Rules of the Strange: I Became a God in a Bizarre World Through Taoist Arts

Shen Xingzhu squatted down and gently wiped the ground with her fingertips.

The texture is smooth yet slightly astringent, somewhere between water and oil, but thicker than water and thinner than oil.

"It's not oil."

Moreover, when she rubbed the sole of her shoe just now, she felt a slight granular texture, like some liquid that had dried and then softened again in a damp environment.

Shen Xingzhu curled her fingers and scratched the ground with her fingernails. A thin layer of powdery residue got embedded in her fingernails.

She stood up and groped her way forward through the darkness beneath her feet.

In the darkness, her vision was completely deprived, but the sensation under her feet became unusually acute—she could feel the texture of the ground changing, gradually transitioning from a relatively smooth brick surface to a rougher, poured cement surface.

Something was kicked out and rolled several times on the ground before stopping.

Shen Xingzhuo crouched down in the direction of the sound and groped around until her fingertips touched a slender, cold piece of metal.

They are two medical syringes with glass syringes and needles attached to plastic bases.

Then the slippery layer on the ground has its origin.

When dried blood is moistened by moisture, it creates a texture that is somewhere between smooth and sticky. If there is enough liquid on the ground, and it repeatedly deliquesces without being cleaned for a long time, the layer of residue will become uniform and dense, like a thin layer of wax adhering to the ground.

There was almost no airflow in this space; the air seemed to be frozen, and all the smells were trapped in place, dissipating completely over time. But she didn't need the smells anymore; the two syringes were enough to prove her point.

Shen Xingzhuo straightened up and closed her eyes. The fragments automatically pieced together a picture in her mind—someone had been brought here, lying on this non-existent bed, undergoing some kind of procedure.

Blood spilled on the ground, flowing underfoot, seeping into the cracks of the cement, layer upon layer, for who knows how many years.

The four walls were completely blocked off; she had just searched along the edges but hadn't even found a crack in the door.

How do people get in and out?

Suddenly, a clue mentioned in the previous comments flashed through Shen Xingzhuo's mind—the group of people in the elevator were taking the elevator downwards.

down.

Shen Xingzhuo traced the groove with her finger for a while, finding that it disappeared in the center of the wall. She touched the wall again—it was flat, smooth, and without any gaps.

But the scratch told her that the wall had been opened before.

The door is blocked. It's blocked from this direction.

She took two steps back and looked around the dark space where she could see nothing again. Finally, all the clues in her mind pieced together the last piece.

This space used to be accessible.

The person who was wheeled in lay on the bed and underwent procedures, whether it was having blood drawn, being injected with drugs, or having some kind of medical intervention—the dried blood on the floor proved that more than one person had lain here, more than once.

The bed can only go in and not out.

Shen Xingzhuo took a deep breath and looked up towards the unseen exit.

"Medical equipment disposal room."

Her voice rang out clearly in the enclosed darkness.

"This is where the school disposes of discarded medical equipment; it's also a place for handling used, unwanted, and unusable items."

She paused for a moment.

"Including people."