Chapter 446: The Screen

Mo Hua's heart stirred; his eyes sharpened as he fixed them on Zhang Quan.

He wanted to see how Zhang Quan would set up the altar, how he would invoke the bell, and which ancestral portrait he would worship.

And where, exactly, was this altar Zhang Quan intended to open?

Mo Hua had searched every corner of the Corpse Village and found no altar whatsoever.

Zhang Quan instructed one of the corpse cultivators:

"Go prepare the offerings."

The corpse cultivator bowed and left, returning shortly with a bandit who carried a clay jar filled with blood.

Zhang Quan nodded, then shut the heavy door of the secret chamber.

After checking every corner and confirming no "outsiders" were present, his expression turned solemn as he walked to a screen.

The screen was ancient, leaning against the wall, painted with ink landscapes of withered trees and mountains.

Zhang Quan formed several hand seals and murmured incantations.

Ink qi swirled across the screen, rippling in waves until it dissolved into nothingness, revealing a hidden entrance.

Mo Hua was slightly startled.

There was another secret chamber inside this one?

He hadn't noticed it at all.

He had underestimated Zhang Quan.

This Zhang Quan truly held many secrets…

Mo Hua thought to himself.

Behind the screen was another secret chamber.

The beam Mo Hua clung to offered a poor angle; he could only glimpse a corner of the room, nothing more.

Yet even that corner revealed opulent decorations, eerie candlelight, various sinister artifacts, and a table draped in golden cloth.

Mo Hua shifted to another beam, climbing up Liang Mu and hanging upside down, peering his head into the chamber.

This time he saw more clearly.

There was indeed an altar inside.

Upon the altar rested a painted portrait.

Too far to make out clearly, Mo Hua dared not stare directly—only a fleeting glance before he looked away.

Offerings were placed upon the altar.

But they were no ordinary offerings.

Three plates: one held a hand bone, one a foot bone, the center one a skull.

Whether these were the bones of innocent cultivators or Zhang Quan's ancestral master, he could not tell.

Candles burned upon the altar.

The candles were white; their flames glowed an eerie green, dripping wax like tears that pooled and hardened at the base.

Mo Hua guessed this was corpse oil.

There were also other strange, misshapen objects.

Mo Hua was not a corpse cultivator—he could not understand them.

Beneath the altar stood a coffin.

The coffin was snow-white.

Its material was neither wood, nor stone, nor copper, nor iron.

After studying it for a long while, Mo Hua realized it must be a bone coffin.

He felt a faint surprise.

Was this bone coffin also used for corpse cultivation?

But what kind of corpse could be cultivated in a bone coffin?

He had only heard of walking corpses, iron corpses, copper corpses, silver corpses, and gold corpses—never a bone corpse…

What use was a corpse reduced to nothing but bones?

Mo Hua muttered inwardly.

At that moment, he saw Zhang Quan and the corpse cultivators kowtow before the altar, murmuring incantations:

"Feng Xiaoxiao dare invade; Ancestral Master, reveal your might…"

"Lend me your divine awareness, to refine the copper bell…"

"... Let the copper bell drink blood, leave no trace of flesh or bone…"

"Let white bones serve the former master; let human consciousness be offered as feast."

"Before our Zhang ancestral forebears, disciple Zhang Quan bows his head!"

…

Mo Hua listened, frowning.

Zhang ancestral forebears?

Then the portrait must be of a Zhang family ancestor.

An ancestor—and also an ancestral master.

That meant the Zhang family had inherited this corpse cultivation method from their ancestors, opened a coffin shop, and passed it down generation after generation.

The phrases that followed—"lend divine awareness, refine copper bell, offer human consciousness as feast"—

Mo Hua found them confusing.

Then Zhang Quan opened the bone coffin, reached out a pale hand, seized the bandit who had brought the blood, and hurled him inside.

The bandit struggled still, but he was no match for Zhang Quan, a Foundation Establishment cultivator; unable to break free, he was forcibly sealed inside the bone coffin.

Inside the coffin, he pleaded and begged, clawing at the walls with his fingers, emitting a horrific cry.

Moments later, the shouting ceased, and silence settled within the bone coffin.

Zhang Quan opened the coffin lid again—the bandit was dead, his eyes still wide open, filled with terror, yet utterly motionless.

His hands, torn from frantic scratching, had all their nails ripped off, drenched in blood.

Yet apart from that, not a single wound marred his body.

He simply sat there, stiff and lifeless, and died outright.

As if his soul had been directly devoured.

Mo Hua's heart tightened, then suddenly cleared.

"Using spiritual thought to offer the bronze bell."

It meant borrowing the ancestral spirit of the Zhang family to refine the bronze bell, enhancing its control over corpses.

Among these corpse cultivators, Zhang Quan was a Foundation Establishment cultivator; controlling the iron corpse was naturally effortless.

The other corpse cultivators, however, were only at the peak of Qi Condensation Ninth Layer.

Asking them to control an iron corpse nearing Foundation Establishment power was indeed too much.

They could only use this method—to borrow spiritual awareness, allowing the Zhang ancestors' spirit to attach to the bell through ritual, aiding them in corpse control.

"Offering human awareness as a feast."

It meant feeding the Zhang ancestors with human spiritual awareness.

On the surface, the altar was the offering platform, the white bones the sacrifice.

In truth, the bone coffin was the altar, and the living person's spiritual awareness was the true offering.

"If that's the case, this painting of the Zhang ancestor is actually a… visualization chart?"

Mo Hua's thoughts stirred slightly; he blinked.

The bandit had been used as a sacrifice, his spiritual awareness devoured, dying in terror.

Zhang Quan pulled the bandit out of the bone coffin and tossed him aside, ordering:

"Take him to feed the corpses later."

Then he muttered incantations again; after finishing, he drew from his storage bag a bronze bell adorned with blood-red cords and strange patterns.

It was the corpse-controlling bell Mo Hua had long desired!

Mo Hua's eyes gleamed brightly.

If his guess was correct, the bell bore a Grade One, Twelve Pattern Spirit Pivot Array.

He had to find a way to seize this bell!

And that visualization chart too—he had to seize it as well!

But how?

Under Zhang Quan's very eyes, it would be hard to act.

Mo Hua frowned, calculating.

Meanwhile, Zhang Quan still stood before the altar, offering the bell.

He took three iron bowls, placed them on the altar, then set the bronze bell inside each bowl, pouring blood into them.

The blood slowly seeped into the bronze bell.

Or rather—the bell was drinking the blood.

Mo Hua crouched on the beam, his mind racing.

"Should I create a disturbance outside to lure Zhang Quan out…"

"Or call Little Brother and Little Sister to storm in and seize it outright?"

Before Mo Hua could decide, movement came from outside—a voice cried anxiously:

"Master!"

Zhang Quan grew impatient.

The man outside shouted: "Master! Something terrible has happened!"

Zhang Quan was mid-ritual; he cursed under his breath and ordered a corpse cultivator beside him:

"Go see what's happened."

The corpse cultivator left and returned, his face pale with panic:

"Great Master, it's bad!"

Zhang Quan frowned. "What's wrong?"

The corpse cultivator trembled: "The arrays… they're all broken!"

Zhang Quan's eyes widened. "What the hell do you mean 'all broken'?!"

"They're… all destroyed. None of them work…"

Zhang Quan felt his blood surge, a piercing pain stabbing his chest.

He could hardly believe it:

"How could not a single one work?!"

"It seems… someone tampered with them…"

Zhang Quan's heart turned icy.

He had believed the Corpse Village, protected by its arrays, was impregnable—enough to keep enemies at bay.

After completing the bell ritual and awakening the iron corpses, he could go out and slaughter freely.

At worst, he could rely on the arrays to hold the village.

But he never imagined that the formation he had poured his heart into had all been destroyed?

Without the formation, the Corpse Village had lost its outer defenses.

It would now be far easier for others to break in.

But... how could this be possible?

Zhang Quan suppressed his shock and anger, then said, "I'll go take a look."

But after taking just a few steps, he furrowed his brow again.

The Blood Altar's Bell still needs some time to be fully refined.

This altar must be guarded, but he couldn't trust anyone else to watch it.

Those who refine corpses have cold, callous hearts.

Not just him—every corpse cultivator is like this.

In this village, he trusted no one.

Zhang Quan's gaze swept the room, studying each of the corpse cultivators present.

When the other corpse cultivators met his gaze, they all silently lowered their heads, not daring to meet his eyes.

Zhang Quan let out a cold snort, then spoke slowly:

"You all come with me and take a look outside."

One corpse cultivator's eyes flickered slightly, and he asked softly:

"Boss, shouldn't we leave someone to guard the altar...?"

Zhang Quan's gaze turned icy. "You want to stay?"

The corpse cultivator immediately panicked. "I dare not."

Zhang Quan gave a sinister smile. "You all go out. I'll seal the door and lock the formation—even a mosquito won't get in. You needn't worry."

"Yes."

The corpse cultivator bowed his head in assent, his expression slightly disappointed.

Several corpse cultivators, carrying the bandit's corpse, exited the secret chamber.

Zhang Quan was the last to leave.

As he left, he sealed the screen.

He chanted a spell, formed a hand seal, and the ink on the screen shifted, transforming back into a withered ink landscape painting.

Still not satisfied, Zhang Quan checked the room several times before finally relaxing, then stepped out cautiously.

Before leaving, he locked the main door as well.

Mo Hua remained motionless on the ceiling beam.

Sure enough, after a while, Zhang Quan returned.

He inspected the room once more, found no trace of any outsider, sighed in relief, relocked the main door, and his footsteps faded into the distance.

Mo Hua snorted inwardly:

"You think these petty tricks can fool me?"

Every move Zhang Quan made was within his spiritual sense.

Only when Mo Hua's spiritual sense confirmed Zhang Quan had truly gone far away did he lightly descend from the ceiling beam.

The room was silent; the screen emitted no unusual aura.

It looked like nothing more than an ordinary screen.

Mo Hua studied the screen, and suddenly understood.

This screen was a high-grade spiritual artifact, and its crafting technique was highly unusual—no wonder it had fooled his perception.

It was probably worth a considerable amount of Spirit Stones...

"How did Zhang Quan come by it?"

Mo Hua was curious.

Did he steal it? Rob it? Receive it as a gift? Or did it come down from his ancestors?

But now was not the time to dwell on this.

He needed to find a way to open the screen, enter the altar, and steal the bronze bell.

Mo Hua remembered how Zhang Quan had chanted a spell and formed a hand seal before entering the screen, causing the ink to dissolve and reveal the passage.

Mo Hua imitated him, forming the same hand seal, stomping his feet, and muttering nonsense under his breath.

He didn't even know what he was saying—he was just trying his luck.

But clearly, this wasn't a matter of luck.

The screen remained utterly still.

Mo Hua scratched his head.

Not right...

But he couldn't go find Zhang Quan and ask him to demonstrate the hand seal and spell again.

Mo Hua frowned, thinking.

He remembered Mr. Zhuang had said: everything has an appearance and a true nature.

Chanting spells and forming hand seals were merely appearances.

The true essence was the internal flow of spiritual energy.

Thus, this screen must also have an underlying flow of spiritual energy.

And on spiritual artifacts, the control of spiritual energy flow is achieved through formations...

Mo Hua examined it again carefully, and finally spotted faint formation patterns at the screen's four corners and edges.

This array pattern is extremely small and obscure.

Worse still, Mo Hua did not recognize it.

Even after using his spiritual sense to deduce and calculate the complete array pattern, Mo Hua did not know what array this was.

He could only make a rough inference based on his knowledge of array theory.

The array on this screen was likely related to sound and visual manifestation.

Chanting is sound; finger seals are manifestation.

Only by chanting the correct incantation, forming the correct finger seals, and matching both sound and movement could the array be activated.

But exactly which array principles were employed—whether the Five Elements or other array rules—Mo Hua did not know.

"Array theory is vast and profound; it seems I still have much to learn…"

Mo Hua took out paper and brush, first recording the array pattern, deciding to study and contemplate it slowly when he had time later.

(End of Chapter)