Chapter Sixty-One: Unending Calamity and the Return of the Demon King

Now, only this female remained here. She looked quite delicate and fresh, though who could tell which wife or concubine she was of that old fellow—she seemed no more than twenty years old. Dressed in a white silk gown, with rosy lips, she might easily have been mistaken for a beautiful and gentle young woman, were it not for those two sharp fangs protruding from her mouth.

But Uncle Mao cared nothing for her beauty, even if she were a celestial maiden; in this situation, who would dare get close to her? That would surely be courting death. Uncle Mao held the Yang talisman, Wang Sheng gripped his coin sword, and Tong Xuan had somehow produced a long black serpent, forming a circle to entrap the female zombie.

Faced with these three magical artifacts, the zombie seemed at a loss; she spun in place, as if bound by some invisible force. In such circumstances, I could not descend to help Uncle Mao and the others; the talismans they wielded would harm me as well, and I’d only hinder them. So I hovered high above, watching this battle of vastly unequal powers.

Uncle Mao struck first, slapping the Yang talisman onto the zombie's back. The talisman’s power sent her stumbling toward Wang Sheng and Tong Xuan. Wang Sheng thrust his coin sword straight through her, while Tong Xuan wrapped the serpent around her neck.

The coin sword pierced the zombie’s body and then scattered, emitting a white smoke so acrid I could smell its sourness from twenty meters away—it nearly made me retch.

After suffering such grievous wounds, the female zombie no longer wished to remain; she tried desperately to break the encirclement and flee, but she was too injured to take flight. Meanwhile, the serpent Tong Xuan had looped around her neck began to crawl into her mouth and down her throat.

This black serpent was no ordinary snake; it was a champion, selected by Tong Xuan during the Five Venoms contest. Though small and seemingly innocent, its power was immeasurable. Moreover, since ancient times, snakes have been totems that suppress zombies—they possess their own unique strengths.

The black serpent vanished into her body, and the female zombie howled to the heavens, a cry so wretched it echoed across the wasteland. Fortunately, this place was isolated; no one lived within miles, so none would hear her scream.

Her abdomen, pierced by the coin sword and burnt by Uncle Mao’s talisman, now suffered the additional agony of the Five Venoms serpent within. An evil aura was forced from her mouth, and she collapsed into a heap of rotting flesh.

That once stunning face, in an instant, seemed to age hundreds of years, just like the other I’d previously struck down, weathered by the wind into nothing but decaying meat, slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Two had been destroyed, one had escaped. Yet Uncle Mao was not worried about the escapee; instead, he looked at the decaying corpse of the woman and said, “This is bad. Xiaodong, you and Wang Sheng take Tong Xuan and leave quickly. Tomorrow, meet me at the police station.”

I understood Uncle Mao’s meaning well enough. First, the Li family’s sandalwood coffin had been shattered, then the zombies had returned—these were facts, but Li Fei hadn’t witnessed them with his own eyes. How could he believe such tales? If Li Fei came here tomorrow and found the ancestor’s corpse desecrated, he would surely be furious and accuse Uncle Mao of wantonly destroying his forebear’s remains, landing Uncle Mao in jail.

Just as I was about to ask why, Uncle Mao cut me off, his face calm as he addressed Wang Sheng: “Sheng’er, tomorrow night you must come to the prison to find me. Bring brushes, ink, paper, ink line, yellow paper, cinnabar, and glutinous rice.” He waved his hand, saying, “Hurry home now. By the time you arrive, it’ll be daylight.”

Wang Sheng recognized the gravity of the situation. The escaped zombie would surely recover by the next day and attack the Li family. If he didn’t reach them in time, the Li family would be doomed.

Yet Wang Sheng was reluctant to leave Uncle Mao. He bade him take care, then pulled Tong Xuan away. Watching them go, I thought their pace too slow; Z City was at least a hundred miles off, and they’d hardly have time to prepare.

Unfolding my wings, I told Uncle Mao, “Don’t worry, Uncle Mao. I know Fang Pangguo, the chief of Z City’s police department—he won’t trouble you.” With that, I soared up, snatching Wang Sheng and Tong Xuan, and left.

Time flew quickly—by the time the battle ended, it was already midnight, and when it was all over, past one in the morning. It took me two hours to carry us to Z City, but luckily we hadn’t lost much time; it was only just after three, and we had plenty of time to prepare. Meanwhile, Li Fei was already leading his men in a stretch limousine toward Uncle Mao.

Uncle Mao was alone, tidying up the corpses. He struggled for ages to pry the body I’d driven into the ancient tree free; it had been crushed and flattened by the impact. Thus, two foul-smelling corpses lay side by side at the tent entrance, and the once lush lawn was now devastated by the battle.

We—Wang Sheng, Tong Xuan, and I—had just arrived at the rundown house in the outskirts. The temporary workers had all gone to their jobs; only children and the elderly remained, still asleep, so the place was quiet.

Inside, even without the lights, I could smell a strong earthy odor. We hadn’t been gone long—how could it smell so intense? To investigate, I switched on the lamp behind the door.

Before this, I’d closed my demon-eye, but as the light came on, it opened automatically.

The scene stunned us: several of the jars for storing ghosts had been smashed, the sealing talismans torn to bits. Wang Sheng, shocked that the house had changed so much in just one day, rushed to tally the broken jars.

These jars were no ordinary vessels—they held many ghost kings, evil spirits captured by generations of Mao family ancestors. Some jars even contained ancient evil ghosts, thousands of years old.

Fortunately, the jars containing the oldest spirits were intact; only seven ghost king-level evil ghosts had escaped.

These escapees were all sealed by Mao Xiaofang, the seventy-second patriarch of the Southern Mao family, during his travels across the land. Mao Xiaofang had elevated the family to new heights, sealing sixteen ghost kings and five millennium-old evil spirits, making a tremendous contribution to the peace of the living. His ghost-catching career lasted until his peaceful passing.

These seven ghost kings were no trifling matter; I dared say not even the Earth God and his wife would face them head-on.

As I compared the Earth God and his wife to these seven ghost kings, I inadvertently turned my gaze toward their statues in the room. The sight startled me—the statues had cracked.

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