The buzz-cut man froze for a second before cursing, “You fucking poor trash, you dare hit me? Let’s see how many you can take.” Yi Miao had already helped my father up and stood aside, confident that I could handle it, so he didn’t step in.
The buzz-cut man had called over two vans, and more than twenty men stepped out—some with long flowing hair, others bald—all troublemakers who had returned from working out of town, yelling and shouting about beating someone to death.
Yi Miao, looking a bit overwhelmed, asked, “Is this the setup for a full-on brawl?”
I chuckled. “No big deal. Someone’s just coming after me. You’re an outsider—help my dad step back a bit and don’t get involved.”
The neighbor shouted, “Xiao Qi, we’re in deep trouble this time.”
I told Xie Xiaoyu to stand aside and not intervene—this was a real fight, not dealing with zombies. Standing next to Xie Xiaoyu was Little Rascal. Though Little Rascal had opened his Yin-Yang eyes, he couldn’t withstand a single strike. Xie Xiaoyu nodded, glaring furiously at the group of vicious men.
The buzz-cut man sneered, “Motherfucker, you think I won’t make you die right here?”
I sighed. “It’s that slut Ma Yan. I knew it was her.” The strange stench emanating from the buzz-cut man was the same as Ma Yan’s. Over half a year ago, Ma Yan had tried to kill me but ended up thoroughly subdued by me. Now she’d sent this idiot after me—it wouldn’t be so easy.
The buzz-cut man smirked darkly. “What’s the matter? You’re in deep shit now!” In rural fights, insults always came before blows, and the insults were often more entertaining than the actual brawl. Back-and-forth taunts—like “If you don’t die today, you’re my son,” or “Go ahead, kill me if you dare”—often diffused the tension before fists flew, as the anger was vented through words.
After a few more threats, the buzz-cut man admitted he’d been sent by Ma Yan. It turned out that when my father had come to the market carrying his oil buckets, Ma Yan had spotted him and hatched a plan, ordering the buzz-cut man to attack.
The buzz-cut man barked, “Beat them to death! Take out the old man and the kid!”
My father pleaded, “We’ll pay for the damages!”
But it was too late. A group rushed forward, some wielding iron rods, others shovels—nothing wooden. I stepped forward and punched the first one in the face. Brother Jun had once told me that no matter how skilled you were in combat, real battles were the best training. The mob charged chaotically, and the biggest danger was hidden knives or sneak attacks.
My father watched from the side as a few men approached. Yi Miao, surprisingly capable, took down two with just a few punches.
Suddenly, my father yelled, “Watch out!”
I felt a cold gust—someone had pulled a dagger and lunged at me.
I slapped him hard across the face. “Fuck your mother! No deep grudges here—settle it with fists, not knives.”
I muttered a few words under my breath, awakening the parasites and corpse worms in these bullies’ stomachs, making them writhe in pain.
To avoid suspicion, I only used the insect techniques while throwing punches. Within ten minutes, the ground was littered with groaning men.
Little Rascal couldn’t help but cheer excitedly.
Seeing the tide turn, the buzz-cut man retreated to his Cayenne and pulled out a military-style triangular bayonet—a weapon designed for rapid blood loss. He glared at me as I approached. “What the hell do you want?”
I smirked. “I told you, three strikes and you’re out. Ma Yan’s an idiot, but you’re just as stupid. Can’t blame me now.” The buzz-cut man had been in fights before—his abdomen bore the scars of a stabbing. But he’d picked the wrong opponent this time.
“Fuck your mother!” he roared, charging with the bayonet. Fast and fierce, but too late. I sidestepped, dodged the thrust, and punched him square in the face, loosening several teeth.
Grabbing his collar, I slammed him repeatedly against the car window. “You really want to test whose fists are harder?”
After a few impacts, blood trickled down his forehead. “You motherfucker, either kill me now or I’ll slaughter your whole family!” he spat, still defiant.
With so many witnesses, I couldn’t finish him off. I let go and sneered, “I’ll be waiting for your revenge.”
Helping my father up, we went to a small clinic for treatment. The crowd dispersed just as Wu Zhen arrived with backup, taking in the scene—the groaning thugs and the bloodied buzz-cut man. “Take Zhe Huaqiang and Xiao Qi back to the station,” he ordered.
I told the neighbor to take Yi Miao and my father home. Xie Xiaoyu, disappointed she hadn’t gotten to fight, pouted. I grinned. “Next time. I’ll let you go all out.”
The buzz-cut man, Zhe Huaqiang, was Ma Yan’s boyfriend—a local thug who’d made a name for himself in Wenzhou before returning to terrorize the town. At the station, he ranted about wiping out my family.
Wu Zhen, trying to smooth things over, laughed awkwardly. “Come on, Huaqiang. We’re all brothers here. Let’s settle this over drinks.”
Zhe Huaqiang jabbed a finger. “No fucking way. My head didn’t get bashed for nothing.”
I slammed the table. “I’m a civilized man. I don’t hurt people lightly. But you laid hands on my father—that’s war. Simple as that. Try me, and see if you walk away alive.”
Zhe Huaqiang sneered. “You know who runs this town? Me, Zhe Huaqiang. Do you even know how many brothers we Zhes have? Hundreds!”
Wu Zhen suddenly asked, “Xiao Qi, how’d you get that gunshot wound on your face?”
I shrugged. “Life on the streets—you get cut sometimes.” Watching Zhe Huaqiang’s haughty expression, I almost laughed. His girl Ma Yan was no saint—she’d been ridden by who knows how many men.
Zhe Huaqiang scoffed. “Who hasn’t played with guns?”
The Zhe family dominated the town—every profitable venture, from sand mining to coal factories, restaurants, even the marketplace, had Zhe fingerprints on it. Their arrogance was infamous. Wu Zhen was in a tough spot—Zhe Huaqiang was the rising star of the Zhe clan, running underground casinos and brothels in Wenzhou. Worse, his uncle, Zhe Dabiao, was the town mayor, a man even the party secretary deferred to. If Wu Zhen wanted to keep his job, he had to side with Zhe Huaqiang—saving his life once meant little now.
Wu Zhen, aiming to defuse the situation, proposed a compromise: First, I’d cover the medical bills for the injured Zhe thugs. Second, I’d publicly apologize at the Zhe family’s hotel the next morning.
Afraid I’d explode, Wu Zhen pulled me aside. “Master Xiao, there’s no other way. The Zhes have numbers. How many brothers do you have? You can’t win. Huaqiang just wants to save face for Ma Yan. Just swallow your pride this once.”
I nodded silently. Wu Zhen’s judgment wasn’t wrong—if I left town, my parents would be at the mercy of local hoodlums with no one to protect them.
Wu Zhen scheduled the apology banquet for the 27th of the lunar month at the Zhe family’s hotel.
By nightfall, Zhe Huaqiang and I were released from the station.
He pointed at my forehead. “No matter who you are, in this town, you crawl.”
I said nothing.
Waiting for him outside the station was Ma Yan, sitting in his car.
I snorted coldly, hailed a motorcycle taxi, and returned to the village. Crossing the bridge, the driver said, “Best to let it go. Nobody who tangles with the Zhes comes out unscathed. You know Leng Quanlong, the guy who settled here?”
I nodded. “What about him?” I remembered him—his wife was from our town. They ran a shop with a restaurant downstairs and a hostel upstairs for truckers. Leng had a cute daughter, and I’d met Insect Old Five at his place.
The driver continued, “The Zhes wanted his business. When he refused, the health inspectors showed up seven or eight times a month. Thugs would toss ants and flies into the food. He had no choice but to sell cheap and leave with his family.”
I couldn’t help but curse. “Is this still the People’s Republic? Bandits run wild with no one to stop them?”
The driver sighed. “This is the People’s Republic.”
By the time I got home, my father was fine, but my mother was furious. “We should’ve just stayed home for New Year’s. Now look at the mess!”
My father sighed. “I didn’t provoke them.”
After some more scolding, my mother prepared dinner for Yi Miao. Over the meal, I explained the station’s resolution. My father was livid. “Is this still New China?”
Yi Miao slammed the table. “Should I go beat up Zhe Huaqiang tonight?”
I shot him a look.
Things had escalated. Zhe Huaqiang had fallen into Ma Yan’s trap, and my father had just been collateral damage.
I reached out to the village party secretary and others, securing promises to back me up at the apology banquet. With the station involved, it should be manageable.
At midnight, I remembered I was supposed to bring Lian Xiaoyao back. The day’s chaos had scrambled my brain.
The next day, the 27th of the lunar month.
I called Yi Miao and Lian Xiaoyao in, warning Yi Miao to keep his focus and not lose control.
Yi Miao thumped his chest. “Why would I lose control?”
Lian Xiaoyao looked at me, puzzled.
I took out a wrapped scroll—one I’d found in the old building alongside the fragrant corpse, Guo Furong. The scroll depicted a classical beauty with a high bun, looking back over her bare shoulder—a common motif in traditional paintings.
I’d kept it for myself.
As the scroll unfurled, the beauty seemed to leap off the page.
Yi Miao noticed something. “She looks just like you!” he said to Lian Xiaoyao.
—
**Important Chapter Notes**
With over ten chapters into Volume 8, the story has grown lengthy. Due to the nature of web novels, the plot has branched out like a tree with many leaves—not a straight line but a complex tangle of threads. At this point, I want to briefly outline the upcoming developments.
Starting from Volume 8, the sprawling narrative will begin to converge toward its conclusion. Wrapping things up is challenging—sometimes, in my sleep, it feels like characters whisper, “Kill me now, or the story won’t work.” And so, the next day, I comply.
Volume 8 will be long—around fifty chapters (150,000 words). Crafting this over a month, with revisions, won’t be flawless, but I’ll do my best.
After Volume 8, Volume 9 will serve as the finale. In Chinese numerology, nine symbolizes longevity—a fitting end.
Volume 9’s length will likely match Volume 8’s, tying up all loose ends, no matter how many brain cells it costs. But I relish the creative process. With 600,000 words behind us, some may have forgotten earlier details. Below are key reminders (without spoiling too much, to preserve the thrill of discovery).
—
**Key Plot Points**
1. **The Seven Zombies**
Recall the zombies still “alive”:
– Dai Zhong, the earth-nurtured corpse of the Golden Triangle (raised by Ye Guyi, later entombed in crystal as Dai Hao’s treasure).
– Xie Xiaoyu, the jade corpse (Xie Lingyu’s mortal shell, feeding on moonlight, unharmed by sunlight unless overexposed).
– The silver-armored corpse in Xi’an (incredibly strong, now clad only in Adivon briefs).
– Hua Chongyang (a unique zombie who slept in a coffin, terrifying Hua Manlou and Hua Changsheng upon waking).
– The zombie from the stone coffin in Jiangcheng’s Lügang Town (taken by the red-masked woman—its nature remains a mystery).
– The fragrant corpse, Guo Furong (believed cremated, but a decoy was burned instead—Guo Furong still exists).
A seventh zombie will emerge, marking the story’s final act.
He Qingling (the cat) is the key—returning to its origin. Is it from an ancient tomb, a labyrinth, a sacred mountain, or the sea? This hidden thread ties many fates together.
2. **Xie Lingyu’s Journey to the Underworld**
Why did she go? Past attachments or present helplessness?
The rules of Yin and Yang are strict—the dead don’t return unless reincarnated (with memories erased). If Xie Lingyu returns as a spirit, what’s the point?
3. **The Copper and Silver Jars**
The copper jar holds tears—but whose? Why were they shed, dried by sun and wind? What love and loss do they represent?
4. **The Yin Energy in Xiao Qi**
Who planted it? The bloody handprint on Long Youshui—was it left by the Guo family?
Suspect “A”—but is it really them?
5. **Tragedy or Comedy?**
Initially, I planned a happy ending. But does real life work that way?
If tragedy strikes, more deaths will follow. Ji Qianqian was the first—an illusion, shattered forever. More deaths made me reconsider.
Ultimately, the characters now live their own lives. Love, hate, life, death—it’s no longer mine to decide.
I hope for joy. What do you hope for?
—
These are the major arcs. Smaller mysteries will also resolve—no loose ends. The novel will wrap at around 1,000,000 words.
I’ve written responsibly, avoiding filler. Any weak spots stem from personal struggles affecting the writing.
One last note: The insect masters, hinted at early on, will feature in Volume 8.
This chapter is paid—don’t hate me for it.
(It’s November 11th as I write this—may you all find lifelong love, with no regrets. Cherish those you love.
Dare to pursue them—time flies. Before you know it, they’ll be married, or gone.)
Love this world.
Love that person.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage