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

Inside the council chamber, cries of anguish filled the air, and rivers of blood flowed.

Ji Zhengdao stood in the center of the severed limbs, a bright smile on his face. His two small tiger teeth gleamed under the light, making him look innocent and harmless.

But to the Wang family, that smile was more terrifying than a demon crawling out of hell.

Have you ever seen someone dismember a group of people into a pile of meat chunks and still smile so brightly?

That smile was as pure as a newborn baby's, without a trace of impurity.

It was as if he hadn't just killed dozens of people, but had just completed a satisfactory painting and was waiting for his teacher's praise.

This extreme contrast sent a chill down the spines of everyone still alive, climbing all the way up to the top of their heads, freezing them so that even their fingers trembled.

Wang Zhenshan clutched his severed arm, his face deathly pale and his lips turning purple.

He stared intently at Ji Zhengdao, his cloudy old eyes burning with flames of anger and hatred, but beneath those flames lay a trace of fear that even he himself was unwilling to admit.

Then, Ji Zhengdao's expression suddenly changed.

Like a stone thrown into a calm lake, that bright, sunny smile instantly created ripples.

His lips began to droop, his eyebrows began to hunch, his eyes began to redden, and tears began to well up in his eyes.

Then, tears started flowing uncontrollably, like a faucet being turned on.

His face showed an expression of extreme terror, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare and found himself in a completely unfamiliar environment, surrounded by corpses, blood, and severed limbs.

He looked at his hands, which were covered in blood and still dripping.

He looked around at the severed limbs, which lay scattered haphazardly on the ground, some still twitching slightly and steaming.

His body began to tremble, like a leaf falling in the autumn wind, shaking so violently that his voice was choked with sobs, broken and intermittent, a sound that broke one's heart.

"Great...Great-Grandpa...No...It wasn't me...It really wasn't me..."

As he spoke, he backed away, tripping over a piece of someone's arm, which he didn't know belonged to. He stumbled backward and almost fell.

He steadied himself, glanced down at the severed arm, and then, as if burned, jumped to the side, his fear intensifying.

"Grandpa... save me... I'm being controlled... I'm really being controlled... someone is controlling my body... I don't want to kill anyone... I don't want to kill anyone..."

He cried so heartbreakingly, so genuinely, his face covered in snot and tears, it looked just like the real thing.

While crying, she crawled forward, heading towards Wang Zhenshan, leaving trails of blood on the ground.

The acting, the emotional transitions, the control of rhythm—it was absolutely superb.

The Oscars owe him an award.

Some of the Wang family members present even showed a hint of hesitation and wavering on their faces.

Was he really being manipulated? Or was he really not doing it on purpose?

After all, his behavior just now was indeed a bit abnormal; that smile and that look in his eyes were not something a normal person would show.

Perhaps he was possessed by some evil spirit or controlled by some inner demon, which is why he did such a thing.

After all, he is Wang Bing, the beloved grandson of the Wang family who was raised from childhood. How could he possibly turn against his own family for no reason?

But Wang Zhenshan did not waver.

His eyes, however, remained sharp, clear-headed, and calm.

Having lived for over seventy years, what kind of people hasn't he seen, what kind of things hasn't he experienced? Would he be fooled by such a clumsy performance?

He looked at the "grandson" kneeling on the ground, crying his heart out, his eyes filled with no pity, only a cold, scrutinizing gaze.

It's like looking at a stranger, an enemy, or a monster.

"That's enough." His voice wasn't loud, even somewhat weak, but it carried an undeniable authority. "Stop acting."

Ji Zhengdao's crying stopped abruptly.

It was as if someone had pressed the mute button; all sounds, all expressions, all movements vanished in the same instant.

Ji Zhengdao knelt on the ground, head bowed, remaining motionless in that weeping posture, like a statue.

Then, he slowly raised his head.

The tears were still on her face, the blood was still on her face, and the disheveled state of her face was still there.

But all those expressions, those emotions, that pain and fear, vanished.

Instead, there was a calm, a chilling calm.

"Ugh, that's disgusting. Can't you just act along with me? I've put on such a good show, I even squeezed out a few tears, at least give me a good review!"

Ji Zhengdao stood up, dusted off his knees, and straightened his blood-stained clothes. His movements were calm and unhurried, as if he were tidying himself up in his own living room, completely unaware that he was standing among a pile of corpses.

He looked up at Wang Zhenshan, a hint of curiosity in his eyes:

"By the way, how did you figure it out? Even Mom couldn't tell. I think my acting was pretty convincing, right? That crying tone, that expression, those lines—I studied them for ages."

Wang Zhenshan didn't answer his question, but just stared at him coldly, his voice hoarse and low: "What exactly do you want?"

"What do I want to do?"

Ji Zhengdao tilted his head, pretending to be thinking, tapping his chin with his finger and rolling his eyes upwards, as if he was seriously considering a very important question.

"Hmm, let me think... Oh, right. Of course, we should kill you all."

"My brother is so good to me, so as his younger brother, I should help him out, right?"

He paused, glanced around at the terrified Wang family members, and his smile became even brighter and more dangerous.

"You starved my brother for nineteen years, so I'll cut you into pieces. One life for one life, one meal for one knife, a fair trade, no cheating the young or old."

Ji Zhengdao's tone suddenly paused, and the smile on his face faded, replaced by a ferocious expression, a twisted, crazed, and undisguised killing intent.

"So why hide? Isn't it better to just obediently get chopped up? Look at those people, how neatly, how beautifully, how artistically I chopped them up. You should be thanking me, I gave you free plastic surgery, the most high-end kind, full-body reconstructive plastic surgery, I guarantee even your own mothers wouldn't recognize you."

As he spoke, he laughed again, a manic and distorted laugh, like that of a mental patient, his voice carrying a morbid excitement and fanaticism:

"Come on, don't be shy, one at a time, line up, don't push, everyone gets a turn. I promise, I'll be very gentle—at least much gentler than you were to my brother."