Flesh and Blood Plague

Lumps.

What Zhang Fusheng saw were people covered in pure pink tumors.

Their entire bodies were covered in lumps, the tumors writhing as if alive, with some even having eyes!

What the hell is this?!

"Kill me."

One of the tumors let out a weak plea.

Zhang Fusheng's scalp tingled. He didn't dare to touch them and asked in a deep voice, "Zhou Qianshan, Chen Zhong?"

The tumors nodded with difficulty:

"Kill me, kill us."

They were begging.

Zhang Fusheng suppressed the tremor in his heart and asked in a low voice, "Are you willing to exchange decades of your meditation technique cultivation for… peace?"

"I will take away your suffering."

His aged voice echoed in the foul-smelling, cramped room, solemn and reverent.

The two centenarians, covered in tumors, nodded with difficulty.

Their consciousness was hazy, and they were undergoing unimaginable torment. At this moment, they only wished for death, but this was something Zhang Fusheng could not give them.

Death could not be traded, and it would be judged by the Pact as 'coercion by death'.

Zhang Fusheng, disguised as Zhong Shan, sighed softly.

He opened his hand, and the Pact slowly materialized.

As he drafted the transaction, he suddenly worried, what exactly was this illness the old men had?

The thought had barely formed when words naturally appeared on the Pact.

[Flesh and Blood Plague]

So it wasn't 'cancer'.

Flesh and Blood Plague, the name itself sounded like something utterly evil.

Zhang Fusheng's eyelids twitched. He asked the centenarian named Chen Zhong again if he was willing to complete the transaction, exchanging his past cultivation of visualization techniques for an end to the torment of these tumors.

They nodded with difficulty.

The next second.

The Pact dimmed significantly, and the tumors on the old men's bodies receded at an incredible speed.

"62 days? Why so long?"

Zhang Fusheng raised an eyebrow. He put the roasted Star Beast Meat into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. After consuming about thirty grams, the Pact glowed again.

The second transaction.

The tumors on Zhou Qianshan's body also receded rapidly.

Simultaneously stripped from them were decades of meditation technique cultivation and the 'memories' related to this transaction.

"One was eighty-one years, the other eighty-six years. A total of one hundred and sixty-seven years of visualization cultivation."

He exhaled, not having taken away the two men's comprehension.

Eighty-something years of basic and intermediate levels – their talent wasn't even as good as his own.

Looking at the two old men who had returned to normal and fallen into a coma, Zhang Fusheng sighed softly.

"Dean Long can't be kept."

This time was different from the last. Two centenarians suffering from the 'Flesh and Blood Plague' were miraculously cured. The people behind Ankang Hospital would definitely investigate.

Dean Long was the only one he had interacted with.

Zhang Fusheng quietly left the near morgue and headed back to the dean's office, following the deserted fire escape.

As he got closer.

"Where is the person?"

"Sir, he should still be in the near morgue on the second floor."

"Do you know his strength level?"

"Sir, I'm just an ordinary person, how could I know?"

Dean Long's wry laughter could be heard:

"You are a super expert of the Twelve Refinements. In all of Jiangzhou City, how many people can defeat you?"

Holy crap!

Twelve Refinements!

In the stairwell, Zhang Fusheng's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately wanted to retreat quietly.

Luckily.

Luckily he had the [Newly Dead Form]; he was like an inanimate object, unnoticed, moving without a trace.

Wait, nothing unexpected will happen, right?

He subconsciously glanced at the ground, confirming there were no dry branches, glass cups, or anything similar.

Then he heard footsteps.

The door upstairs opened, someone was coming down, accompanied by the sound of a broom dragging on the floor.

A cleaner?

Zhang Fusheng's old face darkened, and he fled. Could he escape?

He immediately dismissed the thought.

Twelve Refinements, his strength was 108,000 jin.

There was no escape.

Dean's Office.

Huang Haotian frowned deeply, muttering to himself:

"Unknown strength, unknown origin, unknown purpose."

He stroked his long beard, his expression changing.

He had survived dozens, even hundreds, of encirclements and suppressions by the Federation by being cautious!

Such an unknown and mysterious person, if he could avoid them, he absolutely would. But the problem was, this involved the Flesh and Blood Plague...

"Heavenly Lord above."

Huang Haotian quickly made a decision:

"Notify Chaimen, have them bring people here immediately. Hmm?"

Outside the door, not far away, footsteps and the dull thud of a wooden staff hitting the ground suddenly rang out.

Huang Haotian abruptly turned around, staring at the door.

'Thud, thud, thud.'

The footsteps and the sound of the staff hitting the ground were approaching at a snail's pace, but!

In his perception, outside the door was empty.

There was nothing.

Then what was that sound?

A drop of sweat slid down Huang Haotian's forehead.

The sound grew closer and closer. Dean Long also sensed something was wrong and, along with the Daoist, stared intently at the door.

'Thud!'

The final sound of the wooden staff hitting the ground stopped outside the door.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

'Creeeak~'

The red wooden door slowly swung open, and a frail old man stood outside.

He looked about seventy or eighty years old, with white hair and beard, his face covered by a black veil, dressed in extremely simple clothes, and leaning on a very cheap-looking wooden staff.

But the problem was, the person was clearly right in front of him, standing there.

Huang Haotian's thoughts swept wildly. His nearly perfect spiritual will tried hard to perceive, but it was still empty.

It was as if the person standing there wasn't human, but an intangible, formless ghost.

More sweat trickled down.

"It's him!" Dean Long shouted.

The old man outside the door seemed to smile. The black veil obscured his face, making it unclear.

He lifted his foot and stepped into the room, then slightly raised his wooden staff and tapped it gently.

'Thud!!'

It was like the booming sound of a great bell.

Dean Long suddenly found that the surrounding scenery had drastically changed. It was no longer his office, but a vast, boundless wilderness.

He looked around blankly and saw a phantom figure standing in the distance. The figure flickered and instantly moved ten meters closer, then flickered again and moved another ten meters closer.

The old dean was terrified. He retreated, wanting to escape, but found he couldn't move his feet no matter how hard he tried. In his horror, the vague human figure was already in front of him.

"ROAR!!"

The remnant soul left behind by the gunman when he died roared and bit off the old dean's neck.

"Goo, goo." The old dean weakly waved his hands, his vision gradually dimming.

At the same time, outside.

Huang Haotian saw Dean Long suddenly freeze. His throat tore for no reason, his body went limp, and he fell to the ground, silent.

"Spiritual Realm," he said hoarsely, his hair standing on end, muttering with despair, "Grandmaster?"

"Or, Great Grandmaster?"

Huang Haotian backed away until his back hit the wall, with nowhere else to go.

A very forced smile stretched across his face:

"Senior."

Zhang Fusheng let out a nasal "Mm," and said lightly:

"You, deliver a message."

Huang Haotian's heart pounded violently, and he quickly bowed:

"Please, Senior, give me your orders!!"

His legs felt weak, and a surge of hope involuntarily welled up in his heart, thinking that if he was asked to deliver a message, he wouldn't have to die?

As his thoughts became chaotic, Huang Haotian heard the old man speak lightly:

"The Flesh and Blood Plague is quite interesting, but tell him, everything in moderation. If he crosses the line again, don't blame me for not showing any old feelings."

As he spoke, the old man gently drew a shallow white line on the floor with his wooden staff.

It was as if he were saying, anyone who crosses this line is beyond saving.

Huang Haotian trembled as he bowed:

"This junior understands. I will definitely deliver Senior's words."

He wondered, who was the 'him' the senior mentioned?

Could it be...

Sweat beads on Huang Haotian's forehead grew even more profuse.

"That will be all."

The old man turned around and walked out very slowly, the sound of 'tap, tap, tap' echoing in the hallway.

Only when he had completely disappeared and his footsteps could no longer be heard did Huang Haotian collapse onto the ground as if his bones had been removed.

"This Daoist has survived another calamity." He suddenly burst into mad laughter.