I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 53

Chapter 53: Smiling Hospital, Free Visiting Hours!

Zhang Yangqing’s approach was, as always, the one that sparked the most chatter.

Watching the live broadcast, viewers felt like they weren’t witnessing the usual horror of a strange-tale world at all.

Bro, are you seriously this casual?
Other contestants’ screens are filled with intense analysis, while ours is just spamming “hahaha.”

• Hahaha, gotta admit, Zhang Tian Shi’s responses are always within reason yet beyond expectations.

• 666, Zhang Tian Shi is truly the epitome of a straight shooter—says it like it is. Love it!

• I fully support Zhang Tian Shi. That nurse is wearing a mask—how can we even see her smile? At his level, does he need to flatter her?

• But isn’t it risky to offend someone right from the start? What if she retaliates?

• With power comes absolute freedom. If you’re not convinced, just fight it out.

Just as the audience was enjoying the show, a special message from the expert panel appeared:

Hu Liuqi: You’re misunderstanding this. Rule 2 states that only those wearing blue masks are nurses. If they ask whether you’re experiencing any abnormalities, answer truthfully. Clearly, this plump nurse is wearing a blue mask, meaning she’s a real nurse. Her question might actually be an abstract way of asking whether the contestant’s eyes are working properly—since she’s masked, there’s no way to tell if she’s smiling. Other contestants instinctively started complimenting her, but Zhang Tian Shi simply answered honestly. This might not just be him messing around.

Hu Liuqi’s explanation was clear: Upon arriving at the front desk, contestants encountered a plump, oddly shaped nurse with a distorted face.

Her face was so large that even the blue mask couldn’t cover it entirely, revealing only upturned corners of her mouth.

Most assumed she was ugly and that she must be smiling—after all, the entire place was filled with “smiles,” priming contestants to jump to conclusions.

If she asks, I’ll just compliment her. Flattery can’t hurt, right?

That was the thought process of most contestants.

After hearing the expert’s analysis, the laughter from the audience abruptly stopped.

Holy crap, that’s a possible interpretation?
But it does make some sense.

Since the rules were written this way, veterans knew they only provided a rough guideline—the real challenge was interpreting them on the spot.

Sometimes, the reaction window was mere seconds, leaving no time for deep thought.

Many contestants, thrust into this eerie and unfamiliar hospital, instinctively sought to please the nurse out of fear, hoping to gain some favor.

Whether Zhang Tian Shi’s response was correct or not, it didn’t violate the rules.

This was Hu Liuqi’s take.

But Zhang Yangqing’s understanding went even deeper.

You ask if your smile looks good? I didn’t say it was bad, nor did I say it was nice.

“Good” and “bad” are subjective. Maybe saying “good” is wrong, maybe saying “bad” is wrong—because I can’t even see it.

So I just said, “You look funny.” That way, I’m not wrong—because, subjectively, I do think you look funny.

This was Zhang Yangqing’s terrifying level of comprehension.

No one expected such a trap right at the start—one that was incredibly hard to spot.

Hu Liuqi was reminding everyone: When watching Zhang Tian Shi’s playthroughs, don’t just focus on the funny moments. Every second is packed with details.

We can’t always rely on Zhang Tian Shi to clear these challenges. When it’s your turn, you can’t afford to be as casual as he is.

If he guesses wrong, no big deal. If you guess wrong, you’re dead.

Accumulating experience is crucial.

Inside the Strange-Tale World

After Zhang Yangqing’s response, the plump nurse showed no reaction, merely jotting something down in the registry.

Most contestants arrived at the Smiling Hospital’s station around 2 PM, taking about 40 minutes to walk there.

By the time registration was complete, it was almost 3 PM.

Dinner at the cafeteria was still two hours away.

Once registered, the free visiting period began.

For most contestants, the plan was simple: find a safe spot and wait until mealtime.

Zhang Yangqing, however, was considering his next move.

This scenario wasn’t like the Wax Museum, where survival alone was the goal.

Back then, he could afford to wander freely—even if trouble arose, he could handle it.

But now, he was responsible for 37 tourists. Their survival would directly impact his final score.

How do I keep them all alive? Or do they serve some other purpose?

That was what Zhang Yangqing was really thinking about.

Finding a safe spot first seemed like a decent idea.

Then, he could look for other breakthroughs.

Based on the current information, aside from the safe room, there didn’t seem to be any other way to ensure the tourists’ survival.

At this stage, the top priority was locating the cafeteria.

This place was huge—he couldn’t afford to start searching only when it was time to eat.

Next, he needed to map out the route from the safe room to the cafeteria, checking for potential dangers along the way.

But chances were, he wouldn’t find it immediately. From his experience with strange-tale worlds, such places usually required triggering certain conditions first.

In the Wax Museum, the trigger was finding the map.

Here, there were no hints yet—meaning he’d have to hunt for clues.

Meanwhile, contestants like Mitarai Saburō and Jones were suppressing their disgust, still trying to chat up the plump nurse.

“Lovely nurse, could you tell me where the cafeteria is?”

Jones struck what he thought was a suave pose—clearly attempting to charm his way through.

(He didn’t dare remove his mask, or he’d have added a rose between his teeth for extra flair.)

“Our staff don’t eat in the cafeteria. If you want to ask me out, wait until my shift ends at 8.”

The nurse even threw him a flirtatious glance.

Jones’ stomach churned. If he hadn’t been fasting, he might’ve vomited right there.

8 PM? I’ll be dead by then!

Still, he’d learned something: asking staff about the cafeteria was useless. Only patients would know.

Maybe he could extract info from patients while exploring.

“Lovely nurse, could I have a few extra masks?”

Jones was quickly getting the hang of the rules.

Tourist Rule 1 stated: If your mask changes color, go to the nurse’s station immediately for a replacement.

Plus, after inhaling the strange gas outside, he’d felt unwell—but the discomfort lessened once he put on the mask.

This proved the masks blocked toxic gases, though not indefinitely.

If he could stock up on masks now, he could swap them out as needed, reducing the risk of infection.

“Masks are only available at the nurse’s station. And you can only replace them if they’ve changed color.”

The nurse’s reply dashed his hopes.

Further conversation yielded nothing useful, so Jones decided to locate the nurse’s station first.

That place might be the key to survival.

Only by familiarizing himself with the hospital’s layout could he react properly when danger struck.

This was a lesson he’d picked up from watching other contestants’ playthroughs.

From the outside, those who’d cleared strange-tale worlds seemed almost superhuman.

Jones had admired how they made split-second decisions under pressure.

How are they so good? How do they always guess right? How do they dodge every trap? How are they still alive?

But now that he was inside, he was starting to understand.

Information was everything.

Whether it seemed relevant or not, the more he knew, the better his chances when life hung in the balance.

Otherwise, he’d just be a headless chicken, gambling with his life at every turn.

While Jones was strategizing, Mitarai Saburō was already observing his surroundings.

He noticed something peculiar: in this hospital, only visitors and nurses wore masks. Doctors and patients didn’t.

After a moment of thought, his eyes widened in realization.

“So that’s how it is?”