Chapter 88: Living Person Forged into Puppet

"You mean this man possesses great fortune—he can see through concealment techniques and specifically counters the Longhua Precious Sutra, which is why you were forced to flee here?"

The next day, outside the city, a noodle shop.

The man lowered his wide-brimmed hat; his bowl of noodles steamed hot, untouched.

His gaze was dull, whether from indifference born of countless killings or simply because he had always been this way.

Juekong stared at him, and despite the sweltering heat, a chill crept over him.

"Master Zhong Meng, are you doubting me?"

He swallowed hard, unsure himself.

The man before him was indeed the sect's contact, but they barely knew each other—he feared his scheme of using others to kill would be exposed.

To his surprise, Zhong Meng let out two strange, rasping laughs.

"He has ample fortune and has repeatedly interfered with our sect's operations—he cannot be allowed to live."

"Since you're so eager, why not you eliminate him?"

Eliminate him, right under Lin Yutang's nose?

Me?

Juekong's mouth twitched—he was a contributor, not to be treated this way.

Seeing the man wasn't joking, he forced a hollow laugh, silently marking this down to settle later.

When minds don't align, not a single word is worth saying.

Juekong squatted on the bench, slurping loudly from his broth bowl.

In mere moments, he slammed the bowl onto the table, leaving the other no opening to speak—he wanted to hand over the small seal and leave at once.

It was afternoon; the outskirts were sparsely populated—besides the two disguised men and the shopkeeper, only one person lay beneath a tree, resting in the shade.

Wearing a straw hat and rain cape, a gleaming long sword stuck beside him.

His spiritual energy fluctuation was extremely weak; the two had dismissed him entirely, yet a lingering gaze kept drifting over them.

This one is hostile!

Juekong's heart leapt—he instantly drew his Precept Knife, hiding it behind his arm.

He crept closer, ready to question him.

Suddenly, the man lifted his straw hat and smiled:

"Gentlemen, two Low-grade Spirit Stones total—anything else you need?"

His smile was too obsequious—it looked like an inside agent planted here!

Wrong!

The one inside the shop is the fake!

Out of the corner of his eye, Juekong saw a blade of light like a white rainbow piercing the sun—clearly a Foundation Establishment sword technique.

Without hesitation, Juekong immediately formed a hand seal and vanished.

Are you kidding?

Anyone who's reached Foundation Establishment isn't an idiot—how could an ambush possibly work against two opponents?

Before he'd gone several li, a flash of array light appeared—a formation suddenly materialized, trapping him within.

The man beneath the tree rose slowly, his aura shifting abruptly as he slashed forth a streak of pitch-black blade light.

This shop was one of the Wusheng Sect's outposts—unawares, it had already fallen.

Juekong turned pale with shock.

This blade momentum, this energy—he knew it all too well!

Soul Slashing Blade Technique!

"Liu Yicheng, you're not dead?!"

Could it be that this man betrayed their location?

The blade light struck his back—he had no time to think, and with all his strength, he activated his Sarira, vanishing instantly from the spot!

"The Soul Slashing Blade Technique had no effect—he must be hiding within the small bead, leaving only a soulless shell as a decoy."

Beneath the tree, Chen Zhao sheathed his blade and did not pursue further.

Liu Chen tossed Zhong Meng's corpse aside; the man's head rolled to a stop at his feet.

He picked it up and examined it.

On the back of the skull, faintly visible, was a Nine-Petal Black Lotus—empty inside, merely a skin-suit.

Yet the body itself had all five organs intact, still lively and moving.

Living person forged into a puppet?

The two stared at each other.

Puppeteer lineages are exceedingly rare, nearly impossible to master deeply—living beings forged into puppets are an obscure art even among obscurities; perhaps only one person exists within ten thousand li.

Chen Zhao lightly touched "Zhong Meng's" forehead, injecting a pulse of spiritual energy; after a long while, he said:

"His spiritual energy remains, originating from within himself, and cannot be traced back to any controller."

"If so, soul-searching would be useless…"

Liu Chen frowned:

"Then when they communicated secretly, did you hear what they said, Brother Chen?"

Chen Zhao nodded, already having eight-tenths of a guess.

A Foundation Establishment cultivator stealing a sect's secret treasure—even with a miraculous artifact—would be too humiliating to admit.

This matter is grave; Master Fang has been ordered to retrieve it.

He was thinking of something else now.

"When I obtained 'Gazing at the Red Dust,' that person was present at the time—perhaps they already know of this matter."

After a brief divination, he learned that Juekong was connected to the karmic calamity.

He set up a killing trap, and Liu Chen drew his sword to assist.

Unfortunately, he had not foreseen that the Relic was held by Juekong, nor that it was orchestrated by the Wusheng Sect.

But.

This was also within his calculations.

The ink markings still remain—Hall Master Mo must have already infiltrated the Wusheng Sect.

With a Golden Core acting, the Foundation Establishment cultivators stood idle.

Alas, the two had advanced in cultivation; with just a slight clash, not a blade of grass survived within a radius of dozens of li.

He had hoped to find a noodle shop to confide his heart, but not even the dregs remained.

"Strange—Sect Master ordered you to close your door for three days, yet you emerged after only two?"

Liu Chen sat cross-legged on the ground, commanding and relaxed.

His long sword was casually stuck beside him; he slapped his Storage Bag, flipped his palm, and a jar of Spirit Qi wine appeared.

Chen Zhao cast a subtle glance, then imitated the posture, sitting with legs spread, and sighed with a smile:

"By the side of the meditation cushion, how dare a thief act?"

He was now paranoid—every blade of grass and tree seemed a karmic retribution; he dared not reveal the full truth.

Moreover, he did not wish to drag his friend into the matters of Zhenwu.

"A single talisman to avert calamity, one life-threatening breakthrough—for a single day's tour of the treasure vault? You really are generous."

Liu Chen teased.

He knew Chen Zhao's nature: no profit, no effort. This time, there must have been gains—so he stopped pressing for details.

He merely felt a slight distance between them.

He sighed inwardly, pulled out two porcelain bowls, and filled them with Spirit Qi wine.

"Shanlian has become a flooded land, and the quality of Jianzhu Chun far surpasses its former state—try some."

The wine's color seemed even richer; as for its taste and effects...

He was merely an avatar—how could he possibly taste it?

Chen Zhao took a light sip, when suddenly Liu Chen said:

"If you like it, I'll send you a few good jars every day from now on."

"Why?"

"Hall Master's order: assign me to guard Shanlian. The Spirit Qi there approaches a third-grade Spirit Pulse—quite a good posting."

Liu Chen tilted his head and drained the bowl, wiped his mouth with a wide sleeve, and added:

"After the calamity, heroes sprouted like mushrooms after rain—no fewer than three Foundation Establishment cultivators!"

Chen Zhao's eyes narrowed slightly as he pondered.

After the Su Family's disaster, few new Foundation Establishment cultivators emerged; though the ruins were absorbed by Tiankui, one mineral vein still remained.

A child holding a treasure naturally draws wolves with ambitions.

Coincidentally, he himself intended to return to the ruins, so he asked a few more questions:

"Which heroes are these?"

"North: Deng Ge, rumored to have obtained treasure from Fulong Mountain—a black armor shield capable of blocking a Foundation Establishment mid-stage attack. Liu Zhang in the west, with his Jintou Baihu, a top-tier bloodline beast. Zhang Xiu in the south, though a Cultivator, is on the verge of becoming a second-grade Alchemist—everyone in the city reveres him."

How could a First-grade Alchemist be called a hero?

Chen Zhao lowered his eyes, lips curled in a faint smile, saying nothing.

Seeing this, Liu Chen cleared his throat, paused, then said:

"They all come with families and deep roots—Deng Ge's son, in particular, is the Holy Son of Xiao Xiang Sword Lodge, wielding 'Ten Thousand Swords Return to One,' peerless in his realm."

Xiao Xiang Sword Lodge?

Chen Zhao had heard of it—only one sect bore the name "Sword Lodge."

Located south of Han Hu, far too distant, it was one of Yue Guo's top-tier sects.

This sect was infamous for its strange rules.

Anyone who failed to become a sword cultivator was expelled; the rest fought with their life-sword until their swords shattered, and only the last survivor was accepted.

Thus, after ten years of selection, barely two or three disciples remained.

And Chen Zhao suddenly recalled Mo Shouzhuo's words: "Using a sword... Holy Son..."

Could it be that Golden Core heir?

How could his investigation into Zhenwu be connected to him?