Since all these rules and superstitions are outdated, what's wrong with me indulging in some me

A silver light flashed.

Anzhiyu drew his sword.

Without any warning, without any preparatory action.

One second her hand was on Shen Ye's shoulder, the next second the sword was drawn, the silver blade drawing a dazzling arc under the light, heading straight for Xiao Qingniao.

The sound of the sword cutting through the air was very soft, as soft as a falling leaf gliding through the air.

But the murderous intent was so strong that everyone in the hall held their breath.

Lu Changsheng did not move.

He sat in the chair, his fingers fiddling with the talisman he had prepared in his sleeve, but he hadn't infused it with spiritual energy. He was waiting.

An Zhiyu's sword strike was not intended to kill Xiao Qingniao.

She was testing the waters.

Ding--

What did the sword pierce?

But it wasn't Xiao Qingniao's body.

An Zhiyu's sword stopped about three inches in front of Xiao Qingniao, the tip pressed against something invisible. That thing rippled in the air, like cracks in a piece of transparent glass after being hit by a stone.

Xiao Qingniao's eyes changed; the dark brown color disappeared.

Instead, it was the black color that Lu Changsheng had seen at the bottom of the lake.

Complete, thorough, and without a trace of impurity blackness.

There were no whites in his eyes, no pupils, only two thick, impenetrable sclera of darkness embedded in his porcelain-white face.

Xiao Qingniao turned her head and looked at An Zhiyu.

There was no emotion in those black eyes, but Lu Changsheng sensed something—not anger, not murderous intent, but a hunger-like longing.

Xiao Qingniao looked at An Zhiyu as if she were looking at food, but An Zhiyu did not back down.

Her sword was still blocked by that invisible barrier, but she showed no intention of sheathing it. She slightly twisted her wrist, the tip of the sword tracing an arc across the barrier, producing a harsh, scraping sound, like fingernails scratching glass.

"Step back."

An Zhiyu's voice was very calm.

The numbers on Xiao Qingniao's forehead flashed again.

Screams erupted from all directions.

It wasn't just one person screaming; it was the screaming of dozens of people. Servants, slaves, maids—everyone was screaming, but their screams weren't of fear; they were of agony.

The numbers on their foreheads are disappearing.

It wasn't flickering, nor was it decreasing; rather, it was as if they were being swallowed up by something, disappearing one by one.

Each time a number disappeared, the golden number on Xiao Qingniao's forehead would flash.

99——99——99——

The numbers remained the same, but the golden light grew brighter and brighter, so bright it was dazzling, like a small sun embedded in her forehead.

Lu Changsheng finally understood.

Xiao Qingniao wasn't showing off her score.

She is eating.

Those disappearing numbers were her food.

But why was this score swallowed up? Where are the audience? Where are they now?

This action undoubtedly breaks the castle's original rules—the rating system.

But where are the audience, who are the creators and defenders of this rating system? Why are they not reacting at all, as if they didn't see anything?

When An Zhiyu finished speaking, she was no longer in the same spot.

No one saw how she moved. Lu Changsheng only felt a gust of wind brush past his ear, and then a silver sword light appeared behind Xiao Qingniao.

It's not a direct attack.

It's behind.

An Zhiyu's sword pierced Xiao Qingniao's nape at such a tricky angle that it seemed to have grown directly from the void. The blade cut into that invisible barrier, producing a piercing screeching sound and sending sparks flying, like someone hammering a piece of red-hot iron.

The barrier has cracked.

It wasn't pierced, it was cracked by the shock.

An Zhiyu's sword strike wasn't about the blade, but about the force. She concentrated all her strength into a single point at the tip of the sword, like a needle piercing glass—not by penetrating, but by shattering it on its own.

The cracks spread outwards from the point where the sword tip touched the ground, spreading like a spider web across the air within half a meter around Xiao Qingniao.

Xiao Qingniao stirred.

Her body didn't turn around, but her head did.

180 degrees.

Face backward, body forward.

On that porcelain-white face, dark eyes stared at An Zhiyu, and the corners of her mouth slowly, little by little, curved upwards to an angle that no human facial muscles could possibly reach.

"A fine sword."

Hundreds of voices overlapped, their tone as flat as if they were commenting on a dish.

"pity."

She raised her right hand and gently clenched her five fingers in the air.

The cracks that had spread across the air healed instantly. Not slowly, little by little, but all of them disappeared in an instant, as if someone had pressed the rewind button, rewinding the entire process of the shattering.

An Zhiyu's sword was deflected.

It wasn't pushed away, it was jolted away. A tremendous force emanated from the sword, traveling along the blade, guard, and hilt, all the way to her palm. The bloody gash at the base of her thumb instantly tore open, and droplets of blood splattered, tracing a dark red arc in the moonlight.

Anzhiyu has withdrawn.

They weren't driven back; they retreated voluntarily.

She tapped her toes on the ground three times, each time taking her nearly two meters back. After three taps, she stood at the other end of the hall, almost ten meters away from Xiao Qingniao.

The sword was still in her hand.

Blood dripped from the tiger's mouth, staining the carpet and leaving a small, dark mark.

Her breathing faltered for a moment, then returned to normal.

"You can't hurt me." Xiao Qingniao's voice came from the center of the hall, unhurried, as if stating a fact, "In this ancient castle, no one can hurt me."

Lu Changsheng is alive.

But not toward Xiao Qingniao.

He turned towards Xiao Yuheng.

Nobody noticed him.

All eyes were fixed on Xiao Qingniao—she hovered in mid-air, her dark eyes scanning the entire room, the golden number on her forehead like a beating heart, the light of 99 illuminating the entire hall with flickering brightness.

An Zhiyu stood at the other end of the hall, her sword held horizontally in front of her. Blood from her tiger's mouth dripped down the blade, one drop at a time, onto the carpet.

The servants and slaves huddled in the corner, covering their foreheads, as the numbers continued to disappear.

The butler knelt by the door; the number had dropped to single digits.

No one was looking at Xiao Yuheng.

He stood next to the main seat, about three meters behind Xiao Qingniao. He was very relaxed, with one hand in his pocket and the other hanging at his side, a gentle and refined smile on his face.

He was watching a play.

Lu Changsheng made a move at that moment.

It's not about accelerating; it's about disappearing. The wildly popular online novel, "When Rules Are All Strange, What's Wrong with Me indulging in Some Metaphysics?", a heartfelt work by author Zhuogu Ranxi, is available here. It's not about rushing forward, but about disappearing.

In the blink of an eye, Lu Changsheng vanished from Xiao Yuheng's sight. It wasn't invisibility, nor teleportation, but rather a way of diminishing his presence in a manner that almost defied the laws of physics.

This is something he learned from An Zhiyu.

The real killing move doesn't need to be grand; it only requires appearing in a position where the opponent can't defend themselves the moment they lower their guard.

When Lu Changsheng reappeared, he was already behind Xiao Yuheng.

His left hand gripped Xiao Yuheng's right shoulder, his fingers tightening, the fingertips wedging into the gap between the shoulder blade and collarbone.

Xiao Yuheng's smile remained strangely unchanged, but the hand he had in his pocket twitched slightly.

Lu Changsheng sensed it—Xiao Yuheng's fingers were groping for something in his pocket.

"Don't move." Lu Changsheng's voice was very low, so low that only the two of them could hear it. "The thing you touched is a short stick, isn't it?"

Xiao Yuheng's fingers stopped.

"You're using short sticks to block the audience's view. If I'm not mistaken, the area you're blocking is the entire hall. That's why you're holding this banquet," Lu Changsheng said. "So the audience can't see anything you're doing right now. That's why you dare to stand here at this moment without trying to control the situation."

Xiao Yuheng smiled, but he didn't turn around. However, his right hand moved.

The moment the hand that had been in his pocket was pulled out, Lu Changsheng felt an immense force explode from Xiao Yuheng's shoulder. It wasn't the power of muscles, nor the power of spiritual energy, but a more primal, more savage power—a power inherent to the ancient castle itself.

The power of rules.

Rule 7 states: "Any higher-ranking being may give you instructions."

96 is higher than 92, so Xiao Yuheng could have given orders to Lu Changsheng. But he didn't give orders; he used the rules themselves—he used the rules as a weapon and hurled them at Lu Changsheng.

Lu Changsheng's left hand was flung away.

It wasn't pushed away, but rather repelled by an invisible, irresistible force. His five fingers detached from Xiao Yuheng's shoulder blade, the knuckles making a series of cracking sounds, as if something had twisted them from the inside.

The excruciating pain spread from my fingertips to my palms, and from my palms to my wrists.

Lu Changsheng looked down at his left hand—it wasn't broken, but all five fingers were trembling uncontrollably, like five strings of a musical instrument being blown by the wind.

Xiao Yuheng turned around. His face still held that gentle, jade-like smile, but his eyes had changed. There was something in his gray pupils that Lu Changsheng had never seen before.

"Do you know what your biggest problem is?" Xiao Yuheng's voice was still slow and leisurely, as if he were chatting with an old friend. "You rely too much on things outside the rules. You think you can survive in this castle by using some means."

He paused for a moment.

"But these are things you dare not let the audience see. If you dare not let the audience see them, you cannot truly use them."

Lu Changsheng's pupils contracted slightly.

-

An Zhiyu's sword was aimed at Xiao Qingniao for the fifth time.

This time, her sword was devoid of blood, spiritual energy, or anything else. There was only the sword itself and her hand wielding it.

Xiao Qingniao's barrier had been riddled with holes by the first four sword strikes. Although the cracks could heal each time, the healing speed was getting slower and slower, and the barrier became thinner and thinner after healing, like a piece of glass that had been repeatedly struck and was on the verge of shattering.

Anzhiyu's fifth sword strike landed on the same spot.

The moment the sword tip pierced the barrier, there was no crisp metallic clang, but rather a dull sound, like wood snapping. The cracks on the barrier did not spread outwards, but instead extended deeper, embedding themselves into the barrier's internal structure like tree roots.

Xiao Qingniao's face twisted for a moment.

She raised her right hand, her five fingers flicking in the air, and ten, twenty, thirty invisible forces shot out from her fingertips, raining down on An Zhiyu like a storm.

Anzhiyu did not retreat.

She held the sword horizontally in front of her, the blade spinning, and silver arcs of light wove into an impenetrable net before her. The invisible forces collided with the arcs of light, producing clanging sounds like hailstones hitting a tin roof.

But one strike pierced through the arc of light.

It didn't bypass; it pierced straight through. The force shot out from Xiao Qingniao's index finger, its shape different from the other forces—not spherical, but needle-shaped. As thin as a hair, as fast as a beam of light.

It passed through Anzhiyu's arc of light and struck her right leg.

An Zhiyu's body suddenly sank. Not kneeling, but sinking—her right leg seemed to have suddenly lost all strength, her knee involuntarily bending, and her body weight tilting to the right. She used her sword to support herself on the ground, preventing herself from falling.

Blood gushed from the wound on his right leg, flowing down his calf, soaking through his trousers, and dripping onto the carpet.

An Zhiyu looked down at her right leg, then looked up at Xiao Qingniao. Her right leg was trembling, but she stood still.

She switched the sword to her left hand.

"Your right leg is useless." Xiao Qingniao's voice came from the center of the hall, a chorus of hundreds of voices, hollow, cold, and devoid of any emotion. "What do you have to fight me with?"

Anzhiyu did not answer.

She held the sword in her left hand, the tip pointing to the ground, her body leaning slightly forward, like a hunter about to pounce on her prey.

Then she moved.

This time, she was faster than ever before. So fast that Lu Changsheng only saw a silver streak of light flash from one end of the hall to the other; so fast that before Xiao Qingniao's barrier could fully unfold, the sword tip was already piercing right in front of her.

Ding--

The barrier blocked it.

But the cracks in the barrier were deeper than ever before.

-

Lu Changsheng withdrew his gaze and looked at Xiao Yuheng again.

The chaos in the hall was escalating. Servants were screaming, slaves were running for their lives, and some of the prominent guests were scrambling under the tables, others were pushing their way to the door, while still others stood motionless, as if frozen in place.

The numbers on their foreheads are disappearing at an alarming rate.

It wasn't just one person's numbers disappearing; it was everyone's. The servants huddled in the corner had their numbers on their foreheads drop from the thirties to the teens, from the teens to single digits, and from single digits to nothing.

Meanwhile, the golden numbers on Xiao Qingniao's forehead were flashing intensely.

99——99——99——99——99——

Each flash was accompanied by a huge surge of spiritual energy emanating from her body.

Wherever the wave passed, candlelight went out, wine glasses shattered, oil paintings on the walls slipped from their frames, and pendants from crystal chandeliers fell to the ground like raindrops.

Lu Changsheng felt an unprecedented sense of oppression.

It wasn't from Xiao Yuheng's power of rules, nor from Xiao Qingniao's spiritual energy fluctuations, but from that number—that number that was frantically jumping between 99 and 100.

99.1——99.3——99.6——99.8——

It's about to jump to 100.