As everyone turned over, almost all of them instinctively swallowed their saliva.
“It’s so hot,” Abe Lips wiped the sweat from his forehead with a white silk scarf.
I held my breath, and Little Rascal also stood up from the table, ears perked, but didn’t make a sound. I squinted for a quick glance and saw black corpse energy spreading from the cold weeds—those weeds had turned black and were rapidly withering.
I felt as if a sledgehammer was pressing against my chest, suffocating my breath.
Out of nowhere, a huge tropical black bat flew swiftly across the night sky.
I turned to look at the tower a hundred meters away and shouted, “Don’t shoot!” But it was too late—they only followed Dai Hao’s orders. The moment my voice fell, a high-powered sniper bullet struck the black bat’s abdomen, piercing through and flying far away, hitting a forest gibbon resting on a tree.
The bullet left a massive bloody hole in the black bat, which, covered in blood, fell onto the corpse-nurturing ground and died instantly.
Blood slowly dripped from its body onto the ground. This bat, native to rainforests, was one of the largest in the world, a mammal with a massive body and an unusually large amount of bright red blood…
Meanwhile, the gibbon fell from the tree, the bullet embedded in its body, letting out agonized cries as it struggled desperately. An ancient poem goes: “Three cries of the gibbon wet the traveler’s sleeves.” The gibbon’s pained wails were heart-wrenching, as if mourning its fate or calling for its family.
It stumbled a few steps, blood gushing from its abdomen and legs, leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
Finally, the gibbon collapsed in the middle of the corpse-nurturing ground, pressing down on the black bat, its struggles only making the blood flow faster…
The two thick, metallic scents of blood soon mingled, seeping into the soil. The sounds of movement underground grew more frequent.
The buried corpse, sensing the blood, would have its bloodlust instantly awakened, its combat strength surging—like an athlete on stimulants, a man on adrenaline, or a dog on strong liquor.
From the village came Bai Yueming’s piercing cries—”Aah! Aah!”—suddenly ringing out. Instinctively, I leaned on the table and asked, “General Dai, are we really… capturing it alive?”
“If you can’t capture it alive,” Dai Hao said coldly, “then you’ll all be buried with it!”
Silence fell. For a long time, no one spoke. Apart from Bai Yueming’s sobs, only the sound of sweat dripping could be heard.
“Abe Lips, General Dai is a renowned anti-Japanese war hero. If things get out of control, you’ll be the first to die. Step up,” I broke the silence.
“The Abe family’s Onmyōjutsu is unmatched in Northeast Asia—no, all of Asia!” A Lang chimed in. “Now is the time for Mr. Abe to shine.”
Zuo Shan shook his head. “Mr. Abe’s skills are world-class. We’re counting on him now.”
Encouraged, Abe Lips snorted. “Just watch me. Onmyōjutsu is invincible—it’ll work.”
“Abe Lips, I’m waiting for you to step up…” Before I could finish, a coughing sound came from the corpse-nurturing ground. Something had started breathing.
Abe Lips muttered incantations, holding paper cutouts in his hand—likely summoning his shikigami. My heart pounded. Today’s group clearly had some tricks up their sleeves.
Zuo Shan and A Lang seemed intent on using gu magic to control the corpse. Ma Ruoxing had prepared Taoist talismans to suppress its aura and actions.
Abe Lips, meanwhile, relied on his shikigami to subdue it.
My method was simpler: first, pour Bai Yueming’s feces, then Little Rascal’s black dog urine, and finally, seal the corpse’s nose and mouth—and if necessary, its anus—with tree resin.
Objectively, my plan was the least reliable.
With a deafening *boom*, the corpse-nurturing ground exploded, black soil raining down. A stone landed on my table, reeking of blood.
Hearing the commotion, Dai Hao dropped to his knees, kowtowing fervently.
“Go now!” I shouted.
“Behold the Abe family’s Onmyōjutsu!” Abe Lips cried, but his voice trembled uncontrollably, legs too weak to move.
The clouds parted, moonlight spilling down.
As the black soil settled, the wooden planks lay shattered. Under the moonlight stood the corpse, long black hair hanging to the ground, its ten fingernails twisted and tangled, binding its hands together.
Its hair was drenched in blood, its feet seemingly larger, its corpse energy thicker than even a bronze-armored zombie. Little Rascal whimpered softly, too afraid to bark.
Its face was obscured by hair, but everyone felt its gaze upon them.
Not far away, Rose stood gracefully in the moonlight, her long dress fluttering, legs crossed, holding a cigar between her fingers, exhaling smoke with serene indifference.
The hazy night softened the world.
“Behold the Abe—” Abe Lips shouted again, still unmoving. The corpse opened its mouth, revealing golden teeth, its canines elongated into fangs. The wind blew its hair aside, exposing a bluish-black face with a slightly flattened nose.
Freshly unearthed, the corpse bit off its tangled nails, spitting them onto the ground.
*Ugh, even it knows long nails are impractical.*
“Mr. Abe… why aren’t you moving?” A Lang gulped.
Twenty meters away, the corpse tidied its hands, trimmed its nails, then gathered its long hair and snapped it off at waist length, leaving a pile of severed locks.
“Useless… Abe, you trash. Dream on if you think your kind can defeat my Ghost Sect,” I spat.
Abe Lips paled. Relying on the Japanese at a critical moment was futile. I gripped two jars and two corpse-suppressing talismans. Only Ma Ruoxing followed, wielding a peachwood sword and talismans, copper coins clinking in his hand.
“Xiao Qi, be careful… stay behind me. You’re Long Youshui’s sole heir—you can’t die. I’m close to finding the one who left the bloody handprint…” Ma Ruoxing spoke in dialect, unintelligible to most.
I smirked. “Worry about yourself.” The closer I got to the corpse, the more my skin felt sliced by knives.
Dai Hao yelled, “Attack together… no matter what, restrain it—” Gunfire forced Zuo Shan and A Lang forward. Abe Lips kept muttering, “Taste the Abe family’s Onmyōjutsu…”
A bullet ricocheted, hitting Abe Lips’ buttocks, piercing the thin skin.
“Bakayarou…!” Abe Lips cursed instinctively. The freshly unearthed corpse, Dai Zhong, froze mid-grooming at the Japanese curse, its head snapping up.
“Bad move.” I drew the jade ruler from my waist, its blue light flaring.
Dai Zhong locked eyes with Abe Lips, as if remembering something. It charged past me and Ma Ruoxing like a bullet.
I felt my skin tear as it brushed past. Ma Ruoxing frowned—*does it only hate the Japanese?*
Zuo Shan and A Lang chanted, red threads snaking toward the corpse, likely using sound-based gu magic to control it.
Their eerie, synchronized voices made the corpse twitch, its movements slowing.
Its blood-caked face, unaccustomed to the outside world, was paralyzed by their mental assault. Yet its black-green eyes burned with hatred for Abe Lips.
Abe Lips, unnerved, blustered, “The Abe family’s Onmyōjutsu is peerless—”
“Shut your trap. How many times have you said that?” I snapped. Abe Lips slapped a paper cutout onto the corpse’s forehead, but its glare never wavered.
“You’re stubborn,” Abe Lips said. “Wait till I summon my shikigami—” He tore open his white robe, revealing a comical dog tattoo on his chest—his supposed shikigami.
Rose tossed her cigar, her face paler than the moonlight. A razor-thin blade fell with the stub.
That night, Rose wore a beautiful dress. Perhaps she remembered being eight, when a man bought her from her poor parents, promising she’d grow into a stunning beauty. Daily hormone injections followed…
She moved swiftly through the moonlight, her left arm bleeding, a bowl of blood in her right hand.
“Rose, stay back—!” I shouted, but my Thai failed me.
She smiled bitterly. “In the next life, I’ll be a butterfly, free from this mortal stage.” She flung the blood at the corpse.
“Kill these vile men…”
*Not born to this life of dust,
Fate’s cruel hand unjust.
Flowers bloom and fall in time,
Governed by powers divine.
Leave I must, yet linger still,
Trapped by chains of will.
If wildflowers crown my head,
Ask not where my spirit’s led.*
With resolve, Rose collapsed, her deep wrist wound bleeding fast.
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