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

The Chosen One clearly fixed three surveillance cameras: one in the laundry room, one in the toilet, and one in the restaurant.

But of the eight screens in front of them, only one was still lit.

The library scene is one of neatly arranged bookshelves, quiet tables and chairs, and soft lighting.

The other seven are all black, without even a speckle of snowflakes; it's just a pure, completely blank black screen.

If they were to arrive here, many of the chosen ones might feel that they made a mistake and go back to fix it again.

A smarter chosen one, like Jones, would notice the "details": the streetlights outside the iron-barred window are off. Something's not right; this shouldn't be the monitoring room.

Or rather, it's not the original monitoring room, but a mirror image, a room he doesn't know that looks exactly like the monitoring room.

Zhang Yangqing had anticipated this when he left the library, so he didn't think there was anything wrong with it.

This is why many viewers see him remain so calm no matter what "sudden" danger he encounters.

It wasn't that he wasn't afraid; he had already anticipated it.

"The problem now is how to turn on the streetlights outside the window. Should I go outside? Or should I find the right place?"

Zhang Yangqing stood by the window, looking out at the thick darkness, lost in thought.

Instead of making a decision, he first raised the flashlight and shone it out the window.

The beam of light pierced the darkness, like a white needle stabbing into a huge black sponge.

The light was absorbed and swallowed up; he could see nothing but darkness.

But the sound could be heard; it was the sound of wind, a whistling wind, as if something was moving rapidly in the darkness.

There were also faint wriggling sounds, like many legs crawling on the ground, or like many bodies rubbing against each other.

The sounds were very close, so close that it felt like they were outside the window, right against the wall of the building.

Zhang Yangqing touched the matches in his pocket and thought of rule 5.

Rule 5 states that a match can light up things that seem unbelievable to you, things that you can't see with a flashlight, things that you can't see with your eyes, and things that you can't understand with common sense.

Zhang Yangqing touched the match, thinking to himself: Am I supposed to use this thing to light the streetlights?

Then he thought of rule 7.

Rule 7 says, "Don't be afraid. Fear will make you make the wrong judgment, and the wrong judgment will kill you. Trust your instincts, trust your judgment, and trust that you can get out of here alive."

What are the Chosen Ones afraid of now? Naturally, they're afraid of going out.

The chosen one's job this time is a monitor. As long as the monitor's rules are followed, the building is relatively safe.

What will I encounter if I go out?
He will encounter things that writhe in the darkness, strange creatures that linger in the outside world, and beings he doesn't recognize, whose background he doesn't know, and whose abilities he doesn't know if he can deal with.

Rule 7 is probably telling the chosen ones, "Don't be afraid, go out, trust your judgment, and believe that you can come back alive."

Zhang Yangqing turned around and left the monitoring room.

He went down to the first-floor corridor and found the door.

The door is made of glass, it's a double door, and the doorknob is metal and has become rusty.

The glass was smooth, but upon closer inspection, there were some dark red fingerprints on it. The fingerprints were very clear, as if someone had pressed their blood-stained hand on it, but it had been cleaned but not completely.

The ground was clean, abnormally clean.

There was a wind outside, not a strong one, but it was very cold, as if it were blowing from some deep, dark place.

Zhang Yangqing pushed open the glass door and resolutely walked out.

At this stage, we have no intelligence and no means of defense, so let's just do it!
As soon as he stepped outside, Zhang Yangqing's first sensation was the cool breeze, and his second was the feeling that "countless" eyes were watching him from the shadows.

Those gazes came from all directions, and they were malicious.

He could feel something approaching, moving, and heading towards him.

But he couldn't see anything, he could only hear sounds.

Shh! Shh!
Those things were moving, little by little, not fast, but the direction was clear—they were coming this way.

Meanwhile, in another darkness, Jones was experiencing the same fear. He was accompanied by a bandaged security guard, the two standing one in front of the other, half a step apart.

Jones walked in front, and the bandaged security guard followed behind.

Jones's flashlight was useless in the dark; he relied entirely on his senses and intuition to navigate.

The bandaged security guard's hand rested on Jones's shoulder, his fingers trembling.

"Are you sure the streetlights are over here?" The bandaged security guard's voice was very soft, almost inaudible.

“I’m not sure, but it’s the only way. After all, you can’t go back to the security room, so this is the only thing we can do.” Jones’s voice was trembling.

This statement suggests that it wasn't that the bandaged security guard was loyal enough to come out and accompany Jones, but rather that Jones had managed to extract information from the bandaged security guard that he couldn't find the security room after he came out.

Jones continued walking forward, following the route he remembered.

Something was moving in the surrounding darkness, and it was getting closer and closer.

When the strange creatures around them moved within half a meter, Jones and the bandaged security guards could even feel the breathing of those terrifying beings.

Jones knew that if he didn't do something now, something bad was bound to happen.

He took out his matchbox, pulled out a match, and struck it.

A flame appeared, very small and weak, flickering in the wind, as if it could go out at any moment.

But that little bit of light illuminated a small area around it.

He saw the creature's hands and feet, not all of them, just the edges. They had tentacles, long, grayish-white, jointless tentacles, which quickly retracted at the edge of the firelight.

It had claws, black, sharp, metallic claws, which flashed briefly at the edge of the firelight before disappearing.

A human hand, pale, slender, with long nails, hesitated for a moment at the edge of the firelight before retreating back into the darkness.

Those things were retreating; they backed away from where the firelight appeared.

It seems that the light from a match is a rule that even they cannot violate.

The bandaged security guard's voice came from behind, tinged with urgency.

"Hurry up and move forward, the wind is strong, these matches won't last long."

The two of them protected the flame together, walking forward step by step.

The flames flickered in the wind, sometimes tilting, sometimes standing upright, and sometimes almost going out.

They each used one hand to shield the flames from the wind.

Jones's hands were trembling, and the flames were trembling too.

After walking about twenty steps, the match burned to the end and the flame went out.

Darkness surged back, and those things began to approach again.

Jones took out a second match and struck it.

My hand trembled, and the match slipped from my fingers, fell to the ground, rolled twice, and went out.

This is just adding insult to injury.

Not to mention Jones, even the bandaged security guard's heart skipped a beat.

Jones quickly pulled out a third one and started slicing it.

This time he gripped it tightly, his hand stopped shaking, and the flame stabilized.

The streetlights finally appeared ahead. The lampposts were black, with peeling paint revealing rusty iron underneath.

The lampshade is crooked, the light bulb underneath is round, and the glass is tarnished.

There is a small opening at the bottom of the street lamp pole, just big enough to fit a match.

There were burn marks on the edges of the cut, black and charred, as if it had been burned many times.

This is already a hint. (End of Chapter)