Chapter Seven: The True Culprit Revealed

Fang Mu was just an ordinary man. Now, faced with such a bizarre and perilous situation without any guarantee of victory, to mindlessly rush in would be no different from courting death. Speaking as he acted, Fang Mu dragged the wooden chest out from the house and made his way to the edge of the village.

Qing Ruowu watched him quietly the entire time, making no move to stop him. A newly awakened mystic, not a member of the Celestial Surveillance Bureau, truly had the right to choose his own path as a wanderer. After all, who doesn't wish to survive?

With strange dangers lurking everywhere, the relationship between those unaffiliated mystics who had gained supernatural abilities and the Celestial Surveillance Bureau was a delicate one. As long as...

Suddenly, a sharp smack sounded.

"Ouch!"

Just as Fang Mu reached the village’s boundary, he clutched his nose and squatted down in pain.

Qing Ruowu: "..."

You're supposed to be a newly awakened mystic, yet you yell so loudly—don’t you care for your dignity at all?

"What is this..." muttered Fang Mu, rubbing his nose as he looked out into the darkness, slowly reaching out his hand.

A screeching sound, like glass being scraped, came from where his palm pressed. Fang Mu discovered a transparent barrier sealing off the exit; he had just crashed straight into it.

"It seems he has no intention of letting us leave," Qing Ruowu said, coming to stand beside Fang Mu, her hand feeling along the barrier.

Dark red sigils spilled out, spreading from where her palm touched. A chill crept up from the base of Fang Mu’s spine, as though some sinister gaze was boring into him.

The blackness spread, and the transparent barrier became entirely opaque. Not only the perimeter of the village, but even the sky above was swallowed by darkness.

Fang Mu turned back. "So you’re saying, if we don’t find him, I can’t leave either?"

Qing Ruowu nodded. "The mastermind behind this would never allow any survivors. That’s impossible."

Fang Mu paused in thought. Suddenly, his expression grew solemn.

Qing Ruowu: "?"

"As mystics, are we the sort to cling to life and fear death?" Fang Mu folded his hands behind his back, straightening his posture, and declared with righteous fervor, "With evil spirits preying on the innocent, it is our duty to exorcise demons and uphold the Dao!"

Qing Ruowu eyed him suspiciously. "That's not what you said a moment ago, you said—"

"Enough, enough, no need to dwell on it," Fang Mu waved his hand impatiently. "Let’s get on with exorcising evil!"

"Oh," Qing Ruowu replied.

Her grip relaxed on the sigil sword, which once again pointed unerringly in the original direction. The dark red symbols twisted and writhed, as though the sword itself was wary of what lurked in the darkness.

"Let’s go," Fang Mu muttered, shifting the wooden chest behind him and taking a deep breath.

Qing Ruowu nodded, and together they followed the sword’s guidance...

The closer they drew, the more acutely Fang Mu felt the oppressive chill of that unseen gaze—as if he were a delectable morsel willingly stepping into a predator’s maw.

The sigil sword led them, changing direction from time to time, guiding them on a meandering path. When they finally reached the destination it indicated, Fang Mu halted in surprise.

Before them stood a wooden house—the very one where the village chief resided.

A faint light glimmered within. Through the window, a blurred silhouette was cast against the glow: a hunched figure holding a long, rod-like object.

Fang Mu’s eyes traveled down from the window, and when they reached the items placed by the door, he remembered the contents of the letter. Four jars sat at the threshold, arranged in a perfect square—exactly as depicted in the sketch on the letter.

A strange scent lingered in the air, and Fang Mu recognized it immediately.

"Pickled vegetable jars!"

Clutching the Yin Ghost Dagger in his hand, Fang Mu felt the truth of the situation becoming clearer.

"Be cautious," Qing Ruowu whispered.

Fang Mu grunted his assent.

At that moment, a fit of hoarse coughing erupted from within the house. The silhouette by the window flickered and vanished.

A creak, sharp enough to set one’s teeth on edge, issued as the door was opened from within.

Coughing, the village chief emerged, left hand gripping a cane, right arm cradling a jar half as tall as a man. He hobbled out, shaking his head as he moved. "I told you, after the autopsy, you should have left immediately—but you simply wouldn’t listen. Why?"

With that, he set the jar atop the formation of four at the door.

Fang Mu drew the Yin Ghost Dagger from behind his back. "Was it your doing?"

The symbols on the letter matched the jars before him exactly; the chief was the very figure holding the jar.

"My doing?" The chief’s demeanor twisted into rage. He jabbed a finger at Fang Mu, eyes bulging. "You perform an autopsy—every time, chaos follows! Every time, something goes wrong, yet you dare accuse me!"

"The severed head was meant to fly to me, but for some reason, it went to you instead. I sensed my Yin energy being condensed into a pearl by you, then fed to the corpse bride to send her back."

"And you still accuse me of foul play, ruining my grand design. Despicable!"

Fang Mu: "..."

Is it my fault? If I have corpse-handling skills and don’t use them, am I an idiot?

A sharp snap resounded before the chief could continue his tirade—a dark red longsword halted inches from his forehead, trembling slightly in the air.

Fang Mu turned. "Why don’t you strike?"

At such a critical moment, why pause and give the enemy a chance?

"You think I don’t want to?" Qing Ruowu, now standing in front of Fang Mu, replied. "I can’t move."

Fang Mu tested his own limbs—he could still move. Why wasn’t he affected?

"Don’t come any closer... One step more, and you’ll enter the ghost domain—no living soul may pass!" Qing Ruowu’s face was solemn as she turned to the chief. "You’ve been dead for a long time. The living must abide by the laws of the living."

The chief gave no answer. Instead, he reached out and opened the other four jars one by one.

From each, black mists began to billow, and then the objects inside emerged—hands and feet.

Human limbs, one from each jar, bound with red sashes.

The chief let out a chilling, cackling laugh. Deep wrinkles creased his face, making one’s scalp crawl. "You destroyed the head, and this boy took the sash—but at least I found you. What excellent material you are."

A cracking sound rang out. With it, the chief’s own limbs broke off, dissolving into swirling black vapor that rushed toward the floating appendages.

The swirling limbs were enveloped in the black mist, then affixed themselves to the chief’s body, replacing his original arms and legs.

The sight was grotesque: the aged chief now sported supple, youthful limbs. The stark contrast made Fang Mu’s skin crawl.

Suddenly, the chief took a few steps—then toppled to the ground, only to twist and scramble back up in a distorted motion.

Clearly, he was unaccustomed to his new limbs.

"By command!"

Perhaps the chief’s fall revealed an opening, for Qing Ruowu seized the moment and called out sharply.

The dark red longsword, which had been hovering still, now struck like a venomous serpent, slashing toward the chief...

A shredding sound, like tearing cloth—the chief’s head vanished.

Qing Ruowu lifted her foot, straining to break free of the ghost domain’s hold, her movements labored and slow.

But in the next instant, her foot shot forward even more swiftly, slamming down with a sharp crack.

The sigil sword, suspended in mid-air, dropped to the ground, its dark red glow extinguishing completely.

The chief’s severed head, which had arced away, paused briefly—then shot straight toward Fang Mu...