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

The video shows several tables covered with white tablecloths, which have red stains on them, making it difficult to tell whether they are ketchup or something else.

That's the disadvantage of black and white images.

On the table closest to the camera, there is a plate.

There was a severed hand in the plate, with its five fingers spread out, palm facing up, and fingers slightly bent, as if it were grasping something.

The sleeve of that hand was the exact same color as the uniform Jones was wearing!
The material, color, and button placement of the clothes are exactly the same!
Jones stared at the severed hand, a chill running down his spine!
His heart suddenly started racing, as if something had squeezed his heart.

Could it be that the previous monitor died there?
At this stage, that's about all the information we have about the ghost story world.

This was arguably the most difficult ghost story Jones had ever encountered.

This ghost story didn't pose much direct, fatal danger at the beginning, but the numerous details had already left him drenched in sweat, his nerves constantly on edge.

With every breath he took, he was afraid of disturbing something; with every blink he was afraid of missing something.

Jones is not afraid of those strange tales where danger is encountered right from the start.

Because in that situation, it all comes down to the speed of the chosen one's reaction. There are choices, even hints, and NPCs will appear to help answer questions. Essentially, it's like a tutorial for beginners.

Just like the last time the miner started, the old miner was in a state of contamination, which was very dangerous, but the antidote was nearby.

After the problem is solved, the old miner will teach Jones a lot of things.

Although that kind of start was thrilling, I felt confident and knew which direction to focus my efforts on.

But what is this? What a load of crap starting this?

There were no rules, no hints, just fragmented and vague information, revealing details that would lead to the death of the chosen ones.

The most difficult part of this ghost story is that, despite it being just a small monitoring room, there is so much information—really so much.

Eight monitors, streetlights outside the window, corridor outside the door, keys on my person, matches on the table, torn-up manual, blank rules.

Every detail is like a trap, and every detail is also like a clue.

The chosen ones don't even know what building they are in, how many floors it has, what's outside, or what awaits them.

Jones took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, as if squeezing the fear out of his lungs little by little.

He told himself he couldn't wait any longer.

Staying here will definitely mean certain death.

The sound of wheels rolling down the corridor was not accidental; it was a warning to him: if you don't move, I'll come looking for you.

Jones stood up and straightened his clothes.

Straighten your name tag, hang up your keychain, hold the flashlight in your hand, and stuff the matches into your inner pocket.

He took a deep breath, turned on his flashlight, and the dim beam of light cut through the darkness of the monitoring room, shining on the open door.

Jones cautiously made his way to the door.

Each step was light, with the ball of the foot landing first, then slowly shifting the weight up without making a sound from the soles of the shoes.

He was breathing very softly, as if he dared not disturb anything, and dared not even take another breath.

He paused for a long time when he reached the door.

The corridor outside the door was pitch black. The beam of the flashlight shone out and illuminated only a small area in front of it. Further away, there was an even denser darkness that seemed to devour the light.

The fear that darkness brings does not come from "seeing something", but from "not being able to see anything".

You don't know what's in the darkness, you don't know if something is watching you, you don't know if taking this step will lead you to life or death.

Jones gritted his teeth and stepped out.

The corridor was long, stretching as far as the eye could see. The walls were white, but the white had turned yellowish, as if it had been smoked by something, or as if it had been soaked in the passage of time for too long.

The floor is terrazzo, gray in color, with cracks in some places, and dust has accumulated in the cracks.

There was a light every few meters on the ceiling, but the lights were off. Only a few were still lit, and they were dimly lit, like a dying person's last burst of energy.

A faint mist filled the air, not the kind that drifted in from outside, but a damp mist that had accumulated indoors for a long time, carrying the smell of mildew and dust.

With each breath Jones took, he could feel the tiny water droplets entering his nasal cavity, cool and with an indescribable odor.

Jones looked around and saw several very shallow tire tracks on the ground to his left.

The marks weren't very clear, but you could tell they were traces left by rubber wheels rolling over dust, leaving discontinuous grayish-white arcs on the gray ground.

That thing must have been lingering around here.

What is that? A toy car? Or something else?
He squatted down, shone his flashlight on the marks, and observed them carefully for a while.

Then it's on the right.

There is a shoe print on the ground.

The shoe print was very clear, with distinct patterns, as if someone had been standing there for a long time, so long that the dust on the sole of the shoe had been pressed into shape.

The shoe print is not large, around size 41, and has a regular leather sole.

A picture flashed through Jones's mind: the black leather shoes in the library's surveillance footage, the shoes that were the only thing visible, not the person. Were the style and size of those shoes the same as the pattern of this shoe print?

He tried hard to recall, but the surveillance footage was too blurry, a black and white image with static. He wasn't sure, but his intuition told him: this was the clue that led to the connection.

He knew that these two paths were clearly guiding the chosen one to make a choice.

The problem is, how do we determine which are "harmless" and which are "harmful"?

Is the toy car harmless to me, or the shoes harmless to me?

This choice will determine life or death, and will test the judgment of the chosen one.

This may have already confused many of the chosen ones, including Jones.

And who isn't confused? Click on the big screen in the Dragon Kingdom, and you'll see that this person isn't confused.

On the large screen in the Dragon Kingdom, after Zhang Yangqing finished organizing the intelligence in the monitoring room, he pushed open the door and went out as if nothing had happened. Then, he stood in the corridor, looked left and right, and walked directly to the right.

The movements were swift and decisive, as if no thought was required.

Many viewers outside the big screen couldn't understand how he made that judgment.

Because Zhang Yangqing was alone this time and didn't need to teach anyone, and he wasn't even talking to himself, no one knew what he was thinking.

But one thing the audience is clear about: choosing the right side is definitely the right thing to do; Zhang Tianshi's judgment is never wrong.

This is a kind of almost blind trust, but it is also an unquestionable authority accumulated from countless correct judgments.

In fact, Zhang Yangqing's idea was very simple and direct.

How do you determine whether a toy car or a shoe poses no danger to you?

The clue lies in the chosen one's own profession: monitor.

What does a monitoring operator do? They sit in the monitoring room and watch the monitor screens.

Which is more dangerous: what you can't see or what you can see?

The answer is too obvious; what you can't see is even more dangerous! (End of Chapter)