Fang Mo bent down and rubbed the sole of his shoe against the black robe that symbolized the Chief Prison Warden's authority, scraping off a layer of congealed blood. He reached into the corpse's robes, his fingertips touching a brocade pouch that was neither metal nor jade, cold and slick to the touch. The old bastard had controlled the Heavenly Prison for decades; the fat he had skimmed off was certainly not limited to that Blood Infant Rakshasa meant for sacrifice. This object hidden against his body was his true fortune.
He exerted force through his fingertips, forcibly erasing the restriction on the brocade pouch with a faint cracking sound.
The pouch opened, and several spirit stones, mottled in color but holding a flowing light within, rolled into his palm. Fang Mo lost interest after merely glancing at them from the corner of his eye.
Low-grade spirit stones like these might make Meridian Opening Realm martial artists fight until their heads split in the mortal world, but in the eyes of the Lord of the Prison, they were merely stones filled with impurities.
What truly held his gaze were the ancient books pressed beneath the spirit stones.
Their covers were not ordinary paper, but specially tanned human skin, which felt faintly warm and slick beneath his touch. There were no words on the covers, only a few twisted blood markings that faintly gave off a nauseating, sweetly bloody scent.
Fang Mo opened the first page. Dense rows of tiny characters met his eyes, the handwriting sloppy and frenzied, as though the writer had been in a state of utter madness while putting brush to page.
"'Blood Scripture · Corpse Nurturing Chapter'... irrigate with the essence blood of living humans, seal the nine orifices with wax, nurture in yin soil..." Fang