Old Xi Zhang stood in front of the Dharma Altar, magic sword in hand, incense and candles on the table already lit. The talismans were sorted and prepared, and in the center stood a bronze statue with its head held high, marred with mottled scars—it was unclear which Venerable God it represented.
His expression was solemn. He stepped with Gang Steps, his Taoist robe snapping in the wind. A thin red thread extended from his brow up to the tips of his hair; all at once, a murderous aura surged around him, his entire bearing transforming dramatically.
In the car, Feng Yao still hugged his laptop, headphones over his ears, issuing commands nonstop.
The screen displayed a map of North Virtue City and the outer northwest perimeter, every road dotted densely with small blue points.
But there was also a single red dot—that was the current position of the Hopping Corpse.
