Chapter 183: Deworming

Xia Baorui’s face had undergone a terrifying transformation. Gu Xiulian’s insect breeding was of the same school as Ji Ruyue’s. Several months earlier, the flower nursery owner Yu Fan had taken one of Ji Ruyue’s pills. At that time, the insect was called the “Midnight Worm,” which caused excruciating pain in the dead of night. That was why Yu Fan had set a trap for me—to capture Xie Lingyu.

They followed the Daoist path, where Daoist principles align with nature. The insects they bred were mostly natural entities. But when one strayed into the dark arts, boundaries blurred. Creatures like the Hungry Ghost, for instance, were products of dark insect breeding—using the Yin essence of a Ghost Mother, combined with human sperm and eggs, to cultivate a type of worm with an indeterminate physical form, elusive and unpredictable.

In this regard, the Guo family’s insect techniques were more orthodox, relying on insect mating and generations of hybridization to produce new breeds—this was the true essence of insect arts. Of course, deep in the mountains, countless insects thrived, and those cultivated through complex methods were no weaker than those bred by Gu Xiulian and Ji Ruyue.

But the path of insect arts was inherently dark.

The Guo family represented the orthodox within the dark arts, while Gu Xiulian was the darkest of the dark. As for which was the true method of insect breeding—there was no way to judge.

I placed my hand on Xia Baorui’s wrist and felt something both solid and ethereal. Driving out the insect wouldn’t be easy. I hesitated over whether to act.

Uncle Jianguo cursed, “You helped Hua Mancheng expel his worm—can’t you do the same for a child?”

Huifang looked at me pleadingly.

Xia Baorui said, “Mom, I’m not sick—just a little cold. I have class today, and the teacher is going over the monthly exam papers. I missed the last subject, so I won’t even get a ranking.”

I gritted my teeth. “Liu Jianguo, if I die, it’ll be on you.”

Uncle Jianguo, oblivious to my dilemma, said breezily, “You won’t die.”

Xia Baorui frowned. “Matter determines consciousness. The world is made of matter. I’m a firm materialist, and materialism tells me to trust science and truth. If you say there’s a worm inside me, I should see a doctor—not listen to you messing with me. Do you even have a medical license?”

I glanced at him. “Fine. If you don’t behave, that uncle over there is going to smack you.”

Xia Baorui retorted, “I inherit the glorious tradition of my forebears and fear neither danger nor threats.”

Uncle Jianguo rolled up his sleeves. “Let me try.” After a brief scuffle, he restrained Xia Baorui and tied him up with a rope.

I placed my hand on Xia Baorui’s abdomen, activating the worms. As they stirred, two strange energies within his body reacted, and Xia Baorui howled in pain.

I then pressed against his ribs, where the odd energies coiled stubbornly, resisting expulsion. They even agitated the worm in his abdomen further.

Xia Baorui yelled, “Where did you come from, you quack? Stop touching me—it hurts!”

I chuckled.

This worm was far more formidable than the one Yu Fan had dealt with—a fusion of Yin and Yang, solid and ethereal, planted through an entirely different method. Likely, two strands of evil or Yin energy had been introduced first, followed by the worm itself.

If I wasn’t mistaken, this worm was called the “Ghost Centipede.”

The so-called Ghost Centipede was created by placing newborn, pure-white centipedes in a ruined temple at night. The wandering spirits that sought refuge there would be devoured by the young centipedes, altering their nature. These spirits, unable to find peace, carried weak residual willpower. Once consumed, that willpower amplified within the centipedes. Over time, their legs degenerated, and their bodies became semi-ethereal. Such centipedes were known as Ghost Centipedes.

The most powerful Ghost Centipedes rivaled Ji Ruyue’s “Rainbow Centipedes.” But Ghost Centipedes had one major advantage—they were easier to breed in large numbers.

The two inside Xia Baorui weren’t particularly strong, but neither were they weak.

“I need seven roosters and seven oil lamps,” I said.

Huifang and Uncle Jianguo hurriedly prepared everything. The roosters flapped around the room as Xia Baorui’s stomach twisted in agony. Huifang couldn’t bear to watch, biting her lip as tears fell. I had Uncle Jianguo light the Seven-Star Lamps, arranging them into a Seven-Star Formation.

As the roosters crowed, Xia Baorui broke into a cold sweat, writhing and screaming. I stuffed a towel into his mouth.

The two Ghost Centipedes in his intestines thrashed violently. I pressed one hand to his abdomen, pulling down his pants, while the other blocked the two sinister energies near his heart, preventing them from advancing. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

“Uncle Jianguo, kill two roosters and collect their blood!”

Uncle Jianguo swiftly beheaded two roosters, filling a bowl with their blood.

I removed the towel from Xia Baorui’s mouth and held the bowl under his nose. The pungent scent of blood flooded his senses, and his face turned deathly pale.

With a sharp command, I roared, “Get out!”

As the Five Elements Insect Master Xiao Qi spoke, the two juvenile Ghost Centipedes began to move.

I held out the bowl, catching the two blood-slicked Ghost Centipedes. Terrified of the roosters, they sank into the blood and went still.

I set the bowl aside. Two of the seven candles had already flickered out. Sensing trouble, Uncle Jianguo rushed to relight them.

I then formed two large hand-seals over Xia Baorui’s abdomen, forcing the stubborn energies out. They surged from his body—straight into mine.

Two strands of Yin energy.

Having once been plagued by a hundred Yin entities and later consuming the white millipede from the mountains, I usually dismissed such energies. But expelling the Ghost Centipedes had drained me. Standing up, I swayed, nearly collapsing.

After two steps, the Yin energies, as if commanded, began wreaking havoc inside me. My body turned icy, as if freezing over.

Uncle Jianguo relit the candles, and soon they burned bright again. Xia Baorui, drenched in sweat, had been on the verge of sleep but was now alert—though dehydrated. After drinking two glasses of water, he looked much better.

I swirled the bowl of chicken blood, where the worms had completely dissolved, and pushed it toward him. “Drink this, and you’ll be fine.”

Xia Baorui refused outright—how could he stomach something that had just been inside him?

Without a word, Uncle Jianguo pried his mouth open and poured the bloody mixture down his throat. Half spilled out, gurgling grotesquely.

The moment he swallowed, Xia Baorui’s stomach rebelled. “I need the bathroom!” Uncle Jianguo released him, and after he returned, even the last remnants of Yin energy had been expelled.

Since ancient times, centipedes feared roosters. That never changed—unless, one day, roosters fell in love with centipedes the way wolves loved sheep.

A knock came at the door—a neighbor complaining about the roosters’ noise. Huifang quickly apologized, “My cousin from the countryside brought some chickens. They got loose—sorry for the disturbance.”

The neighbor sneered, “Bunch of country bumpkins.”

Xia Baorui bristled. “What’s wrong with being from the countryside? Trace your family back three generations, and you’d be farmers too. Without us growing food, you’d be eating cars and drinking gasoline!” Huifang yanked him back.

Uncle Jianguo studied me silently. “Master Xiao, are you okay? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

I clenched my teeth. “The chickens are already here—make me some soup.” Maybe the blood, meat, and broth could suppress the Yin energies entwined with the centipedes.

After half a bowl of raw blood, two bowls of soup, and three drumsticks, my head still felt heavy, my feet light.

I sighed inwardly—being the good guy never paid off.

With Uncle Jianguo’s help, I left Huifang’s place, assuring him everything was fine.

Once outside the neighborhood, in a narrow alley, I suddenly shoved Uncle Jianguo away and staggered forward. A figure materialized before me, and my vision blurred—as if I’d stepped into a sealed space.

The young man before me had a rigid face. “I am Gu Xiulian.”

I said, “Are you wearing a mask?”

Gu Xiulian nodded. “Today was supposed to be your death day. I didn’t expect you’d actually save a child. Now, you’re as good as dead. If I release two more centipedes, it’s over.”

He wasn’t wearing Daoist robes but a black leather jacket, his aura meticulously concealed. His words were calm, matter-of-fact.

Dizzy and weak, I was easy prey.

“You shouldn’t kill me,” I said. “I didn’t kill Ji Ruyue. You shouldn’t seek revenge on me.”

Gu Xiulian replied, “Whether you killed her or not, you’re involved. That’s reason enough.”

“You can’t kill me yet.”

Gu Xiulian scoffed. “I went to great lengths to set this trap—using that half-baked fortune-teller, luring you into the Living Coffin to finish you off. But you survived. Still, I had a backup plan. To save the child, you’d expend your energy. I waited, knowing I could finish you here. And now you tell me—why shouldn’t I kill you?”

Compared to Gu Xiulian, Ji Ruyue was trash. This young Daoist was sinister yet charismatic—educated, dedicated to his craft, not driven by fame or women like Ji Ruyue.

Gu Xiulian sought something higher—perfection in schemes. A villain with depth.

I smirked. “Because if I die, you’ll never find another opponent like me. Wouldn’t that be… lonely?”