A powerful flashlight beam illuminated a small fan-shaped area inside the enormous warehouse.
Blue Chenguang, who had been strangled to death, had a twisted expression, and his body was still contorted. Anna, torn in half, lay in two pieces, one in front of the other, in her own pool of blood. Ai Fei, whose head had been bitten halfway off, whose legs had been broken in a fall, and whose shoulders had been crushed, was facedown on the ground. Yue Lingqing and Yu Zhidao had turned into puddles of black water, without even a human shape left.
In an instant, six of the seven people had died. Only Huang Tian was still standing.
"I never expected you to be caught up in this too, Master Kuchan," Huang Tian said bitterly, his emotions having settled.
From Huang Tian's thoughts, I learned that Master Kuchan was the old monk Master Xuanqing had mentioned—a true expert, far more powerful than the seven of them. But every field had its own specialties. Master Kuchan practiced Zen and revered Buddha. Although he could catch ghosts, ward off evil, and tell fortunes, he wasn't an expert in those arts. If I had to compare him to someone, Master Kuchan was like a martial arts master who had cultivated his inner strength to an incredible level, able to shatter mountains and rivers with a wave of his hand, but with no real combat skills to speak of. Someone like Master Kuchan was more like the pillar of the supernatural community. With him around, he could usually protect thousands upon thousands of ordinary people all by himself.
You could tell from the place where Master Kuchan meditated. In all these years, no ghosts or monsters had ever appeared on that little mountain or in the nearby villages and