I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Requests No Normal Human Would Make!

Since they had no money, all 159 of these unlucky players had one goal: get cash.

Jones was as ordinary as they come—just another player who hadn’t received tips. After reminding the driver to stop at the gas station, he cautiously made his way toward the back of the bus, carefully avoiding the hooded guy, who seemed downright hostile.

His first target? The tank-top-wearing passenger engrossed in a cookbook.

Jones kept his distance. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

No response.

Well, that’s a rough start. But at least this guy didn’t seem violent. Small victories.

Moving on, Jones approached the four “normal” passengers. No luck—they ignored him.

Then came the real offers.

The old lady was willing to pay—200 bucks—but her request was… unsettling:

“At the next stop—Happy Graveyard—you’ll help me dig up a grave and carry the ‘person’ inside onto the bus.”

The twin sisters were even worse. Their demand? Kill the other one.

Both pointed at each other.

“Kill her, and I’ll give you 400.”

Jones swallowed hard.

Yeah, no. These aren’t requests normal people make.

He wasn’t stupid. Rule 4 was clear: Don’t get off the bus before dark. The bus is your safe zone.

It was only 12:28 PM. Getting off now? Suicide.

And digging up a grave? That screamed trap.

Is this old lady trying to lure me out to kill me?

But the sisters’ offer wasn’t any better.

Jones was just a regular guy. The twins might be creepy, but they still looked human.

How could he just… kill one?

Even if he could, how? Strangle her? With what? His bare hands?

Before he could decide, the bus stopped.

Through the thick fog, a gas station emerged—empty except for a single attendant, smiling eerily in the gloom.

No time to think. Jones took the old lady’s deal. 200 bucks now, figure out the grave problem later.

He didn’t step out. Just rolled down the window, handed over the cash, and watched as the attendant pumped fuel—way too much fuel.

Oil overflowed, dripping onto the attendant’s clothes, turning his blue uniform black.

The guy never stopped smiling.

Jones winced. That’s my money literally dripping away…

Wait. The rule just said “fill it.” Couldn’t I have just paid 50? Or even 20?

What if there’s another gas station later?

Now I might have to kill one of the twins…

Too late. The damage was done.

As the bus pulled away, Jones noticed the driver had fallen asleep again. He shook him awake, and they continued.

Most players faced the same dilemma:

• Short-term pain? Kill a sister now (and risk getting killed yourself).

• Long-term pain? Agree to the grave job later (and hope for a way out).

Naturally, they all chose later.

Better to die in the future than right now.

Except for Mitarai Saburou.

The genius from Sakura Country checked the fuel gauge first.

50 bucks should fill it. 60 to be safe.

He handed over exactly 60, ensuring the tank overflowed—just as Rule 7 required.

Every move he made was flawless.

Experts worldwide were stunned.

How is anyone this precise under pressure?

The Eagle Country team even joked: “Give this man a green card. We need him.”

Saburou’s support ratings skyrocketed.

But Dragon Country’s viewers?

They didn’t care about rankings.

They just wanted to see what the Celestial Master would do.

…

Inside the dungeon, Zhang Yangqing read the message, stood up, and—unlike every other player—grabbed the bus microphone.

Who cares about disturbing the passengers?

He cleared his throat, and his voice boomed through the speakers:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this tour! As your guide, let me remind you: Travel is about spending money. Money you can’t take to the grave. So—time to chip in for gas. Hand it over.”

First stop? The hooded guy—still sulking from earlier.

No way I’m paying you after that slap, the guy thought.

The other passengers ignored him too. Since when do we pay the tour guide?

Zhang Yangqing sighed.

Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.

SMACK!

Another slap sent the hooded guy reeling.

He clutched his face, stunned.

First you hit me for attacking you. Now you hit me for NOT giving you money?!

This isn’t guiding—this is robbery!

Zhang Yangqing didn’t care.

You’re on my bus. My rules.

Pay up, or I’ll keep hitting you until you do.

Call it a “gas fee” if you want.

Really, it was just good business.

After all, what’s a tour guide’s job if not—