Heavenly Prison, Block C area.
There is no sunshine here all year round, and the air is filled with the smell of moldy straw and the sour smell of not taking a bath all year round. But for Fang Mo, this smell has an inexplicable kindness.
This is the smell of Old Fang.
Wang Youan and Duty Room are at the end of the corridor.
At this time, the door was ajar, dim light came from inside, and you could vaguely hear an off-key tune humming there.
"I think back then, Clash of Swords and Horses was so angry that he swallowed thousands of miles like a tiger..."
"Now, there are only rats gnawing sweet potatoes in this prison..."
Fang Mo pushed the door open and entered.
The furnishings in the room were simple, including a piece of Eight Immortals Table with a corner missing, a pot of wine, a plate of peanuts, and a fat middle-aged man who was reading "Spring Palace Pictures" with gusto with his feet up on the table.
Seeing Fang Mo, Wang Youan didn't show much surprise. He just slowly put down the book in his hand, looked at Fang Mo up and down with his squinted eyes, and finally his eyes fell on the long curled knife at his waist.
"Back?"
"Back."
"No arms or legs missing?"
"There's something extra."
Fang Mo pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. Without being polite, he poured a glass of wine on his own and drank it all.
Wang Youan's eyes flashed, and he came over shamelessly, hugging Fang Mo's shoulders, "My dear nephew, you Uncle Wang and I are the best in the world, what are the extra things? Do you have my share?"
Listening to Wang Youan's words, Fang Mo almost spit out a mouthful of wine. This damn fat guy is really good at making jokes. It seems that he won't shed tears without seeing the coffin!
"Ten years ago, Northern Border, one man and one sword cut through the sky."
"That person is my father, right?"
Wang Youan looked confused, "My dear nephew, what nonsense are you talking about? Old Fang and I have been working together all our lives, and nothing has happened in so many years Divine Capital,"
"Slashing the sky with a sword?" Wang Youan sneered, "It's almost enough to challenge Yihong Pavilion with a gun. My dear nephew, let me tell you, when you Uncle Wang were young, and you and your father, each with a gun, Yihong Pavilion kill them seven in and seven out, stabbing, pricking, blocking, and twisting, provoking, crushing, and crushing without mercy. The dance between the two steel guns is airtight.
"From Wenyange to Shixiangguan, Noda's reputation has been left behind!"
Talking about the excitement, he stepped on the stool, danced and spitted.
Fang Mo looked helpless. It seemed that he couldn't get anything out of Fatty Wang's mouth. Why not take a look at Old Fang's relics in the small courtyard.
"Hey! My dear nephew, where are you going? Don't go! I haven't finished speaking yet!"
"No, do I have a share in what you got?"
Fang Mo stumbled and quickened his pace unconsciously.
"You brat, don't forget to come to Heavenly Prison to be on duty later this month, otherwise I will go to your house to pick you off!"
Wang Youan proudly threw two peanuts into his mouth, picked up the wine bowl and took a big gulp, pulled his sleeves to wipe the wine stains from the corners of his mouth, "Little bastard, fight with me, you are still a little too young!"
The voice gradually faded away. Wang Youan looked at the dark roof of Heavenly Prison and sighed, "Brother Fang, brother Fang, your little boy has grown up, it's hard to fool him anymore!"
Divine Capital's early mornings always carry a smell of overnight fireworks and lingering morning fog.
A big pot was set up at a breakfast stall on the street, and the smell of boiling soy milk mixed with the burnt aroma of fried dough sticks penetrated people's noses.
Fang Mo stood at the door of his small shabby yard on the edge of Wannian County, holding two fried dough sticks in his hands and half a meat bun in his mouth, chewing with his cheeks.
"That damn fat guy, Lao Wang, has a tougher mouth than Shitou in the latrine."
Fang Mo swallowed the last bite of the bun and rubbed his greasy fingers on the door frame. He and Wang Youan spent half the night in Heavenly Prison. Apart from listening to the old man bragging about how he picked Yihong Pavilion with a gun, he didn't even get out any useful information about his father Fang Dashan.
Open the door and enter the courtyard.
The yard is not big, with only three main rooms and two east and west wing rooms. The Old Locust Tree tree in the corner of the yard has lost all its leaves, and its bare branches point to the sky, making it look particularly desolate.
"I don't believe it anymore."
Fang Mo threw the fried dough sticks on the stone table, closed his eyes slightly, and then opened them suddenly.
Buzz--
Deep in his eyes, a faint blue light wheel slowly rotated.
[Netherworld Ghost Eye], open.
The originally ordinary courtyard suddenly changed in Fang Mo's field of vision. There were several hibernating poisonous insects hidden under the moss in the corner. Ant nests crisscrossed the ground, and even the fine dust floating in the air was clearly visible.
Fang Mo took a step forward, starting from the main room and searching inch by inch.
Since the old man can chop Corpse Herding Cult's Cult Protection Formation into pieces with one knife, he can't be just an ordinary jailer. Doesn't a person like that have any tricks up his sleeve?
The main room, that was my father's bedroom before he was alive. The bed board, the bottom of the cabinet, the cracks in the wall, and even the mouse hole Fang Mo were explored with blood.
There was nothing but a pile of moldy old clothes and a few drawing books that were so infested that the handwriting could not be read clearly.
"Poor."
Fang Mo curled his lips and turned around to East Wing Room. That was the place where the debris used to be piled.
Broken tables and chairs, rusty hoes, and a pickle jar with a leaky bottom.
Half an hour later.
Fang Mo was standing in the kitchen, holding a kitchen knife that had just been taken off the stove.
The knife looks quite thick, with a broad back. Although the blade is a bit dull, it can still be used after sharpening.
"Could it be that this is the legendary magical weapon that requires both skill and craftsmanship?"
Fang Mo rubbed his chin, tentatively mobilizing the energy and blood in his body that had just broken through the Organ Refining Realm, like a rushing river.
A very tiny trace of Qi and Blood Power followed the fingertips and carefully penetrated into the handle of the knife.
"Ding--"
There was a crisp sound.
Fang Mo made a light move in his hand.
The heavy kitchen knife didn't even fart, it just collapsed into more than a dozen pieces of scrap metal and fell to the ground, leaving only a lonely wooden handle still in Fang Mo's hand.
"..."
Fang Mo looked at the knife handle in his hand and sighed.
"Old Fang ah Old Fang, you are really my biological father."
He threw the knife handle into the firewood, sat down on the pony in front of the stove, and scratched his hair irritably.
The entire yard was turned upside down by him. Not to mention the long knife that could cut through the sky, not even a decent iron lump could be found.
Could it be that the scene in my memory was fake?
Or is it that the old man buried everything in his ancestors' graves to prevent thieves?
Fang Mo closed his eyes, and the scene that was ripped out of Yin Mountain Daoist's memory reappeared.
As night falls, the man in black walks through the air.
That knife.
The shape of that knife...