Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

At this moment, Liu Desheng was lying on the ground inside the house, his body trembling uncontrollably.

It wasn't that he wanted to tremble, but his body wouldn't obey him.

A paper knife was stuck in his chest, pinning him to the ground, even though the paper figure holding the knife had already been burned by the fire cloud talisman thrown by his master.

He tried to draw the knife, but as soon as his fingers touched the blade, it felt like being pricked by ice shards, and his entire arm went numb.

Blood was still flowing out.

Liu Desheng could feel his body getting colder little by little, starting from his fingertips and slowly spreading upwards.

He opened his eyes and stared at the account book in front of him.

The account books were scattered on the ground, right next to his face.

Several pages were soaked in blood, the writing blurred into a mass of red.

Those were accounts he had kept for six years, detailing which year, which month, how many knives he had given to which family on credit, what prophecy he had recited, and what date he had agreed to collect the debt.

Each stroke is clear and distinct.

Qian the Cripple was illiterate, so he always kept these accounts.

For six years, he has kept more detailed accounts than he knows his own birth date and time.

But what's the use of those accounts?

Over the years, apart from some basic martial arts skills, his master only had him do bookkeeping and odd jobs. He didn't learn any of the tricks of the trade in knives on credit.

Liu Desheng's eyes darted around as he looked into the room.

The old man was surrounded by three paper puppets, and his body had been cut three or four times, with blood staining a large area of ​​his clothes.

Old Zhou was hiding in the corner, holding the kitchen knife, blood still dripping from his chin, he looked like he was going to die.

Where is Zhao Chen?

Liu Desheng did not see Zhao Chen.

The doorway was open, and rain poured in, leaving a wet patch on the ground.

That kid's fast; he probably ran away.

Liu Desheng suddenly wanted to laugh.

Good riddance.

Running away might save your life.

Unlike him, who can only lie here waiting to die.

But as he laughed, he couldn't laugh anymore.

The year before last, in the spring, Qian the Cripple patted him on the shoulder and said, "Desheng, you are the disciple that your master trusts the most."

When he heard that, he felt a warm glow inside.

He thought this meant his master valued him.

Now he's lying on the ground, almost bleeding to death, and only now does he understand what those words mean.

......

"You beast, come out here if you dare!"

Qian the Cripple glanced at his two apprentices, then with all his might, he deflected the paper blades that were slashing at him, and with a backhand slash, he aimed for the neck of the paper puppet.

The knife in his hand was an heirloom passed down from the knife peddler.

The blade is narrow and long with a slight inward curve, resembling the kind of knife an old tailor modified, but it's three-tenths thicker than a traditional cutting knife.

The blade wasn't freshly sharpened and gleaming, but rather had a warm, dark silver sheen.

This knife was sold on credit thirty-seven times, and then returned thirty-seven times.

Each time it is withdrawn, the sword energy grows stronger, and ordinary ghosts and evil spirits cannot even withstand a single strike.

At that moment, the blade was at the neck, and the paper figure was unable to dodge.

Just as a glimmer of hope appeared in his mind, the knife pierced through the paper figure's neck, as if cutting through thin air, without any real tactile sensation.

The paper figure instantly turned into a cloud of black mist.

His knife missed its mark, and he stumbled forward half a step.

But in that short time, the black mist condensed and took shape on the ground again.

It was still that pale face, still that wide grin, perfectly fine, without even a knife mark on its neck.

It stood still, tilting its head to look at him.

It was as if they were laughing at him for wasting his efforts.

Qian the Cripple gripped the knife, standing there panting heavily. Sweat streamed down his forehead and stung his eyes, but he dared not raise his hand to wipe it away.

His hands were trembling, and the wrinkles on his face were trembling too.

It can't be killed by cutting.

It can't be chopped up.

It can't be broken apart.

He had lived for over fifty years and had never seen anything like it.

I've dealt with paper figures before. No matter how evil they are, they have a weakness: they're afraid of fire, thunder, and unclean things.

Aside from the Fire Cloud Talisman, he couldn't think of anything else that could restrain these three beings.

However, that Fire Cloud Talisman was drawn by the current head of the Maoshan Sect, making it extremely precious.

Back then, he swallowed his pride and begged countless favors just to scrape together two coins from others to tide him over...

"Are you a member of the Hou family? I'm an old acquaintance of your patriarch. Old Qian has admitted defeat this time, so feel free to make any demands you may have."

Qian the Cripple touched the last remaining Fire Cloud Talisman on his chest and glanced around the room.

"Hehehe, isn't it a bit too late to admit defeat now?"

Chen Mo's voice came from all directions, making it impossible to guess his location.

Before he finished speaking, the three paper figures suddenly rose up.

The three swords were unleashed simultaneously, striking from the upper, middle, and lower directions.

Instead of retreating, Qian the Cripple advanced, kicking over the incense table in front of him. The incense burner, talismans, and copper coin sword on the table scattered all over the ground.

Using the force of the kick, he slid back three feet, simultaneously reaching into his robes with his right hand and tightly gripping the last Fire Cloud Talisman.

"Lord Laozi, may this be done hastily! Fire Cloud Talisman, arise!"

The moment the yellow talisman left his hand, it burst into flames.

The pale golden flames swelled in the wind, becoming incredibly hot. In the blink of an eye, they transformed into a fire cloud about ten feet in diameter, carrying the power to incinerate everything, and enveloped the three paper figures.

Qian the Cripple, his hair and beard curly, his face burning from the heat, stared intently at the cloud of fire.

He wanted to watch these three paper figures turn to ashes in the Samadhi Fire with his own eyes.

The firelight illuminated every corner of the house.

Just as the fiery clouds were about to engulf them, the three paper figures suddenly went limp at the same time, turning into shadows that stretched and twisted on the ground, like three pools of thick ink splashed out, instantly merging into a pitch-black expanse.

Fire clouds swept over them.

Golden flames scorched the ground black, cracked the blue bricks, and sent sparks flying from the wooden beams.

But the three dark figures darted past from the shadows of the furniture in the room, moving so fast that they were almost invisible to the naked eye.

"What! How is that possible!"

Qian the Cripple's eyes widened.

Before he could react, three dark figures had already swept to his feet and emerged from the ground in front of him unharmed, without even a trace of burning on the talismans on their bodies.

Qian the Cripple's hand was still raised in mid-air, with only a wisp of smoke between his fingers.

It’s over.

That was the only thought left in his mind.

The paper figure raised the knife in its hand and lightly stabbed it towards his chest.

"Master, run!"

Surprisingly, Zhou Laoda was still alive. As if in a final burst of energy, he got up, bumped past Qian the Cripple, and went to meet him.

"Boss!"

Qian the Cripple's eyes were bloodshot, yet he dared not linger.

Taking advantage of the brief moment that Zhou Laoda had risked his life for, he scrambled through the window behind him and rushed into the yard.

Rainwater streamed down his gray hair, blurring his vision. He raised his hand and wiped it hard, then staggered to his feet.

They escaped?

Just as he had this thought, a soft laugh came from behind him.

"He runs pretty fast even with a limp."

Qian the Cripple felt a chill run down his spine and suddenly turned around.

He saw a young man standing three feet behind him, holding an umbrella in his left hand and a long knife in his right.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something...

A flash of light appeared in the rain.

Before Qian the Cripple could finish speaking, his vision suddenly began to spin.

He saw lightning, he saw the courtyard, and he saw a headless body standing there.

His head hit the ground and rolled to the base of the courtyard wall.

Chen Mo sheathed his sword, shook off the blood, and turned to walk back into the house...