Chapter 533: Blood-Soaked Old Wolf-Whisk

Building No. 8 Dormitory.

The layout of the corridors and rooms was identical to the one where Wu Xian and the others lived.

But the room furnishings differed slightly.

All had beds, desks, chairs, and trash bins, but beneath each bed was an additional cabinet, over a meter tall, slightly elevated from the mattress.

Every trash bin had cracks or holes, with dried black stains on the inner walls—these bins had once produced black monsters.

Nearly half the mattress boards were damaged.

The damage was almost always centered near the head of the bed, and the fracture marks suggested the boards had been broken from below upward.

Wu Xian found a mattress, slid his hand beneath it—if someone lay on the bed, his hand could grip their throat perfectly.

They quickly checked the nine rooms and one bathroom on the first floor, but found nothing.

As they ascended the stairs to the second floor.

Jin Shasha suddenly let out a soft gasp and pointed at the stair landing: “Isn’t that the statue we’re looking for?”

Wu Jigee shuddered: “Shasha, you… you seeing ghosts?”

Jin Shasha’s voice trembled: “Can’t you all see it? Right here—a huge table, a statue this obvious—none of you see it?”

Everyone shook their heads.

Wu Xian thought for a moment, unwrapped the Blood Spike Silk, and swung it toward the spot Jin Shasha indicated—it landed smoothly, encountering no obstruction.

Jin Shasha swallowed hard: “This cloth passed right through the statue. I’m not lying.”

“No one said you were lying.” Wu Xian wrapped the Blood Spike Silk around his fist. “Describe what you saw.”

“The table is rosewood. The statue is about thirty centimeters tall—a white-robed old man. His head is huge, his scalp and skull transparent—you can see his brain directly… oh, there’s writing below: the old man is called ‘Celestial Official—Southern Pole Elder Star!’”

After hearing this.

Wu Xian nodded.

It seemed Jin Shasha wasn’t lying—she had found a statue visible only to her, nonexistent to everyone else.

Wu Xian clicked his tongue: “Looks like we need to re-search the first-floor dorms. Every possible spot for a statue must be checked—only when everyone sees it does it count.”

The group turned to descend the stairs when Wu Jigee screamed.

“Someone’s in the corner!”

Wu Xian leapt down ten steps in three bounds, but saw nothing in the corridor.

Wu Jigee hurried to explain: “I really saw it—I was the first to turn, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a human head pull back.”

Jin Shasha wanted to ask if he’d mistaken it, but then remembered her own invisible statue—she swallowed her words.

Jiang Dong was blunt: “Don’t take his word seriously—he never tells the truth.”

“You son of a bitch, say that again?”

Wu Jigee was polite to Wu Xian but turned brutal toward others—he stepped close to Jiang Dong, faces nearly touching, voice loud enough to echo through the whole building, spittle flying onto Jiang Dong’s face.

Most people would panic at this, but Jiang Dong’s gaze remained calm, as if watching a clown.

After a moment of locked stares, Wu Jigee stepped back two paces and said nothing more.

“Wu Jigee didn’t lie—something was here just now.”

Wu Xian extended two fingers—one clean, the other smudged with dirt—he’d touched the floor earlier; only the corner was slightly dirty. In a normal building, this would mean janitorial neglect.

But Wu Xian knew—in the Immigrant Training Center, janitors might not be human.

Knowing they were being followed, everyone grew tense, raising their vigilance during the search.

The search continued.

The group sensed being tracked multiple times, but never found the stalker.

Soon.

They encountered the second statue.

As Wu Xian entered the fourth-floor corridor, he saw a table in the center, upon which rested a statue.

The statue wore a blue robe, its head shaped like a dragon—with antlers, shrimp eyes, a donkey’s mouth, and a crown of tassels. It should have radiated majesty, yet exuded an uncanny vulgarity; bloodied bone spines protruded from its body, clashing grotesquely with its base appearance.

This was the Water Official—Guangde Dragon King! Like Jin Shasha’s earlier case, only Wu Xian could see this statue. He’d once despised this old dragon king—but now, he felt like he’d found family.

After all… this was the first statue Wu Xian had seen in the Training Center!

Wu Xian opened his Imperial Credential.

Within this Blessed Land, the Credential would update the statue count in real time—now that he’d seen a statue, new information might appear.

On the first page, a new line appeared.

‘Current number of statues in this Blessed Land: twenty-two. Three have been found. Found statues remain stationary until worshipped. Only the finder can see them. To share a statue with others, the finder must bow three times at a seventy-degree angle while uncoerced.’

Wu Xian stared at it for a moment.

“Favored ones have access to Sui Incense, but too few to find all statues.”

“Newcomers are numerous, but lack the strength to obtain Sui Incense.”

“According to the Credential, whoever finds a statue owns it—so Favored Ones and newcomers can trade statues for Sui Incense!”

Wu Xian glanced at the newcomers.

It seemed he’d done right not abandoning them.

Then.

Wu Xian prepared to worship.

This Guangde Dragon King was his first statue, and with his combat power lacking, who knew when he’d find another?

He offered a corrupted Sui Incense. The ground turned deep blue and translucent; three azure dragon serpents leapt from the water, each cradling a different weapon in their claws.

The three weapons were a pair of bronze clubs, a pair of short knives, and an unusual weapon.

Gilded Bronze Clubs: Cast from fine bronze, gilded, weighing one hundred and twenty jin, a replica of Qin Qiong’s door-god weapon, capable of striking ghosts and gods.

Palms-Clasped Eight-Cut Knives: Narrow blades, sharp tips, ideal for thrusting, especially adept at parrying heavy blows; though short, they can single-handedly block powerful, forceful slashes.

Blood-Soaked Old Wolf-Whisk: Long shaft with multiple branches, tipped with a spearhead, weighing about seven jin, fifteen chi long. Once slew dozens on ancient battlefields; its bamboo shaft soaked through with enemy blood, its malevolent aura capable of harming ghosts and gods. Its master died on the battlefield, yet this wolf-whisk was buried underground, uncorrupted for centuries—as if waiting to kill again.

Wu Xian stared at the three weapons.

After a moment’s thought, he chose the longest, strangest weapon.

Blood-Soaked Old Wolf-Whisk! (End of Chapter)