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

Wang Zhenshan resigned himself to his fate and no longer wanted to resist.

When that group of people rushed out of the council hall carrying shovels, the last string in Wang Zhenshan's heart snapped.

He stood there watching those people walk away, and suddenly found it particularly funny.

Among those people were his trusted confidants whom he had personally promoted, younger generations whom he had watched grow up, and promising talents whom he had once placed high hopes on.

But at this moment, they weren't thinking about how to protect the Wang family's legacy; instead, they were thinking about how to dig out their own ancestors faster than others so they could save their own lives.

Wang Zhenshan suddenly understood.

He was just debating whether to risk his life and bring along the few old guys who could still fight.

Although they couldn't defeat Ji Zuodao and his gang, they could at least send a few people out to prevent the Wang family from being wiped out.

This was his final responsibility as clan leader, and the last thing he could do for the royal family.

But now he doesn't want to anymore.

It's boring, it's fucking boring.

What difference does it make if we send a few people out?

Let them run outside and continue to eke out a living, continue to fight amongst themselves, and continue to sell everything they can to survive?

What difference is there between the Wang family being alive and dead?

The roots are rotten.

It's already rotten to the core without anyone having to pry it up.

Although Wang Zhenshan had also dug up ancestral graves, what was his purpose in doing so?

It was to exchange for a spiritual medicine to prolong the life of the previous patriarch, so that the Wang family could continue to survive.

He felt guilty and burdened when he did those things. He knew he was doing something immoral, but he had no choice. He was the clan leader, and he had to be responsible for the entire clan.

But what about those people? Why did they dig up their ancestral graves? Was it to save the Wang family? Was it to continue their lineage?

That's bullshit.

They were trying to save their own lives.

For this reason alone, the Wang family deserved to be wiped out.

Wang Zhenshan let out a long sigh, a sigh that carried the weariness and vicissitudes of more than seventy years.

He looked up at Ji Zuodao, his eyes no longer filled with hatred or anger, but with a calm that came from having seen through the ways of the world.

"Section Chief Ji, let us end it ourselves. We won't dirty your hands, and we won't let you bear the sin of patricide. Consider this the last thing I, as your grandfather, will do for you."

As he spoke, he raised his hand, gathering spiritual energy in his palm, and aimed it at the top of his head.

He didn't even believe what he said himself.

What do you mean, "so that you won't bear the sin of murdering your own parents"? Would that bastard Ji Zuodao care about that?

If that bastard cared about this, he wouldn't have skinned Wang Qiang three times.

But Wang Zhenshan couldn't think of any other excuse. He just wanted to die with some dignity, at least to end his own life, instead of being slaughtered like a chicken.

His hand was about to fall—

"Smack."

A hand grabbed his wrist.

It wasn't very strong, but it was very steady, like an iron clamp that wouldn't budge.

When Wang Zhenshan opened his eyes, he saw Ji Zuodao's smug, smiling face right in front of him, so close that he could count how many teeth that bastard had.

"Does Section Chief Ji have any further instructions?"

Wang Zhenshan's voice was as cold as ice shards in the twelfth lunar month.

At this point, no matter how naive he was, he wouldn't believe that Ji Zuodao, that bastard, would have any compassion.

That bastard has no heart.

Ji Zuodao scratched the back of his head, a hint of embarrassment on his face, but beneath that embarrassment lay a calculating mind.

"Well, I've thought about it again and again. Although I really want to give you some dignity, you're a Divine Power Realm cultivator after all. It would be such a damn waste for you to die like this."

Wang Zhenshan's eyelids twitched. No way, no way, even if a person is personified, they wouldn't act like this.

Ji Zuodao rubbed his hands together, his expression like that of an old lady haggling with a stall owner at a market.

"Why don't you wait until you die? I'll peel off a few layers of skin while you're still warm. Don't worry, I'm very skilled, I promise I won't damage you."

Wang Zhenshan looked at him expressionlessly.

He was truly expressionless.

Because he no longer knew what expression to make.

I've seen inhuman beings before, but I've never seen anyone this inhuman.

Honestly, that bastard Ji Zuodao always manages to push his limits.

Just when he thought Ji Zuodao had lowered his bottom line enough, Ji Zuodao would always pull out a shovel and dig another 666 meters down.

Wang Zhenshan even began to wonder if he had dug up too many ancestral graves back then and was being punished, which was why God had sent this thing to deal with him.

He opened his mouth as if to curse.

He wanted to curse Ji Zuodao's ancestors for eighteen generations, to dig up this bastard's ancestors from their graves and curse them one by one, cursing them for giving birth to such a thing that brings disaster to the world.

But he opened his mouth and then closed it again.

Because he suddenly remembered that Ji Zuodao's ancestors for eighteen generations were his own ancestors for eighteen generations.

All the accusations and insults end up backfiring on themselves.

This is fucking awkward.

Wang Zhenshan's face turned red from holding it in, as if he had been constipated for three days. His lips trembled for a long time before he finally managed to squeeze out two words through gritted teeth:

"Holy shit."

Then, with a burst of spiritual energy, his heart meridian snapped, and he fell straight backward, crashing to the ground with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

He didn't close his eyes until he died; his eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling.

When the elders of the Wang family saw that the old man had taken his own life, they exchanged glances and sighed.

Well, the sooner I die, the sooner I'll be reborn.

Suicide is better than being driven to death by Ji Zuodao.

At least suicide is a choice made by oneself, and it has dignity.

Several old men followed suit, severing their own heart meridians and collapsing one after another like dominoes, in a rather orderly fashion.

Ji Zuodao looked at the corpses on the ground, clicked his tongue twice, squatted down, reached out to check Wang Zhenshan's breathing, and then felt his pulse to confirm that he was truly dead.

"Hey, this old guy's pretty tough."

Meanwhile, a major, awkward scene was unfolding at the Wang family ancestral graves.

Those Wang family members, carrying shovels, bench legs, and decorative swords, ran all the way to the ancestral graves and started digging without saying a word.

With that drive, that enthusiasm, that efficiency, if they had used it for good, the Wang family would probably have dominated Shanghai long ago.

But as they dug, they realized something was wrong.

The first person to dig up the grave pried open the coffin lid with one shovel, and peered inside—

empty.

empty? !

He rubbed his eyes, then rubbed them again, to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

The coffin was completely empty; there wasn't a body, not even a hair.

The coffin lid was quite thick, made of fine Phoebe zhennan wood, but there was nothing inside; it was as clean as if it had been washed.

"Holy crap? Where's my ancestor?"

His shout attracted the attention of several people who were digging graves nearby.

"What happened? Your ancestor is gone?"

"It's gone! There's nothing in the coffin! It's empty!"

"Empty? That can't be right! Did you dig up the wrong grave?"

"Impossible! This is my ancestor's grave! I visited it several times when I was a child! I remember it clearly!"

The people nearby exchanged glances, and began to have their own doubts.

They quickened their pace and, in no time, dug up the grave in front of them as well.

Then they were dumbfounded.

empty.

It's still empty.

They dug up seven or eight graves in a row, and they were all empty.

Not to mention the corpse, there wasn't even a single burial item left.

Some graves even lacked coffin lids, leaving only empty pits that looked as if they had been cleaned beforehand.

"Damn it, where are our ancestors? Instead of staying in their coffins, where have they been gallivanting off to?"

"Damn it! Even the burial goods are gone! My great-grandfather's burial sword was an antique! It was worth at least hundreds of thousands!"

"What's your great-grandfather's sword? My great-great-grandfather's luminous pearl, as big as a fist, is gone too!"