My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

The lights in Huaiyin Village look warm from a distance, but you only realize they're cold when you get closer.

It's not the temperature that's cold, it's my heart that's cold.

The red lanterns hanging under the eaves cast shimmering, flickering light on the bluestone path, like a thin layer of blood.

The street was bustling with people, but the way they walked was wrong—too light, their heels didn't touch the ground, as if they were floating.

Their faces were also wrong; they were too white, as white as paper, with blurred features, as if someone had just casually dabbed at them with a brush dipped in water.

Lü Yang followed behind Ye Qingfeng, his back ramrod straight.

His hand was not on the sword hilt, nor did his steps falter.

Having followed the immortal master for so long, what kind of ghosts hasn't he seen?

Painted skin ghosts, paper figures, flesh-and-blood Buddhas, and local evil spirits—aren't they all more frightening than these things roaming the streets?

It's not that he's not afraid, it's that he doesn't need to be afraid.

He knew that as long as the immortal master was there, he had nothing to fear.

But he couldn't help but glance a few more times at the heels of the pedestrians—they were really suspended, half an inch off the ground, making no sound as they walked on the bluestone slabs.

He swallowed hard, removed his hand from the sword hilt, and deliberately puffed out his chest.

Ye Qingfeng walked slowly, his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the shops and pedestrians on both sides.

His face was expressionless, but something flickered in his eyes.

It wasn't surprise, it wasn't curiosity, it was a sense of understanding.

He understood the true nature of this ghost market, saw through the darkness behind the lights, and recognized the murderous intent behind the smiling faces.

His brow furrowed slightly, so slightly that it was almost imperceptible, but Lü Yang noticed it.

The immortal master is angry.

It's the kind of anger that comes from seeing something that shouldn't exist, from seeing too much bloodshed of innocent people.

But the anger lingered in his eyes for only a moment before dissipating, and he returned to that faint, indifferent smile.

Lu Yang had seen the Immortal Master with this expression before, in Wen'an County, at Lan Yue Fang, and at Jin Guang Temple.

Every time the immortal master shows this expression, an evil spirit is about to die.

A delicious aroma wafted from the roadside.

Lu Yang's stomach growled.

These past few days, I've been eating dry food, and my mouth has long since lost its flavor.

It was the aroma of deep-fried food, piping hot, mixed with the scent of chili powder and cumin, that wafted straight into my nose.

He swallowed hard, his feet involuntarily veering in that direction.

Even though he knew something was wrong here, the aroma made him unable to resist taking a step forward.

These anomalies were ignored.

Moreover, and most importantly, there are immortal masters here, so they are not so wary.

Miao Gui followed behind, sniffed, but didn't go over.

The chubby baby was squatting on Miao Gui's bundle, eating roasted mushrooms. At this moment, he twitched his nose twice and drool dripped from the corner of his mouth.

There was a small stall set up on the side of the street, made of wooden planks, with several rows of fried skewers on it.

Yellow in color, with a crispy crust, sprinkled with red chili powder and brown cumin seeds, it looks incredibly tempting.

The oil in the wok was still bubbling on the stove, and the aroma was coming from there.

The stall owner was a middle-aged man, wearing a greasy apron, and very enthusiastic.

As soon as he saw Lü Yang approaching, his smile widened, revealing two rows of yellowed teeth. He greeted him, "Sir, how about a few skewers? They're fresh out of the fryer, and smell delicious!"

Lu Yang stood in front of the stall, his eyes fixed on the fried skewers, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"What kind of meat is this?" he asked casually, pointing to the row of golden skewers.

The stall owner leaned closer and gave a sinister smile: "A human heart. Freshly dug out, still beating. It's tenderest when fried."

Lü Yang's hand froze.

The stall owner, oblivious to his expression, continued speaking, pointing to a row of sliced ​​meat pieces beside him, pink and still streaked with blood, trembling slightly under the light.

"This is a human liver, sliced, coated in batter, and fried until crispy. This is a human tongue, scored with decorative cuts, and fried into curls. This is a human ear, the cartilage is fried until especially crispy."

This is a human brain. Scoop it out with a spoon, coat it in breadcrumbs, and fry it into balls. Crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, it melts in your mouth.

Lü Yang's stomach churned violently.

The aroma was still in my nose, but now it no longer smelled enticing; instead, it was an indescribable fishy-sweet smell mixed with the acrid stench of cooking oil, making me want to vomit.

He looked down at the fried skewers on the stall; beneath their golden-brown exteriors, something seemed to be wriggling.

He suddenly looked up and stared at the stall owner's face.

The stall owner's face was blurry.

It's not that it's covered by something; it's just that it's blurry to begin with, like a lump of dough that's been kneaded a few times, with the features squeezed together, making it impossible to distinguish which is the eye and which is the nose.

But on that blurry face, there was a mouth, laughing wide, revealing grayish-white gums.

Lu Yang glanced at the customers eating next to him.

They sat on the bench next to the stall, holding fried skewers in their hands, chewing them heartily.

Juice dripped from the corner of his mouth; it wasn't yellow, it was red, running down his chin onto his clothes and onto the ground.

Their faces were also blurry, grayish-white, like an unpolished bronze mirror.

Lü Yang placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A fire ignited in his heart.

It wasn't fear, it was anger.

He wanted to draw his sword and cut all of these things down.

They eat human flesh, drink human blood, and even fry human organs into skewers and sell them on stalls, parading through the streets with righteous indignation.

His fingers gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.

But he held back.

He glanced at Ye Qingfeng.

Ye Qingfeng had somehow walked up to him, his hands behind his back, looking at the stall.

His gaze was calm, devoid of anger, disgust, or even interest.

He just looked at it, as if it were something very ordinary.

But there was a slight smile on his lips, a smile as faint as usual, but Lü Yang felt that there was something else in that smile.

It wasn't coldness, it was mockery. Like watching a clown jumping around, wondering how long it could keep bouncing around.

Ye Qingfeng spoke, his voice neither loud nor soft: "Your stall doesn't have everything you need."

The stall owner was taken aback.

He's been selling fried skewers in this ghost market for who knows how many years, and no one has ever said he doesn't have all the items.

He blinked at the two slightly deeper holes on his blurry face and asked.

"Not all? What would you like to eat, sir? I have everything here, human hearts, human flesh... Which piece would you like? I'll cut it for you right away."

Ye Qingfeng shook his head. "You say you have a heart, a liver, a tongue, ears, and a brain, but do you have ghost hands?"

The stall owner opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Ye Qingfeng didn't wait for his reply and continued speaking.

"The 'ghost hand' must have five fingers, no missing fingers, and no missing nails. After it arrives, soak it in clean water for an hour, then blanch it with ginger slices and cooking wine to remove the fishy smell. Take it out, let it cool, and use tweezers to clean the impurities from under the nails."