Pink Skeletons, Dead Flesh as Armor

At the deepest part of the county yamen lay the morgue.

This was a forbidden ground for the living, an inn for the dead. Moss ran wild in the damp, gloomy air at the corners of the walls. Two unidentified corpses lay quietly on wooden boards beneath yellowing white sheets, giving off a faint stench of rot.

Ji Ye sat cross-legged between the two bodies, his bare upper body an alarming purplish red.

"Gulp."

He forcibly swallowed half the Tiger Bone Paste mixed with Bone-Penetrating Grass.

His stomach convulsed violently, as though he had swallowed a red-hot coal. The violent medicinal power exploded at once, rampaging through his blood vessels. The toxicity of the Bone-Penetrating Grass began corroding his pain nerves, while the heat of the Tiger Bone Paste frantically stimulated his blood and vitality.

"Urgh—!"

Ji Ye suddenly arched his back, a beastlike growl squeezing from his throat.

It hurt too much!

This was not cultivation at all. This was suicide. If he had been an ordinary person, his blood vessels would have already burst, and he would have died bleeding from all seven orifices.

But Ji Ye did not die.

[Talent: Brute Force x3 (Strength +90%)]

This was not merely a boost to attack power, but a complete reshaping of the strength of his muscle fibers. At this moment, every bundle of muscle in his body trembled wildly and drew tight, like countless twisted steel cables, forcibly locking down the medicinal power trying to burst his blood vessels!

Since he could not absorb it step by step like an orthodox martial artist, then he would use the most primitive method—suppression!

With absolute strength, he would forcibly press the medicinal power into his flesh and blood!

Meanwhile, at the Black Tiger Gang's headquarters.

Warm fragrance drifted through the Hall of Brotherhood, utterly unlike the killing chill outside.

Thick Persian carpets covered the floor, while whale-oil red candles as thick as a child's arm burned all around, illuminating the hall as brightly as day.

Zhao Hei Hu reclined sideways in a grand chair draped with an entire white tiger pelt, one arm around a scantily clad maidservant.

The maidservant was only sixteen. She wore nothing but a scarlet gauze robe as thin as cicada wings, her snowy skin gleaming like porcelain beneath the candlelight. Her bodice hung extremely low, and with every rapid, terrified breath, the two soft mounds before her chest rose and fell like waves. A bead of cold sweat hung in the deep ravine between them.

She knelt between Zhao Hei Hu's legs, trembling as she peeled a grape, her slender fingers quivering faintly with fear.

"Why are you shaking?"

Zhao Hei Hu's large hand roughly slipped beneath the gauze and viciously pinched her soft, smooth waist, leaving several bluish-purple finger marks.

"Th-this servant is afraid..." The maidservant let out a delicate cry, tears filling her eyes. Yet she did not dare dodge, and could only allow that callused hand to roam over her body at will, moving up from her flat lower abdomen.

That extreme sense of control only deepened the brutality in Zhao Hei Hu's eyes.

"G-Gang Leader..."

The subordinate kneeling below pressed his forehead to the floor, his voice trembling. "The boat is gone... Water Ghost Zhang is dead too..."

Zhao Hei Hu's hand paused.

In that instant, the air in the hall seemed to freeze solid. Feeling the hand that had been toying with her suddenly stiffen like iron, the maidservant was so frightened that she even held her breath.

"Where are the goods?" Zhao Hei Hu's voice was soft, soft as a lover's whisper.

"W-we didn't find them."

"Heh."

Zhao Hei Hu chuckled. His fingers suddenly tightened around the maidservant's slender neck, lifting her entire body before casually tossing her aside.

"Ah!"

The maidservant cried out as she crashed heavily onto the carpet. Her gauze fell into disarray, exposing a large expanse of snowy springtime flesh, but she could only curl into a ball and shiver.

Zhao Hei Hu did not even glance at her as he slowly rose to his feet.

He was bare-chested, with a fierce tiger descending a mountain tattooed across his chest. As his muscles rippled, the tiger seemed to come alive, ready to choose someone and devour them.

He walked before the subordinate and extended a hand, lightly placing it atop the man's crown.

"Those were goods meant for the Barbarian lord. If they're lost, we all die."

"Gang Leader, spare me! Gang Leader, spa—"

"Crack."

Zhao Hei Hu's five fingers suddenly clenched.

The sound of a skull shattering was crisp and pleasing.

Before the subordinate could even scream, his head was crushed like a rotten persimmon, red and white matter spraying everywhere.

Several drops of warm blood splashed onto the snowy thigh of the nearby maidservant. The extreme contrast of red against white carried a demonic, cruel beauty.

The maidservant clamped both hands over her mouth. Tears poured from her eyes, yet she did not dare make the slightest sound, terrified that she would be next.

Zhao Hei Hu accepted a silk handkerchief from another maidservant and unhurriedly wiped the brain matter from his fingers.

"In this Black Stone County, the only ones who would dare touch my, Zhao Hei Hu's, goods—and do it so cleanly—are that nest of dogs wearing official skins."

He tossed away the handkerchief, and it happened to cover the bloodstains on the maidservant's leg.

"Pass down the order."

Zhao Hei Hu turned around and looked at the idol enshrined behind him, his gaze cold and venomous as a snake's.

"Gather all the brothers. At midnight tonight, surround the county yamen."

"Kill everyone who knows anything. Dead men do not betray secrets."

Inside the morgue.

The teeth-grinding sound of muscles tearing finally stopped.

Ji Ye still sat cross-legged, but the sweat on his body had already evaporated, replaced by a greasy layer of black grime.

He slowly opened his eyes.

They were bloodshot, and deep within his pupils lay a chilling indifference.

There was no phenomenon of a divine art reaching completion, nor any comfort of shedding one's mortal frame and remaking one's bones.

There was only heaviness.

Extreme heaviness.

Ji Ye tried raising an arm. It felt as though two lead weights hung from it. His muscles had not bulged grotesquely like a bodybuilder's; instead, they had become taut and compressed, like a layer of dense old tree roots buried beneath his skin.

This was the malformed product birthed by [Brute Force x3] combined with powerful medicine.

He had not truly attained "Copper Skin," nor had he entered "Bone Tempering."

But the density of his muscles was now several times that of an ordinary person. The medicinal power had been forcibly locked within his muscle fibers, creating an effect similar to "padding."

Ji Ye picked up the boning knife beside him, gripped it in reverse, and viciously stabbed it into his own left forearm.

He did not hesitate in the slightest, as though stabbing a block of wood.

"Pfft."

A dull sound rang out.

The blade pierced his skin and sank in roughly half an inch.

No blood flowed.

Because the instant the blade entered, the muscles there instinctively contracted and squeezed wildly, like countless tiny pincers clamping down hard on the edge!

Ji Ye released his hand.

The boning knife remained suspended from his arm, utterly motionless.

"Though it isn't Copper Skin and Iron Bone..."

Ji Ye expressionlessly pulled out the knife. Only a little dark-red congealed blood seeped from the wound before the muscles squeezed it shut.

"This body of dead flesh is enough to block blades."

This defense did not rely on hardness, but on density and toughness. It was like chopping into a tire: though one could break through its surface, it was difficult to inflict a deep, fatal wound.

That was enough.

So long as he was not killed instantly, in this low-martial world, with Triple Brute Force, he was a tireless meat grinder.

At that moment, faint shouts of battle drifted in from outside.

There was the sound of weapons clashing, screams, and torches crackling as they burned.

The Black Tiger Gang had made its move.

Ji Ye rose to his feet. His joints did not crack; there was only a dull grinding sound, like rusted gears beginning to turn.

He picked up the Wild Goose Feather Saber beside him.

The hilt was icy cold, yet it made him feel incomparably at ease.

He walked to the two corpses and reached out to straighten their white sheets.

"Borrowing your place. Thanks."

Ji Ye spoke softly.

Then he kicked open the morgue's heavy wooden door.

A cold wind carrying the stench of blood rushed into his face.

Outside, flames soared into the sky.

Ji Ye took a deep breath. Air mixed with the smell of scorching and rust flooded his lungs, instantly bringing the dormant violent impulses within him to a boil.