I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 74

Chapter 74: “You’re Not Following the Rules—This Puts Me in a Tough Spot!”

After the butchers left, Zhang Yangqing led his team back to the director’s office.

The director had already been dealt with, and now the only occupants were the resting travelers.

It had to be said—the director’s office was incredibly spacious, easily accommodating the large group without feeling crowded.

More importantly, there were several not-so-hidden secret compartments.

One contained files with information about the doctors, though none of it seemed particularly useful to the chosen ones.

Another was the director’s private rest area, complete with a comfortable bed.

Upon returning, Zhang Yangqing changed out of his security uniform and into the director’s attire.

He then instructed the weaker travelers to hide in the rest area, while those who had been enhanced or were particularly fierce prepared under his direction—warming up and setting up ambushes.

The ambushes involved crafting traps from materials found around the hospital, designed to lure the enemy into a carefully laid snare.

When it came to mechanical traps, Zhang Yangqing was an expert.

After all, most trap mechanisms were rooted in the esoteric arts of Qimen Dunjia—something he, as a Taoist master, couldn’t avoid mastering even if he tried.

Zhang Yangqing was not a merciful man in this bizarre world.

His strength was immense, but with great power came the risk of losing control.

To prevent that, he acted decisively in all things.

For instance, when dealing with the supernatural security team and the chief surgeons, he couldn’t just eliminate one and spare the others.

Doing so might trigger unforeseen consequences, and he had no way of predicting what might follow.

Unlike other chosen ones who relied solely on rules to survive, Zhang Yangqing had to consider much more.

Based on his analysis, this strange trial wasn’t just a small scenario—it was a complete, self-sustaining world with its own cyclical logic.

This world operated on its own set of rules.

He and the other chosen ones were merely playing assigned roles within it.

First, they had to understand the nature of their roles before they could begin to comprehend the world itself.

Understanding and adhering to the rules would ensure survival.

But anything beyond those rules introduced variables.

In Taoist terms, these were karmic ties.

Zhang Yangqing’s approach was to sever those ties before they could entangle him.

Just like in the previous trial with the female wax figure and the smaller one—if he was going to act, he wouldn’t stop at just one.

Once he made an enemy, he wouldn’t allow them to cause trouble later.

Even the bowing wax figure met the same fate, because Zhang Yangqing interpreted its actions this way:

Though weak, the figure had kowtowed to him—making a request and establishing a karmic cause.

That would inevitably lead to a karmic effect, whether harmful or not.

Rather than risk the unknown, Zhang Yangqing chose to cut off the cause before it could manifest.

No cause, no effect.

After reviewing many survivors’ recordings, he had confirmed this pattern.

All successful challengers had, to some extent, fulfilled the tasks tied to their roles.

From the moment he was selected, his objective had been clear.

This trial was no different.

There weren’t just three butchers—there were over a dozen.

Killing only three would alert the rest.

Other chosen ones didn’t need to worry about this because they couldn’t possibly fight the butchers head-on.

But Zhang Yangqing’s thought process was broader and more long-term.

He reasoned that if the butchers discovered their comrades had been killed, they would seek revenge.

Since these beings existed outside the rules, the safest approach was to avoid provoking them entirely.

But if he had to face them, he might as well do it thoroughly.

Otherwise, if the butchers called for reinforcements, who knew what other horrors might emerge? How many more butchers were waiting at the slaughterhouse?

With two hours left until 8 p.m., anything could happen.

While Zhang Yangqing’s side was busy preparing for battle, Mitarai Saburō’s situation was far bleaker.

The spacious director’s office now held only two people—himself and the female supernatural being.

They were tied together in this struggle.

If either died, Mitarai would follow.

He couldn’t afford a single mistake.

By 7:30 p.m., he planned to make his move.

His small team only needed to eliminate two staff members—a disadvantage that was also, paradoxically, an advantage.

If given another chance, he’d never have chosen this path.

Other chosen ones were also conserving their energy, though rest didn’t mean letting their guard down.

Having studied countless survival records, they knew the waiting period was the hardest.

Complacency invited disaster.

Time raced forward, and outside, the sky grew darker.

The stars and moon weren’t just dim—they were entirely absent.

Without artificial light, the world beyond the windows was pitch black.

This made escape even more perilous.

And it was already past 6 p.m.

What did that mean?

It meant that beyond the city limits, many creatures had grown stronger.

According to the rules, attacking the “ingredients” in the inpatient ward now would be far more dangerous.

The smarter chosen ones were already adapting to the darkness.

For a while, the livestreams of most challengers remained uneventful.

Then, suddenly, a knock echoed through the Chinese challenger’s broadcast.

Instantly, countless viewers focused their attention.

Why now? Shouldn’t this trial be nearing its end? Was there another twist?

For other chosen ones, being cornered might mean certain death—but for China’s representative, there was always a way out.

Was the director’s office not a safe zone after all?

Amid the speculation, the audience watched intently.

“Come in.”

At Zhang Yangqing’s words, the door opened.

A figure strode in—a deer-headed man in a sleek black jacket over a white dress shirt, two butcher knives hanging at his waist.

His presence alone exuded menace, a palpable aura of violence filling the room.

Based on the records obtained from the chief surgeon, this stag-headed butcher was likely the slaughterhouse’s leader.

Behind him filed over a dozen other butchers, all wearing animal masks, their expressions savage.

Oddly, though their leader was a herbivore, his subordinates were all carnivores.

A stag ruling over wolves.

As they entered, the stench of grease and blood clung to the air, proof of their gruesome trade.

The stag-headed butcher wore a smile, but the others glared with open hostility.

On the surface, they seemed to be here for negotiations—but the underlying threat was unmistakable.

Unlike his disheveled underlings, the stag-headed butcher was impeccably groomed, his fur sleek and well-kept.

Tall and lean, his legs were disproportionately long yet radiated strength.

He stopped before Zhang Yangqing—now dressed as the director—and slammed a procurement list onto the desk.

Planting one foot on the table, he loomed over Zhang Yangqing and enunciated slowly:

“Director, we’ve taken inventory. There’s a significant shortage in the listed ingredients. You’re not following the rules—this puts me in a tough spot.”

The unspoken threat hung heavy: Explain this discrepancy, or face the consequences.

Behind him, the carnivorous butchers stared daggers at Zhang Yangqing, their collective pressure suffocating.

They weren’t here to negotiate—they were here to demand answers.

And if they didn’t get them, they’d take matters into their own hands.

The survival-of-the-fittest nature of this world was on full display.

This scenario was unique to Zhang Yangqing—other chosen ones wouldn’t encounter it.

His larger group had required more “ingredients” to procure disguises, and even more had been “consumed” upon entry, leaving a deficit of over a hundred.

A shortage of ten or twenty might have been overlooked, but this scale demanded accountability.

Zhang Yangqing had anticipated this confrontation.

Avoiding it would have been simple—just hide in a building other than the main complex.

But for someone of his strength, that was beneath consideration.

Since when does an elephant deliberately step around ants?

Rising from his chair, Zhang Yangqing met the stag-headed butcher’s gaze and replied coolly:

“A tough spot? Then don’t bother.”

With that, he flipped the table.