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

The massacre continues.

Ji Zuodao's jet-black veins, like venomous snakes with independent lives, would occasionally swerve out and disappear into the wall of mist.

A few seconds later, the tendon retracted, its end wrapped around a trophy that was struggling desperately but unable to make a sound.

Ji Zuodao didn't even bother to look. He simply flicked his finger, and a drop of dark red blood landed precisely in the other's mouth, which was wide open in terror.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed these bastards into the depths of the thick fog as if they were trash.

"Uh... Hehe..."

After a brief, hoarse gasp, as if the throat had been scalded with boiling oil, came the gurgling sound of a thick, viscous substance slowly flowing through the throat.

And, the inhuman, painful wails that were suppressed to the extreme, but could only be reduced to a leaky "hoarse" sound due to the melting of the vocal cords.

Everyone who is fed blood will go through the same process.

Sober, clear-headed, and irresistibly—

I felt my skin lose its elasticity, become transparent and sticky, and start to drip down.

Feel the muscle fibers relax and dissolve one by one, turning into a warm, semi-solid liquid.

Feeling the bones gradually exposed in the softened flesh, and then, like chalk that has been soaked for too long, softening, collapsing, and mixing into the ever-growing pool of red and white viscous substance.

Throughout the entire process, I remained conscious and had a heightened sense of pain.

For Ji Zuodao, a guy who would meticulously calculate whether he could extract two ounces of oil from a bone, and who was practically the Scrooge of the cultivation world, this method of killing was not just wasteful, it was downright extravagant!

Those piles of final products are so polluting that they're not even good for fertilizer. Feeding them to dogs... oh, the dog just sniffed them and walked away with a look of disgust.

Are you angry?

Dog followed him at a leisurely pace, a half-eaten, bite-marked hand bone, seemingly salvaged from some unfortunate soul, dangling from his mouth, as he asked indistinctly.

"Angry? Not at all."

Ji Zuodao continued walking, his tone calm.

"I'm just a little... annoyed."

As he passed through the prison area, the clouds parted automatically, allowing him to glimpse the victims inside, tortured beyond recognition.

Then, he saw a somewhat familiar face.

A fox.

In the fox den behind my hometown, there was a flirtatious fox who always wanted to escape.

I remember back then, after this guy transformed, before he even had a full coat of fur, he dared to pat his chest and spout nonsense under the moon to a group of mountain spirits and monsters, saying things like, "The fox den is too small to contain a true dragon," "I'm going out to make a name for myself," and "I'll never turn back until I've made a name for myself."

It was so spirited, its fluffy tail held higher than the sky.

Ji Zuodao was squatting on the tree, eating melon seeds and watching the fun. He also made a bet with the weasel next to him, betting how long it would take for the stupid fox to be skinned and made into a scarf.

Now it seems...

He lost his bet.

The Weibo project didn't work out, but it was even worse than that.

The fox spirit, once with glossy fur and lively eyes, now huddled in a specially made cage like a tattered rag, her eyes vacant and her breath faint.

Its essence and blood, cultivated for many years, were almost completely drained. Its beautiful fiery red fur became dry and dull, and several patches of its tail were bald. Most importantly, its spiritual sea had shrunk to the size of a small pond.

The foundation is basically ruined.

Even if they are rescued, they will probably only be slightly stronger than ordinary wild beasts for the rest of their lives; they can forget about cultivating.

To be honest, the relationship between Ji Zuodao and the fox den in the back mountain is quite complicated.

They weren't really friends; they were more like a group of "bad neighbors" who knew each other inside and out.

Occasionally, they would collude to steal chickens raised by villagers at the foot of the mountain, or team up to swindle passing cultivators.

After succeeding, when dividing the spoils, they still had to be wary of each other, fearing that the other would take an extra chicken leg.

If Ji Zuodao gains the upper hand and his strength allows, he wouldn't mind tricking those foxes, stealing their harvest, or beating them so badly that they run away crying back to the back mountain to complain.

Conversely, if those foxes get the chance, they won't hesitate to swindle him.

The relationship wasn't bad, but it certainly wasn't great either.

In Ji Zuodao's own words, "We use each other and sabotage each other, but neither of us can really kill the other—after all, without the other, the fun would be halved."

But...

Ji Zuodao stopped and looked at the thick, pure white mist in front of him, his eyes a little cold.

Our own fox, our own fellow villager.

It's okay to bully yourself.

You can dig your own grave, that's fine.

You can beat them until they cry for their parents and are crawling on the ground looking for their teeth.

When...

It's the turn of these bastards who popped out of who-knows-where...

Did you reach out?

Ji Zuodao stood still for two seconds.

Then, he suddenly tugged at the corner of his mouth and smiled.

The smile wasn't big, and it even looked a bit lazy, but the lingering displeasure in his eyes had disappeared.

Instead, a deeper and more unbridled malice has taken its place.

"boom--!!!"

A black and red torrent, like the Styx River bursting its banks, gushed forth from his spiritual sea!

There were tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands... blood-winged black mosquitoes!

They converged into a dark cloud, and even the surrounding pure white clouds seemed to be forced back by this menacing aura.

Ji Zuodao tilted his head, a blood-tinged, almost merciful smile appearing on his face:

"Come here, little ones."

"Dinner is ready."

Ji Zuodao raised his right hand, his fingers forming a knife-like shape, and without hesitation, aimed it at the artery in his left wrist—

One stroke.

"laugh!"

The skin split open, and dark red blood gushed out instantly.

But it did not drip.

Instead, as if they possessed life, they floated, gathered, rolled, and expanded above his palm, accumulating more and more.

"These bastards...don't they like to cobble themselves together into inhuman hybrids?"

Ji Zuodao stared at the increasingly unstable blood sphere in his palm.

"Didn't you think that stealing some demon blood and sewing together some demon bones would allow you to instantly ascend to the heavens and become incredibly powerful?"

"OK."

"I'm going to show you some kindness today and bestow upon you a great fortune."

He grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth.

"I hope your cobbled-together monstrous bodies..."

"We can handle it."

"Master Dao's—"

"Blood!"

"go."

Ji Zuodao softly uttered a single word.

"My 'goodwill'..."

"My 'blessing'..."

"My blood..."

He grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the mist.

"Spread it to everyone here..."

"Mongrel."

"Let me, the Taoist priest, take a look..."

"Their haphazard, cobbled-together, tattered bodies..."

"Can we withstand it...?"

The moment the words left his mouth.

The dark red blood that was suspended in mid-air suddenly exploded!

Transformed into thousands of incredibly tiny blood droplets, they seemed to possess life, precisely attaching themselves to the sharp proboscis of each blood-winged black mosquito.

then.

"Buzz—!!!"

The swarm of mosquitoes dispersed, as if stirred by an invisible hand, transforming into countless black and red streams of death, flowing towards every surviving monstrous creature deep within the dense fog—

It shot off!