I am a full-level celestial master, you let me enter the strange talk of rules?

The sensation came through the thin, tattered clothes, carrying a corpse-like chill and an unnatural stiffness.

If it were any other chosen one, in such a terrifying and oppressive environment, being suddenly touched like this would probably terrify them, causing them to scream and retreat violently, thus triggering a loud clanging sound from the shackles.

However, this can stimulate the extremely unstable "foreign object" in the brain, causing a tearing headache to erupt instantly, and may even directly lead to loss of mobility and a more dangerous situation.

But Zhang Yangqing didn't. He didn't even make any big movements. He simply stopped the internal exploration, turned his head slightly, and looked in the direction from which the hand was being reached with his calm and unwavering eyes, which remained calm even in the dim light.

His voice was calm, without a trace of panic, and even carried a hint of impatience at being interrupted from his thoughts. He casually asked, "What is it?"

The person grabbing his shoulder was a miner who had been lying not far away.

At this moment, the man had already sat up halfway, his posture twisted and stiff.

In the extremely dim light, Zhang Yangqing could see his face clearly, or rather, a face that was rapidly losing its human form.

The miner's eyes were no longer human pupils, but began to gleam with a turbid, ominous dark red, like glass beads covered with a layer of bloodstains, staring straight at Zhang Yangqing, but without focus.

There is only one instinctive greed and madness for vibrant life.

His mouth was agape, with traces of blackened blood and some unidentified bits of flesh.

What's even more striking is that there seem to be fine black threads moving beneath his skin, and his body begins to emit wisps of extremely faint yet unsettling black aura.

The atmosphere carried a sense of corruption and negative pollution.

Zhang Yangqing instantly judged the situation: this guy must have been starving to the extreme, or in order to survive, he ate something that was seriously contaminated, maybe a contaminated rat, or maybe something even worse.

The pollution within my body is now erupting and rapidly mutating into some kind of inferior, irrational, and bizarre creature!

Moreover, judging from his speed and aura, once the mutation is complete, his first target will be the nearest living being, which is himself.

Thinking about this, Zhang Yangqing nodded inwardly. As expected of the Nine-Star Hell dungeon marked "possible collapse," it was indeed this exciting.

Before even seeing the rules, they had to face the mutated attacks of their companions.

The miner in front of him began to make strange "hoarse" sounds from his throat, and the hand gripping Zhang Yangqing's shoulder began to tighten, his nails seeming to grow longer and sharper, trying to pierce through his clothes and embed themselves into his flesh.

Those murky, blood-red eyes were fixed on Zhang Yangqing's neck.

A crisis is imminent.

Of course, the Ghost Stories world isn't solely about killing the Chosen Ones.

The beginning may be dangerous, but it's not entirely hopeless. Often, the key to a solution or the first test lies hidden in the most fatal crisis.

The situation here is indeed dangerous; a wrong judgment would likely mean death. But the more dangerous the situation, the more crucial it is to remain extremely calm and analytical. Jones, the chosen one from Australia, is one of the unfortunate ones caught up in this strange tale.

Jones was known for his luck among the Chosen Ones of Australia, but the omen of this strange world was so terrifying that even the Australian government felt that things were going badly. Other Chosen Ones in the country who were qualified and had the courage to participate all backed down, and in the end, only he, the "King of Luck," could bite the bullet and take the plunge.

At this moment, he is experiencing a similar start to Zhang Yangqing's.

Suddenly, a cold, stiff hand grabbed Jones's shoulder. He was so frightened that the hairs on his body stood on end, and his heart almost jumped out of his throat. His subconscious instinct was to shake it off and dodge backward!
However, the moment he moved his shoulder, the "foreign object" in his mind that seemed to be embedded in his soul was immediately stimulated. A tearing pain instantly swept through his body, his vision went black, his temples throbbed wildly, and a violent feeling of nausea surged up his throat, almost causing him to faint on the spot!

"Don't faint! If you faint, you're dead!"

Jones screamed inwardly, relying on the "endurance" he had developed from the excruciating pain he had endured during the teleportation. He bit his tongue slightly, the intense pain and the taste of blood barely keeping him conscious.

Cold sweat instantly soaked through his already dirty clothes.

This is the time to test your willpower.

If one cannot withstand this sudden attack from both inside and outside, and one's consciousness is plunged into darkness, then being killed by one's mutated companions in one's sleep will be the only outcome.

In fact, the strange tales had already honed the Chosen Ones; otherwise, this attack would have definitely caused most of them to faint.

Because of the soul-shaking pain experienced during the teleportation in the Ghost Stories world, they "experienced" this kind of interference and pain from the soul level in advance, only to varying degrees.

Although Jones was in great pain, he did not faint.

He suppressed his headache and nausea and quickly analyzed the situation: his coworker was in trouble and was mutating in a strange direction, but it seemed that he had not completely transformed yet and still retained some human features and a faint consciousness.

So, it seems there are two solutions.

First, we need to find a way to remove the contamination from him so that he can return to normal. We might even gain a very grateful friend who knows about the mining area, which would be of great help for his future survival and exploration.

But the problem is, in my current situation, I'm unarmed, my freedom of movement is restricted, and there's something like a time bomb in my head limiting my ability to exert myself. Where can I find any tools or methods to purify the pollution? It's practically a dead end.

Second, before he fully mutates, we should unite with the other coworkers in the cell who might still be alive, or find a way to quickly kill this guy who is about to mutate, to eliminate any future trouble!
In Jones' view, this is undoubtedly the safest and most direct option at present, because there is no time to look for the vague possibility of the first option.

However, when he looked at his fellow worker's face again by the dim, pitiful light of the oil lamp outside the cell, his heart trembled violently.

It was an old face weathered by time, covered with deep wrinkles and grime, now contorted with pain and struggle, its lips trembling.

What shook Jones the most were those eyes; one eye was already cloudy and red, filled with madness, and had been corrupted.

But the other eye, though also bloodshot, stubbornly retained a sliver of human clarity. Its gaze was filled with extreme pain and fear, as well as an almost humble yearning for life, as if silently pleading: Save me. Please.
That look, like a thorn, pierced Jones's heart. (End of Chapter)