I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 45

Chapter 45: The So-Called Hidden Rules!

Compared to Zhang Yangqing and Mitarashi Saburou’s calm composure, the other chosen ones were noticeably more anxious.

Jones from Kangaroo Country was particularly frazzled. His mind was a whirlwind of information—he felt like he had grasped many clues but couldn’t piece them together into a coherent plan. It was as if he knew fragments of the answers but had no idea how to act on them.

This was where the national expert teams came into play.

Whenever there was a chance to communicate, the casualty rate among the chosen ones tended to drop significantly. The experts could observe multiple screens simultaneously, compare differences, and offer crucial advice.

Hu Liuqi stared intently at the screens. Shortly after the bus left the gas station, the brightness outside the windows shifted—a subtle detail meticulously recorded by the analysts.

“I’ve got it,” Hu Liuqi muttered, connecting the dots. “Rule 4 says not to disembark before dark, and the radio broadcast urged everyone to hunt during the day. Now it makes sense.”

A fellow expert frowned. “But aren’t those two statements contradictory?”

Hu Liuqi shook his head. “Darkness doesn’t necessarily mean nighttime. Overcast conditions also count as ‘dark.’ To safely disembark, two specific conditions must be met: it must be both cloudy and daytime.”

Normally, daytime spanned from 6 AM to 6 PM. After sunset, the so-called “ingredients” would become enhanced, making it perilous to step outside.

The radio message also hinted that the bus was en route to gather these ingredients. Since the bus had departed at noon, the chosen ones only had six hours to procure food for the passengers. Fail to do so, and even if the passengers didn’t attack, they’d starve—triggering the “Horror Tour Group” scenario’s deadly conclusion.

The other experts nodded, piecing together the logic. Smarter participants like Zhang Yangqing and Mitarashi Saburou had likely already deduced this.

“But can we even control the weather?” someone questioned. “Isn’t it just random luck?”

Hu Liuqi rolled his eyes. “You’ve never been inside, so you wouldn’t know. This is the Rule-Based Bizarre World—hidden rules lurk everywhere. Meet the right conditions, and you trigger them.”

Seeing their blank stares, he elaborated:

This world operated on strict logic. In the Wax Museum, for instance, certain figures could’ve slaughtered the chosen ones ten times over—yet they couldn’t act unless eye contact was made. That was the rule.

Similarly, in the tour group, passengers wouldn’t attack unless a chosen one exposed their neck. Another rule.

Thus, “overcast” here wasn’t random. It was triggered by a specific condition: the gas station’s fuel.

Hu Liuqi had noticed a critical detail. Smarter participants like Zhang Yangqing and Mitarashi had paid between 50 to 70 currency units. Their bus windows remained bright, as if under full daylight.

But Jones? He’d forked over 200 units. Fuel overflowed from the tank, drenching the attendant—whose clothes darkened—while outside his bus, the fog thickened into near-total darkness.

The amount paid directly influenced the “weather.”

And this perfectly satisfied the disembarkation conditions: darkness during daytime.

“Brilliant! So that’s how those two clues connect. Only a survivor like you could’ve spotted this, Brother Hu!” The experts showered him with praise—well-deserved, given how few could interpret the world’s intricacies.

Inside the simulation, most chosen ones were still struggling to link darkness with daytime or pondering how to handle the old lady’s request.

Jones, for his part, operated on instinct.

He believed fulfilling the elderly passenger’s task was non-negotiable—after all, Rule 3 stated: As a guide, when a passenger tips you, you must comply with their request.

The word “must” screamed danger. Having watched past simulations, Jones knew better than to underestimate the elderly here. Many had died underestimating them.

Luck was on his side. When the bus stopped at Joyous Graveyard, the fog lifted slightly, revealing a sky choked with ominous clouds. Jones realized he’d met the disembarkation criteria.

Compared to the bus, the graveyard felt safer.

As a former homeless man, Jones had scavenged in such places before. Cautiously, he wrapped his scarf around his neck, gestured for his assistant to follow, and trailed the old woman—keeping a safe distance.

Under these “dark” conditions, passengers couldn’t attack unless provoked.

Following instructions, he dug up a grave, unearthing only a small box. The old woman boarded contentedly, placing the box beside her and resuming her “conversation.”

Instead of returning immediately, Jones explored. His homeless instincts helped him distinguish fresh graves from old ones—if “ingredients” existed here, they’d be in the former.

But this site held only aged graves. Disappointed, he reboarded.

The small victory steadied his nerves. He noticed another detail: the driver fell asleep at every stop and had to be woken manually.

A lightbulb flickered in his mind—clues were finally connecting.

For Jones, luck had carried him through the first trial. But others faced tougher challenges.

Were those who’d accepted the old lady’s tip in broad daylight doomed?

Not necessarily. Mitarashi Saburou had already devised a flawless solution.