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

As a prudent chosen one, Jones began to figure out how to find helpers.

First of all, this helper should most likely be a human; you can't exactly ask a ghost for help.

At least the rules indicate that someone is here, so it's definitely safer to look for them.

The problem is this: Jones spent several hours wandering around the building and saw many strange creatures, but where were the people?
Jones first thought of rule 4.

[Rule 4: If someone calls for help, first check the surveillance footage. If you cannot see the person calling for help in any frame, do not respond or help. That person is not human; they are imitating a human.]

The rule does mention people, but I've been here for a while now, and no one has called for help.

Jones stood in the hallway for a while, listening intently, but heard nothing except the strange noises coming from the locked rooms.

There were no cries for help, no footsteps, not even the sound of breathing.

Then Jones thought of another rule.

[Rule 5: You only have one box of matches. It can light up things you find unbelievable—things you can't see with a flashlight, things you can't see with your eyes, things you can't understand with common sense. Don't waste matches, and don't be stingy with matches.]

Jones took the matchbox out of his pocket and opened it.

The matchbox was red, the cardboard was damp, and the edges were worn white.

There were two neat rows of matches inside; he counted them, and there were twenty in total.

Only about ten sticks are usable; the rest won't light.

Jones put the matchbox in his pocket, fiddling with it as he walked, while constantly observing his surroundings.

His mind was racing, very fast.

What can a match light?
The rule says "light up something you find unbelievable," does it mean "light up" literally, or something else?
He looked up and saw a smoke detector on the ceiling.

It's round, white, with yellowed edges, and the indicator light is flashing slowly, alternating between bright and dim, indicating that it's still working.

Jones stopped, a sudden idea striking him!
If there are other people here, they are probably similar to him, with some kind of job here.

Security guard? Cleaner? Repairman?
Regardless of what it is, since there is a smoke alarm, someone who sees the smoke alarm go off should come and check.

This is definitely something that person is required to do in their profession.

Thinking of this, Jones found some dry rolls in a nearby room. The rolls were covered in dust and were damp in some places, but they could still be burned.

He rolled the scroll into a tube and lit one corner with a match.

The flames were small, but the smoke was considerable; grayish-white smoke rose and drifted toward the smoke detector on the ceiling.

There are rules to arson. You have to control the amount of fire to avoid causing chaos. If you burn down a building, you'll be in big trouble.

"Woo! Woo! Woo!"

The piercing alarm blared through the corridor.

The sound was so loud that Jones's ears were ringing, so loud that the sounds in the locked rooms in the corridor were drowned out, and so loud that the entire building was shaking.

Jones crouched in the corner of the corridor, pressed his body against the wall, held his breath, and stared at the other end of the corridor.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes.

Nobody came.

Jones's heart began to sink.

Is he mistaken? Is there really no one here? Or did someone come but dare not approach?
Just as Jones was considering whether to burn another roll, footsteps sounded.

It's urgent, very fast, they're running.

The footsteps grew closer and louder, and from the corner of the corridor, a figure rushed out.

He was wearing a gray-blue security guard uniform, his hat was askew, the buttons were undone, and his belt hung loosely around his waist, his keychain rattling as he ran.

His face and hands were wrapped in bandages, which were dirty and had dried blood seeping through in some places. He looked frail and timid, as if a gust of wind could blow him over.

The security guard ran to the smoke detector, looked up, panting, at the still-ringing alarm, then looked at the still-smoking remnants of the roll on the ground, scratched his head, and looked completely puzzled.

"That's strange, there wasn't a big fire, so why did they call the police?"

He squatted down, stomped out the sparks on the paper, looked up at the alarm to make sure there was no more smoke, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

Jones came out from around the corner: "Hello."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet corridor.

The security guard turned around abruptly, saw Jones, and was so frightened that he fell backward, landing hard on his backside. He crawled backward a short distance before his back hit the wall and he finally stopped.

His eyes were wide open, his pupils were contracted, and his mouth was opening and closing as if he had something to say but couldn't utter a word.

Jones reached out to help him up: "Don't be afraid. I'm the new security guard in this building. I've run into some trouble, and I came up with this way to get you out."

The bandaged security guard didn't dare touch his hand. He stood up by leaning against the wall and looked Jones up and down, his gaze sweeping over his uniform, name tag, and keychain as if to confirm something.

"Are you human?" His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time.

Jones rolled her eyes at him: "I'm definitely human. By the way, what happened to you?"

He pointed to the bandages on the security guard's body.

The security guard with the bandage gave an awkward laugh, looked down at the bandage on his arm, pressed it lightly with his finger, and winced in pain.

"I was just tricked by a weirdo who almost killed me. Luckily, I ran fast. This place is too dangerous. I usually don't dare to run around."

Upon hearing this, Jones's heart sank even further.

Well, another noob even worse than me.

He had hoped to find a capable helper, but instead he found someone who had been strangely beaten like this.

But now he has no other choice; something is better than nothing.

The security guard looked at Jones cautiously and said, "Since everything's alright, I'll be going now?"

He started walking, preparing to turn back.

“Wait a minute,” Jones called out to him.

The security guard stopped and turned around with a puzzled look: "Is there anything else?"

Jones grabbed his sleeve, preventing him from leaving.

"Dude, do me a favor. Don't refuse yet. We're both going to be here for a while, so let's help each other out. I have my own abilities, you know?"

His tone was sincere, and his eyes were sincere as well.

The tone wasn't one of begging; it was one of discussing cooperation.

If you help me and I help you, we all have a better chance of surviving.

Since the rules tell me to contact you, and you're also in trouble, I don't believe you won't cooperate.

This is the basis for Jones's judgment.

The security guard was conflicted, his expression changing repeatedly, as if he were facing a difficult choice.

His fingers unconsciously dug at the bandage. After a while, he looked up and asked in a low voice, "Is it dangerous?"

Jones wasn't lying to him, saying frankly, "Would you believe me if I said it wasn't dangerous? But don't run away, I definitely won't let the two of us get into a dangerous situation, I have my own way of doing things."

The bandaged security guard hesitated for a while before finally nodding: "Okay."

The two reached an agreement. (End of Chapter)