What do you mean by saying that the corpses I sew are all ominous creatures?

The originally liquid evil energy was forcibly squeezed in my meridians, emitting muffled thunderous sounds.

The crimson paper emperor roared as it charged forward, its massive sword whistling through the air as it slashed down fiercely at my head.

I didn't dodge.

Just as the blade was about to strike, I suddenly opened my eyes, and there was only darkness in the depths of my vision.

Then, the malevolent energy suddenly erupted.

The moment the saber struck, I was like a black lightning bolt, grazing past the blade.

Taking advantage of the momentum, I rushed to the feet of the Paper Emperor.

Then, I slammed my left hand on the Paper Emperor's leg, and the black bone needle pierced directly into the Paper Emperor's core energy node through my palm.

"boom!"

The enormous paper emperor trembled violently, and its originally violent aura instantly descended into chaos.

I seized the opportunity, stepped on the Paper Emperor's shoulders, and soared into the sky, rushing towards the old man.

The willow-leaf blade flashed with a dark gray light as it slashed down fiercely at the old man.

To catch the thief, first catch the king; kill the one who cast the spell, and the spell will naturally dissipate.

There's no need to fight this paper figure to the death.

"Sending you on your way."

My voice remained calm.

The old man stared wide-eyed in horror, clearly not expecting me to come straight at him.

He hurriedly raised the lantern to defend himself, but it was too late.

The blade's edge fell.

There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a soft "plop" sound.

The paper lantern in the old man's hand went out instantly.

A thin line of blood appeared on his body, starting from between his eyebrows.

He stared at me blankly, his lips trembling, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

"Clatter".

The old man's body split in two and fell to the ground.

With his death, the enormous blood-red paper emperor collapsed like a building block that had lost its support, turning into a pile of shredded paper.

I landed on the ground, didn't even glance at the corpse, and turned to continue walking towards the mountaintop.

Continuing along the mountain path, I pushed aside the last patch of dense bushes.

The scene before me suddenly opened up, yet it was also incredibly eerie.

This is the ancestral cemetery on the back hill of Zhoujia Village, with dozens of graves scattered sparsely on the slope.

The graves appeared and disappeared in the gray-white mist, like dwarfs squatting on the ground.

I held my breath and carefully surveyed my surroundings in the dim moonlight.

Zhou Ming was not present.

My gaze swept over the rows of withered graves, finally settling on a spot right in the middle of the slope.

There is an old grave there. Judging from the inscription on the tombstone, it should belong to one of the Zhou family's ancestors.

Strangely, the grave showed obvious signs of having been disturbed.

The soil was very fresh, even with a slightly damp, dark red hue, as if it had just been backfilled not long ago.

Three people were currently surrounding the old grave.

I hid in the shadows, keeping my body low to the ground, and the malevolent energy within me almost ceased to circulate, all in order to minimize my presence.

There were three people, two men and one woman.

Standing in the very center was a middle-aged man wearing a black overcoat, with a thin build, holding a compass in his hand.

Beside him stood a burly man, as tall as an iron tower, shirtless, his exposed skin covered with strange bluish-black patterns, holding a thick black iron rod in his hand.

The last woman appeared somewhat alluring, dressed in a bright red cheongsam, which stood out conspicuously in this desolate wilderness, and she was playing with a few glittering steel needles in her hand.

After seeing the scene before me, a slight thought stirred within me.

The scale of this event in Zhoujia Village was indeed not something that old man who made paper offerings could have accomplished by himself.

The white mist that enveloped the entire village alone was enough to confirm that it wasn't the old man's doing.

However, it can now be confirmed that it is an extremely sophisticated feng shui formation.

And the one holding the compass is probably the core of this formation.

Just as I was pondering this, something unexpected happened.

The middle-aged man holding the compass, who had been staring at the old grave, suddenly turned his head sharply.

His gaze was like lightning, fixed on the bushes where I was hiding.

The compass in his hand emitted a soft "hum," and the needle spun wildly, finally pointing firmly to my location.

"Where did this rat come from? Hiding its head and tail like that, come out!"

The middle-aged man's voice was not loud, but it resonated in the silent ancestral cemetery.

I knew I had been discovered.

Feng shui masters are known for their exceptionally keen sensitivity to the flow of qi, especially in burial grounds where yin energy gathers.

My menacing aura would probably be as conspicuous as a searchlight in the dark in their eyes.

I sighed, slowly stood up, brushed the grass clippings off my clothes, and leisurely walked out from behind the bushes.

"Gentlemen, you're busy working in someone's ancestral cemetery so late at night. Aren't you afraid their ancestors will jump out of their coffins and have a heart-to-heart talk with you?"

My voice wasn't loud, and it was still in that slow and deliberate tone, which didn't sound aggressive.

But my right hand had already quietly gripped the hilt of the scalpel.

Almost the instant I appeared, the three men spread out in a triangular formation, blocking all my escape routes.

The towering man took a step forward, and the ground trembled.

His eyes were filled with rage, and his voice was incredibly loud: "Where's that old good-for-nothing Wu, the paper-mending idiot? Why did he let a brat like you up here?"

I looked at him and smiled: "You mean that old man?"

He's probably getting old and has trouble walking, so he's resting down the mountain right now.

I reckon... I'll probably never get up again in my life.

Upon hearing this, the expressions of the three of them changed simultaneously.

The middle-aged man holding the compass, in particular, frowned deeply, his eyes revealing a sinister glint: "You killed Wu Tianfeng? I underestimated you."

"When did Jiangcheng produce someone like you?"

The woman in red covered her mouth and giggled, but her voice was icy cold: "Boss, judging from his demeanor and that unsettling smell of death, he's probably from the Four Yin Sect, right?"

"Tsk tsk, these days, even a mortician can cultivate internal energy of this caliber. It's truly astonishing."

I ignored her sarcasm, my gaze fixed on the filled-in old grave, and asked calmly, "Where is my friend?"

The young Taoist priest from Longhu Mountain, surnamed Zhou.

"The soil here looks quite fresh. You didn't bury him there, did you?"

The middle-aged man snorted coldly, tilting the compass in his hand slightly, as if adjusting some array node.

"That little brat ruined our plans, so he'll have to pay the price."

He's currently in this living dragon's lair, keeping the Zhou family patriarch company.

But don't worry, once the ancestor has absorbed all of his yang energy, you'll be next.

My heart sank slightly, but I remained expressionless.

Zhou Ming was indeed under the grave, and judging from the appearance, he had been buried there by the people in front of him.

Looking at the three people surrounding me, I knew that these people, along with the old man making paper offerings halfway up the mountain, were probably the masterminds behind the Zhoujia Village incident.

They had a clear division of labor: some were feng shui masters, some practiced external martial arts, and some were evil cultivators who used hidden weapons.