Chapter 140: Undercurrents in the Shadows

""……All……all must die……master……will not……let go……" He, as if using up his last breath, squeezed out this vicious curse from deep in his throat, his head jerked to the side, and he fell completely still."

Witchcraft backlash! Or rather, it's a silence-sealing curse placed by the Zhou family on their subordinates!

Almost at the same moment this person breathed their last, in a dimly lit room somewhere in the capital that exuded a gloomy aura, Zhou Qian, sitting cross-legged on a futon, suddenly opened his eyes; a sweetness rose in his throat and he "puffed" out a mouthful of black blood. His facial muscles twitched violently, his gaze sinister and frightening, almost dripping poison. "Trash! How could they have found him so quickly!" he snarled through clenched teeth, his voice full of uncontainable rage and killing intent.

Inside the factory, Zhang Jun and Lin Xue stood in place, looking at the corpse on the ground that was rapidly cooling, and at the black qi filled with a strong curse that lingered in the air and wouldn't dissipate for a while, both felt a chill crawl up their spines.

Zhou Qian already knew they were here. Now the grudge only deepens; a greater storm is surely about to break.

Lin Xue lowered her gaze, her eyes falling on the few shards of black pottery on the ground, and she instinctively touched her chest. The strange pendant she always wore close to her skin, which had just brought a hint of warmth, seemed to react to the sudden surge of malicious black qi, trembling ever so slightly, and that warm current became a bit clearer.

The smell of rotting iron and fermented chemical reagents in the air weighed down heavily, sticking to the nose and mouth, sweet and cloying, making the temples throb.

This abandoned chemical plant is utterly dead; its framework twists and elongates in the moonlight, and the pitch-black shadows look like ghostly talismans.

The stillness of this place differs from that of White Pagoda Temple alley; there, gloom still hides a hint of wicked vitality, while here even the bone scraps have been squeezed dry, leaving an emptiness so cold it makes one's heart feel hollow.

The bronze piece Zhang Jun carried in his chest burned fiercely; even through two layers of clothing he felt the skin about to scorch, and he pointed firmly at the innermost part of the factory grounds.

Lin Xue's hand in her pocket also clenched the dark blue crystal; the stone throbbed, slow but steady, no longer the icy resistance it had before, and it pointed in the same direction as the bronze piece.

The two crouched low, following the base of a half-collapsed brick wall, stepping on broken bricks and rubble, yet made not a sound.

Their shadows stretched long on the ground and silently merged into the next patch of darkness.

The deeper they went, the fainter the rotten-iron medicine smell became, replaced instead by a faint fishy stench that clung to the air, mixed with an indescribable yin chill.

They went around a pitch-black boiler room half-collapsed, ahead looming a factory framework that still looked relatively intact.

Inside it was empty; on the ground someone had drawn half a set of runes with a blackish substance, the lines crooked and rough.

The cement beside the runes was darkened to black, as if corroded by something.

That fishy stench and yin chill emanated from these demonic runes.

"They really know how to pick a spot." Zhang Jun muttered to himself; this ghastly place was clearly no haunt for decent folk.

Before the thought was finished, three black shadows shot out from the darkest corner of the factory!

They moved with uncanny speed, accompanied by a "whoo-whoo" tearing of air, not uttering a word as they lunged straight at the two's faces.

The leader gripped a short dagger whose blade gave off a sickly bluish-purple sheen—clearly a venomous, nefarious weapon!

"Same old trick." Zhang Jun's feet slammed down, his body sinking low, steady as a stake driven into the earth.

The pure yang vigor in his dantian exploded with a "boom," the surrounding air suddenly warping, a scorching heat blasting outward!

The foremost attacker wielding the poisoned dagger was hit head‑on by this fierce heat, his stance visibly stiffening, his motion slowing by a hair's breadth.

That's the moment!

Lin Xue moved!

She slid along the ground like a boneless thing, so fast she left an afterimage.

The profound yin cold within her body instantly coiled into a strand, forming an almost visible icy‑blue current that deftly wound around Zhang Jun and tightly wrapped the ankles and calves of the two ambushers behind him.

"Crack!" a sharp sound!

Instantly a layer of pallid frost formed under their feet, their legs locking up, speed dropping drastically and movements distorting.

Zhang Jun would not miss this chance; he lunged forward, shoulder shifting, barely grazing the poisoned dagger's blade, his right fist clenched, knuckles whitening, bursting with force as he drove it solidly into the chest of the lead attacker!

The pure yang vigor smashed through his clothing; the man let out a "hoo," like a burst bellows, a visible dent caving in his chest, and he flew backward lightly, crashing with a "clang" onto a rust‑eaten iron frame nearby, sliding down limp and motionless.

Lin Xue's side was not idle either.

The two whose feet were frozen were scrambling to break free when she drifted behind one of them; her slender palm looked weak, yet it carried a chill that could freeze marrow, and she lightly tapped it on his back.

His body jerked rigid, the fear on his face not yet dispersed before it froze solid; he toppled forward stiffly, hitting the ground hard like a block of frozen meat, and breathed no more.

The last one, seeing two fall in the blink of an eye, had his soul scared out of him; he let out a strange cry, turned, and tried to dart into the shadows.

"You think you can run?" Zhang Jun stepped forward, as if teleporting, and cut off his escape.

His palm, as large as a cattail fan, clamped directly onto the opponent's crown, sending pure yang inner strength flowing inward from his palm.

The man's whole body shook violently like chaff in a sieve, his eyes bulging near to popping out, then he went limp as if his tendons had been pulled, collapsing like mud, only exhaling, no longer inhaling.

Zhang Jun didn't even bother checking if the two were truly dead; he quickly walked over to the one still clinging to life, crouched, and flicked his fingers rapidly across several major acupoints on the person's body.

Those strikes were precise and brutal; the intense pain instantly hauled him back from his half‑conscious state.

"Speak! What are you sneaking around here doing? What did Zhou Qian send you to find?" Zhang Jun's voice wasn't loud, but each word struck like a small hammer on the man's heart.

The man's teeth clenched with a "click‑click," veins standing out on his neck, his eyes full of hatred as he glared at Zhang Jun, his mouth shut tight like a clam.

Zhang Jun increased the pressure slightly on the fingers pressing the acupoints; a thread of scorching pure yang vigor drilled inward through the points, a sensation worse than pushing a red‑hot iron awl into bone cracks.