Tumors.
What Zhang Fusheng saw was a person completely covered in pure pink flesh tumors.
Their entire bodies were covered in tumors. Those lumps of flesh wriggled as if alive, and some of them even had eyes!
What the hell is this thing?!
"Kill... kill me..."
One of the tumor-covered figures made a feeble plea.
Zhang Fusheng's scalp tingled. He did not even dare touch them as he asked in a deep voice:
"Zhou Qianshan? Chen Zhong?"
The tumors nodded with difficulty.
"Kill me... kill us..."
They were begging.
Suppressing the tremor in his heart, Zhang Fusheng asked in a low voice:
"Are you willing to exchange the decades you spent cultivating the Visualization Method for... peace?"
"I will take away your suffering."
His aged voice echoed through the foul-smelling, cramped room, solemn and dignified.
The two centenarians covered in tumors nodded with difficulty.
Their consciousness was muddled, and they were enduring unimaginable torment. At this moment, they wished only for death—but that was something Zhang Fusheng could not give them.
Death could not be traded, and the Contract Book would judge it as "using death as coercion."
Zhang Fusheng, masked and appearing as Zhong Shan, let out a soft sigh.
He spread his hand, and the Contract Book slowly emerged.
As he drafted the transaction, he suddenly found himself troubled. What exactly was this illness the old men had?
The thought had barely arisen when words naturally appeared upon the Contract Book.
[Flesh and Blood Plague]
As expected, it was not "cancer."
Flesh and Blood Plague—just hearing the name made it sound like something utterly vile and wicked.
Zhang Fusheng's eyelids twitched. He once again asked the centenarian named Chen Zhong whether he was willing to complete the transaction, exchanging his past Visualization Cultivation for freedom from the torment of these flesh tumors.
They nodded with difficulty.
The next second.
The Contract Book suddenly dimmed, and the tumors on the old man's body receded at an unbelievable speed.
"Sixty-two days? Why is it so long?"
Zhang Fusheng raised a brow, placed the grilled Star Beast Meat into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. After consuming a little over thirty grams, the Contract Book shone once more.
The second transaction.
The tumors on Zhou Qianshan's body also rapidly receded.
At the same time, stripped away from them were the years they had spent cultivating the Visualization Method for decades, as well as their "memories" of this transaction.
"One had eighty-one years, the other eighty-six years. One hundred and sixty-seven years of Visualization Cultivation."
He exhaled a breath of stale air and did not take away the two men's talent.
More than eighty years just to enter the door and reach Minor Accomplishment—their talent was not even as good as his.
Looking at the two old men, restored to normal and unconscious,
Zhang Fusheng sighed softly.
"Dean Long cannot be allowed to live."
This was different from last time. Two centenarians afflicted with the Flesh and Blood Plague had been mysteriously cured. Whoever stood behind Ankang Hospital would definitely investigate.
Dean Long was the only one who had ever come into contact with him.
Zhang Fusheng quietly left the Quasi-Morgue and headed once more toward the dean's office through the deserted fire escape.
Just as he neared it.
"Where is he?"
"My lord, he should still be in the Quasi-Morgue on the second floor."
"Do you know his strength?"
"My lord, I'm just an ordinary person. How could I possibly know?"
Dean Long's bitter laugh came through.
"You are a super expert of the Twelve Refinements. In all of Jiangzhou City, how many people could possibly defeat you?"
Fuck!
Twelve Refinements!
In the stairwell, Zhang Fusheng's heartbeat skipped a beat, and he immediately wanted to quietly retreat.
Fortunately.
Fortunately, he had [Newly Dead Form]. He was like a dead thing, unnoticed, leaving no sound in his wake.
Wait, nothing unexpected would happen, right?
He subconsciously glanced at the ground, making sure there were no dead branches, glass cups, or anything of the sort.
Then he heard footsteps.
The door upstairs opened, and someone was walking down, accompanied by the sound of a broom dragging across the floor.
A cleaner?
Zhang Fusheng's old face darkened, and he turned to flee. Could he escape?
He immediately rejected that idea.
Twelve Refinements—one hundred and eight thousand jin of force.
There was nowhere to hide.
The dean's office.
Huang Haotian frowned tightly and muttered to himself:
"Unknown strength, unknown background, unknown purpose."
He stroked his long beard, his expression shifting.
The reason he had survived dozens, even hundreds, of Federation encirclements was caution!
He would absolutely avoid an unknown and mysterious person like this if he could. But the problem was, this involved the Flesh and Blood Plague...
"Heaven Above."
Huang Haotian swiftly reached a decision:
"Notify Chaimen. Have them bring people here at once. Hmm?"
Outside the door, not far away, footsteps and the dull sound of a wooden staff striking the floor suddenly rang out.
Huang Haotian spun around sharply and stared at the door.
"Tap, tap, tap."
The footsteps and staff strikes approached at a turtle's crawl, but—
In his perception, there was nothing outside the door.
Nothing at all.
Then where was that sound coming from?
A bead of sweat slid down Huang Haotian's forehead.
The sound drew closer and closer. Dean Long also noticed something was wrong, and together with the Daoist, stared fixedly at the door.
"Tap!"
The final sound of the wooden staff striking the ground stopped outside the door.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
"Creak~"
The redwood door was slowly pushed open, and a decrepit old man stood outside.
He appeared to be seventy or eighty years old. His beard and hair were completely white, and a layer of black gauze covered his face. He was dressed extremely plainly and leaned on a wooden staff that looked exceedingly cheap.
But the problem was, the man was clearly right in front of him, standing there.
Huang Haotian's thoughts swept madly outward. His spiritual will, near the level of Great Accomplishment, tried desperately to sense him, yet there was still only emptiness.
It was as if what stood there was not a person, but an incorporeal, formless ghost.
More sweat appeared.
"It's him!" Dean Long shouted.
The old man outside the door seemed to smile. His face was covered by black gauze, making it difficult to see clearly.
He lifted his foot and stepped into the room. Then he slightly raised his wooden staff and struck lightly.
"Tap!!"
It was like the tolling of a great bell.
Dean Long suddenly discovered that the surroundings had completely changed. It was no longer his office, but an endless, vast wilderness.
He looked around blankly and saw a phantom figure standing in the distance. The figure flickered once and suddenly drew ten meters closer, then flickered again, then came another ten meters closer...
The Old Dean panicked. He backed away, wanting to flee, only to find that he could not move his feet at all. In his terror, that hazy figure was already before him.
"Roar!!"
The lingering soul left behind after the gunman's death roared as it bit through the Old Dean's neck.
"Ghk... ghk..." The Old Dean helplessly waved his hands, his vision gradually darkening.
At the same time, in the outside world.
Huang Haotian saw Dean Long suddenly freeze. His throat tore open for no reason, and his body went limp as he collapsed to the floor, silent forever.
"Divine Realm." He spoke hoarsely, every hair standing on end as he muttered despairingly, "A Grandmaster?"
"Or... a Great Grandmaster?"
Huang Haotian backed away until his back hit the wall, with nowhere left to retreat.
He forced an extremely strained smile onto his face.
"Senior."
Zhang Fusheng gave a nasal "Mm" and said flatly:
"You. Deliver a message."
Huang Haotian's heart pounded wildly, and he hurriedly cupped his hands in salute.
"Please give your orders, Senior!!"
His legs went weak, and hope involuntarily rose in his heart. If the old man wanted him to deliver a message, did that not mean he would not have to die?
Amid his chaotic thoughts, Huang Haotian heard the old man speak lightly:
"The Flesh and Blood Plague is quite interesting, but tell him that all things must stop at the proper measure. If he crosses the line again, do not blame me for disregarding old ties."
As he spoke, the old man lightly swept his wooden staff across the floor, drawing a pale white horizontal line.
It was as though he were saying: whoever crossed this line could not be saved.
Trembling, Huang Haotian cupped his hands in salute.
"This junior understands. I will certainly deliver Senior's words."
He wondered who this "him" the senior spoke of was.
Could it be...
The sweat on Huang Haotian's forehead poured out even more fiercely.
"That will be all."
The old man turned around and slowly, very slowly, walked outside. The sound of "tap, tap, tap" echoed through the corridor.
Only after he had gone completely far away, after even the sound could no longer be heard, did Huang Haotian collapse to the floor as though every bone had been pulled from his body.
"This Daoist Lord has survived another calamity." He suddenly threw back his head and laughed madly.
Before you continue