I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Seriously? Did No One Actually Notice This?

Without a doubt, Zhang Yangqing’s bus was the first to arrive at the toll station.

This was hardly surprising—he hadn’t refueled much, so his stops were brief.

While many contestants were just leaving the gas station, he was already nearing the toll booth. Even the second-place contestant, Mitarai Saburō, lagged behind him.

But strangely, despite arriving earliest, he faced the most “obstacles.”

From Zhang Yangqing’s vantage point, there were far more vehicles in front of him than any other contestant had encountered.

The reason was simple: every contestant’s path was blocked by 20 cars at the toll station.

Those who arrived early saw more; those who came later found fewer, as some had already moved on.

Perhaps this was the advantage of arriving early—more time to observe.

“It seems we’re not the only ones preparing to hunt. Other ‘citizens’ must be heading out too,” Zhang Yangqing concluded.

Soon, the queuing process began as other contestants’ buses gradually arrived.

The familiar waiting period brought a faint smile to Zhang Yangqing’s lips.

This wasn’t his first rodeo. In these instances, so-called “temporary waiting periods” weren’t meant for rest—they were opportunities to gather more clues.

And he had the most time to do so.

He began scrutinizing the people nearby for anything unusual.

A dozen buses and cars were lined up ahead, but the queue moved painfully slow.

It seemed every vehicle was being inspected by toll station staff.

Through the open window, cries and curses could be heard.

White-uniformed workers were escorting “citizens” off buses, forcing them to stand aside.

Once these citizens were removed, their vehicles were allowed to pass.

By now, about thirty citizens had been detained, all looking bewildered.

Zhang Yangqing deduced that these toll station workers were neither “citizens” nor “ingredients”—they were likely hidden entities with their own set of rules. Violating those rules would get a contestant killed.

He knew this all too well—he’d encountered two such entities in the last instance.

Hidden entities were a special class within the bizarre world: unkillable, immensely powerful, and fighting them was a waste of time.

Charging through wasn’t an option either—the bus driver was asleep, so accelerating wouldn’t work.

He could fight, but the passengers were no match for the toll staff. Losing passengers wasn’t ideal.

This was easy to deduce. The detained citizens from other buses hadn’t resisted, so his own passengers likely couldn’t either.

Perhaps this was the very observation the waiting period was designed to reveal.

Eight minutes passed. Many vehicles ahead had cleared the toll.

Three were held back, their occupants arguing that without a “tour guide,” they couldn’t proceed.

Then, a white-uniformed worker approached Zhang Yangqing’s bus, demanding he open the door for inspection.

Most contestants, including Mitarai Saburō, ignored this.

The radio message had specified that only red-uniformed workers were legitimate. This one wasn’t, so his demand could be disregarded.

But something was odd. There were about five white-uniformed workers—where was the red-uniformed one?

After knocking for a while, the white-clad worker left.

Then, the horror began.

The white-uniformed workers started slaughtering the detained citizens. The citizens didn’t resist—they ran.

Many rushed to the contestants’ buses, pounding on the doors with desperate pleas:

“Please, let me in! I’m begging you!”

“If not me, at least take my child! He hasn’t eaten in so long!”

“Have mercy! I’ll kneel—I don’t want to die!”

Their wails were heart-wrenching. Bloody handprints smeared across the windows as they hammered against the glass.

The scene shook many contestants, guilt gnawing at them.

But letting them aboard might bring danger. Was this a test of compassion? Maybe ruthlessness was the key.

Then, one name surfaced in their minds: the Chinese contestant.

They’d all seen the last bizarre world—only the cold-hearted avoided gambling with death.

Silently, they justified themselves: “I’m not heartless. I’m just following his example. Blame him, not me.”

It was their way of soothing their guilt.

Most watched, unmoved, as over thirty citizens were slaughtered. Some even turned away, covering their ears.

Only when the massacre ended—and the workers’ uniforms were drenched red—did realization strike.

“Wait… are these the ‘red-uniformed workers’ the radio mentioned?” Mitarai Saburō wondered aloud.

After all, there’d been no red uniforms earlier. Now, drenched in blood, they fit the description.

Many felt relieved they hadn’t opened the doors.

As the red-stained workers dragged away the corpses—men, women, children—the scene was ghastly.

Some contestants gagged, stomachs churning.

It seemed the key was complying with the red-uniformed workers’ demands.

This hellscape was unbearable.

But the one everyone expected to be coldest—the Chinese contestant—did the unthinkable.

As the slaughter began, Zhang Yangqing stepped off the bus.

“STOP!” he roared.

Instantly, the massacre halted. Every eye—direct stares, sidelong glances, even those through glass—locked onto him, as if he were prey.

Zhang Yangqing wasn’t fazed. So what if you’re unkillable? You can’t kill me either.

Yet his actions baffled viewers. Was he… saving these citizens?

Why? The red-uniformed workers only appeared after the citizens died.

Strange. Shouldn’t Zhang Yangqing be the least compassionate? Why the sudden kindness?

And at the worst possible moment.

The expert panel even considered calling to warn him.

If Zhang Yangqing knew their thoughts, he’d laugh.

This isn’t kindness. It’s a bonus round—a reward stage. Did no one figure that out?