Blood Curse Devours the Heart, Mad Old Vassals; Wind Blessings Stir Up Southern Witchcraft

The jade beads beneath the eaves were still gently clinking together, but beneath their crisp chime lingered an indescribable desolation.

Lord Changping, seated in the prison cart, resembled a piece of deadwood sucked dry of all moisture. His entire body hung limp, while the iron chains bit deep into his mangled flesh, carving even deeper bloody marks.

Yet in the depths of this utter despair, his lowered head suddenly stirred slightly.

The humiliation he had endured these past days spread through his heart like poisonous vines.

From the disgrace of being publicly whipped by Zhao Cheng, to the panic when his conspiracy had been exposed, and then the despair of being condemned to death—all of it had finally turned into venomous hatred for Ying Zheng.

He remembered how he had devoted himself heart and soul to helping Ying Zheng take personal control of the government. He remembered the blood and sweat the Chu faction had given to Great Qin. Yet in the end, a single sentence—"Your crimes are too grave to be pardoned"—had erased everything.

Why?

He suddenly clenched his teeth, his hands hidden behind his back quietly exerting force.

His rope-bound fingertips dug savagely into the bloody scabs on his back, forcibly tearing off a strip of skin and flesh. Blood instantly gushed out, staining his palm red.

Shielded by the wooden bars of the prison cart, he painstakingly traced behind his back with his bloodied index finger. Wherever his fingertip passed, the beads of blood gathered together with eerie unnaturalness, gradually forming a twisted curse sigil.

It was the most vicious curse of Chu shamanic arts. It required the caster to offer blood as sacrifice and use the soul as a guide before it could be invoked.

"Let my blood serve as the guide, and summon the spirit