A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

Ji Zuodao originally thought Li Shuwen was just an unreliable street urchin, at most a hypocrite.

Who would have thought that the clown was himself?

Good heavens, this job of drawing sketches has earned him more in two days than his monthly salary!

What my master said back then was really true: the secrets to making big money are mostly written next to the criminal law.

He never imagined that one day his "net worth" would be so much greater than that of Seventh Master and Eighth Master.

What's going on...? A strange sense of pride is welling up inside me?

If it weren't for the last vestige of shame holding him back, Ji Zuodao would almost have rolled up his sleeves and volunteered to be Li Shuwen's "human model."

Of course, this thought quickly changed.

Even a Taoist priest has some sense of shame.

"cough."

He cleared his throat, straightened his back unconsciously, and the slight hesitation on his face was quickly replaced by a solemn "I am the only one who can do this" attitude.

"That...book."

Ji Zuodao's gaze drifted to the window, his tone as casual as possible.

"If you're going to draw, then draw well. Don't tarnish my reputation."

He paused, glanced quickly at Li Shuwen, then quickly looked away, lowering his voice:

"I'll send you some close-up photos in a bit. The angles and lighting should be carefully considered."

Li Shuwen was taken aback at first, then nodded vigorously in a fawning manner, his face beaming with a smile:

"Understood! Rest assured, Master Dao! I guarantee I'll paint it with style and spirit! Your satisfaction is assured!"

Ji Zuodao nodded reservedly, keeping his merits and fame hidden.

He just unconsciously rubbed his fingertips under the table.

He looked just like a cat that had stolen some fish but was pretending to be passing by and had stepped in mud.

After they had eaten and drunk their fill and exchanged contact information, Ji Zuodao waved Li Shuwen away.

The cafeteria lady was quick and efficient; she had already prepared the black bear perfectly.

I must say, he really does have some skill—

The aroma of meat mixed with the fragrance of seasonings kept wafting into the nose, making one's mouth water.

Ji Zuodao didn't leave in a hurry, and wandered around the 749 Bureau building for a long time.

First, I went to the Information Department and asked someone to pass on a message; then I went to the Logistics Department and gave them the black bear skin to handle.

Only then did he leisurely stroll back to the Moon Sea District.

It's not that he doesn't want to work diligently and make a difference.

His infamous reputation has spread far and wide, and no one in his jurisdiction dares to cross him.

Those Qi cultivators treated him like mice seeing a cat, avoiding him from afar.

I just saw two Qi cultivators arguing, and they were about to draw their swords when he appeared—

Okay.

The two instantly put their arms around each other's shoulders, calling each other brothers, as warm and friendly as if they were born from the same mother's womb, almost ready to chop off a chicken's head and become sworn brothers on the spot.

Ji Zuodao squatted under the eaves of a building across the street, watching intently and clicking his tongue.

What kind of situation is this?

He was so worried that he kept scratching his head.

Can't you have even a little bit of backbone?

Even a little bit of resistance would be fine.

If you don't resist, how can I, the Daoist master, so easily stuff you into human skin bags?

The swarm of mosquito larvae in the Spirit Sea are still waiting to be fed.

Feeling utterly bored, and with nothing better to do, Ji Zuodao decided to wander over to the medicinal cuisine restaurant and ask Granny Su for some tea.

Grandma Su was all smiles, and there was plenty of tea.

It was Cheng Xue, the little girl with the bun hairstyle, who still had a sour face, as if someone owed her eight hundred spirit stones.

This made Ji Zuodao wonder to himself: I didn't provoke her, did I?

He drank so much tea that he felt dizzy just looking at a teacup, but he finally made it to the time when Zhao Lingling and Qiqi got out of school.

Ji Zuodao let out a loud burp, picked up one of the children in each hand, and headed home contentedly.

Grandma Su was equally satisfied. She slowly gathered up the thick stack of ink-stained papers on the table, turned around and stuffed them into Cheng Xue's hand, patting her shoulder kindly.

Even after walking quite a distance, Ji Zuodao seemed to faintly hear the girl with the bun hairstyle shouting in grief and indignation, almost to the point of collapse, coming from the direction of the medicinal cuisine restaurant:

"Grandma—! How long will this take to memorize?!"

Ji Zuodao had no idea that his afternoon of "drinking tea and visiting" had caused the disciples of Yaoxian Valley to stay up all night.

At that moment, he felt that this simple life was truly comforting.

Tsk, bear meat that's become sentient is really delicious.

The leather was thick and soft; once wrapped around the body, not a bit of cold could penetrate.

He cuddled with Dog and Seven wrapped in the brand-new bearskin blanket, the man, the dog, and the zombie nestled on the sofa, engrossed in watching the bright, shiny screen.

Ji Zuodao and Gouye watched with great interest because they usually didn't have the time to look at such novelties.

Qiqi stared intently because she had never seen such a black box before, from which tiny figures could emerge and talk.

The room was warm and cozy, with only the sounds of the television and the occasional whimper of the dog.

The cold wind howled outside the window, but inside the house was peaceful.

The warmth inside the little house had just softened my bones, but outside, in the Jinghai Sea…

But undercurrents were already surging, and a storm was brewing.

The information that Ji Zuodao had "inadvertently" leaked from the Information Department had now spread like wildfire throughout every corner of the Jinghai cultivation circle.

Those with good connections and sharp ears already know—

The first incense stick of this year's "special compliance review" was lit by Ji Zuodao, the newly infamous "Living Yama".

For a moment, many people felt panicked, as if they had thorns growing under their buttocks.

There's no way around it; among those splashing around in this pool, very few have their backsides completely clean, without a speck of mud on them.

But when rumors began to circulate that the "first strike" would most likely be aimed at the bald heads of Buddhist monks...

Many people immediately let out a long, gloating "Oh—" as they breathed a sigh of relief.

understood.

They weren't here for the general public.

They were targeting those bald men who were usually the most popular and wealthy, and who always put on a pitiful act.

That's good, that's good.

When the sky falls, there are tall people... oh no, there are bald people who will hold it up.

So, the spectators prepared their stools and melon seeds, waiting to see how this living Yama would "shave" the Buddhist community.

At this moment, the ancient temples and monasteries on the Jinghai land, especially those foreign temples that came later, with shallow foundations but flourishing incense offerings, were in complete chaos and hustle and bustle.

The abbots and resident monks no longer cared about their solemn appearances; they directed their disciples and followers as if they wanted to scrape the temple bare.

A gilded Buddha statue? Please go elsewhere for a few days of quiet meditation.

A sandalwood altar? We'll just have to make do with an old table with peeling paint.

The donation box is overflowing with bills?

They counted the coins overnight, repackaged and hid them, leaving only a few lonely coins at the bottom of the box, looking even more shabby than a beggar's bowl.

Valuable ritual implements in the storeroom, medicinal herbs kept at the bottom of the chest, even the golden tiles on the roof beams...

Everything that could be moved or hidden was stuffed into cellars, secret compartments, dry wells, or a "safe house" known only to the abbot.

The once grand hall was now furnished in a way that was even more austere than a dilapidated temple that had suffered a disaster, emphasizing a life of detachment from worldly desires and a life of simple living.

Several abbots, who were usually pampered and complacent, even reluctantly dug out their old, patched robes to change into.

She practiced in front of the mirror how to quickly produce two drops of "bitter tears," so that when the investigators came to her door, she could perfectly demonstrate what it meant to be a bitter tear.

"This humble monk... truly has not a single drop left."