Zhang Shun roared, “My bones are breaking—AAAH!”
He raised his arms to shield his head, just as a slab of stone fell from above and smashed onto his arm, shattering into pieces. Lime dust scattered all over the floor. Second Young Master Zhang staggered back several steps from the impact, his back hitting the wall. In that instant, the shadow from above leapt down and drove an elbow into his face, spraying blood from his nose and mouth.
“No wonder you’re a Buddha Bone—still fine after that.”
Under the dim light of the stairwell, the figure’s face became clear—it looked exactly like Chu He, even giving a smile.
“That aside, I can understand Zhou Hui recognizing me as a fake, but how did you figure it out?”
Zhang Shun shoved him aside and bolted down the stairs.
“Like hell I’m telling you! So you can use it to trick me again next time?!”
·
Half an hour earlier, Zhou Hui and Zhang Shun had arrived at the hospital. Before the car even came to a stop, they saw someone fall from above—BANG!—landing squarely on the hood.
Zhang Shun cried out, “Brother!”
Second Young Master Zhang jumped out of the car to find Chu He rolling on the ground, trying to stand but collapsing again. Zhang Shun immediately ran over to support him, seeing half of his brother’s face covered in blood. As soon as he opened his mouth, blood foam bubbled out. Chu He trembled and pointed up at the building.
Zhang Shun looked up and saw flames flickering on one of the hospital’s upper floors. Every few seconds, lightning wrapped around stones and bricks would burst from a window, striking sideways like a whip. “What the hell is that?!”
“The Divine Perfect Division… has betrayed us,” Chu He gasped. “Group Five has been completely wiped out. They all defected.”
Zhou Hui had stepped out of the car but remained still, standing pensively.
“Stop talking! What now? What do we do?!” Zhang Shun could feel his brother’s body going cold, and his hands trembled in fear. “Where are you hurt?! Zhou Hui, get over here and help!”
Zhou Hui finally walked over quickly, touched behind Chu He’s ear to check his temperature, and said, “We have to carry him into the hospital now—he may have internal damage. How the hell did Group Five betray us? Damn it, I knew we shouldn’t have brought in so many people from the Huang Sect. Yu Jingzhong, that dumbass, should have suppressed them earlier.”
Gritting his teeth, Zhang Shun helped Chu He toward the building. The power system had likely been mostly destroyed. The emergency generator could only support the indicator lights. The elevators were useless, and the entrance door had been caved in by some massive force.
“Stairs… take the stairs,” Chu He said haltingly. Blood poured out with every word. “Forget Group Five for now. Yu Jingzhong is locked on basement level four…”
“No, brother! You’re losing too much blood, your temperature’s dangerously low. We need to do a transfusion first!”
Zhou Hui, walking ahead, heard Chu He weakly say, “There’s a blood bank and special care unit on basement level four. Let’s go there first… but the blood bank was destroyed. When they retreated, they blew it up to block access to Yu Jingzhong’s holding area.”
Zhang Shun asked anxiously, “Then what do we do?!”
The emergency lighting left many areas in darkness. Zhang Shun staggered along, barely supporting his brother. Zhou Hui pulled out his phone to light the way and said calmly without looking back, “His brother can just give him some blood.”
Zhang Shun was about to agree immediately, but just then, Chu He coughed twice into his hand and said weakly, “Just a little will do… You’ve got Buddha Blood. A little bit is enough.”
Zhang Shun suddenly froze.
His hesitation was obvious in the darkness. After a pause, he asked hesitantly, “But… we’re not the same blood type, right? Is that okay?”
Chu He shook his head. “Your blood doesn’t follow normal rules. Besides, the blood lab has specialized equipment. That fake Yu Jingzhong used it to refine Buddha Blood.”
Zhang Shun’s expression changed drastically. He asked, “Who the hell are you?”
Chu He said in surprise, “I’m your brother!”
“No, you’re not!” Zhang Shun shoved him away hard. “Who the hell are you?!”
Chu He stumbled back. “What’s wrong with you? I am your brother!”
“No, you’re not! Zhou Hui!”
Zhou Hui turned around calmly. A faint shimmer—unique to spiritual barriers—flashed across the stairwell as a heavy, invisible wall shot across the corridor and locked both Zhang Shun and “Chu He” inside. “Chu He” looked stunned. “What are you talking about? What misunderstanding is this?”
“You’re not him. My brother doesn’t talk like that!” Zhang Shun’s voice grew more and more certain. “You’re the one who pretended to be Yu Jingzhong too, weren’t you? What do you want my blood for?!”
The fake Chu He stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly laughed. His shoulders shook as the laughter deepened, and the voice changed completely—now an entirely different person’s voice. The face of Chu He looked disturbingly twisted. “Incredible… How did you figure it out? Zhou Hui tipped you off?”
“I didn’t give him any hints, Yangjin Pingcuo,” Zhou Hui said calmly. “You only saw what Feng Si looked like in seclusion in H City. But you never understood the man himself. It was inevitable you’d slip up.”
Just then, the floor shook violently beneath them. Dust and debris rained from the ceiling. Massive booms and explosions echoed from the upper floors. Zhou Hui glanced up and said, “I thought you’d already captured Feng Si. I was planning to use that to make you lead us to him. But clearly that’s unnecessary now… Brother-in-law, it’ll take time to break the barrier. Want me to go upstairs and save your brother while you stall him?”
“Go!” Zhang Shun immediately rolled up his sleeve, revealing his palm marked with the Buddha Seal, and glared fiercely at Yangjin Pingcuo. “I knew something was off! So you’re the imposter! I’ll handle this here. What, think you can just come take my blood like I’m some free blood bank?!”
Yangjin Pingcuo chuckled. “No need to be so angry, Second Young Master Zhang. Whether you can even take me on is still in question.” With that, he suddenly pulled out two short daggers from his sleeves and lunged.
Zhang Shun barely dodged, the blade slicing past his nose and slamming into the wall. A second later and it would’ve taken off his whole nose!
Zhou Hui dashed upstairs, calling out, “He won’t kill you! And he can’t stand the Buddha Seal. Burn him with your palm!”
Zhang Shun shouted, “Save my brother!” Then ducked just in time, feeling a chill on his scalp as a clump of his expensive hairstyle floated gently to the ground.
The 2,000-yuan hairdo had been chopped straight through.
Furious, Second Young Master Zhang thought, You think just because you’re wearing my brother’s face you get to beat me up like he does? Fueled by rage, he blocked the dagger with brute force, twisted and slammed Yangjin Pingcuo into the wall, trying to grab the blades.
Even though Yangjin Pingcuo was tough, he wasn’t on the level of a cursed corpse. That kind of creature had its head reduced to ashes by the Buddha Seal—he wouldn’t fare better. Struggling, he got scorched several times on his face and arms, golden flames searing his flesh black.
In agony, Yangjin Pingcuo went berserk, hacking wildly with the dagger. Zhang Shun took a blow to the gut and instantly jumped back in pain.
But behind him was the staircase.
Stairwells are narrow by design—he lost his footing and tumbled down to the next level. It felt like his bones were breaking. He touched his stomach—blood, but no intestines. Probably not fatal.
He tried to get up, and just then saw Yangjin Pingcuo rip a slab of stone from the crumbling wall and hurl it at him with brutal force.
Zhang Shun barely had time to throw his arms over his head as the slab smashed into him, nearly making him vomit blood on the spot.
“I’ll f***ing kill you! Using me like a damn blood cow, and hitting this hard—!”
Yangjin Pingcuo leapt down and drove an elbow into Zhang Shun’s face, making blood spray from his mouth and nose.
This was on a whole other level from leading schoolyard thugs to beat people up. Second Young Master Zhang nearly lost consciousness. But this was the same guy who bashed up arcades at age seven and poured paint over his brother’s car at age ten—he could be fierce when he had to. He roared and lashed out at Yangjin Pingcuo’s eyes.
Even if he missed, the Buddha Seal would still blind the bastard.
Yangjin Pingcuo was forced to back off. Zhang Shun used the opening to scramble away and run downstairs at full speed.
“How did you recognize me?!” Yangjin Pingcuo shouted. “Don’t tell me—”
He had never slipped up twice in a row before. His disguise skills were flawless, good enough to get him promoted to vice-captain. If that beauty Yan Lanyu had seen through him just because Yu Jingzhong had never slept with him, then what was up with this useless rich kid? Had he slept with his brother?
Zhang Shun bellowed, “Not telling! So you can use it to trick me again?!”
Just then, his foot slipped and he tumbled down another flight. Before he could stop, Yangjin Pingcuo landed in front of him, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his head into the wall—five or six times—until blood streamed from his mouth. Then he flipped him over and stomped on him.
“Tell me,” he said coldly. “How did you know?”
Zhang Shun spat blood at him.
Yangjin Pingcuo wiped his face and sneered, “You’d be better off stalling for time. But I wouldn’t count on Zhou Hui coming back. He and that nine-tailed fox don’t like Buddha Bone. More likely they left you here as cannon fodder.”
Zhang Shun spat again. “You think I’d believe that?!”
“Believe it or not, doesn’t matter. But I’ll give you a chance. Tell me: how did I mess up? My disguise is flawless.”
Zhang Shun finally exploded, “Your mistake was huge, okay?! If it were really my brother, when Zhou Hui asked for blood, he’d either say ‘shut up’ or directly order me to draw exactly 200cc. He would NEVER say something vague like ‘just a little will do.’ He NEVER talks in imprecise terms like that!”
Yangjin Pingcuo let out a thoughtful “oh.”
Then heard Zhang Shun say again, “Also, if I asked a stupid question, my brother wouldn’t even bother to answer. If I asked him, ‘What if we have different blood types?’ he’d definitely ignore me. At most, he’d say, ‘Don’t worry about it. Just do as I say.’ But you actually took the time to explain things like Buddha blood and the equipment to me?!”
“…” Yangjin Pingcuo said, “Exactly how many years of psychological abuse from your brother have you endured?”
Zhang Shun immediately denied it: “It’s not like that!” As he spoke, he grabbed Yangjin Pingcuo’s foot, which was stepping on his chest, and twisted hard. It was a move he learned from TV—main characters often pulled this off to dramatically break the villain’s ankle and send them screaming to the floor.
Unfortunately, Zhang Shun was not the main character type. All he managed was to catch Yangjin Pingcuo off guard, causing him to fall—right on top of Zhang Shun, nearly knocking the wind (and guts) out of him.
As they tumbled down the stairwell, Zhang Shun, now on top, tried to strangle Yangjin Pingcuo with his palm—zzzzt! The golden light from the Buddhist seal on his hand flared to life, burning Yangjin Pingcuo so fiercely his eyes bulged. His throat crackled as he struggled, then—crack!—he broke Zhang Shun’s thumb clean in two.
Zhang Shun screamed in pain and let go. Yangjin Pingcuo flipped him over and raised his knife, aiming to slash open Zhang Shun’s carotid artery. It was a completely mad move—cutting that artery would unleash a flood of blood that couldn’t be stopped. Forget refining Buddha blood to save the elder; Yangjin Pingcuo himself might die on the spot from the burning backlash of it.
Fortunately, Zhang Shun, in agony, roared and grabbed the blade with his bare hand. The palm bearing the 卍 symbol split open instantly. Yangjin Pingcuo instinctively yanked the knife away, and Zhang Shun howled again in pain—then, in the chaos, his bleeding palm landed on Yangjin Pingcuo’s open mouth.
It was an accident born of their struggle—but what happened next was even more shocking.
Zhang Shun suddenly felt a warm flow surging through his torn palm, as if something moist and powerful was rushing into his body from the Buddhist seal, flooding his veins, expanding into his chest, quickly saturating his entire being. Meanwhile, Yangjin Pingcuo lay frozen on the floor, limbs stiff, eyes filled with utter shock.
“You… you actually…”
Yangjin Pingcuo made a strangled, guttural noise. Sensing something was wrong, Zhang Shun tried to pull his hand away. What happened next nearly drove him insane.
Yangjin Pingcuo’s face rapidly caved in, his whole body deflating like a popped balloon. Within seconds, he became nothing more than a shriveled skeleton!
The skeleton creaked and reached out a bone-white hand toward Zhang Shun, who stared in terror as that clawlike thing reached for him. His vision went black, his mind blanked out, and he let out a bloodcurdling scream, scrambling away on all fours.
The skeleton tried to rise—but then, with a series of cracks, the arm bones and rib cage collapsed into pieces. The whole heap of bones and skin slumped to the ground, completely motionless.
Zhang Shun: “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! AAAAAHHHHHHHH—!”
“Zhang Shun!” At that moment, Chu He rushed down the stairs, stepping over the skeleton lying across the stairwell. “What happened?! Quiet down!”
Zhang Shun kicked and flailed madly: “DON’T COME NEAR ME! IT WASN’T ME! DON’T COME NEAR—AAAHHH—!”
Chu He grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look up. He pried open Zhang Shun’s eyes to stare into them.
Chu He was too badly injured to maintain his faxiang form; he had reverted to his human body. His face was pale and calm, not particularly striking at a glance. But his eyes were bright and steady, full of quiet power—eyes that could silence panic and command attention.
Zhang Shun gasped for breath, panting wildly. After a moment, the blankness in his pupils faded. He reached out with shaking arms and hugged his brother tightly.
Chu He let him hug. He was just about to ask what had happened—when suddenly, his whole body trembled.
“Brother?” Zhang Shun stared as Chu He collapsed—“Brother, what’s wrong—what the hell?!”
A massive surge of power exploded from where their skin touched. Compared to the previous warm trickle, this was a tsunami. Zhang Shun froze, overwhelmed. Chu He stared at him wordlessly, trying to speak but unable to form words.
“Brother?” Zhang Shun’s voice shook. Then his gaze shifted to the skeletal remains of Yangjin Pingcuo nearby.
In a flash of insight, realization struck him like lightning. He shoved Chu He away and shot to his feet.
Chu He said nothing and fell over.
A second later, Zhou Hui came flying down from above, catching Chu He in his arms. He quickly checked his pulse.
“I—I don’t know anything! What the hell is going on?” Zhang Shun stood aside, trembling from head to toe. He looked at his brother, then down at his own hand. “Did I… did I do something to my brother…? No… no way, how could this be…”
Zhou Hui abruptly punched him in the face. BANG!
Zhang Shun’s head slammed into the wall. His whole brain went blank from the pain. When he came to, Zhou Hui was holding Chu He in his arms, glaring down at him from the darkness.
“If only you didn’t exist,” Zhou Hui said coldly, his voice thick with barely restrained rage. “If only you weren’t here, none of this would have happened to any of us.”
Zhang Shun opened his mouth, trying to speak—but no words came.
Zhou Hui gently stroked Chu He’s hair, then turned and walked away.
—
On basement level four, a security guard stood outside the ICU ward, glancing toward the hallway after hearing a faint sound.
The lighting system was completely destroyed. Only the emergency exit signs cast an eerie green glow. The ground occasionally trembled—maybe from distant explosions elsewhere in the complex.
The guard’s grip on his rifle tightened. He peered cautiously around him.
Then—in a split second—a shadow appeared silently behind him and struck his neck with a lightning-fast karate chop.
If it had been a full-force blow, it would’ve snapped his spine. But the move was just enough to knock him out. He collapsed without a sound—only for the shadow to catch him before he hit the floor, drag him to a corner, take his gun, and chamber a round.
It all happened in seconds. Not a sound was heard.
The shadow turned around, the emergency lights faintly illuminating a blood-splattered face—it was Yu Jingzhong.
Yan Lanyu lay unconscious in a corner of the room, chest barely moving. Yu Jingzhong pressed his ear to the boy’s chest. After a moment, he confirmed a faint heartbeat.
He silently exhaled in relief, hoisting the boy over his shoulder and gripping the stolen gun tightly. With a soft click, he loaded the chamber.
Yu Jingzhong had a plain, forgettable face. Close-cropped hair, unremarkable features. Tall and solid, but not eye-catching. Put him in a factory uniform, and he looked like a factory worker. Hand him a mop, and he was just another office building janitor.
But when he stood silent with a gun in his hand, that Northern man’s grit, precision, and ruthlessness made him terrifying. People instinctively feared him.
Yu Jingzhong didn’t set Yan Lanyu down. He knew: if he lived, then the boy would live too. But if he died—no matter how well the boy was hidden, he’d die too.
He drew a breath—then kicked open the ICU door.
BANG! The door slammed against the wall and bounced back. Four guards inside the ward sprang to their feet and rushed toward him.
Yu Jingzhong fired. BANG! One down. BANG! Two.
The third guard fired back, hitting the rebounding door. Ricocheting shell casings flew as Yu Jingzhong kicked the door out of the way and shot again—BANG! The third guard took a bullet to the head and fell in a spray of blood.
The last guard panicked and fired wildly, bullets ripping through the room.
But Yu Jingzhong had already slipped into the hallway.
Seeing no target, the guard slowed, advancing cautiously with his rifle raised.
Then—Yu Jingzhong’s wrist extended around the door frame. The watch strapped to his arm reflected the guard’s image inside the room.
Next second—BANG! A bullet through the chest. The final guard dropped.
Silence fell again, like nothing had ever happened. Even the blood pooling from the corpses made no sound.
Yu Jingzhong stepped over the bodies and approached the hospital bed.
Surrounded by medical equipment, the old man had opened his cloudy eyes.
“You…”
He tried to speak, but only managed one word.
“It’s over,” Yu Jingzhong said, gaze unshaken. “Even with divine power, no one can cheat death. Your era is finished. Leave hope to the living.”
The old man trembled, struggling to speak, making hoarse sounds. But Yu Jingzhong merely looked at him, then slowly shook his head—and pressed the red button on the pacemaker.
The old man’s body arched violently. His face twisted in agony. Then, like a snake with its spine pulled out, he spasmed twice—then dropped still.
His eyes remained open, staring into nothing, pupils fading beneath a ghostly film.
Yu Jingzhong shut his eyes tightly.
A few seconds later, he opened them again—all doubt and hesitation gone. He took several photos of the dead man with his phone, then dumped the body to the floor. Carefully, he laid Yan Lanyu in the bed, turned on the respirator and monitors.
The vitals monitor showed a weak but present heartbeat. Blood pressure rose slowly. Yu Jingzhong staggered back a step, exhaling in sheer relief.
“Thank God,” he whispered. “You’re still alive.”
He attached the photo to a message and sent it out—not bothering to check who received it.
He could already imagine the storm this photo would unleash: celebrations, betrayals, power shifts. People would rise. People would fall. He didn’t care. He didn’t even care how many people now wanted him dead.
He only looked at the boy’s pale, peaceful face.
“Thank God,” he said again. “You’re still alive.”
Yu Jingzhong sank to the ground, pulled a blood-stained cigarette from a dead man’s pocket, lit it, and took a long drag. Through the curling smoke, he raised a trembling hand to wipe his eyes.
