Chapter 141: Wilderness Pursuit and Tribulation

Speak!

The intense pain finally wore down his toughness; the man's facial muscles twisted grotesquely, his whole body trembled, his voice broke and sputtered, squeezing out from between his teeth like a broken bellows: 'Look... look... for the primer... fix... the position... that old... old thing... hidden...'

The primer! Liu San ye mentioned it!

Zhang Jun's heart jumped; his gaze swept quickly across the workshop, finally landing on a pile of rusted scrap parts in the corner.

He reached out and pulled away the debris on top, revealing several blackish pottery shards, shattered in disarray.

He picked up a few larger pieces; the pottery felt rough, clearly not anything good, with blackish sticky grime on the inner walls. Up close, he could smell a faint but unmistakable evil aura, exactly the same as the one forced from Liu San ye earlier.

Sure enough, it's that black jar!

Is the Zhou family using this as a primer to find that so-called 'old thing'?

'How exactly do you use the primer? Who is that old thing? What treasure are you so obsessed with hiding?' Zhang Jun pressed harder with his fingers, continuing the interrogation.

At that moment, a thick, inky black aura surged over the captive's face like spilled ink; his eyes bulged, his mouth gaped open, and from his throat came an unintelligible 'ge-ge' sound.

A stream of foul-smelling, dense black smoke erupted from his mouth, nose, and ears!

'... Everyone... will die... master... won't... let... go...' He squeezed out this vicious curse with his last breath, his head lolling to the side as his neck gave a faint 'crack,' and he fell completely still.

A backlash of sorcery! Or a silencing seal placed by the Zhou family! Brutal!

Almost at the same moment that the man breathed his last, in a dimly lit, gloomy room somewhere in the capital, Zhou Qian, sitting cross-legged on a mat, suddenly opened his eyes; a sweetness rose in his throat, and he spat out a mouthful of black, viscous blood that splattered onto the floor before him with a soft 'hiss'.

His facial muscles twitched violently as he raised a hand to wipe the blood from his lips, his knuckles whitening: 'Trash! A bunch of trash! Found so quickly!'

He let out a low, snarling growl, his voice brimming with uncontainable fury and killing intent, plus a hint of agitation he himself hadn't noticed.

In the workshop, Zhang Jun and Lin Xue stood where they were, watching the corpse on the ground cool rapidly; the heavy, curse-laden black aura in the air lingered for a moment, sending a chill up their spines.

Zhou Qian already knew they were here.

Now the grudge has deepened further; a greater storm is surely about to break.

Lin Xue lowered her gaze to the few black pottery shards on the ground, then instinctively touched her chest.

The odd pendant she had always worn close to her skin, which had just given her a hint of warmth, seemed to react to the sudden surge of malicious black aura, trembling ever so slightly, and that warm current grew a little clearer.

Before the death-curse-laden black smoke had fully dissipated, Zhang Jun dragged Lin Xue out through the workshop's broken door. Behind them lay three stiff corpses and the conspicuous black pottery shards on the floor—the primer. Over on Zhou Qian's side, it was certain he knew.

The copper piece in his pocket burned hot, making him grimace, and it steadily pointed in a direction. Lin Xue's pocketed azure-blue crystal also vibrated, its chill lessening, aligning with where the copper pointed.

They avoided open ground, plunging instead into the wild where weeds grew taller than a person. The dark shadows of the abandoned factory were stretched out long, then swallowed whole by the thickest darkness before dawn.

Lin Xue stumbled on her foot, instinctively clutching her chest. It wasn't the crystal in her pocket, but the small pendant she wore close to her skin, now giving off a steady warmth—not hot, but quite real.

A 'boom' exploded in his mind. No longer were it the shards of glass-like images from the stone chamber.

A massive black stone jar stood alone in a subterranean hollow. Its surface was etched with channels through which dark, reddish, viscous blood flowed toward the center. Along the edges, twisted, crooked runes were carved—more sinister than those on the stone chamber walls, appearing alive as they slowly writhed.

Beside the jar, a withered figure in gray robes lifted two hands like chicken claws, muttering something in a low, aged, gloomy tone.

Clearest of all, slightly below the jar's center, was a particularly striking mark: a tangle of lines looping this way and that, neither square nor round, neither picture nor character, exuding an indescribable air of eeriness and antiquity.

That mark... she recognized it!

As soon as the thought surfaced, a venomous, bone-chilling intent, like an oiled snake, slithered from afar and coiled tightly around them, far stronger than the evil aura on those three dead men—more than ten times as intense.

Zhou Qian! That old thing himself has come in pursuit!

'This way!' Lin Xue yanked Zhang Jun hard, forcibly diverting from the direction indicated by the shards, and plunged into a wilder tract with no path at all.

The 【mark】 in her mind seemed to come alive, pointing her toward a way to survive.

Zhang Jun reacted instantly, grabbing Lin Xue's wrist with a reverse grip and flinging out a surge of pure yang energy from his dantian as if it were free. The soul‑chasing, deadly chill slammed into a red‑hot iron wall and jerked to a halt.

Lin Xue's body also emitted a thin layer of nearly invisible icy‑blue mist that swiftly enveloped them. Where they passed, the air seemed to freeze for a moment, erasing any scent or trace in an instant.

A chase and flight, they ran for their lives across the wasteland. Zhou Qian's sorcery clung like a blood‑smelling mad dog, biting hard. Zhang Jun's yang energy erupted repeatedly, jamming the lock‑on; Lin Xue's yin energy desperately concealed their trail.

Just as the prickling sense of lock‑on on their backs eased a fraction, several shadowy figures seemed to rise from the sparse trees ahead, silently blocking their path.

They were not Zhou Qian's men.

These people were calm and steady, bearing the unshakeable decorum and sternness bred of aristocratic households.

Leading them was a middle‑aged man with a rigid face, dressed in a fitted black practice uniform, his eyes devoid of warmth.

'Mr. Zhang, Miss Lin, our young lady requests your presence; please accompany us.' His voice was flat, giving no hint of joy or anger, but the meaning was clear: there was no room for negotiation.

It's the Qin family! Truly, they linger like a haunting shadow!

Zhang Jun cursed under his breath, pulled Lin Xue slightly behind him, and forced a smile: 'Miss Qin, you're too kind. Really, we're a bit tied up with urgent business; another day, another day we'll surely come pay a visit.'