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

Ji Zuodao's claim that he wasn't tempted was a lie.

The pile of odds and ends in his bag looked quite impressive, sparkling like a general store.

But after searching high and low, all they found were "common" Spirit Sea and Spirit Palace realm cultivators; they couldn't even find a scrap of a Dharma Aspect realm cultivator.

It's not up to par!

If you want materials for the Dharma Aspect Realm, the only way is to fight them with your fists.

Can it directly confront the Dharma Realm?

Ji Zuodao felt he hadn't lived enough.

He's a heretical practitioner who believes in getting something for nothing and running away at the first sign of risk.

He's not one of those chosen ones in novels who always have miraculous encounters after jumping off a cliff and kill people of higher levels as easily as drinking water.

Why did the Spirit Palace confront the Dharma Image head-on?

Have you ever seen a normal person shirtless, going up against a steel Gundam tens of meters tall and exchanging punches like "Ora Ora"?

That's called courting death, not bravery.

But if you're suggesting he sneak over there, and while the big shots are fighting, secretly give that drowning dog a good whack...

Ji Zuodao felt that he was very familiar with this business! It was a perfect match for his expertise!

The problem is—there's no opportunity!

Since arriving in Jinghai, I've encountered many people with high cultivation levels.

That old bastard from the Wang family, who's at the Dharma Realm level, is getting a bigger piece of meat on his plate.

And what happened? Uncle Liu personally pounded it into hand-beaten beef balls, which all ended up in Dog Master's stomach. He didn't even get a sip of the soup.

The remnants of the Ascension Sect sound like they're making a fortune.

Well, Bureau 749 directly called for "Truth," and justice descended from the sky. A mushroom cloud came down, scattering even the ashes, leaving not a trace.

The steward of the Hehuan Sect at the Dharma Aspect Realm happened to be away on a business trip that day, so we missed each other perfectly.

Despite the high-end ingredients, they never seem to end up in his kitchen!

Now, Dogmaster has given him the chance.

A powerful expert at the Divine Power Realm who has been "marked" might follow the scent and come over.

now--

Behind him is Deputy Director Liu, whose unparalleled physical prowess allows him to physically crush even a Dharma Image, a feat that can be verified.

Beside him was Dog, who had countless wicked schemes up his sleeve and was just waiting to pick up the scraps.

Before him stood Ji Zuodao, a corrupt police officer specializing in "sneaking blows," "collecting scraps," and "eating leftovers."

This setup, this timing, this goal...

To do it or not?

Damn it!

If we don't call for reinforcements now, when will we?

If we don't take advantage of the situation now and launch a surprise attack, are we going to wait until Uncle Liu retires before taking action?

Ji Zuodao licked his dry lips, the hesitation and caution in his eyes completely replaced by burning greed and scheming.

He took out the cell phone issued by Bureau 749 and hovered his fingertip over the number "Deputy Director Liu" for a moment.

Then, he took a deep breath, and the usual cold calm on his face quickly faded, his eyebrows drooped, and the corners of his mouth turned down.

His handsome face instantly switched to a mix of grievance, lingering fear, and a perfectly balanced "the child has been bullied outside" expression...

A mournful expression.

The call was connected.

"Beep...beep..."

After a few rings, the call was answered on the other end.

"Little Ji? What is it?"

Ji Zuodao sniffed, and with a trembling voice, as if he had just survived a disaster, and a thick nasal tone, he spoke softly and pitifully into the microphone:

"Uncle Liu..."

"Your eldest nephew, I..."

"I got bullied..."

Yes, it's perfectly fine to keep calling him Uncle Liu and referring to himself as his nephew.

……

There are many temples in Jinghai, and they are all legitimate Buddhist sects with lineage and recognition.

Elsewhere, such a mixed and chaotic place would never tolerate so many bald men clustered together.

But there was nothing that could be done; the catastrophe of that year sank the land of China.

These monks from Jinghai truly risked their lives to protect the country and uphold the Way. Many temples were nearly deserted, and the lineage almost died out.

Because of this bond of kinship, they have received preferential treatment from the authorities, and they have lived in relative peace for many years.

Nanhua Temple is one of them. It is neither too big nor too small, and its incense offerings are quite good.

It has a good reputation within the Jinghai cultivation circle.

The Venerable Monk Yongjue is the pillar of Nanhua Temple, and the only one.

All 108 monks in the temple belong to the "Yan" generation and are orphans he raised himself.

Of the "Yong" generation, he is the only one left.

It is said that many years ago, a tragedy occurred at Nanhua Temple, where the entire temple was slaughtered by an unknown evil cultivator.

Only Yongjue, who was away begging for alms at the time, was fortunate enough to escape the calamity.

This case has remained unsolved for many years, becoming a mystery with no clear answer.

At this moment, the old monk Yongjue was strolling slowly on the bluestone path in the temple, his face kind and his steps steady.

The young monks he encountered along the way, whether they were sweeping or chanting sutras, would immediately stop what they were doing, respectfully put their palms together in greeting, and call him "Master".

Yongjue would always smile and nod in return, his eyes crinkling, like the most ordinary, compassionate elder.

Sunlight filtered through the branches of the ancient cypress, casting dappled shadows on his faded monk's robes, creating an atmosphere of peace and tranquility.

"Clatter".

A subtle yet clear, crisp sound.

The sandalwood prayer beads in his hand, polished to a glossy sheen and with a warm patina, suddenly snapped without warning!

One hundred and eight round beads clattered and rolled everywhere on the bluestone slab.

"master!"

A young novice monk who was wiping the pillars nearby heard the noise, looked up, and saw what was happening. He quickly put down his rag and ran over to help pick it up.

"It's alright, it's alright."

The old monk Yongjue smiled and waved his hand, his voice still gentle and calm.

"I'll take care of it myself. You go ahead and do your work; you must not slack off on your spiritual practice for even a day."

"Yes, Master."

The young novice always took Yongjue's words as gospel. Although he hesitated a bit upon hearing this, he still obediently bowed, returned to his original position, and continued wiping. However, he couldn't help but secretly glance in this direction.

The old monk Yongjue slowly bent down and picked up the scattered prayer beads one by one.

Withered fingers picked up a bead that had rolled to the corner of the wall, and gently rubbed its smooth surface with the pad of the finger.

Then, the ever-present, seemingly measured, compassionate smile on his face, like the lingering snow under the sun, gradually melted away.

Instead, there was a bottomless gloom.

His cloudy old eyes lowered as he looked at the few beads he had picked up in his palm. There was no warmth in them, only a fleeting, cold, sharp glint.

His lips didn't move, but a barely audible, chilling murmur lingered between his teeth:

"Amitabha……"

"Who's the blind fool...?"

"You've used my...supernatural powers?"

When I looked up again, two points of golden light suddenly shone, as if they could pierce through illusion and illuminate the darkness.

One of the six supernatural powers in Buddhism—the divine eye!

Golden light swirled in his eyes, his gaze seemingly materializing, easily piercing through the vermilion walls of the temple, the bustling streets of Jinghai, and the old buildings of Yong'an Residential Area...

Finally, the image settled on Zhou He's messy living room.

As far as the eye could see, there was a large, fat, and glossy black dog lying on the blood-stained floor, seemingly oblivious to its surroundings.

The dog's belly was round and full, its eyes were half-closed in contentment, and it would occasionally stick out its scarlet tongue to lick its lips with lingering satisfaction.

There were still some undried, suspicious dark red marks there.

"Um?"

The old monk Yongjue frowned almost imperceptibly.

demon?

That's incredibly audacious!

It seems that the preordained child, along with the unfortunate child, has ultimately ended up in the belly of this wicked beast.

"Amitabha……"

He uttered a Buddhist chant in a low voice.

"How pitiful, how lamentable. If it weren't for this demon who interfered, that child could have lived for at least a few more months, nurturing his Destiny Abilities to a more complete degree, before his lifespan ended and he died peacefully... What a pity."

That hint of regret was, to some extent, genuine.

After all, pig farmers also hope that the pigs will be fattened up before slaughtering them.