Inside the Main Hall, the three treacherous disciples stood in a triangular formation, their eyes fixed on Lu Wentian's body, their gazes full of vigilance.
On the floor, the head rolled around until it struck a table leg and slowly came to a stop.
"He died just like that?" Yin Tiger's whiskers twitched as he asked suspiciously, "Is that all Master's got?!"
Not far away, blood spurted from the neck of Lu Wentian's headless corpse. It sat bolt upright on the meditation cushion, looking like a human-shaped fountain sculpture.
Tan Pang waited a little, then suggested, "As the old saying goes, a teacher for a day is a father for life. Let's bury Master...!"
"Just what you'd expect from our captain. Such outstanding moral character." Ren Ye nodded in agreement. "Go on, then. You bury him, and we'll burn the paper offerings."
Tan Pang glanced at him. "Fuck it, I'll go. What's there to be scared of? He's just an old bastard without a head."
As he spoke, the captain, who bravely shouldered his responsibilities, stepped forward.
"Urgh...!"
Just then, a pained murmur suddenly came from inside the hall. "You three treacherous disciples. That sword was awfully fast... My... my head fell off. My neck hurts so much."
Those words sent chills down all three men's spines, cold air prickling the backs of their necks.
They turned at the same time, looking straight beneath the table leg.
The round head was covered in disheveled, bloodstained hair, like a watermelon wearing a wig. It looked utterly eerie.
Between the countless strands of hair, a pair of aged eyes slowly shifted, regaining their light.
The head remained still as it spoke. "Just what I'd expect... from disciples I taught myself. So full of wicked ideas. You... you've wanted to kill me for