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

Zhang Yangqing, with a melancholic and eerie air, arrived at the library with practiced ease.

Zhang Yangqing had been here many times, and he even remembered which books were on which bookshelves.

He pushed open the door and went inside. The familiar smell of paper and wood wafted towards him, giving him a strange sense of peace.

It was a strange feeling. Even though the monitoring room was his domain, he always felt an inexplicable unease when he was there.

In the library, he knew he was safe; at least there, no one could harm him.

Suddenly, Zhang Yangqing froze in place, his steps halting in the aisle between the bookshelves.

The thought that 'this place feels safer than the monitoring room' kept lingering in his mind, like a nail stuck there that he couldn't get rid of.

What's in the monitoring room?
There are several surveillance shots showing a chair, a table, a window, and a hanging rope.

Apart from that, there were not many unusual circumstances.

But Zhang Yangqing remembered something: the note in his pocket.

The note read: If you really can't take it anymore, just hang yourself.

If it was written down by a monitor, what does that mean?
This suggests that there must have been something in the monitoring room that caused the monitor to suffer torment worse than death, and since the monitor couldn't leave, he chose to hang himself.

When Zhang Yangqing first received the note, he, like the other chosen ones, thought it was a prank or a one-sided account.

But now, having acquired a lot of information and experienced many things, he has gained a preliminary understanding of this world of supernatural tales.

In this world of ghost stories, "presence" is extremely important; those with little presence are destined to die.

The presence of the monitors in areas with surveillance cameras is very noticeable and can suppress any strange occurrences.

It's like in this library, the surveillance cameras are on, and he's read a lot of books, so he's practically invincible here.

The solution is simple: turn off the security cameras, destroy the books here, and his invincibility will crumble on its own.

But Zhang Yangqing felt he had overlooked one thing, and that was the monitoring room.

There are no surveillance cameras in the monitoring room!
In other words, in the monitoring room, the presence of certain "things" is even greater than that of the "monitors".

At least Zhang Yangqing didn't feel like he had too much authority in the monitoring room.

He can make books fly in the library, but he can't do anything in the monitoring room.

He was just someone sitting in a chair looking at a screen, no different from ordinary humans wandering in the corridor.

Zhang Yangqing predicted that at some point in the future, as the chosen one, he would think he had solved the problem and would happily rest in the monitoring room, watching the surveillance, and believing that his resurrection point monitoring room was the safe zone. Then, when "that guy" appeared and killed him, the chosen one would find it unbelievable and a terrifying nightmare.

But when I was killed, I felt a sense of relief, as if I had missed something.

In other words, it means: only realizing what you've done wrong before you die, and then dying as if it were the end of you.

Do you remember the marks on the iron bars on the monitoring room window?
Claw marks, bloodstains! Those were the struggles of someone trying to escape but unable to.

Why not run through the door? Because the door must be blocked, or there's simply no way out through the door.

One of the senior monitoring staff, unable to bear the torment of this predicament, left that note as a hint to those who came after him.

There's a trick to writing notes like this: if you write down the danger directly, the "murderer" will definitely clean up the note.

Writing such horrifying words to increase the atmosphere of terror will not deter the killer; in fact, the killer might even find it enjoyable.

The murderer enjoyed watching people be afraid, watching them despair, and watching them break down in the face of the words "hang yourself."

There's another rule that indirectly hints at this.

[Rule 8: Remember, you are not alone here. If you have no companions, become your own companion.] At first, Zhang Yangqing didn't understand what it meant to "become your own companion."

Now he began to ponder: Was this rule a reminder to him to install a camera in the monitoring room as well?
Monitoring yourself, becoming your own companion, and increasing your sense of self-worth?

The more Zhang Yangqing thought about it, the more he felt that it seemed to be his mother's reasoning.

There were no cameras in the monitoring room, so his presence was minimal, which is why those things dared to approach.

If he could install a camera in the monitoring room and bring the monitoring room under his "monitoring range," then his presence would cover the entire monitoring room.

Those things wouldn't dare come in. This rule was telling him not only to look outside, but also to look inside.

Just as he was deep in thought, the melancholy and strange man beside him leaned closer curiously, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily: "What's wrong? Is there anything strange around here?"

He noticed that Zhang Yangqing had been standing there motionless since he came in, and assumed that he was in danger, so he remained on guard and dared not make any rash moves.

Zhang Yangqing snapped out of his reverie and shook his head: "It's nothing. I just thought of a potential danger, and to eliminate it, I need to learn more about this building."

He didn't explain much, but walked to the children's book section with a melancholy and eerie air, pulled out a few picture books from the shelf, and handed them to the melancholy and eerie man.

The books had brightly colored covers with cartoon animals and candy houses, and the pages were thick with rounded corners; they were for children.

The melancholy man took the book, flipped through a few pages, and frowned: "Aren't these a bit too simple?"

There was a hint of confusion in his voice.

He is a painter, and his paintings hang in galleries, where they are appreciated and admired.

He wanted to see the works of those masters, to see the difference, and to learn their techniques.

Children's drawing is indeed a bit too childish for him.

Zhang Yangqing laughed and said, "Your body is that of a master painter. There's no benefit in looking at the paintings of other masters. On the contrary, the paintings of these children can most directly reflect what 'authenticity' is."

"Children don't care about techniques, composition, or color matching when they draw. They draw whatever they want and however they want. Their paintings contain their unadorned, primal desire for expression. What you lack is not technique, but the desire for expression."

The melancholy and eerie figure paused for a moment, then slowly nodded: "I see, I've learned something."

He lowered his head and carefully flipped through the picture book.

His fingers glide lightly across the pages, as if touching the lines and colors.

He looked at it slowly and carefully, as if he were disassembling a complex painting.

Zhang Yangqing left the children's book section and walked to the reading area.

Between the bookshelves was a long table with several desk lamps on it, casting a soft light.

A man was sitting at the table, wearing a white chef's uniform and an apron with some stains on it, making it impossible to tell whether it was sauce or something else.

He was looking at a book about cooking, with beautiful food photos printed on the pages, but he wasn't looking at the photos; he was looking at the text, the ingredient list, and the cooking steps.

His brows were furrowed tightly, as if he were memorizing a very difficult problem.

Zhang Yangqing didn't actually need to get close to determine this person's profession: he had a certain odor.

It smells of cooking oil, scallions, and a little bit of burnt food.

That's the smell that comes from working in the kitchen for a long time; it can't be washed off or replaced.

He was also wearing a chef's uniform, white, but it had turned yellow, with sweat stains on the collar and oil stains on the cuffs.

This shows that the surveillance camera was terrible; the black and white footage was practically unreadable. (End of Chapter)