Chapter Forty-Nine: Failed?

Fu Yang shouted, “Shanshan, you lead the officers and keep a close watch on our surroundings—hold them off for a while!”

“All right, don’t worry, Fu Yang.”

Clap.

Ahuang slammed his palms together, a muffled thunderclap resounding from the impact. His thumbs locked, one above the other, two index fingers raised upright, the remaining fingers interlaced. He chanted under his breath, “By the urgency of the law, the Three Pure Ones grant me their might! With my flesh and blood, I seal spirits and guard the four directions!”

The incantation finished, his eyes snapped shut, and a strange energy pulsed from his entire body. The grinning phantoms that flitted through the mist, shrieking with laughter, seemed yanked by some invisible thread—suddenly, they could no longer control themselves and swarmed toward Ahuang!

One by one, they plunged into his body, possessing him entirely!

Ahuang’s face turned ghastly pale, his eyes flying open uncontrollably, blood-red light flickering inside. This was the Art of Ghost Suppression—using one’s own body to seal vengeful spirits. Normally, it was a sorcerer’s last resort, a sacrifice made to take a demon down with them. But Ahuang now was not choosing martyrdom…

“Hurry… hurry…” Ahuang gripped Fu Yang’s shirt with both hands, teeth clenched, words forced through gritted teeth. “You only have a few seconds.”

So close to so many spirits, Fu Yang’s right hand burned like fire; the beastly maw that only he could see seemed to writhe in excitement, miming a ravenous bite.

Smack!

Fu Yang pressed his right palm tightly to Ahuang’s forehead.

“Devour for me!”

A tremendous power surged forth, pouring through Ahuang’s brow to envelop his entire body. One by one, the grinning phantoms were ripped from Ahuang and sucked into Fu Yang’s right hand, devoured whole…

One, two, three, four, five, six—

A full six phantoms! In just five seconds, Fu Yang had consumed them all.

Ahuang’s complexion slowly returned to a healthy flush, though his lips still bore a hint of blackness. He was utterly spent, drenched in sweat as if dredged from a river.

“Damn… that was the most disgusting thing ever. Feels like I just ate ten pounds of shit… Young Fu, now’s your time to shine. With the power of six phantoms, how much have you absorbed?”

Bang.

Before Ahuang’s words had even faded, Fu Yang toppled over stiffly like a salted fish, collapsing to the ground.

Ahuang was dumbfounded, his expression as frozen as a video buffering with no internet.

“You’ve… got… to… be… kidding… me!”

Each word was spat out with barely restrained fury. After all that painstaking, dangerous planning, not only did Fu Yang fail to show off, he passed out on the spot.

Hearing the commotion, Zhao Shanshan turned to see Ahuang looking haggard and Fu Yang unconscious on the ground. Alarmed, she cried, “What happened? Did your plan fail?”

At that moment, the zombie horde fully emerged from the dense fog, closing in to encircle them in a wide ring. Zhao Shanshan could only lead the remaining officers in retreat, firing their weapons as they went.

But it was futile. A shot to the brow could drop a corpse, but there were simply too many—two or three hundred at least. The bullets would never be enough!

The siege tightened—the stench of rot hung thick in the air.

Jingle, jingle.

The corpse herder’s bell rang out once more. At the sound, the zombies ahead parted to either side, opening a passage.

A hunched middle-aged man stepped out, his face hideous and pitted, as though corroded by acid. He wore a black hemp robe and cloth shoes, a straw rain cape draped over his shoulders, and a thick hemp rope at his waist. In his hand, a small bell.

This was the Corpse Herder of Xiangxi.

By now, Ahuang had recovered most of his strength. He strode to the front, facing off against the grotesque corpse herder, while the zombies’ blood-red eyes glared hungrily at the trapped humans.

“Not bad. You may be a disgrace among corpse herders, but your power is impressive. It’s rare to see someone commanding over a hundred corpses at once.”

“Heh heh. Thank you for the compliment.”

The corpse herder’s voice was as harsh and grating as a crow’s cry in a graveyard at night.

He eyed Ahuang with interest. “An outer disciple of Dragon Tiger Mountain, eh? Your talismanic arts are quite good for your age. If I refine you into a corpse puppet, you’d be worth a hundred of these!”

Ahuang’s expression darkened. He hadn’t expected this damned herder to be so bold—daring to use a disciple from one of the greatest Daoist sects as material for a puppet!

A corpse puppet: as the name implies, a cadaver refined by secret arts into a puppet. In a sense, the zombies surrounding them now were a form of corpse puppet—but weak and low-grade, useful only as cannon fodder in certain places.

The truly formidable corpse puppets were another matter entirely—impervious to blades and bullets, swift as the wind, killing without mercy. The strongest could even rival the legendary zombies of heaven and earth.

Ahuang barked, “Since you know who I am, you still dare?”

After all, Dragon Tiger Mountain was a Daoist colossus, a power the nation itself must respect. Unless driven by deep hatred, few would dare harm the disciples of such a sect.

Even the supernatural world had its own code.

The hideous corpse herder sneered, “So what if you’re from Dragon Tiger Mountain? If I want to kill, I’ll kill. You’re just an outer disciple—who would ever know? Heh heh.”

In truth, Ahuang was bluffing; he’d never actually returned to the mountain with his master, so his name wasn’t even on the official register…

“In that case, let’s fight to the death!”

Ahuang brandished his peachwood sword, standing shoulder to shoulder with the officers, radiating an unyielding spirit.

Meanwhile, as the others faced off against the corpse herder and his undead horde, something miraculous was happening with Fu Yang, lying unconscious among them.

Everyone’s attention was fixed on the enemy ahead—none noticed the jet-black ghostly visage blooming on Fu Yang’s forehead. The face grinned and wept at once, its expression both mocking and despairing.

It lasted for three seconds, then faded away. Yet a single, hair-thin strand of black light trickled down his cheek, slipping into his right hand and vanishing.

His fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered. It was as if he were about to awaken.

The fetid zombies pressed in, blanketing the team. The corpse herder slowly retreated, melting back into the ranks of the dead.

Only his raspy, chilling voice lingered, echoing in the air: “Leave the Daoist’s body intact. Devour the rest.”

Gunfire erupted as everyone fought desperately for their lives.

(End of Chapter Three—calling for your recommendations!)