Chapter 33: The Woman Burning Paper Money at Midnight

Gu Hansheng and Tang Yu were walking in front when they, too, heard the sound of the wooden fish, and instinctively covered their ears. The two turned back at the same time, glancing at the three whose faces had gone deathly pale.

Tang Yu then examined the nearby wall, stepping closer for a careful look. “This is a bandit stone, an ancient kind of fossil... I never imagined that the local villagers would embed such things in their homes. I once read in a book that the thickness of the bandit stone varies, and when struck—”

Everyone’s expressions darkened; it seemed that, apart from the leaders, the rest of the members from both the Sky Pole Sect and the Flowing Mist Sect had perished.

Especially after they’d found the ancestor of the Qingwu, an old Daoist who proclaimed himself the world’s number one master. Lu Min was now brimming with confidence, convinced that with such a master to protect him, he could seize military power after regicide. Who would dare defy him?

Zhao Wujia was, in truth, nearly a hundred years old, yet his health rivaled that of a robust man in his prime. His complexion was ruddy, he showed no sign of illness, and his sheer physical presence was intimidating at first glance.

The sound truly had its effect: the communicator on the wall vibrated, and a minute later, the door opened. Around a dozen burly orderlies entered, forming a circle around them.

But those at the docks had long grown accustomed to this. They were divided into several gangs. These so-called “jianghu gangs” had formed simply to earn a living; poor laborers, unwilling to work for nothing or be bullied by merchants, banded together for strength. Over time, these gangs became the dominant forces controlling the docklands.

Ming Qing’s cold gaze fell upon Yun Tu. At this moment, a faint sadness clung to her, mixed with deep dejection and the barest trace of a dark, almost imperceptible aura.

Earl was deeply immersed in his own narrative, reciting lines that moved even himself, when suddenly the communicator beeped several times, abruptly interrupting the mood he’d so carefully built.

Ming Yang explained calmly, but Ye Han was already stunned. He hadn’t imagined that, even after death and arrival in the Nine Nether Ghost Domain, his master could still accomplish so much. It was true—Chang Ming and the others had died, but Ye Han’s faint hope was realized: they could truly live again.

The thunder tribulation continued to crash down upon Huang Xuanling’s body, which kept shattering again and again...

Across from them, Eguchi Jinmaru looked at him in astonishment, then sat back down with his arms folded, a mysterious smile curling on his lips as some private thought amused him.

Diane Liu burst into laughter and released her grip. Ye Qian felt as though his hand had escaped from the jaws of a tiger, suddenly and completely relaxed.

Wang Dafei and Duan Yu walked side by side, with Yang Xiaoxuan and Wei Qi following close behind. Mercenaries flanked them on both sides. Duan Yu was so cautious in life—it was easy to imagine how many shady things he’d done.

Clad in light armor, Luo Yue floated above the arena, gazing down at the crowd. Her eyes swept past everyone, finally settling on the old man and Yu Luo.

Those who had not yet reached that realm could not see the entirety of the prehistoric world, nor could they witness such a spectacle. Most living beings would simply assume that this hundred flowers blooming at once was a local anomaly.

The two youths on the opposite side were not weak either. Though their landing was a bit unsteady, they were unharmed, and the force radiating from their bodies revealed the extraordinary strength of their physiques.

The elder at the head of the group began with hearty laughter, but as he spoke, his tone grew murderous and his face darkened ominously. He stared intently at Xu Tian, ready to kill him at the slightest sign of defiance.

Looking at the disheveled appearance of Zhang Shaozhu and Ye Qian, Zhang Meng couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern. He was also a little afraid, for he knew Zhang Shaozhu’s methods—anyone capable of putting him in such a sorry state was certainly no ordinary foe.

The old servant crouched down, dipped his finger in the bloodstain on the ground, and brought it to his nose. Instantly, his brow furrowed even deeper.