Chapter Thirty-Five: The Puppet of the Ancient Curse’s Successor

That night, more and more students rushed out of their dormitories toward the site of the incident, joining the swelling crowd gathered there. Police cars parked at the perimeter, and officers cordoned off the area with warning tape, forming a circle more than ten meters in diameter around the scene. Even some reporters from minor news outlets arrived, snapping pictures for their stories. One could only wonder how these journalists got wind of the event; after all, it was still the dead of night.

The dust had long settled. Aside from a human-shaped crater in the ground, everything else seemed untouched.

An older police officer gazed at the sky, then at the crater, and finally at the five-story building nearby. He scratched his head and muttered, "No way... Falling from a five-story building couldn't possibly make such a deep hole." After speaking, he shone his flashlight into the crater, revealing a blood-soaked, indistinct figure lying motionless within.

The officer, as if discovering something extraordinary, called several colleagues over and instructed the crowd to dial emergency services. Following his lead, the officers reached into the crater: two grabbed the legs, two took hold of the arms, and one grasped the head, preparing to pull the figure out. Just then, the shape inside the crater stirred.

A gust of force sent the officers holding the limbs flying beyond the warning tape, leaving only the one clutching the creature's head. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the creature's hands were gripping the officer's arms, unmoving. Its black nails, five centimeters long, were already deeply embedded in the officer's bones.

The officer howled in agony atop the crater, unable to break free from the creature's vice-like grip. Seeing this, the other officers quickly drew their pistols and cautiously approached, uncertain of what they faced and unwilling to act rashly.

Witnessing the police draw their guns and the eerie hands of the creature, the students realized the situation had escalated and hurried back to their dorms, locking windows and doors before trying to sleep. Only a handful of bold young men and members of the school management remained.

The armed officers inched closer to the crater, guns raised. Just then, a muffled voice echoed from within, magnetic and chilling: "All must die. All must die!"

As the words faded, the ground two meters around the crater cracked open. The unfortunate officer standing atop it was seized by a monstrous creature, two meters tall and dripping dark green fluid. With a scream, the officer's arms were torn off and stuffed into the creature's gaping mouth, from which blood and green liquid flowed. Terrified, the administrators, reporters, and those who had feigned bravery scattered in all directions.

The remaining police opened fire on the towering creature, but bullets passed through its body, leaving holes that healed instantly.

The creature paid no heed to these ordinary people, nor did it continue its rampage. Instead, it raised its head and let out a howl, then muttered, "Damn Daoist from the Southern Mao lineage and the clan of corpse demons! As a practitioner of ancient curses, I will settle the score with you—never will I rest!" With that, it unfurled its wings and followed the ripple of my earlier flight toward the outskirts.

In a single-story house in the suburbs, Zhou Runfa lay in the basement of Uncle Mao's residence. Uncle Mao had not tried to save him but instead was setting up an altar and arranging a ritual. The preparations seemed even more impressive than the Taoist arts depicted in films.

As he worked, Uncle Mao explained, "This Nine Heavens Extreme Yin Fiend is recorded in the lineage of the third-generation Southern Mao patriarch, Hong Jinbao. Its body is of utmost yin, and yang talismans are ineffective against it. This fiend specializes in possessing the souls of female ghosts and, once it takes hold, will not easily relinquish its grip. Its vengeful nature is fierce. Judging by the situation, I believe it has already tracked us here."

While retreating with Wang Sheng, I hadn't anticipated such developments. As I pondered the mysterious fiend, Wang Sheng said to Uncle Mao, "Master, that fiend is formidable. You must be careful!"

Hearing Wang Sheng call Uncle Mao "Master," I was puzzled and asked, "Wait a second. I never paid much attention before, but didn’t you train under your uncle? Why are you calling Uncle Mao your master?"

Uncle Mao and Wang Sheng exchanged a smile. Uncle Mao replied, "Before Wang Sheng's uncle passed away, he left a final wish that I should take Wang Sheng as my disciple after his death and provide for him. Now that he’s gone, Wang Sheng naturally became my pupil. I’ve lived alone all my life, and before I die, to have someone inherit my teachings gives me the honor to meet my ancestors in the underworld."

Uncle Mao finished speaking, not allowing further questions. "She’s coming. Stand aside and watch me handle this," he instructed, forming hand seals. Taiji diagrams spun around him, and in that moment, I truly witnessed the power of Daoist arts. I could only describe it as absolutely astonishing.

As the saying goes, when the yin fiend arrives, the wind howls. The Nine Heavens Extreme Yin Fiend was no exception—the air was heavy with ominous winds, heralding a battle before the foe itself appeared.

From a hundred meters away, we could clearly hear the fiend cackling, its dark wings thrashing as it laughed wildly in the high night air: "Ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha!"

In the blink of an eye, the fiend closed the distance, hovering half a meter above the ground, five meters from the altar. It looked at Uncle Mao with disdain and said, "Wretched Daoists! If my ancestor, the practitioner of ancient curses, hadn't spared your forebear’s life, your sect would have perished long ago!"

Uncle Mao was stunned to hear this; he hadn't realized he was confronting a puppet of the ancient curse lineage.

Though surprised the ancient curse still lingered in this world, now was not the time for debate. Uncle Mao stroked his mustache and replied, "I wondered who it might be—so it's only a puppet of the ancient curse. Compared to the true master behind the scenes, you are weak indeed. Tonight, I’ll show you the true might of the Daoist sect!" With that, he formed hand seals and activated the Taiji formation.

The Taiji formation, known as Daoism's ultimate gentle array, is the lock that binds ghosts; within it, any attempt at normal exertion is futile, mere fantasy.

As the formation enveloped the puppet, it sneered, "Hmph! Thousands of years ago, my ancestor of the ancient curse fell to your formation. But now, after millennia, we understand your formation all too well!"

Uncle Mao's expression trembled upon hearing this, sensing for the first time that the Taiji formation—which had never been breached for thousands of years—now showed signs of unraveling.

The puppet attacked each node within the formation, and after ten minutes, the Taiji array shattered, leaving Uncle Mao severely weakened. He spat a mouthful of blood and struggled to stand.

Seeing this, I immediately shifted into battle mode and launched a heavy punch at the fiend, while Wang Sheng rushed to care for his master.

Thus, my second battle with the fiend unfolded that day...

(Brothers, if you find Xiaodong's work at least passable, please vote in support. Xiaodong thanks you here.)