Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 340 Profound Yin Condensation Meridians

However, Xilun himself was not satisfied.

He knew he was still one step away from being a "master".

The difference lies in the word "familiar".

The difference lies in the final half-step where the spear path, breathing, cold energy, and footwork are completely aligned.

So he practiced more and more meticulously.

The same straight thrust, initially one hundred times, became three hundred, then five hundred times.

He would practice the same spinning and thrusting motion from dawn till dusk, just so that the profound, cold energy of the spear wouldn't dissipate prematurely when it reached its third rotation.

Slow and steady wins the race.

One night, Rena came to deliver intelligence. Standing far away at the edge of the open space, she saw Xilun slash a shot down from above.

There was no exaggerated slamming sound.

There was only a low, rumbling sound of wind.

The next instant, the blue stone, which was half a person tall, slowly slid open from the middle, the cut surface turning white, as if it had been sealed by something extremely cold before being forcibly broken.

Rena glanced at it twice and whispered, "Your gun looks much better than it did half a month ago."

Xilun sheathed his gun, his breathing steady: "It's just not as thick as before."

"thick?"

"Before, I just used brute force to suppress it." He glanced at the tip of the gun. "Now, I'm starting to use some technique."

Reina couldn't help but laugh.

She rarely saw Xilun speak in this tone; it was calm and even, yet it had an indescribable sharpness.

Besides the gun, Xilun also didn't overlook the combat techniques that came with the Xuan Yin Breathing Technique.

The first thing he set his sights on was a palm technique.

The book didn't use any fancy names; it only had four characters: "Mysterious Yin Condensed Veins."

The training method is so simple it's almost brutal: lower your center of gravity, let the chill travel first to your forearm, then lock the base of your palm, and finally explode in a short burst of power.

It looks easy, but it's actually extremely difficult to do.

A gun amplifies force, while a palm compresses it.

The former emphasizes breaking through, while the latter emphasizes penetrating.

When Xilun first started practicing it, eight out of ten strikes only produced white frost on the surface of the stone, with the cold air floating on the outside and not penetrating inside.

On the evening of the eighteenth day, he stood by the waterfall and slapped a wet, dark blue stone wall a total of two hundred and thirty-seven times.

The edges of my palms were already red from the shock, and the area between my thumb and forefinger was cracked.

But he seemed oblivious.

When the last palm strike landed, the movement was actually slower than before.

boom!

The sound wasn't loud.

The surface of the stone wall wasn't even cracked.

Two breaths later, a series of fine cracks suddenly burst open from the inside of the rock surface, and cold white ice lines crawled out along the cracks, like tendons growing backwards.

Xilun looked at the palm print and finally let out a slow breath.

It's become somewhat interesting.

From that day on, his breath began to truly exude a chilling, malevolent energy capable of harming people.

It's not just about freezing things; it can penetrate deep into the opponent's bones and flesh by following the force and vibration.

He himself could clearly feel this change.

At night, the process of practicing "Prayer for the Holy Bud" also moved forward little by little.

Initially, he could only condense a tiny bit of white energy, about the size of a grain of rice, to cleanse the withered roots of a wisp of black energy before he had to stop and rest for half a day.

Gradually, the white light began to stabilize.

It no longer falls apart at the slightest touch.

A few days later, he tried to cleanse the two people who had been poisoned by the flower field that Scamai had sent over. One was an old farmer whose legs were covered with remnants of the mother ditch, and the other was a boy he had rescued from the old barracks.

Both of them still harbored a trace of obscure and impure thoughts, and they often had nightmares at night, feeling like crying whenever they heard the wind.

Xilun placed three bets for them.

When the third time ended, the first thing the boy said when he opened his eyes was, "Sir, the noise from that group of people in my ears has finally stopped."

He cried after he finished speaking.

The tears weren't caused by pollution.

It's the kind of crying that comes from being suppressed for too long and then suddenly being released.

Xilun didn't say anything, only instructing Rhodes to take the person to rest.

The effect is remarkable.

This is why his assessment of the Black Dove Church became increasingly solid.

The most insidious thing about that group wasn't their guns or knives.

It is the pollution itself.

Over the course of more than a month, Rena pieced together fragmented pieces of information from different leads.

Someone saw a young man in a grey robe carrying boxes outside the old parish. He was tall and walked with his left shoulder slightly drooping, clearly indicating that he came from a fighting background.

Some people also remembered another elderly man—pale-faced, with trembling hands, who often bought tranquility potions and incense, and occasionally fine silver thread, white wax, and coffin nails.

"One in front, one behind."

In the study, Xiren looked at the unfolded map and lightly tapped the location of the Black Dove Church with his finger.

"The one in front is a newbie who has just entered the second stage. He has a lot of qi and blood, so he is suitable for doing dirty work."

The latter one has at least four or five years of experience; he has a deep understanding of the occult, and is particularly adept at weaving pollution into living people, living things, and even sounds.

Rena stood by the table and said in a deep voice, "Lately, every time our men keep watch near the old parish, they feel inexplicably depressed. Two of our brothers came back from surveillance without even wanting to eat. I've already done as you instructed, having them take turns using tranquility potions, and they've also been burning incense during their night watch."

"Well done."

Xilun looked up at her and said, "If a concert were to actually be held there, ordinary people would feel depressed after just a few lines."

Even at the second tier, one needs potions and incense to survive; otherwise, before even truly engaging in combat, they'll be dragged into the mud.

Rena stared at him: "Are you really not affected at all?"

Xilun was silent for a moment, then said calmly, "It used to bother me, but not anymore."

He didn't explain further.

But when Lena looked at the calm and aloof look in his eyes, she couldn't help but feel a strange sensation in her heart.

This man is becoming increasingly difficult to understand.

For more than a month, the only thing that didn't get better was that Lund still hadn't replied.

Initially, Xilun was able to keep the situation under control.

Lund was an old hand; he knew better than anyone how deep the waters were in the South District and the Ocean Terminal.

Logically speaking, not replying to a letter doesn't necessarily mean something has happened; it could simply mean the person is not there and the letter can't be delivered.

Twenty days passed, but there was no reply.

Twenty-seven days have passed, and there has still been no reply.

On the thirty-fifth day, even the message that Saiwei sent through intermediaries was only one sentence: the young master still had not returned to the manor.

That night, Xiren sat in his study, staring intently at the letter he had written a month earlier, a rare occurrence for him, for a long time.

The kerosene lamp on the table burned very steadily.

A breeze picked up outside the window.

He suddenly remembered the first time he met Lund. The man was sitting in his office, looking languid, as if he didn't care about anything, yet he was more dangerous than anyone else.

Such a person shouldn't remain silent.

But precisely because of this, something increasingly cold arose in Xilun's heart.

"Rhodes".

"Young Master."

"Send two more people to the South District, one to the manor and the other to the ocean pier, to investigate both areas thoroughly. If there is any news, there's no need to write a letter; just have someone come back by car."

Rod hesitated for a moment, then immediately replied, "I'll go right away."

Xilun leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly.

He rarely worries about anyone.

Krund is different.

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps came from outside.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter."

Rena pushed open the door and came in, her shoulders still damp from the night, her face more somber than usual.

"It moved."

Xilun opened his eyes and looked at her.

Rena placed a short note she had just written on the table: "The people in the old parish are starting to shrink back. The last batch of Tranquility Potion and Spirit Incense from the apothecary will all be taken away tonight."

Also, on the abandoned road south of the Black Dove Church, our men saw two covered wagons carrying boxes inside.

She paused, then lowered her voice.

"The weather has changed too. Dark clouds have gathered over the south of the city, it looks like a downpour is coming."

The study was quiet for a moment.

Xilun reached out and picked up the note, glanced at it only once, and then slowly folded it up.

After waiting for more than a month, it has finally begun.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The night in the distance was as dark as ink, and the lights in the north district flickered in the wind, as if they might be swallowed up at any moment by the dark clouds pressing in from the south.

A moment later, Xilun turned around, the silence in his eyes now completely subsided.

"Call him Kusso."

"it is good."

"Have Ferru and Rod come to the study as well."

Rena looked at him and asked softly, "Tonight?"

"tonight."

Xilun's voice was not loud, but there was no hesitation whatsoever.

"Since they're willing to go, I'll go and take them on."

The night was dark, and the wind was strong.

When the first lightning bolt struck south of the city, there were already very few houses on the barren slope outside the Black Dove Church that dared to keep their lights on.

The old parish was already dilapidated.

Broken walls, dry wells, crooked tombstones, and abandoned clock towers—on rainy days, everything seems to be soaked in a layer of deathly gray.

The wild grass was bent by the wind, the muddy road was so bad it could swallow half a shoe, and before the sky had completely set, it was already impossible to see anything in the distant woodland gully.

In a half-collapsed annex on the west side of the church, incense was burning quietly.

The grayish-white smoke didn't rise; instead, it pressed down along the holes in the roof, like a layer of fog that lingered for a long time.

Samuel sat on an old bench, his back slightly hunched, holding a small glass medicine bottle in his hand.

He looked to be in his forties, but was actually older. He was just too thin, with skin so close to his bones that it was difficult to tell his age.

Rainwater dripped from the cracks in the broken tiles, landing on the stone bricks at his feet with a hollow sound.

He didn't look up, but simply unscrewed the medicine bottle and took a sip of the tranquilizing potion.

The pale blue liquid slid down his Adam's apple. He closed his eyes and took a couple of breaths before his pale knuckles slowly stopped trembling.

A young man was standing next to him.

He was very tall with broad shoulders, and his thick muscles could not be hidden beneath his gray robe. There was an old scar on the side of his neck, but his eyes were more irritable than the wind.

He slammed a wooden box studded with silver nails onto the ground and frowned at Samuel.

"Drinking again?"

"If you don't drink it soon, I'll start hearing other things."

Samuel's voice was very soft, as soft as sandpaper rubbing against wood.

The young man clearly didn't like the answer and scoffed, "We've come this far, and you still keep saying you heard, heard..."

"So what if I hear? At worst, I'll give him a good beating. If that Northern Governor really dares to come, I'll twist his head off first."

Samuel looked up and glanced at him.

Edwin.

The young man stopped.

Samuel said slowly, "You've just entered the second stage, your energy and blood are at their peak, and you think you can solve everything with your fists."

"It's not your fault. But pollution isn't a wooden door, or human bones; it's not something you can just smash to pieces with one punch."

Edwin's expression wasn't good, but he suppressed his anger and didn't retort.

Thunder rumbled outside, and the raindrops intensified.

Samuel turned his head and looked at the clock tower outside the annex, where half of the cross was broken, his gaze deeper than before.

"I first learned how to burn incense in a mine."

"That year, an epidemic broke out in the well, and many people died. The people above just threw medicine down, but refused to come down."

Later, when the medicine ran out, they told us to pile the bodies further away so they wouldn't block the coal transport.

"Do you know what's the most ridiculous thing?"

Edwin frowned but remained silent.

Samuel smiled faintly.

"It is those who are about to die who, even in their final moments, still hope that someone will listen to them say a word."

"The choir members came down. People said they were dirty, they were crazy, they treated rotting flesh as a sacred object..."

But only they were truly willing to kneel beside the dead and listen to every single pleas for help, entreaties, curses, and murmurs.

As he spoke, his fingers slowly caressed the medicine bottle, a hint of weary gentleness flashing in his eyes.

"Later I realized that there were too many of those voices. Listening to them for too long would damage your brain and make you feel like you were sinking down."

"Whether it's the tranquility potion or the incense, it's just to prevent me from sinking too quickly."

"Pollution is a disease; once you're infected, you can never get rid of it!"

Edwin paused for a moment, then said in a low voice, "But we're not here tonight to listen to dead men talk."

"Yes."

Samuel nodded. "Tonight, we're here to find a way for the living."

In a corner of the annex, four or five gray-robed men were hiding.

They all looked rather unwell. Some were carrying incense burners, some were carrying thin silver threads and white wax bags, and two were carefully carrying a long box.

A section of whitish old root could be vaguely seen through the cracks in the box.

The room was very quiet.

Everyone knows that if they manage to make it through tonight, they will finally reach the crack beneath the Black Dove Church.

If we can't leave...

Those children and patients hidden in mine trenches, abandoned houses, and shacks had to endure it all.

They might not even survive this winter.

Samuel didn't consider himself a good person.

He also knew that the path he was on was dirty, paved with living people, rotten roots, voices, and blood.

But clean roads are not the only way to save lives in this world.

Sometimes, poor people don't even have a dirty road to walk on.

"Is it really unnecessary to guard against the Governor of the Northern District anymore?"

Edwin lowered his voice, "He destroyed a flower field in Scamander and uprooted Ino. That kind of person doesn't seem like someone who would be scared off by a warning."

Samuel gazed at the rain outside the window and said softly, "I know."

"Then why did you send someone to deliver the message?"

"Because I need to see first whether he's afraid of pollution or understands pollution."

Edwin frowned: "And the result?"

Samuel remained silent for a very short moment.

"The messenger wasn't insane, the line broke, the message was lost... He understands."

Edwin's expression finally changed slightly: "You mean, he can cleanse?"

"It might not be much, but at least we'll get a chance."

Samuel put the medicine bottle back into his sleeve and slowly stood up.

"So we mustn't act rashly tonight. If he really comes, don't rush in."

Edwin retorted, "So we wait for him to come at us?"

"Let me hear first."