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

Do you want to use an imperial edict to control the Seventh Prince?

A cold smile curled at the corner of Ji Zuodao's mouth.

Then I'll make you fall into evil and turn you into my slave.

As for the dragon aura on Zhu Cheng's body...

The young man is still young, and the dragon's aura is too deep for him to handle.

Let me, the Daoist master, keep it safe.

With my extensive experience and profound knowledge, I am best suited to handle this kind of high-end, sophisticated, and classy thing.

The more he thought about it, the better he felt the idea was, and his smile grew brighter and brighter.

Zhu Cheng was still struggling in the blood, his movements becoming weaker and slower.

Those resentments and malevolent energy were gradually eroding his will and dismantling his resistance.

He could feel his consciousness becoming blurred, his thinking becoming sluggish, and his judgment becoming confused.

He felt like he was about to give up.

Ji Zuodao, however, remained steady, pressing down on his head, unhurried and calm, like a patient fisherman.

On the lotus platform, Qiqi, tired from playing, yawned and rubbed her eyes.

She glanced at Ji Zuodao, who was still pressing down on Zhu Cheng's head, then at the boundless sea of ​​blood, and asked, "Brother, when are we going home?"

"Almost there, almost there. Once my brother has taught this older brother a lesson, we'll go home."

"Oh—" Qiqi nodded, then asked, "Can I come here to play again in the future? Qiqi wants to play more."

Ji Zuodao was taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Sure, play however you want!"

"Yay!" Qiqi cheered, then lowered her head again and continued playing with her blood.

Above the sea of ​​blood, echoes of Ji Zuodao's laughter and Qi Qi's cheers resounded.

Deep within the sea of ​​blood, Zhu Cheng continued to struggle, growing increasingly powerless and desperate.

I can't take it anymore, I want to die—

Zhu Cheng could feel his body constantly changing, and then being forcibly healed by the dragon energy.

The feeling, how should I put it, is like someone taking a razor blade and slicing it under your skin.

Tear your muscles apart one by one, crush your bones one by one, and twist your internal organs into pretzel shapes.

Then, just when you're in so much pain you're about to faint, a warm current flows through you, restoring everything that was torn apart, crushed, and twisted into a pretzel to its original state.

Once it's fixed, I'll do another round for you.

It goes on and on, endlessly.

His body appeared to be unharmed; his skin was smooth and without a single scar.

But beneath that skin and flesh, the pain of constant distortion, tearing, recombination, and healing felt like ten thousand ants crawling between his bones.

It was itchy, painful, numb, and sore, tormenting him to the point that he just wanted to kill himself.

His consciousness began to blur, and the images before his eyes became chaotic, as if someone was playing a movie in his mind, flashing through scene by scene.

Damn it, it's like a revolving lantern.

It's really time to die here.

Zhu Cheng was thinking in a daze when he saw himself as a child.

At that time, he was about four or five years old. He was wearing a T-shirt with Ultraman printed on it, holding an ice cream cone in his hand, standing on the slide in the park, smiling like a flower.

His dad stood at the bottom of the slide, arms outstretched, ready to catch him.

His mother stood beside him, holding her phone and taking pictures of him.

The sun was shining brightly, the grass was lush and green, and a small rainbow refracted the sunlight through the distant fountain.

At that time, although he knew that his family was different from ordinary families, with more rules and stricter management, it was generally similar to other normal families.

His dad would take him to the park, take him shopping, and buy him toys and snacks.

His mother would tell him stories, lull him to sleep, and stay by his bedside when he was sick, staying up all night.

Like other parents, they discussed which kindergarten and primary school he should attend, and whether he should enroll in an extracurricular class, such as learning piano or painting.

Those days, though not exactly carefree, were at least normal, warm, and something he was willing to remember.

Then, everything changed.

Zhu Cheng couldn't remember which year it was, only that someone came to his house that day.

The man was wearing a faded gray Taoist robe, and his hair was snow-white, casually tied up with a wooden hairpin. He looked like an old handyman sweeping the floor in some dilapidated temple.

The clan elders treated that person with utmost respect, their attitude and tone as if they were seeing an emperor.

Then, that person said something.

Those words were like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples that spread throughout the Zhu family.

The old man talked about Princess Yongning, glanced at him, and pointed at him with a smile.

Zhu Cheng still remembers the expressions on the faces of the clan elders when they heard those words.

It was an expression that mixed shock, ecstasy, excitement, and disbelief.

Their eyes, in that instant, shone with an alarming light.

It was like a wolf that hadn't eaten for three days and three nights suddenly spotting a piece of tender, juicy fat.

From that day on, everything changed.

He was no longer allowed to go to school.

His parents stopped taking him to the park, shopping malls, and buying him toys.

His studies were all taught by the clan elders.

He studied the Four Books and Five Classics, archery and horsemanship, the art of governing a country, and things he neither understood nor wanted to hear.

He also began to engage in spiritual practice.

Every day before dawn, I have to get up to meditate, practice qigong, and cultivate those tedious and boring techniques.

After practicing, he still had to memorize texts, including those classics that he couldn't understand at all.

You're not allowed to eat or sleep until you finish memorizing it.

He was young then and didn't understand what "responsibility," "mission," or "the future of the Zhu family" meant.

All he knew was that he didn't like it.

He didn't like getting up before dawn every day to practice his skills.

He didn't like memorizing books he couldn't understand at all.

He didn't like the way the elders looked at him—

That look in his eyes was like looking at a tool, a tool meticulously crafted to achieve some great goal.

He wants to go back to his old life.

He wanted to go to school, play with his peers, and buy a bag of spicy strips from the convenience store after school so he could share them with his friends.

He wanted his dad to take him to the park again, and his mom to tell him another bedtime story.

But he knew there was no going back.

Judging from his parents' expressions when they heard those words, from the moment they never took him to the park again, he knew that everything was irreversible.

Damn it.

If it weren't for that old man in the gray robe, if he hadn't been so talkative and revealed Qiqi's whereabouts, perhaps he would still be living the life of an ordinary rich kid.

After all, the Zhu family is indeed quite wealthy.

He owns several courtyard houses in Beijing; the rent alone would be enough for him to live comfortably for the rest of his life.

He could have driven a flashy sports car, frequented high-end venues every day, dated a beautiful girlfriend, and lived a life of extravagance and debauchery that would make others envious.

But now?

He was submerged in a sea of ​​blood, his head was being held down by a bastard, his body was constantly deforming, then being healed by dragon energy, then deforming again, then being healed again.

The pain was so intense that he just wanted to die.

All of this was thanks to that old man in the gray robe.

Hmm? Who was that person again?

In the flashback, the person's face was blurry, as if shrouded in a layer of mist.

It's like looking at someone through frosted glass; you can only see an outline, but you can't make out the specific features.

Zhu Cheng frowned, trying hard to see the face clearly.

He stared at the blurry face, and as he stared, the mist suddenly began to dissipate little by little.

First the forehead appeared, then the eyebrows, then the eyes, then the nose, then the mouth, and then the whole face—

That face...

and many more……

How could that be...?

That is……

Supervise? !