Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

"Scared?" the poster asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Hu San shook his head desperately, but his teeth were chattering and he couldn't speak.

"It's normal to be afraid." The poster sighed, raised his hand to pull up his collar to cover the crack and scales, "Sometimes I'm afraid when I look in the mirror."

His gaze fell on some vague direction outside the window.

"The first time I shed my skin was when I was seventeen. It was a whole piece of skin on my back that peeled off, and it was bloody. It hurt for seven days and seven nights."

"The second time was when I was thirty. What came off was my entire human skin, from head to toe, completely intact."

"At that time, I thought that it would be over after two molts."

He looked down at the cracked back of his hand.

"I never expected there would be a third time, and this time..."

Before he could finish speaking, the poster changed the subject and asked about something else.

"How many cicada molts did we send out in total?"

Hu San was taken aback, not expecting the poster to suddenly ask about this.

But having served the landlord for three years, he was intimately familiar with these accounts. He composed himself and replied:

"Replying to the original poster, counting from the first batch three years ago, a total of forty-seven pieces have been sent out so far."

"Forty-seven..." the poster repeated softly.

"In the first year, we sent thirteen pieces, all to people in Tianjin. In the second year, we sent nineteen pieces, and some went to Beijing. So far this year, we have sent fifteen pieces, and just two months ago we had someone take three pieces to Jiangnan."

Hu San reported in detail, "Of these forty-seven pieces, thirty-one people used them, and sixteen people didn't. Of those who used them, those who are still alive..."

He silently counted for a few seconds, "There are still twenty-nine people alive."

The original poster nodded, their expression revealing neither joy nor anger.

"How did the two who died die?"

Hu San carefully chose his words: "One was last winter when I encountered bandits in the north. I was outmatched and had my head chopped off. The other was this spring when I contracted a strange illness and died in just three days."

"Bandits, strange illness..." The landlord chuckled softly, "It has saved me from two calamities."

Hu San lowered his head, not daring to reply.

"Thirty-one were used, and twenty-nine are still alive." The poster raised his hand, looking at the cracks in his skin. "Adding the sixteen who haven't been used yet, that makes a total of forty-seven."

Is that enough?

These words seemed to be directed at Hu San, but also at himself.

Hu San still didn't dare to utter a sound.

The room fell silent for a moment. "Where are all those we used?"

"They're everywhere," Hu San replied. "Some are still in Tianjin, and some have gone elsewhere. As you instructed, I haven't been keeping a close eye on them. I've only sent someone occasionally to check from a distance to make sure they're still alive."

"They themselves didn't know there was anything wrong with the cicada shell; they just thought they had found a treasure."

"Thank you..." A cryptic smile appeared on the poster's lips. "By the time they find out what they're supposed to thank me for, they probably won't be able to say anything."

Hu San gave a forced smile, but it was a dry laugh.

"What about the sixteen useless ones?" the poster asked again.

"They're all keeping an eye on it," Hu San said. "Some are like the grandson of that white paper Yama, useless to keep; some are probably people we can't bear to part with; and there are a few others, I think they might have sensed something, so we haven't dared to use them."

"Sensed?" The poster raised an eyebrow.

"It's just suspicion," Hu San hurriedly said. "There's no solid evidence, and the items are still there; they haven't been lost or destroyed. I think that as long as the items are still in their hands, they'll be useful sooner or later."

"Even if it's never used, when the host undergoes their tribulation..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

But the meaning is already quite clear.

Even if those people never use the Yin Cicada Shell, as long as the item is in their hands, there will be some connection between them and the host.

Although this connection is not as deep as after absorption, it can still play a role to some extent.

The original poster nodded, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement.

"Forty-seven..." he repeated the number, his gaze falling on the dark red moon outside the window. "Hopefully that'll be enough."

Hu San hesitated for a moment, but couldn't help asking, "OP, was this molting... very dangerous?"

I regretted asking the question as soon as I did.

But the original poster wasn't angry; they simply said, "The first two times it was dead skin shedding, this time it's live skin. Do you think that's dangerous or not?"

After he finished speaking, he reached under his own body and groped around for a while.

The movement was quite ordinary, like looking for something in one's sleeve.

But Hu San noticed that the hand wasn't reaching into the sleeve, but rather under the collar, close to the skin.

A rustling sound arose.

When that hand was pulled out again, there were a few pieces of something as thin as cicada wings between its fingers.

It is the molted skin of a cicada.

It was translucent, with a faint grayish-white hue, and almost invisible in the dim candlelight.

The edges have fine lines, like the wings of some kind of insect, or like the skin peeled off from some living creature.

"Take it." The landlord placed the molted cicada shell on the edge of the low table. "Choose a few more promising young men and send them out for me."

Hu San stepped forward, picked up the cicada shells with both hands, and found them to be icy cold to the touch, with a faint dampness, as if they had just been taken from a living creature.

"Understood," he replied in a low voice. "Does the Master have someone in mind?"

"You decide for yourself." The original poster waved his hand. "Be careful when choosing people; I want more than just those with abundant blessings."

His voice suddenly lowered, as if he were talking to himself.

"They have to be tough."

"I've got it." Hu San carefully tucked the Yin Cicada Shell into his robes. "I'll go and look for one in the next few days."

"No rush." ​​The host picked up the cup of cold tea. "Take your time to choose, be careful, better to have nothing than something bad. But don't touch those big families or people from the Zhenyi Division."

Hu San bowed in agreement and backed out of the quiet room.

As he stepped out of Tingyu Tower, the night wind blew by, and he realized that his back was soaked again.

I touched the few fresh cicada shells in my arms; they were icy cold, and I could feel the chill even through the fabric.

I'm forty-seven now.

Blessed with abundant blessings.

He vaguely understood something: those who are unlucky and short-lived probably don't even have the right to protect themselves from disaster.

Only those with abundant blessings can withstand that karmic burden and safely pass through the third molting tribulation.

. . . . . .

Chen Mo walked in the dark for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn when suddenly his eyes were lit up.

We've arrived at the ghost market.

The ghost market tonight was much more lively than the last time I came.

On the surrounding open space, kerosene lamps hung from bamboo poles, casting a dim yellow light.

In those places where the lamplight flickered, shadowy figures could be seen, their outlines visible but their faces indistinct.

The stalls on the ground were laid out one after another, with tattered burlap, old oilcloth, and rotten straw mats—you name it.

The items displayed on it were a mixed bag: yellowed old books, chipped porcelain vases, and rusted bronzeware.

Some stalls displayed bones, segment by segment, that looked like human finger bones, but it was hard to say.

Other stalls displayed bottles and jars containing something that was too dark to see clearly, only occasionally illuminated by a flickering lamplight, revealing a blurry outline.