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墨書 Inktalez
Knock, knock, knock.
Just as Lu Queyi was about to continue his argument with Zuo Ci, a mechanical knocking sound echoed from the door of the Antique Shop. Outside, the Crouching Old Corpse was rapping against the wooden door.
Furrowing his brow, Lu Queyi realized this was Zuo Ci's Zhui Ming Yan. If he opened the door now, he would be unleashing the Cinerary Urn. Otherwise, the Death Seeker would chase him to the ends of the earth, never ceasing. This was the most perplexing aspect of Zhui Ming Yan.
Previously, the incantation recited by Zuo Ci was the Death Curse. Even if Lu Queyi killed the Death Seeker that had attached itself to the old corpse, if Yan Shu remained intact, new Death Seekers would continue to knock at his door, demanding a life. In their subconscious, Death Seekers believed that if they could claim a life, they could resurrect and return to the realm of the living.
Ignoring them was not an option either. There has always been a saying that spirits knock three times and ghosts four. If Lu Queyi allowed the Death Seeker to continue knocking, it would diminish his blessings and lifespan. He sighed deeply.
Holding the Lion Bite Sword Beast Token in his hand, he cautiously opened the door. Standing outside was the hunched old corpse. Suddenly, its lowered head snapped up with a crack, revealing a face marred by dark purple corpse spots and resembling dry wood, staring menacingly at Lu Queyi.
With a thud! Lu Queyi pressed the Lion Bite Sword firmly against the old corpse's forehead. A deep beastly roar emanated from within the Copper Medal as murky eyes of the old corpse seemed to harbor black shadows writhing within.
He did not intend to eliminate the Death Seeker hidden within the old corpse; he merely aimed to suppress it within its body. Lu Queyi pulled out a yellow Fulu from his pocket and bit his finger to draw blood on it.
“Spirit fire rise and fall, evil spirits retreat swiftly!”
This was Luo Sha Fu, effective in suppressing malevolent curses. The yellow Fulu ignited and turned to ash, carried away by the wind.
A ghostly shadow wailed and struggled above the Cinerary Urn. As the yellow Fulu burned down to ashes, it too disintegrated into powder. Indeed, that sinister fellow had his methods even on the Cinerary Urn; if he were caught off guard, he could easily be overwhelmed by the souls of those who had died violently, causing his Three Souls and Seven Spirits to become unstable, making him vulnerable to soul capture.
The ghostly figures dissipated. Only then did Lu Queyi dare to open the Cinerary Urn. He reached out and tossed aside the white cloth that was wrapped around the surface of the urn, and a strange fragrance wafted into his nostrils. This scent exuded an oddly captivating aroma. Could it be poison?
Realizing this, Lu Queyi quickly covered his mouth and nose. However, he did not notice that his palm had become smeared with a slick, translucent substance resembling lard. After a while, when he found that nothing unusual had happened to his body, he took out the Paper Man.
The Paper Man was folded from Ming Qi, bound by blood and marked with longevity symbols; only by frying the Paper Man in oil could the curse upon it be broken. He was unaware of Zuo Ci's true intentions behind this curse. The Zhen Wu of the Zhui Ming Yan must be buried in a place devoid of light, followed by reciting the Death Seeker incantation for longevity. If an Auspicious Talisman could not be found, then the target would fall victim to the Death Seeker's fatal grasp.
The only way to counter this was to kill the Shaman who cast it or to destroy the Zhen Wu by frying it in oil—there were no other alternatives. This curse was one of the ten most powerful Jin Yan techniques closely related to Lu Ban's craft. Jin Yan, a secret art of the Lu Ban Gate, was an extremely insidious method; they all shared a characteristic: relentless persistence in death.
Even killing the Shaman or destroying the Zhen Wu would not break this deadly curse! Yet Zuo Ci had boldly handed this curse's Zhen Wu over to him, leaving him momentarily amused. Should he commend Zuo Ci for his skill or criticize him for being foolish?
But in the next moment, his amusement faded away. His black-brown skin began to rot and ooze pus, releasing a foul stench. The palms of his hands turned dark blue, with flesh continuously falling away onto the ground.
What is going on?
Has the white cloth been tampered with?
Poison?
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