Chapter Thirty-six: Smash, Smash, Smash, Smash, Smash

Under the glow of phosphorescence, a small body lay motionless in the open palm of the Black Buddha, right before its navel. It wore a blue silk Republic-era long gown, and its head was only half intact—the other half shattered, resembling a broken human doll.

It was none other than the Ghost Lord boy. To be precise, it was his physical body.

Earlier, by the lakeshore at Linxin, this arrogant creature had made its entrance, sending Ah Huang into a coma with blood pouring from his mouth. It had even attempted to drill a hole in Fu Yang’s head, intending to devour it like some natural tofu pudding.

Fortunately, the wisp of ghostly energy left inside Fu Yang by Dong Weike had been triggered, severely injuring the boy. Dong Weike himself intervened, enabling both men to escape disaster.

Now, this battered body lay still in the Black Buddha’s palm.

According to Ah Huang’s speculation, Dong Weike was likely a legendary Ghost King; even if the ghostly energy he left in Fu Yang carried just a tenth of his power, it was enough to grievously wound the Ghost Lord boy, stripping him of most of his strength and requiring a lengthy recovery.

For this reason, they were desperate to find him quickly and destroy him utterly—so that the soul lurking somewhere in the shadows could never merge with its body, forever losing the chance to become a Corpse Soul Demon.

“Although I think Her Majesty isn’t quite as formidable as Ah Huang boasts, this damned brat should indeed be extremely weak now. Looks like he’s hiding in this Bone Temple to recover?” Fu Yang’s eyes flashed, thoughts racing.

“Opportunity knocks but once! Now that I’ve found your base, I must finish you off!” At this moment, Fu Yang felt himself imbued with righteous zeal, like a hero from ancient times ridding the world of evil.

His fear was drowned by adrenaline; he scanned the surroundings and noticed a row of black iron oil lamps flanking the temple’s altar.

These lamps were cast from wrought iron, over a meter tall, with heavy, solid bases and concave tops for lamp oil, and slender but sturdy iron stems.

“Perfect! This thing will make a fine weapon.”

Fu Yang was quite satisfied with the black iron lamp; he grabbed one and, using his other hand for support, climbed onto the altar like an agile monkey.

Reaching the immense palm of the Black Buddha, he saw the Ghost Lord boy lying flat, half-headed, an eerie, twisted, terrifying sight.

“Huh… The fabric of his gown looks familiar.” Fu Yang suddenly noticed the boy’s blue Republic-era gown, and realization dawned: it matched the clothes worn by the attacker at the city archives.

So, people and ghosts were conspiring together for evil!

Fu Yang’s resentment grew; he vowed, if he survived after destroying this brat’s body, to send all those living accomplices to prison—only the death penalty could soothe his hatred.

“All right, brat. Let me send you off once and for all! Looks like you’re from the Republic era? Dead so long, it’s time to die completely. Don’t harm anyone next life…”

Fu Yang gripped the iron stem of the lamp with both hands, raised it high above his head, and smashed it down with all his might!

Bang!

The heavy lamp base struck the corpse’s chest. Fu Yang felt as if he’d hit a hard, elastic truck tire; the shock numbed his hands and made his arms ache.

“Damn! Was this brat trained in Iron Shirt when alive? So tough.”

Still, the forceful blow dented the chest deeply—a clear sign the bones had shattered.

“One, two, three, four—again!”

Fu Yang swung the meter-long iron lamp with both hands, furiously smashing the Ghost Lord’s body lying in the Buddha’s palm.

Bang bang bang, bang bang bang.

The relentless sound echoed through the empty, deathly Bone Temple, eerie and chilling.

Though powerful, the Ghost Lord’s body wasn’t invulnerable like a zombie. With Fu Yang’s relentless assault, the sound of breaking bones rang out, grating and sharp; one arm was now completely separated from the torso.

“Smash, smash, smash, smash! For all the harm you’ve done, for threatening my goddess Qin Mei, for wanting to become a Corpse Soul Demon and hurt more people—smash!”

Fu Yang hadn’t noticed—his strength had at least doubled from before!

The ritual iron lamp weighed at least thirty pounds; wielding it like a brick required a national-level fighting champion’s strength.

Sweating profusely, he aimed for a decisive blow—to smash the remaining half of the boy’s head.

The heavy lamp base was about to land…

An unexpected thing happened!

The Ghost Lord’s tightly shut eyes suddenly snapped open!

What eyes they were.

Cold, fierce, sinister, twisted—devoid of any emotion. It was as if their sole purpose was slaughter and destruction, to harm.

“Big brother, have you smashed enough yet?”

A voice as cold as the grave came from the Ghost Lord boy’s lips.

Fu Yang was so frightened he nearly wet himself, but he knew this was his last chance. The lamp in his hands did not hesitate, whistling down again!

Bang.

The lamp base didn’t strike the head; instead, it was caught by a small outstretched hand.

Though it belonged to a child of seven or eight, the hand was small and appeared frail. Yet it effortlessly stopped Fu Yang’s full-force blow, holding the heavy lamp steady.

“Damn! Should’ve smashed the brat’s arms first!”

Fu Yang cried out in regret; he shouldn’t have started with the torso.

But now, regret was useless.

The Ghost Lord’s body had revived; a soul and wisp had returned from unknown places.

“What’s there to fear? Its injuries never healed, and now it’s nearly shattered from the beating. So weak—I’ll risk it all! The people of Jiangcheng will forever remember my virtue.”

Fu Yang thought, and instead of fleeing, he tried to swing the lamp again, aiming to strike with the opposite end.

But reality proved that underestimating such a terror as the Ghost Lord would cost dearly!

The Ghost Lord suddenly sat up from the Buddha’s palm, grabbed the slender lamp stem with his remaining right hand, and with a forceful jerk, snatched it from Fu Yang’s grasp.

With a single-handed whirl, the small, thin arm swung the lamp in a circle and smashed it into Fu Yang’s back as he tried to flee!

“So damn painful!!!”

Fu Yang spat blood, his body flung into the air, crashing toward the base of the altar.