I hadn't originally planned to make a move against Master Zhou, but the old man had just tried to have me killed—ordering a few stray spirits to hurl objects at me. That vase alone, if it had smashed against my head, would have left my skull split open and my blood splattered on the spot.
Since he'd shown no mercy, I certainly wasn't going to be polite.
My master always said: endure three parts when trouble comes, but if the other party still refuses to see reason—hit them until even their own mother can't recognize them.
These violently deceased spirits carried immense resentment. When I first captured them, I'd used premium incense and a bowl of "last meal" offerings to draw their attention, then struck when they were off guard, sealing them inside my Tianpeng Ruler.
A direct confrontation back then wouldn't have been easy; these spirits were born of wrongful deaths, brimming with rage, later refined in a jar of flesh and blood, and provoked with filth until their fury boiled over. Even after being sealed for days, their hatred remained far from quelled.
Now, released from the Tianpeng Ruler, they revealed their true nature—resentment pouring off them as they lunged straight at Master Zhou.
Zhou was a feng shui practitioner, yes, but no master—more like second or third tier at best. Controlling a few stray ghosts was one thing, but handling spirits of wrongful death? Not a chance.
When he saw four or five of them rushing toward him, the color drained from his face. He stumbled backward—only to bump into a sofa, trapped.
In panic, he pulled several yellow talismans from his robes and flung them at the spirits. They ignited mid-air before even touching their targets—far too weak to be of use.
Next came a peachwood dagger, which he waved desperately.
"Little brother… I admit defeat… I—" His voice cracked, fear leaking through, almost wetting himself.
Being possessed by such spirits was no trivial matter. They had killed Wang Chaoyang before—no one could predict what they might do once inside you. When they latched on, death wasn't far behind.
Within moments, they slammed into Master Zhou. His body shuddered, eyes rolled back, and he collapsed on the sofa. Black vapors seeped from his skin; he gasped like a fish out of water. From his shoulders and belly, twisted faces emerged, greedily devouring his life force.
The others in the room jumped back, not understanding what they saw. Zhou's earlier summoned ghosts were invisible to them, as were my own. Ordinary people simply couldn't comprehend the terror of killing with sorcery.
Even among those versed in the mystical arts, using lethal spells was rare—taking a life bound you to karmic consequences, inescapable as the old man who once used the Luban Curse discovered.
Liu Wenhao, pale and trembling, called out, "Master Zhou… what's happening to you?"
Moments later, Zhou sat bolt upright, seized a teacup, and smashed it against his own head—blood blossoming instantly. He growled like a beast, eyes wild with malice, then grabbed the teapot and struck again.
Uncle Huzi, watching, muttered with satisfaction, "Serves him right for laying hands on our young master."
Soon, Zhou's face was a mask of blood, his actions frenzied. Liu Wenhao rushed forward. "Master Zhou, stop!"
But the moment his hand touched Zhou's body, he froze—the man was ice cold. Zhou's gaze snapped toward him, and just that look chilled Liu to the bone, like winter water poured over his head.
Before he could react, Zhou's hand clamped around his throat. With the other, he began slapping Liu's face—sharp cracks echoing, blood flying from Liu's lips after a dozen strikes.
"Good hits. That's for running your mouth," Uncle Huzi muttered.
Guo Xiaotong and Guo Yiping were paralyzed with shock, unable to comprehend Zhou's sudden madness.
I decided enough was enough—let this go on and there'd be a real death. Rising, I strode over with the Tianpeng Ruler in hand.
By then, Zhou had already flung Liu into the wall. He turned toward me, eyes venomous.
"Had enough?" I asked coldly.
The spirits, still in control, showed no fear and drove Zhou at me. I raised the Tianpeng Ruler, formed a hand seal, and recited the incantation. Any ghost once sealed in the ruler was bound to it—when the words left my lips, Zhou's body froze, clutching his head as the spirits writhed in visible agony.
Seizing the chance, I stepped forward and slammed the ruler onto his crown.
He jerked as if struck by lightning, locked in place. Runes flared on the ruler, and the vengeful spirits were drawn back inside one by one.
I exhaled in relief and stowed the ruler away. Zhou swayed, then collapsed to the floor.
I shot Uncle Huzi a look, and though reluctant, he lumbered over to lift the unconscious Zhou onto the sofa.