoze through situations. Most of the time, he acted only after careful consideration.

It’s just that his methods were so bold that people assumed he was nothing more than a reckless thug.

But that wasn’t the case. When your fists are powerful enough, you can skip the convoluted tactics and solve problems in the simplest, most efficient way.

In this particular scenario, only 48 chosen contestants opted to allow the old lady to bring her “small animal” onto the bus.

Meanwhile, 152 chosen contestants chose to make her release the animal, as doing so wouldn’t violate the rules.

Zhang Yangqing’s choices this round were… pretty ordinary. It felt like he was just going along with the crowd.

Unlike the explosive start he had in the last round, this time his actions made people wonder if he even understood what was going on.

The third passenger to board was a man wearing a tight tank top—though honestly, his body hair alone could’ve been mistaken for clothing.

He was covered in hair. A thick beard dominated his face, and by all logic, guys like this usually had overactive sweat glands—meaning they’d carry a certain scent.

Strangely, though, he didn’t smell bad at all. Quite the opposite—he actually gave off a clean, refreshing vibe.

His outfit was casual, but his demeanor? That of a gentleman. Every movement he made hinted at a certain noble refinement.

When he boarded, he not only handed over his ticket, but also pulled a 500-unit bill from his pocket as a tip.

Then came the fourth passenger—a rather mysterious one. He wore a black hoodie with the hood up, hiding his hair, and his face was obscured by a mask covered in what looked like graffiti.

No one could make out what he really looked like.

A few of the more observant Chosen Ones noticed that the “graffiti” wasn’t random—it might’ve been some kind of code or strange script. But nobody recognized it.

Still, several people made a mental note of it. Maybe it was a clue.

This guy didn’t tip. In fact, he even seemed to deliberately get a little too close to the Chosen Ones. And those paying attention could hear it—his breathing was heavy.

Underneath that hood, his eyes shimmered with something like… ecstasy. But no one could see it—not even Zhang Yangqing or Mitarai Saburō.

After that, more passengers boarded one by one—some looking weird and out of place, others appearing relatively normal.

There were eight passengers in total. Five of them gave tips to the Chosen Ones—though the amounts varied.

“Maybe the higher the tip, the tougher the challenge they bring?”
That thought flickered through the minds of many Chosen Ones.

After all, the world of Strange Tales had just begun. Information was scarce. Everyone had to rely on their own instincts.

And you didn’t get much time to decide—maybe ten seconds at most. Whatever came to mind in that moment was what you went with.

Sometimes, people would later realize their decision was incredibly stupid—but by then, it was too late. All they could do was find a way to make up for it.

That’s how most of the Chosen Ones tried to survive.

Out of the 200 Chosen Ones, 39 accepted the tips. The remaining 160 declined.

Only one person was an exception—Mitarai Saburō from Sakura Country.

He turned down tips from three passengers but accepted from two others.

He was the only one to be selective. Everyone else either accepted all the tips or none at all.

Even Zhang Yangqing, in both of his choices this round, came across as… plain.

He refused the tips, same as the majority. And during the earlier encounter with the old woman, he’d also followed the crowd.

People subconsciously started to think: Maybe Zhang Yangqing isn’t that special after all?
Fallen from grace, maybe?

After all, back at the wax museum, he’d dashed out before the timer even began. He was the only one bold enough to wander off—and it had been a wild scene.

If Zhang Yangqing knew what everyone was thinking, he’d probably roll his eyes and say,
“This round was just about making a choice. What exactly do you expect me to go wild with?”
“You want me to freestyle a rap just to show I’ve still got swagger?”

Meanwhile, Mitarai Saburou’s actions were turning heads. Experts from different countries suspected he’d noticed something others hadn’t.

The audience from Sakura Country erupted into cheers.

“Sir Mitarai Saburou clearly analyzed the situation and identified which tips were dangerous. That’s why he accepted some and not others. Unlike the others, who are just guessing blindly.”

“If you ask me, the Chosen One from Dragon Country is all brawn and no brains. If this comes down to intellect, he’s no match for Saburou. His choices have no finesse whatsoever.”

“So much for being ‘Transcendent.’ This is only a two-and-a-half star difficulty dungeon. Even Transcendents can’t act like gods here.”

“Calling it now: Dragon Country’s Chosen One is going to crash and burn. This dungeon clearly isn’t simple.”

“Last time they got lucky—otherwise, Dragon Country would’ve been wiped out by now.”

Many from Sakura Country still grumbled that Dragon Country had narrowly avoided a full-scale Strange Tale outbreak.

A full outbreak would’ve been catastrophic—practically an apocalypse.

Few would have survived.

Even while they muttered these complaints, they didn’t seem to realize that their own country had lost seven times in a row.

Back in the world of Strange Tales, things were relatively calm this round—no immediate casualties.

By now, people had learned that just running or hiding without understanding the rules wouldn’t get you anywhere.

Only by following the rules—and finding ways to use them—could you hope to survive and gather more information.

It was nearly noon. No more passengers seemed to be arriving, and the Chosen Ones all began boarding the bus. At this point, not getting on was basically signing your own death sentence.

Just then, a woman came sprinting up from the station entrance.

“Wait! Wait for me! I haven’t boarded yet!”

She was dressed casually, holding a little red flag in one hand, and had a staff ID hanging from her neck.

That’s when many of the Chosen Ones remembered Rule #6:

“You have a little helper. She will be of great assistance to you, and you can trust her completely.”

Could this be her?

As she ran toward the bus, the Chosen Ones gave her a closer look.

She looked young. Her voice was light and sweet, with a soft clarity that was incredibly pleasant to hear.

Her expression was innocent and a little mischievous, her cheeks slightly flushed.

Though youthful, she had a natural beauty and a clear, delicate complexion that made her look like a graceful college girl just starting her first internship.

There was still a trace of youthful inexperience clinging to her—but also a spark of anticipation for what lay ahead. Her energy was contagious, full of life and positivity.

In this eerie world of strange tales, she was like a breath of fresh air—like a warm breeze that could soothe the soul.

That was the impression she gave to all the Chosen Ones.

She quickly got on the bus. Still, most of the Chosen Ones remained cautious. Only once they confirmed she was their helper would they truly trust her.

After all, that’s what the rules said.

But just as they were still figuring out whether or not she was legit, the first real problem arrived.

It was noon.

The station was suddenly crowded. More and more people were gathering on the platform, all staring at the bus with unsettling expressions.

And the driver?

Still asleep.