Chapter 176: Cicada Molt
Deep into the night with heavy dew, Tu Tan Zi Yi Zhuang.
The north wind swirled with goose feather heavy snow, the Great River wailing beside it. Amid the dull roar of the river water crashing against the shore, dense and heavy footsteps suddenly rang out.
“Surround it!”
A low shout cut through the wind and snow.
In an instant, dozens of pine torches “whooshed” to life all at once. Martial artists in tight-fitting clothes scattered in a rush, wielding Great Hammers to smash the gate. In just a few blows, they toppled the mourning hall’s gate and courtyard wall.
“Which dog bastard……”
Several corpse divers jolted awake from their dreams and scrambled up.
They were immediately faced with figures of cold expressions, snowflakes covering their tight-fitting clothes, advancing in a file with murderous intent.
The corpse divers instantly shrank back and shut their mouths, their faces full of flattery as they said,
“Sirs, what’s going on?”
“Drag them away, torture them harshly, and interrogate them.”
The leader’s gaze was icy cold as he merely glanced at the men.
Soon, screams echoed out.
“Ah!! Stop hitting, stop hitting!”
“Will you confess? Will you confess or not?”
“I’ll confess… but you have to ask first!”
Flames flickered uncertainly in the wind, stretching and distorting the martial artists’ shadows into clawing, fanged shapes.
Some led several hunting hounds, holding Landlord Zhao’s personal clothing to let the hounds sniff it, making them ‘pick up the scent’.
Outside the hall, Zhao Guangxi stood with hands behind his back, snowflakes pattering on his fur cloak.
Lu Jing, Liu Qingyi, and Qiu Chen also stood outside Tu Tan Zi Yi Zhuang.
Moments later, a martial artist led the hound out and cupped his hands toward Lu Jing,
“Leader Lu, no anomalies detected, and no traces of any underground palace.”
“As for those corpse divers, they say they are newcomers who temporarily took over the mourning hall. The previous corpse divers left in a hurry during the day, whereabouts unknown—I’m afraid… they’re already in grave peril.”
At these words, the four men’s expressions varied.
Zhao Guangxi’s pupils contracted sharply, his face darkening as he immediately strode into the mourning hall.
Lu Jing frowned and stepped into the mourning hall one step at a time.
Liu Qingyi followed closely, sweeping away the accumulated snow with his spear tip.
Qiu Chen shook his uniform, glanced at Zhao Guangxi, a strange smile flickering on his face. He did not enter the mourning hall but waited outside.
After a thorough search, the three even paused briefly on the stone slabs in the back hall where coffins were placed.
Intent like a tide, piercing through the soil.
Yet nothing was found.
After Lu Jing captured Zhao Guangxi, they had followed the secret tunnel from Zhao Mansion, tracing the map to search.
They only discovered that the secret tunnel branched off, leading to different places.
Busy street, remote dock.
One branch seemed abandoned, ending at a mud wall, unreclaimed.
So they had hurried here nonstop based on Zhao Guangxi’s intel, heading to this mourning hall.
Seeing the three emerge, Zhao Guanghui, shackled and manacled, looked pale, blood still at his mouth, and said helplessly,
“I’ve said it was all a misunderstanding! Building a secret tunnel in my own home, like a cunning rabbit’s three burrows—what’s wrong with that? Is it worth all of you making such a fuss?!”
“This mourning hall, collecting corpses—has nothing to do with me… You’re framing me with trumped-up charges. Could it be that Zhao Lu Lu Tou is abusing his position for personal gain, using this chance to get rid of me?”
Hearing this, Qiu Chen’s eyes flickered as he looked toward Zhao Guangxi and said,
“Zhao Lu Lu Tou, if no evidence is found in the end and Zhao Guanghui’s suspicions are confirmed… that breaks the rules; it wouldn’t just be gang strife anymore.”
Lu Jing frowned and said,
“I didn’t detect any Yin Sha Qi either. That’s strange…”
Lu Jing also eyed Zhao Guangxi suspiciously.
Zhao Guangxi’s face clouded over as he inwardly pondered what he had overlooked.
He naturally trusted Chen Shun’an’s words completely.
But clearly, Zhao Guanghui had some method to shield everyone’s perceptions, hiding the underground palace right under their noses.
Liu Qingyi held his red tassel spear, standing atop scattered stones. Seeing two of the four wavering and beginning to doubt Zhao Guangxi, he cut off the conversation.
“Dig three feet deep, excavate further. One day not enough, then two.”
Liu Qingyi’s expression was stern as he said,
“Crude methods still have great use. Our True Intent isn’t omnipotent; there are times it fails…”
Zhao Guangxi nodded silently and immediately issued the order.
Seeing Commander Liu speak up, Lu Jing fell silent and said nothing.
Qiu Chen stood to the side.
Zhao Guanghui forced a smile, a flash of barely perceptible panic in his eyes.
Beneath the mourning hall, the massive blood pool underground palace naturally could not vanish into thin air.
In the rush, Zhao Guanghui had not had time to fully clean up.
He had merely used【 Undying Molting Insect Solution】 to return all the Yin Sha Qi of the hundred meridians to the underground palace, calming the blood pool, gathering all energies as one, and cast an illusion spell.
This was a profound art beyond the Martial Path, nearly an Immortal Path technique.
Martial artists like Zhao Guangxi naturally could not detect it.
But as Liu Qingyi said,
Worst case, dig three feet deep, level this small hill— they’d find the blood pool underground palace eventually; it was only a matter of time!
Fortunately…
Night was dim, thick white snow blanketing the ground everywhere.
Nearby, martial artist figures abounded, even several lone True Intent Masters.
Zhao Guanghui’s gaze gradually hardened. A Lishi quietly emerged from underground, climbing to his spine. His previously sealed acupoints gradually connected, internal energy surging wildly within, a hidden killing intent brewing.
If so, then use these men’s blood to sacrificial refine the insect solution and nurture a Tongue Corpse Dingjia!
……
Chen Shun’an quietly arrived at Tu Tan Zi Yi Zhuang.
He saw a crowd energetically wielding shovels and picks, huffing as they dug.
White breath mixed with snowflakes condensed on their sturdy backs.
Zhao Guangxi and the others stood far off at the mourning hall entrance.
Chen Shun’an hesitated, then emerged from the dense forest and asked Instructor Lin,
“Instructor Lin, what’s going on? Everyone’s digging?”
Instructor Lin had rolled up his pant legs and sleeves, exposing muscular calves, standing in a nearly yard-deep pit, soaked by melted snow, barefoot like an old farmer.
It had to be said, these martial artists—especially True Intent Masters—were perfect for bridging rivers and carving paths through mountains.
Top-notch laborers!
Strong and sturdy, nimble-handed; in no time they dismantled the mourning hall and dug pit after pit several yards deep. Even giant boulders were shattered by two punches from True Intent Masters; the rest used thick ropes to haul the fragments down the hill.
United, they had the power to move mountains, yet it only cost a few steamed buns.
Hearing a familiar voice from above, Instructor Lin looked up, saw the arrival, and lowered his voice,
“Landlord Zhao seems to have misjudged; nothing special found in the mourning hall. Now he’s ordered us to dig three feet deep… Old Chen, you joining to help?”
Digging?
Chen Shun’an’s expression turned odd, but he didn’t refuse and picked up a shovel and pick.
As he dug, he carefully sensed the qi and found, just as Instructor Lin said, that bloody Yin Sha Energy was completely gone.
Even Chen Shun’an could not sense anything unusual underground.
It was just like an ordinary small hill.
“Something’s off… Could it be the wonder of that unknown immortal fate?”
Chen Shun’an occasionally paused to slack off, leaning against a large tree, listening to the nearby sounds.
Goose feather snow fell rustlingly; only the martial artists’ heavy panting mixed with complaints and impatience could be heard.
Far off, Zhao Guangxi, Lu Jing, and the others stood apart.
Zhao Guanghui was confined in the center, wearing traveling shackles, disheveled.
The atmosphere was somewhat oppressive and gloomy.
Something seemed to be quietly brewing.
Chen Shun’an narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed on Zhao Guanghui’s glabella. His fingertips twitched, quietly pinching the heart-piercing nail.
No choice but for Chen Mou to stab first.
……
Beneath the mourning hall.
The underground palace remained, blood pool calm.
Bones piled like mountains, corpses crisscrossing like a forest.
Several fresh ones, not yet fully dead, discarded on the ground like pigs and dogs.
Sha energy billowed, blood mist pervasive, nearly substantial.
But this sha energy and blood mist, before spreading, was entirely devoured by an insect quietly clinging to the wall, its shell distinctly segmented.
Precisely, a cicada shell.
A neat slit cracked its head and thorax, thin wings folded at its sides, empty inside without flesh and blood—as if something had once emerged from within.
Only this cicada shell remained.
“Boss Zhao’s side seems to have hit a snag; he hasn’t come to the blood pool yet.”
“No matter. With this treasure here, no one can discover this place. Even if someone tries to barge in, they’ll wander like lost ghosts, searching in vain.”
“How to handle those fresh blood sacrifices?”
“Toss them straight into the blood pool.”
Cheng Bin was roused by the lifting and shaking. He weakly opened his eyes to a field of blood red.
He vaguely understood something, his voice faint as a mosquito,
“What day is it today?”
“Yo, this one’s tough, still breathing.”
A figure wrapped tightly, only weathered eyes exposed, sneered and said,
“Today is the ninth of September, your death day—don’t forget.”
With that, accompanied by a ‘plop’.
Cheng Bin was thrown into the blood pool.
Viscous blood plasma immediately slithered like tiny snakes into Cheng Bin’s seven orifices.
His flesh and blood, meridians, and bones began to melt.
But Cheng Bin was utterly unaware.
“Ninth of September? What a coincidence—today marks three months since I met Xiao Man…”
Cheng Bin’s consciousness blurred.
He clearly sensed his life rapidly draining away.
At the same time, the cicada shell quietly clinging to the wall trembled its wings, faintly emitting a joyful, greedy intent.
I’m going to be eaten by it.
For no reason, the thought surfaced in Cheng Bin’s mind.
Then, he recalled the past two days.
The Lama Jiu Chan Hui encountered outside Zhao Guanghui’s mansion.
“Benefactor, the mundane world is restless like a burning house—who finds peace? Landlord Zhao told me, if you’re willing to return and give up Xiao Man, he won’t hold past matters against you. You’ll still be his Water Carrier.”
“Master, I can’t go back. I can’t give up Xiao Man either.”
“Then, benefactor… do you want revenge?”
