Chapter 7: The Cat's Cry at Midnight

Zhao Erhu understood immediately, opened the cell door, and handed over the food box.

Lu Sha opened the box and saw five dishes, one soup, and a jug of wine—quite a sumptuous meal.

The five dishes were braised beef, roast goose, crab meat lion's head, braised carp, and beggar’s chicken—all excellent fare.

The soup was tofu and carp soup, also decent.

The wine, however, was a bit lacking.

Seeing Lu Sha scrutinizing the wine jug, Zhao Erhu nervously rubbed his hands, his voice uneasy, “Master Lu, though I have some modest savings, I am but a simple jailer. I truly cannot afford the finest wines. Please forgive me, please forgive me!”

He spoke sincerely.

If he could, he would certainly serve the best wine.

Unfortunately, fine wine was costly, and his means allowed only for wine of middling quality.

Lu Sha glanced at him sideways, his blood-red eyes piercing in the darkness.

Meeting that gaze, Zhao Erhu shuddered all over, his legs buckling as he fell to his knees.

“Master Lu, spare me! I’ve tried my best, I—”

“Enough, enough, get up and speak.”

Lu Sha was not angry with Zhao Erhu, but perhaps the demonic aura he carried was simply too overwhelming for ordinary men; Zhao Erhu could not withstand his gaze.

“Thank you, Master Lu, thank you!” Zhao Erhu breathed a sigh of relief, rising gratefully.

Lu Sha tore off half the roast goose, half the beggar’s chicken, and some braised beef, tossing them to the scruffy old man in the neighboring cell.

He said to Zhao Erhu, “No need for these fancy things in the future. Buy some wild game from the hunters, cook it yourself, and bring it to me.”

Lu Sha desired a change in diet, not just for taste but for the energy within.

A martial artist must supplement with plenty of meat to refine essence into energy and strengthen body and blood.

The county jail was not like those in large cities; there was little to gain.

Buying from restaurants every day was not only conspicuous, but Zhao Erhu’s finances would not hold out for long.

It was better to buy wild game from hunters; in every way, it was preferable.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Zhao Erhu replied quickly, fearful of even a hint of dissatisfaction.

He could hardly be blamed for his attitude.

Before coming, Zhao Erhu had gone to the county office to inquire about Dong Dali’s case.

As expected, there wasn’t a single clue!

They were even planning to close the case as a suicide.

Clearly, the county office was incapable of dealing with Lu Sha—this terrifying man! They couldn’t even perceive his presence!

As a humble jailer, what could he do but obey?

…

After giving a few instructions, Lu Sha said no more, and began to eat voraciously.

He had not eaten for over a day, and was famished.

As he ate, Lu Sha asked the scruffy old man in the neighboring cell, “Old fellow, I still don’t know how to address you.”

The old man paused in his chewing of the goose.

He scratched his filthy hair, a look of reminiscence crossing his face.

“Name… name… I’ve forgotten it.”

Lu Sha was stunned. “Is there really someone who forgets their own name?”

“Maybe I’m just old. There’s not much I can remember anymore, or else I’d have taught you more martial arts, more supernatural skills.”

“As for what to call me, just call me Old Zhang, or Grandpa Zhang. It fits for a dirty old man like me.”

With that, the old man resumed gnawing at the goose, showing no sign of deceit.

Lu Sha eyed him strangely, feeling more and more that this old fellow was not so simple.

But he was not inclined to delve further, and nodded, focusing on his meal.

Meanwhile, Zhao Erhu stood deferentially at the cell door, like a waiter at an inn.

…

Half an hour later, Lu Sha had finished all the dishes, drained the wine.

He was not alone; the scruffy old man—Old Zhang—also ate till his face gleamed with oil, sighing in delight.

“Excellent! Rarely am I this happy. Old Zhang will remember this favor.”

“It’s only a meal, hardly a favor,” Lu Sha laughed, then tossed the food box to Zhao Erhu and waved him away.

“Go on, don’t disturb me unless necessary.”

“Yes, Master Lu.”

Zhao Erhu took the box and left respectfully.

Once outside the death cell, he exhaled deeply, his forehead slick with cold sweat.

He had finally survived this ordeal!

He wouldn’t end up like Dong Dali.

But he had to deal quickly with his fierce wife at home; he couldn’t let her stir up trouble and bring disaster to the family!

Tonight, he would have to “tame” her thoroughly!

…

After Zhao Erhu left, Lu Sha began practicing “Turtle Essence Qi Cultivation.”

Having stuffed himself with meat and wine, his belly felt warm and comfortable.

Under the cultivation method, warmth flowed through his meridians, spreading throughout his body—a pleasant sensation.

But just then, Old Zhang threw cold water on his mood.

The old man lay half-reclined, one leg crossed, scratching his feet and sniffing them with a look of bliss, saying, “Though ‘Turtle Essence Qi Cultivation’ is profound, it cannot advance your martial prowess. It’s only a method for health, and requires years of persistent practice.”

“If you truly wish to cultivate martial arts, you’ll need a new technique.”

At his words, Lu Sha frowned and stopped.

He had sensed this himself.

Although the practice made him comfortable and his breath long, his body had not truly strengthened.

It was more a health technique.

“Too bad, I can’t recall any other techniques to help you,” Old Zhang shook his head, patted his swollen belly, and drifted off to sleep, leaving Lu Sha to ponder alone.

Lu Sha’s thoughts were simple: as he created demons and acquired demonic powers, he must not neglect his own cultivation.

By combining the two, he would surely grow stronger!

When he had controlled the Hundred-Eyed Ghost to kill Dong Dali, he had discovered a resentful spirit in Dong Dali’s home.

It was his wife, beaten to death by him over a decade ago!

Her resentful spirit was stronger and more potent than the one in the jail.

Yet it still could not harm the robust, blood-filled Dong Dali.

She lingered in the house, never at rest.

Just this fact alone made her spirit far more formidable than the one in the cell.

Without Lu Sha, that broken spirit would have dissipated in days, leaving no trace.

Last night, Lu Sha manipulated the Hundred-Eyed Ghost, using Dong Dali’s wife’s spirit as a vessel to kill him.

Afterward, the Hundred-Eyed Ghost devoured and absorbed the fulfilled spirit, its strength increasing, showing signs of sprouting a second eyeball!

“Though there has been no breakthrough in martial arts, the Hundred-Eyed Ghost is still growing stronger. Step by step.”

Thinking this, Lu Sha was calm and unhurried.

In his past life, he had lain low for years, delivering a fatal blow only when his enemies’ guard was down!

Those who achieve great things must be resilient and decisive when necessary.

Now, with County Constable Zhou Bo believing Lu Sha dead, he had time and opportunity.

This death cell would be his place of ascension!

…

In the days that followed, Lu Sha ate and drank well in the cell, then practiced “Turtle Essence Qi Cultivation.”

The remaining time he spent commanding the Hundred-Eyed Ghost to roam the prison, seeking wicked spirits.

The death cell was a place of evil; over several days, he discovered several broken spirits.

But they were all too weak; even after devouring them, the Hundred-Eyed Ghost had not grown its second eyeball.

Yet it was close; only a spirit as strong as Dong Dali’s wife’s was needed.

Life was fulfilling—even in the dark, sunless death cell, he did not feel lonely or bored.

But those peaceful days did not last.

One night, as Lu Sha slept, he suddenly opened his eyes wide, staring intently to his right.

Lu Sha was naturally vigilant and never slept too deeply.

He had just vaguely heard a strange cat’s cry—uncertain if real or dream.

“Meow~~~”

As he wondered, another cat cry came.

Very faint, but with his senses sharpened by cultivation, Lu Sha caught it clearly upon waking.

The cat’s cry was cold and sinister, unnaturally eerie.

It made his skin crawl.

A cat—in the death cell?

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