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墨書 Inktalez
In the dark and damp basement of Tongcheng, a group of mysterious figures clad in black cloaks surrounded a circular arrangement of severed heads, meticulously arranged to form a human head wheel. Two intersecting lines of heads crossed in the center, creating a grotesque cross.
Within the circular outline, the faces of the heads were a sickly shade of blue-black, their eyes wide open, unblinking. They seemed to stare into the abyss, refusing to close even in death. Blood dripped from the jagged edges where the heads had been severed. Counting them carefully, there were forty-nine heads in total—some belonged to young girls and boys, while others were those of teenagers and even an elderly man with hair as white as snow.
The mouths of these heads had been violently torn open by sharp blades, their exaggerated gashes revealing slowly pulsating hearts nestled within, each heart exuding a faint mist. The cloaked figures, their faces twisted with madness, appeared to chant ancient incantations, their voices resonating with an eerie cadence that echoed through the basement.
In the center of the head wheel stood a white cross woven from bones. Bound to this cross was a girl with a dazed expression. Her features were delicate, but her eyes were clouded and vacant; drool continuously dripped from the corners of her mouth. As they gazed upon her in such a state, the chanting grew louder and more powerful among the cloaked figures.
One man, his skin resembling bronze, spoke in a hoarse voice: "This is the Celestial Maiden with a heart of innocence, a gift from the Ancient Deity. Her flesh is precious and will grant us longevity!"
"Thank you for the divine blessing!" he proclaimed. Behind him, all the cloaked figures knelt before the head wheel, their expressions reverent.
"You are all devout followers of the divine; may the gods protect you!" The man's voice boomed like thunder, reverberating through the narrow confines of the basement.
In just over an hour and fifteen minutes, it would be time for the ritual offering. "To prove your devotion," he continued, "this is the merit incense held by our Buddha Rulai."
One hundred thousand for a stick, limited to one hundred sticks only. This incense is made from the ashes offered at my Rulai Ton Zun Fa Xiang. It has the power to ward off evil, avert disasters, and prolong life. Dear Benefactors, do not miss out!
The man pulled out a large bundle of black incense sticks from his sleeve and placed them before the cloaked followers. Instantly, a commotion erupted as people rushed to grab them. Just one hundred thousand!
All those seated were tycoons from various fields; this amount was nothing to them. They didn’t necessarily want the incense for its own sake, but rather because possessing it granted them the qualification to enter Zhao Xian Hui and participate in the ritual of meat offerings.
Though these individuals were worth millions, they shared a common trait: they were all suffering from terminal illnesses. If they couldn’t survive, no amount of wealth would matter in the end.
The man watched with a hint of smugness as the Benefactors scrambled to purchase the incense. People are always greedy for life and fearful of death! Even these so-called elite figures were no different; they were merely a bunch of ants!
In the office, Guan Jintang pondered for a moment, his expression turning somewhat grim. "I once had a friend whose wealth surpassed mine. He was diagnosed with brain cancer. He mentioned this so-called Zhao Xian Hui, which is part of the Ton Zong Flesh Ritual—a gathering of A Jie Drum participants who are either rich or noble, all cancer patients.
Even though each person is quite wealthy, they don’t have many years left to live. However, what’s peculiar is that after attending Zhao Xian Hui, my friend’s health improved significantly. When he returned to the hospital for a check-up, the cancer cells had vanished. I wonder what method was used?
The Flesh Ritual? Zuo Ci contemplated for a moment—could it really kill cancer cells within the body? It seemed unlikely.
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