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

Just then, a "slurp" sound came from the side, like someone slurping noodles.

Faced with the surging, foul-smelling yellow smoke, the hungry ghost not only didn't flinch, but instead thrust its wrinkled, ugly face forward, its mouth agape, and inhaled forcefully—

"call--!"

Like a whale sucking in water, the pervasive, foul-smelling yellow smoke, enough to make an ordinary person faint, transformed into a solid yellow stream, swirling around, and was completely sucked into its belly in one gulp!

The hungry ghost even smacked its lips in satisfaction, its bluish-gray belly visibly bulging slightly before quickly returning to normal.

It turned its head to look at Ji Zuodao, its beady eyes filled with a fawning desire for praise:

"Sir! Are you alright? Don't worry, this little bit of filth won't hurt you! I've taken care of it for you!"

Ji Zuodao looked at its "I've done a great deed" expression, his lips twitched violently twice, and after a long while, he finally squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth:

"You really are willing to swallow anything, aren't you?"

"Hehe!" The hungry ghost rubbed his hands together, his smile becoming increasingly ingratiating, even carrying a hint of pride from his professional field.

"Sir, you don't know this. I interned at Boiling Shit Hell for two months back in the day, responsible for stirring and quality control. The original broth there... cough, the working environment there was much better than this stuff! This is nothing, just a small matter, not even an appetizer!"

"..."

Ji Zuodao remained silent for three seconds before decisively raising his hand to stop it from continuing to share its hellish workplace experiences.

"Okay, shut up."

"Yes, sir! Whatever you say!"

The hungry ghost immediately fell silent and stood up straight, but its beady green eyes were still staring longingly at Ji Zuodao.

"Sir, should we chase that naked foreign devil?"

The stench gradually dissipated in the alley, but the white figure had long since disappeared into the intricate depths of the old town, vanished without a trace.

Ji Zuodao glanced in the direction where the white figure disappeared, his face showing no urgency but rather a playful expression.

"run?"

He slowly pulled something out of his pocket—

It was a small, roughly made scarecrow, even a bit crooked, with some scribbles drawn crookedly on it in cinnabar.

Ji Zuodao bent down and picked up a piece of the still wet, bloody severed tongue from the ground with two fingers.

Next to the severed tongue, a pile of similar things had already been formed.

Some are new, some are old; some are darker in color, some are lighter.

It's clear that the hungry ghost worked extremely hard and had excellent skills; his first-place ranking in the Tongue-Pulling Hell internship certainly didn't seem to be faked.

"People these days just run away without even bothering to pack up their belongings. They're still so young."

Ji Zuodao shook his head and casually stuffed the severed tongue into the scarecrow.

The scarecrow was stuffed full.

Ji Zuodao grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth, and suddenly clenched his right hand—

"Pfft!"

A sickening, muffled sound, like the sound of squeezing a juicy fruit.

From the rough cracks of the scarecrow, dark red, viscous blood, like squeezed tomato sauce, spurted out with a "hiss" and splashed far away.

Almost simultaneously, from the depths of the alley, in the direction where the red-haired foreigner had disappeared, came a piercing, distorted, inhuman wail of pain:

"ah--!!!"

The sound echoed through the intricate alleyways of the old town, creating a particularly eerie atmosphere.

"That's right."

Ji Zuodao nodded in satisfaction, shook off the "ketchup" on his hands, and slowly walked toward the direction from which the screams came.

He walked slowly and steadily, taking one step and pausing after each step.

With his right hand, in rhythm with his steps, he clenched and unclenched his fist, then clenched it again, not too hard and not too soft.

"Pfft!"

"Ugh—!!!"

"Pfft!"

"Awooo—!!!"

The screams from afar, in perfect "cooperation," followed the rhythm of life and death, rising and falling, each scream more agonizing than the last.

In the quiet winter night, a bizarre and terrifying "screaming march" was composed.

Doggy yawned and followed after him with leisurely steps.

Qiqi jogged to catch up, her big eyes showing no fear, only absolute trust in her brother and a little curiosity about the new game.

Bai San Niang stood there, her pale face showing a somewhat uncertain expression.

She watched Ji Zuodao's leisurely back, listened to the rhythmic screams and "splat" sounds, and then looked at the severed tongue and splattered blood on the ground...

The methods used by this investigator...

Isn't it a bit...too eerie?

This approach, this demeanor, this leisurely pace while holding a scarecrow and listening to screams...

The more I look at it, the more it resembles those evil sorcerers who kill and refine souls, committing all sorts of heinous crimes.

Bai San Niang's heart was pounding.

But then I thought about it again, and realized something was wrong.

This is Bureau 749, a legitimate state-owned unit, a government office paid by the government!

When hiring, shouldn't you conduct a background check on three generations of your family to ensure you have a clean and upright political record?

How could they possibly recruit heretics as investigators?

Wouldn't that turn the place into a bandit's den?!

Hmm, it must be because I'm not knowledgeable enough. The 749 Bureau has a wide range of investigative methods. Some of their special methods may seem strange, but they are actually... uh, all in accordance with regulations!

Yes, that's right!

Bai San Niang successfully convinced herself, mainly because she felt that turning around and leaving now seemed inappropriate.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her slightly unsettling feeling that "this investigator's style seems a bit off," and followed him.

Just instinctively, he stepped a little further away from the investigator in front of him who was holding a blood-dripping scarecrow, listening to screams and humming a tune.

If she interacted more with people in the Jinghai cultivation circle and listened to more gossip, she would know—

In the Jinghai area now, anyone who recognizes Ji Zuodao's face would stay as far away as possible, let alone follow him.

I wish I could dig a hole and bury myself right there, then put up a sign that says "Nobody here".

Should you approach them proactively?

What's the difference between that and queuing up at the King of Hell's place in advance to get a number, and being afraid that if you go too late you won't get a good spot?

Bai San Niang is a "homebody demon" who lives a simple life between the hospital and her dormitory, spending her time either seeing a doctor or studying professional books.

They only dared to follow along because they didn't care at all about the bloody drama in the industry, like "who chopped up whom" or "who offended the living devil."

She even mentally reassured herself: Staying with government officials is safe!

Our "politically correct and upright national cadre" felt as if all the blood in his body rushed to the top of his head.

Those rhythmic, powerful screams carried on the crisp winter night air, sounding to his ears more melodious than heavenly music and more comforting than chicken soup.

"Tsk, this tune...it's got energy!"

"Those guys usually look big and burly, but they wilted after a couple of tries. They're boring, really boring."

"These foreign devils are really tough! Look at their lung capacity! Their vocal range! Their stamina! I could practically sing 'Tante' in one go, and they'd still be singing so clearly and with such strong voice! Their physical fitness, their willpower..."

"Tsk, no wonder it's a hybrid, it's just different!"

He got more and more into his "performance" and even started to try adding some variations and embellishments.

Sometimes the cries were rapid, like rain pattering on banana leaves, eliciting a series of short, sharp moans; other times they were slow, like a dull knife cutting flesh, accompanied by drawn-out, desperate roars.

The steps beneath their feet seemed to be subtly following some strange rhythm.

The screams became his personal background music.