He left the Demon Suppression Division while the sky was still bright.
But Fang Mo no longer felt like going to Yihong Pavilion.
Beauty was all well and good, but he needed to be alive to enjoy it.
Those three monks had caught Li Mingyue's eye, so they were definitely no ordinary men.
And besides...
Fang Mo patted the ancient book tucked against his chest.
This was the real first-hand information.
He found a quiet tea stall, ordered a pot of the cheapest tea dust, and started flipping through Strange Tales of the Western Desert as he munched on the complimentary plate of salted peanuts.
The pages had yellowed with age, and the book carried the musty scent of old ink.
The book was clearly quite old. It recorded no customs or local traditions, only bizarre, even bloody and horrifying, rumors.
"The Western Desert Buddhist Kingdom has millions upon millions of believers."
"Some ascetic monks feed their bodies to eagles and their blood to demons, seeking to attain the highest fruition."
"Others fall into depravity, practicing Joyful Zen and making human-skin drums. They feed on the essence blood of living beings and call themselves Blood Buddhas."
"The Blood Buddha lineage excels at beguiling hearts and confusing minds. Ordinary people who see them take them for gods and willingly offer themselves up as sacrifices..."
Fang Mo read with great interest, occasionally tossing a couple of peanuts into his mouth.
"Blood Buddhas? Joyful Zen?"
"Sounds pretty exciting."
He closed the book, a gleam of excitement flashing in his eyes.
How were these monks?
They were walking bundles of experience and skill books!
If he could get some hard skills like Golden Bell Shield or Iron Shirt from them, and combine those with his Iron Bone talent, wouldn't he be able to stand there and take a beating without budging?
Now that was the true way of survival!
Max out his defense, and no one could kill him. Then he'd be invincible!
With that thought, Fang Mo lost all interest in his tea.
He tossed down two copper coins, stood up, and headed toward Heavenly Prison.
"Being a prison guard is great! I absolutely have to take this job!"
When he returned to Heavenly Prison, it was just in time for the shift change.
That deadbeat fatty Wang Youan was nowhere to be seen. Only Old Huang was on guard at the entrance.
When he saw Fang Mo return, Old Huang visibly relaxed.
"You brat, you're always disappearing without a trace."
"Hurry inside. You're on the night shift in Cell Block C, Room 9."
"Oh, right."
Old Huang lowered his voice and spoke in a hushed, mysterious tone.
"A few unfamiliar faces were just brought in."
"Heard they were captured out in the Western Desert."
"Ever since they got here, they've been chanting sutras."
"Those scriptures give you the creeps. Several of our brothers said they heard their dead mothers calling them back from the grave. They nearly drew their knives and slit their own throats."
"Then Wang Tou'er ordered everyone to plug their ears with cotton. That helped a bit."
"Got it!"
Fang Mo patted Old Huang's shoulder, excitement written all over his face.
"Don't worry, Uncle Huang."
"I love talking to friends with a little character."
"I'll make sure they feel right at home!"
With that, he took his Water-Fire Cudgel, hummed a little tune, and plunged into the deep, dark passageway.
Old Huang watched him go and, for some reason, shivered.
"That kid..."
"Why does he seem more excited than the prisoners in there?"
He hadn't plugged his ears with cotton.
With his Cold-Blooded talent protecting him, this kind of mental interference was like listening to some cheap lullaby.
With his hands behind his back, he walked step by step toward Cell Block C, Room 7.
Through the thick iron bars, as stout as a man's arm, he saw the three so-called eminent monks.
There were three of them.
They wore tattered dark-red monk robes. Their skin was dark, and they were so gaunt they looked like mummies.
They sat cross-legged on the filthy straw in a triangular formation, hands clasped, heads bowed, lips moving rapidly.
The old monk in front wore a string of prayer beads around his neck.
Fang Mo took a closer look, and his pupils narrowed slightly.
Those weren't prayer beads.
They were human finger bones, each one polished until it gleamed like crystal!
Fang Mo narrowed his eyes.
In his Sea of Consciousness, the Record of Punishing Crimes began to flip by itself.
Rustle, rustle—
The pages turned.
A new entry slowly appeared.
[Sin Prisoners: Three Demonic Blood Monks.]
[Crimes: Breaking the precepts, killing, sexual depravity...]
Fang Mo stared at the long list of shocking crimes, the smile on his lips growing wider and wider.
How were these prisoners?
They were family! Closer than the folks in his livestream!
He pushed open the prison door and walked inside.
The Water-Fire Cudgel in his hand tapped lightly against the floor, making a crisp sound.
"Good evening, Masters."
"Your humble monk... no, your Warden."
"Has come to bring you some warmth."
The three monks suddenly opened their eyes.
Six bloodthirsty, savage gazes locked onto Fang Mo.
"You're asking for death!"
One of the monks growled and sprang up. The shackles on his body creaked as he strained against them.
Fang Mo didn't even blink.
He simply watched the three prey, as if they were meat laid out on a chopping block.
"Don't rush."
"The night is long."
"We have plenty of time to play."
The monk who had sprung up was named Yuantong—though he certainly wasn't a deliveryman. He was a genuine demonic monk from the Western Desert.
His shoulder blades had been pierced and his qi and blood sealed, but his well-trained bones and muscles were still intact.
His pounce carried a gust of rank wind. His gaunt, eagle-claw-like hands shot straight for Fang Mo's throat.
"Little prison guard!"
"Let your grandpa teach you the rules!"
Yuantong grinned viciously, as if he could already hear the sound of Fang Mo's throat bone cracking.
Before you continue