Chapter Seventy-Six: A Belt

Magistrate Wang stared at the flickering green flame, feeling as though his entire body had been plunged into an icy cellar. Though the night was warm, he found himself shivering uncontrollably. He had seen candles extinguish and reignite before—often a trick of the heat—but this was different; the flame was a vivid green.

The whole room was bathed in an eerie emerald glow, and Magistrate Wang felt utterly powerless, terror rising in his chest. Then—

Thud... thud... thud...

A knocking sounded sharply. Magistrate Wang forced himself to turn his head. Through the green light and the moon’s glow outside, he realized that the door was somehow open, though he hadn’t heard it, and a dark figure stood on the threshold.

“Ling... I’ve come... hee hee hee... I’ve come...”

A cold, strange, and utterly emotionless voice spoke from the shadow. Under the sickly light, the figure entered.

When Magistrate Wang saw the thing's face, his heart thundered in his chest.

Its eyes were mangled and bloody, its arms grotesquely twisted, its body mottled with horrifying corpse-blotches. It was none other than Lady Zhao, dead for some time.

Cold sweat broke out on Magistrate Wang’s forehead as he scrambled backward, only stopping when his back slammed against the wall. Lady Zhao dragged her stiff, lifeless body step by step toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder and opening her mouth wide.

Inside was a gaping void—a mass of bloody, indistinct flesh where her tongue had once been.

With a thunderous snap, something in Magistrate Wang’s mind broke. His consciousness blurred, and he collapsed to the floor. Just before losing consciousness, he thought he heard a cat’s meow.

“At last, I’ve found you!”

A hand seized Lady Zhao’s collar.

Her next movement froze instantly, unable to advance.

True energy surged through Fang Mu’s left hand. With a powerful wrench, he hurled Lady Zhao’s body in a half-arc through the air, slamming her hard into the ground.

A roar, inhuman and guttural, burst from Lady Zhao’s mouth as she struggled to get up.

But before she could move, a web of flying blades appeared overhead.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Within the net of blades, Lady Zhao’s limbs were severed in an instant, leaving only her head and torso.

She struggled violently, but the next moment, a foot pressed down on her body.

“Don’t panic,” Fang Mu said calmly. “I’ll send you to the underworld soon enough.”

[You touch the uncanny corpse and gain a wisp of true energy.]

[You touch the uncanny corpse and obtain a clue: Sun Wei’s belt.]

So it’s a yin corpse, Fang Mu mused.

The true energy merged into his body, and on the Dragon Gate, a blurred branch underwent a transformation. Five smaller branches sprouted, shaping into a dragon’s claw, delicate patterns etching themselves onto it—identical to those on the dragon’s horn.

The first dragon claw was complete.

The creature that Lady Zhao had become howled incessantly, heedless of pain, flailing though it had no limbs.

“No rush. I’ll send you to the underworld right away,” Fang Mu said, looking at her corpse-blotched form. With a sweep of the butcher’s knife, a dense net of blades enveloped her.

Lady Zhao’s struggles ceased. Crimson lines spread across her body, and in moments, she was reduced to fragments.

“Meow!” Ah Bai spat out a cloud of black mist, devouring the remains until nothing was left.

Fang Mu’s thoughts stirred, and a gray belt appeared in his hand.

In Guyue, men’s belts varied in width—street vendors or the poor typically wore narrow, hempen belts, while the wealthy used fine, wider silk ones.

The belt in Fang Mu’s hand was silk, and slightly broader than most. Deep creases ran vertically along its surface, with some places torn, as if pulled violently.

He grasped both ends and pulled sharply. Following the folds, the belt twisted instantly into a cord.

Strangulation marks... a cord, Fang Mu thought. Sun Wei’s belt—if he used this belt to commit murder, then that person becomes highly suspicious.

An uncanny practitioner would not use such a crude method. If Fang Mu were to kill, he’d have chopped the victim into unrecognizable pieces with his butcher’s knife—never strangled them.

Fang Mu glanced at the unconscious Magistrate Wang. It wouldn’t do to leave him like this.

Before leaving, Fang Mu smashed a decorative stone in the yamen with the butcher’s knife, producing a deafening crash before slipping away.

“What’s that noise? It sounds like it’s from the magistrate’s quarters.”

“Hurry and check! Something might have happened!”

“The magistrate! He’s collapsed... Quick, help him!”

...

In a narrow alley of Dongfeng Prefecture, inside the Duan family’s home.

Duan Gen sat fanning Duan Wei with a palm-leaf fan.

Duan Wei, still dull-witted as ever, lay on a recliner, staring blankly at the ceiling beams.

A fleeting irritation crossed Duan Gen’s eyes, and he fanned harder.

On the table sat a bowl and chopsticks, two small side dishes, all in disarray.

Duan Wei’s foolish face was smeared with grease and soup—a mess that matched his vacant expression, clearly the result of a rough feeding.

Slap.

After a while, Duan Gen set the fan down, his expression growing more annoyed.

Just then, a knocking sounded at the door.

Duan Gen started, then quickly retrieved a handkerchief to wipe Duan Wei’s face clean before opening the door.

Outside stood a young man, a handsome white cat perched on his shoulder.

“Sir, you—” Duan Gen hesitated. “Have you come because you’ve found something?”

Fang Mu glanced around the house, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Have you eaten?”

Duan Gen was puzzled. “We’ve eaten. If you haven’t, sir, you’re welcome to—”

He never finished. A flash of blade-light swept toward his forehead, cold and swift.

Behind Duan Gen, a shadowy black mist appeared, forming into the shape of a man. The figure seized Duan Gen’s shoulder, dragging him back and narrowly avoiding Fang Mu’s strike.

The shadow solidified into a man, his body covered in bruises and wounds.

Duan Gen’s face darkened. He glared coldly at Fang Mu. “How did you find out?”

Fang Mu tossed the belt at him, running his fingers along the butcher’s knife. “Just a suspicion. That strike was only a test. But it’s a pity...”

“A pity?” Duan Gen didn’t understand.

Fang Mu stepped forward, the butcher’s knife gleaming coldly. “A pity... because you’re about to die!”