Chapter Seventy-Six: A Belt (Republished)

Magistrate Wang stared at the flickering green flame and felt as though he had plunged into an icy abyss; despite the warmth of the season, he began to tremble uncontrollably. He had encountered candles that snuffed out and then relit themselves before—perhaps due to the heat—but this was different. This flame was green.

The entire room was awash in the eerie glow, tinged a sickly green by the candlelight. Magistrate Wang found his body refusing to obey him, terror clawing at his heart.

Thud… Thud… Thud…

Suddenly, a knocking echoed through the room. With great effort, Magistrate Wang turned his head.

Through the greenish haze and the silver moonlight outside, he realized the door had somehow swung open. A dark figure stood just beyond the threshold.

“Ling… I’ve come… hehehe… I’ve come…”

A cold, bizarre, emotionless voice drifted from the figure.

Bathed in the green light, the shadow stepped inside.

When Magistrate Wang caught a clear glimpse of the figure, his heart pounded violently in his chest.

Bloodied, mangled eyes. Twisted, unnatural hands. Patches of ghastly corpse spots marring the flesh.

It was none other than Madam Zhao, long since deceased.

Cold sweat beaded on Magistrate Wang’s brow. He scrambled backward in panic, only halting when his back slammed into the wall—there was nowhere left to flee.

Madam Zhao shuffled forward, her steps stiff and unnatural, until she stood before him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and opened her mouth wide.

The mouth was a gaping void, the tongue replaced by a grotesque mass of bloody flesh.

Crash!

Something snapped in Magistrate Wang’s mind. His consciousness blurred, and his body slumped toward the floor.

Just before his senses faded, he thought he heard a cat’s meow.

“Finally found you!”

A hand seized Madam Zhao by the collar…

She froze mid-motion, unable to advance.

Internal energy surged into Fang Mu’s left hand. With a forceful tug, Madam Zhao was flung into the air, tracing a half-arc before crashing brutally to the ground.

A beastly roar—not human—burst from her throat as she struggled to rise.

Yet before she could move, a net of gleaming blades materialized, filling the air.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Caught in the web of flying knives, Madam Zhao’s limbs were severed from her body, leaving nothing but her head and torso.

She writhed desperately, but in the next instant, a foot pressed firmly onto her chest.

Fang Mu spoke calmly, “Don’t panic. You’ll be sent to the underworld soon enough.”

[You have touched a ghastly corpse. Gained a trace of true energy.]

[You have touched a ghastly corpse. Gained a clue: Sun Wei’s belt.]

So it’s a yin corpse after all, Fang Mu noted to himself.

The true energy merged with his own, and a hazy branch on the Dragon Gate within him began to change. Five finer branches extended outward, forming the shape of a dragon’s claw—delicate patterns etched across them, identical to those on the dragon’s horn.

The first dragon claw was complete.

The aberration that Madam Zhao had become continued to shriek. Though she had lost her limbs, she convulsed with a frenzied, unfeeling agony.

“No rush. I’ll send you to the underworld now.” Fang Mu gazed at her corpse-spotted form, and with a sweep of his slaughtering knife, a dense web of blades enveloped her.

Madam Zhao’s struggles ceased. Crimson lines traced her body, and in the blink of an eye, she was reduced to fragments.

Meow!

A Bai exhaled black mist, devouring every remnant of Madam Zhao until nothing was left.

Fang Mu’s heart stirred, and a gray belt appeared in his hand.

In the ancient Yue Kingdom, men’s belts varied in width. Street vendors or the poor usually wore narrow belts of coarse linen, while the wealthy preferred broader sashes of fine silk.

The belt Fang Mu held was silk, and somewhat wider than most.

It bore many vertical creases and was torn in places, as though wrenched apart by force.

Fang Mu gripped both ends and pulled in opposite directions. Following the lines of the folds, the belt twisted into a rope.

Strangulation marks… a rope, he mused. Sun Wei’s belt—if Sun Wei committed murder with this belt, then… that person becomes highly suspicious.

A sinister killer would never stoop to such crude means. In Fang Mu’s mind, if he needed to kill, he’d reduce his victim to pieces with his slaughtering knife, not strangle them.

He glanced at the unconscious Magistrate Wang. “Letting him lie there isn’t ideal.”

Before leaving, Fang Mu smashed a decorative stone in the county office with his knife, producing a thunderous crash, then slipped away swiftly.

“What was that noise? I think it came from the magistrate’s quarters!”

“Hurry, go check—has something happened?”

“Sir! The magistrate has fainted… Help, someone!”

…

In a narrow alley of Dongfeng County, inside the Duan family house.

Duan Gen waved a palm-leaf fan, trying to cool Duan Wei.

Duan Wei, still dazed and witless, lay on a recliner, his blank eyes fixed on the ceiling beam.

A flicker of impatience crossed Duan Gen’s face, and he began fanning faster.

On the table sat a disorderly meal: a pair of bowls and chopsticks, two plates of simple dishes. Duan Wei’s vacant face was smeared with grease and soup, clear evidence of having been roughly force-fed.

Smack.

After a while, Duan Gen set down the fan, his expression growing more irritable.

Just as he did, a knock echoed at the door.

Duan Gen started, then quickly composed himself, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe Duan Wei’s face clean before opening the door.

A young man stood outside, with a striking white cat perched on his shoulder.

“Sir, what brings you here…?” Duan Gen hesitated. “Have you found the answer?”

Fang Mu glanced inside, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Have you eaten?”

Duan Gen was confused. “We’ve already eaten. If you haven’t, sir, you’re welcome to—”

He never finished. A flash of cold steel swept toward his forehead.

The blade was swift and ruthless.

A wisp of black mist rose behind Duan Gen, coalescing into a human shape. The phantom’s hand seized Duan Gen’s shoulder, yanking him backward just in time to narrowly dodge Fang Mu’s strike.

Once clear, the shadow solidified into a bruised, battered man.

Duan Gen’s face darkened. He stared coldly at Fang Mu. “How did you figure it out?”

Fang Mu produced the belt and tossed it to Duan Gen, running his finger along the blade of his knife. “Just a suspicion. That last strike was only a test. But it’s a pity…”

“A pity?” Duan Gen demanded.

Fang Mu took a step forward, his butcher’s knife gleaming coldly. “A pity… because you’re about to die!”