Chapter 50: The Monk

The three of them had placed plenty of sour foods, fruits, and seasonings outside.

At first, all was quiet, but as the scent began to drift, some of the captive ghosts could no longer resist and crept forward cautiously to lick.

Soon, the number of captive ghosts grew larger, and seeing this, the three quickly moved toward the hut where Zhuanji Hu resided.

As planned, Chu Danqing and Dabao hid first; after Guo Ming reached the courtyard, he began shouting loudly: “Brother Chu, Brother Chu~”

Chu Danqing’s scalp prickled—he almost believed he himself had fallen in.

Inside the hut, movement stirred; a massive tiger shadow donned human skin and burst out in an unnatural posture, urgently asking: “What’s the matter?”

“Abbot, Brother Chu wanted to fetch water and accidentally fell into the well.”

Upon hearing this, Yinke Chan Master’s face showed shock: “This is a dry well—where would there be water?”

Then he suddenly remembered something and cried out: “No good!”

He rushed over in disarray, sticking his head into the well to look closely.

The next instant, Chu Danqing and Dabao burst out and together shoved him.

The two of them weren’t strong, but Dabao’s strength attribute was high—they caught him off guard and shoved him right in.

Chu Danqing reached out and grabbed the human skin; the entire skin slid off smoothly.

Inside the skin was a mottled tiger, small at first sight, but swelling as it slid down the well, until it reached the bottom and regained its original size.

It roared at the two above the well, a deafening bellow.

The soundwave from the tiger’s roar made Guo Ming stagger—he barely stayed upright thanks to Chu Danqing grabbing his arm.

Dabao moved swiftly, dragging over two large stones and stacking them to seal the well opening; the roaring instantly grew muffled and weaker.

“Dabao, kill the captive ghosts,” Chu Danqing ordered decisively; Dabao’s 9-point agility exploded instantly as he charged full speed toward the gathering of captive ghosts.

Chu Danqing and Guo Ming didn’t dare linger—they quickly withdrew.

Zhuanji Hu needed time to emerge; they couldn’t stay.

On the other side, Chu Danqing held the human skin and asked: “Speak. What’s going on?”

Yinke Chan Master’s skin fluttered in his hand but remained silent.

“I know you’re alive—if you don’t speak, I’ll burn you first,” Chu Danqing threatened.

The probe skill’s data showed “Yinke Chan Master,” not “captive ghost,” proving the real abbot, though reduced to skin, still lived.

Otherwise, the name would have been “captive ghost.”

“Why must the benefactor be so aggressive? I merely wish to survive,” came a helpless voice from the skin.

“Tell me—what’s at the bottom of the dry well? Why is Zhuanji Hu so panicked?” Chu Danqing cut straight to the point.

Zhuanji Hu certainly wasn’t afraid Chu Danqing had fallen into the well and deprived it of a meal—there had to be another secret below.

“I didn’t expect the benefactor already knew this was Zhuanji Hu,” the skin replied, then said: “Every time Zhuanji Hu eats a person, it throws the skull into the well.”

“As if feeding some monstrous thing.”

Chu Danqing’s face darkened: “This is your temple—you’ve been worn by Zhuanji Hu more than once—how could you not know what’s down there?”

He didn’t believe Yinke Chan Master was anything good—he must have aided the tiger in evil deeds.

Chu Danqing already had a vague suspicion: he suspected it was Zhong Shi Zhi.

But then he thought—Zhong Shi Zhi should be on Zhuanji Hu’s body.

That’s what puzzled him: what was down in the well that made Zhuanji Hu so frantic?

“I don’t know,” Yinke Chan Master replied, unmoved. “You should go see for yourself.”

Seeing this, Chu Danqing rolled up the skin, took a coil of coarse hemp rope from his storage space, tied it into a cylindrical bundle, and fastened it around his waist.

This attitude meant he knew why but refused to speak.

So the man still had value.

Chu Danqing’s rough handling made Yinke Chan Master scream wildly, begging him to be gentle.

His 1-point constitution was truly low—Chu Danqing’s actions had already scraped the skin raw.

“In life you practiced dark arts; in death you became a skin-wearer,” Guo Ming sneered. “First coat you in lard, then roast you one inch above a candle.”

“Pour cold water over you—make you, a skin-demon, beg for death!”

At Guo Ming’s words, Yinke Chan Master fell silent—he clearly feared this method.

“Good—I have wax, lard, and clean water,” Chu Danqing said, pulling out the items from his storage space.

He looked ready to test the method immediately.

“Wait!” Yinke Chan Master was truly frightened: “The thing at the bottom of the well is indeed connected to my temple.”

“I’ll tell you easily—but you must first kill Zhuanji Hu and avenge my Nanshan Temple.”

Chu Danqing didn’t refuse: “Agreed.”

He then put the items away.

“Before that, tell me Zhuanji Hu’s weaknesses,” Chu Danqing said—he could wait to learn the well’s secret.

Right now, the priority was killing Zhuanji Hu.

Without Zhuanji Hu’s threat, Guo Ming’s knowledge held plenty of ways to make Yinke Chan Master talk.

“A strange creature dwells in the tiger’s mouth—it’s one of the Three Corpses, called Zhi.”

“Only by destroying this creature can you kill Zhuanji Hu.”

“Second, its left hind leg—when Zhuanji Hu was still unrefined, it was caught in a hunter’s trap and has been crippled ever since,” Yinke Chan Master hurried to say.

Guo Ming’s face showed surprise upon hearing “Three Corpses”—he hadn’t expected to encounter them here.

From his expression, he clearly knew the origin of the Three Corpses.

“I already knew that,” Chu Danqing said. “Tell me something I don’t know—nothing but the Taiping Sect’s secret schemes.”

Yinke Chan Master then tried to suggest killing the captive ghosts first, but Chu Danqing punched him to shut him up.

“Zhuanji Hu is the Zhi born from the Taiping Book’s method of severing the Three Corpses—I know one weakness.”

“My father once had ties with the Taiping Sect and learned a chant used to recite during the severing of the Three Corpses—it disturbs their peace.”

“The chant is simple—only forty characters—I’ll recite it to Brother Chu,” Guo Ming said.

Chu Danqing was stunned—what was Guo Ming’s background, that he knew this?

But he wasn’t worried Guo Ming had ulterior motives.

Why would he go through so much trouble—inflicting wounds on himself, sacrificing his retainers, pretending to be unconscious in the snow?

If he were truly injured, why wouldn’t he flee instead of teaming up with someone of unknown origin to kill Zhuanji Hu? That would be suicide.

“Fine, I won’t refuse,” Chu Danqing said without hesitation.

(End of Chapter)