Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

The most fundamental quality that keeps Wu Laosi's body "alive" is being drained away by an unseen force.

Like flowing sand in an hourglass.

Like seawater being dragged back to the ocean at low tide.

The change begins at the top of the head.

Wu Laosi's hair, starting from the roots, gradually lost its color.

It's not the common grayish-white, nor the gradual silver-gray that comes with aging.

That's more direct—the black begins to "disappear" from the roots of the hair, like ink being extracted from the paper fibers by water, pushing upwards inch by inch.

Jet black turned into dark gray, dark gray turned into light gray, and light gray turned into almost transparent white.

In just three seconds, his head was covered in frost.

Then there are the eyes.

The parts filled with terror and pleas for mercy are fading away layer by layer.

It was like a large house where all the guests had left, with only the doors half open and the wind blowing through.

Then comes the face.

Her once full cheeks began to sag inwards from below her cheekbones.

The apple cheek area gradually sank into a small pit, like an apple that has been watered for too long and finally lost its last bit of firmness.

Near the temples, the bluish veins that were originally well hidden now faintly revealed pale blue lines.

The skin under the eyes becomes visibly thin and translucent, revealing a fine red network of capillaries.

The change spread to the neck.

The skin around the Adam's apple, which was originally quite firm, now looked like a deflated balloon, slightly wrinkled and drooping downwards.

The neck wrinkles deepened, turning from faint fine lines into clear ravines.

The skin exposed at the neckline had changed from a warm wheat color to a dull, old off-white.

Next is the body.

Fine lines began to appear on the skin of the back of my hand, like rice paper that had been crumpled and smoothed out too many times.

The veins are prominent and bulging, winding like the roots of an old tree.

Less than three seconds.

Wu Laosi felt as if he had been thrown into a transparent water tank where time flowed a hundred times faster than outside.

Although his shoulders and back were still leaning against the wall, they had clearly slumped down.

The rise and fall of his chest became shallow and slow, and each breath was more economical than the last.

Everyone stared in disbelief at the scene.

For some reason, a remarkably specific judgment suddenly popped into everyone's minds—

fifteen years.

At least fifteen years.

At least fifteen years have been taken from this person.

"Alright, that's it for the criminal law part..." Zhang Qiliang said with a smile, "Next is the civil part. You tell me how much compensation you should pay."

Old Wu was terrified as he sensed the changes within himself—though he couldn't see them, he could clearly feel them. "Damn it, what kind of evil magic is this! Help! Help..."

“Hmm…” Zhang Qiliang looked at the censor inspector: “The accused is swearing.”

“A fine of 2000…” The imperial censor was stunned: “…”

“At this rate, they won’t spend money even if they have it,” Zhang Qiliang sighed, looking at the completely stunned expressions in the dormitory, and raised his hand again: “…Five years of forced labor, right?”

This time, Zhang Qiliang's movements were a little slower.

Another "detachment" has begun.

The first thing to change was still Wu Laosi's eyes.

Those eyes, which were originally filled with fear, anger, pleas for mercy, and a desperate scheming to find a way to survive—all of this, like foam on a beach when the tide goes out, peeled away layer by layer.

First, the anger disappeared.

Those eyes lost their burning hatred, leaving only fear and confusion.

Then the fear subsided.

The fear did not disappear, but became simpler and more direct—there was no longer any understanding of the "evil magic," only a vague sense of "something is not right."

Then, the confusion itself began to dissipate.

His eyelids sagged.

There's no need to open your eyes so wide anymore—there's not that much information to receive or that many threats to be wary of.

Saliva spilled from the corner of his mouth, trickling down in a thin stream, but Wu Laosi was oblivious.

"Uh... ah..."

He moved his tongue vigorously, as if searching for something in his mouth.

Then he found it.

His mouth parted into a grin.

The smile was big and innocent, without the slightest hint of adult social restraint or affectation.

After completing the spell, Zhang Qiliang walked over to the other two people.

"Eight years."

"Six years."

The scar on Li Qiang's face twitched violently, and his lips trembled so much that he couldn't utter a complete sentence.

Sun Fucai lost control of his bladder, and pale yellow liquid dripped down his trouser leg onto the cement floor.

Help!

Monster!

This is hardly a five-year period!

These are the last five years of my life!

That's why they say that those who master the sword manual will definitely become more and more talented.

This time, Zhang Qiliang raised both hands at the same time!

In one breath, it absorbed the life essence of the two people for eight and six years respectively, as well as five years... well, five years' worth of intelligence from their remaining lifespan.

Li Qiang and Sun Fucai hung limply on the wall like two candles with their wicks removed.

Li Qiang's face stopped twitching; he had forgotten what expression was needed to convey "pain."

Sun Fucai's incontinence also stopped; he could no longer distinguish between "holding it in" and "relaxing."

Okay, the money has arrived.

Zhang Qiliang turned around, palms facing up.

A ray of clear light split into six sword intents, shooting into the foreheads of the six people in the dormitory.

A faint light shone in Chen Dayong's cloudy eyes.

He opened his mouth, his throat bobbed for a long time, and finally squeezed out a mumbled, crooked word:

"……Thanks."

Zhou Xiaohui felt a chill run down his spine, and he stopped fiddling with the bedsheet.

He looked up at the three drooling human figures outside the door and murmured, "It's...them."

Wang Fugui was still drooling, but his tears had stopped.

He pointed to his stomach and said with difficulty, "I'm hungry... I'm hungry."

The scarred man turned towards the door, looking intently at the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere and seemed strangely close to him.

"No rush, take your time," Zhang Qiliang said with a smile.

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang walked back to the human stake, his gaze falling on the second row—the deputy director of the police station, the village party secretary, and the environmental protection officer, all wearing imitation shirts.

"What about these? Dereliction of duty, cover-up, bribery—how should they be dealt with?"

The inspector's Adam's apple bobbed, and his scalp tingled.

Several days have passed, and the media doesn't know—or pretends not to know. How could a professional like him not know what has happened in the past few years?

"...Wang Fulai, Li Defu, Zhao Zhigang...Based on the current situation, the preliminary judgment is that they are mainly involved in...dereliction of duty and administrative inaction. If it is found that they did indeed accept money or property, it may constitute the crime of bribery. However, the clues currently available..."

"According to current laws and regulations, if the standard for criminal prosecution is not met, the most severe punishment is... dismissal from public office and expulsion from the academy. Depending on the severity of the circumstances, some benefits may be retained, or the individual may be completely dismissed."

Zhang Qiliang remained silent for a few seconds.

The corridor was eerily quiet.

“You guys are really good to your own people.” Zhang Qiliang sighed deeply: “Fine, you can decide whether to fire them.”

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang took out his phone and set it up.

The camera focused on Li Defu, the village chief, who was wearing a cadre jacket.

"Tell me, what illegal and disorderly things have you done during your years in office?"

"I...I didn't...I'm a trusted confidant of the imperial court, educated for many years, how could I..."

Zhang Qiliang stepped forward and grasped Li Defu's left hand.

Two minutes later, both fingers were completely shattered at the knuckles.

"I confess..." Li Defu said weakly, "I confess..."

Three years ago, when the village was repairing roads, he falsely reported 200,000 yuan for sand and gravel, and split the profits with the contractor on a 30/70 basis.

Five years ago, he withheld 300 of the poverty alleviation chicks allocated by the county under the pretext of "transportation loss" and resold them to farmers in a neighboring village.

—In a neighboring village, he helped a relative who did not meet the eligibility criteria to forge documents to obtain 120,000 yuan in land expropriation compensation, and he took 30,000 yuan as a "thank you fee".

It's common for businesses in the town to give him cigarettes and alcohol as gifts during holidays. The largest gift he ever received was a shopping card worth 5,000 yuan and two cases of Moutai liquor, with the invoices listed as "entertainment expenses" from the businesses.

Last year, he arranged for his brother-in-law to work as a supervisor in the newly established agricultural assistance cooperative in the village, receiving a nominal monthly salary, totaling more than 40,000 yuan over two years...

Zhang Qiliang then turned to the Imperial Censorate for inspection.

"Now you can determine the sentence."

Just then, police sirens sounded outside the door, indicating that at least seven or eight police cars had been dispatched at the same time.

In the corridor, everyone was overjoyed.

Various cries for help, warnings, and urging Zhang Qiliang to leave quickly were heard.

Zhang Qiliang didn't interfere at all, quietly waiting for the sound of the police car to get closer and closer.

The police car stopped, and the sound of doors slamming shut echoed.

Zhang Qiliang then vanished from everyone's sight in a flash.

Screams rose and fell.

The sounds of impact, collision, and the metallic clang of a vehicle being violently destroyed.

Gunshots.

No sound.

Just a few dozen seconds later, Zhang Qiliang reappeared in front of everyone.

His clothes were clean, his hair was neat, and not a drop of sweat appeared on his forehead.

That's not the point. The point is that Zhang Qiliang, who reappeared, entered the room and threw down a whole bunch of pistols.

As Zhang Qiliang walked past the prosecutor, he suddenly stopped and asked curiously, "What would happen if those people outside ran away now?"

"...Expelled."