Chapter 82.2

Li Zhuiyuan casually tossed the female puppet onto the floor.

As it hit the ground, its needles were triggered, and Qiu Minmin suddenly twisted into several strange, contorted postures.

Mao Chang’an frowned. “What are you doing?”

Li Zhuiyuan pointed at Zhao Junfeng. “He’s not under your puppet’s control. He was faking it the whole time.”

“What? That’s impossible!”

“Believe it or not. If I hadn’t stepped in just now, weren’t you planning to use that puppet to make them kill you—so you could finish the final step of destroying all the evidence?

You were going to die anyway. He was just waiting for the chance.”

Just as he spoke, Zhao Junfeng lunged at Mao Chang’an.

Mao Chang’an rolled clumsily to the side, barely dodging.

He quickly fiddled with the male puppet in his hand, but it had no effect. Zhao Junfeng spun mid-air and pounced again, mouth open, spewing a mist of blood.

Seeing this, Mao Chang’an had to throw the puppet aside and dodge again, but this time, his right arm was grazed by the red mist. His clothes were torn, and the skin beneath was scorched.

“What the hell is going on?”

Mao Chang’an wasn’t the only one baffled. Tan Wenbin and Yin Meng were just as confused, but both kept their expressions stiff. Even though Tan Wenbin was full of doubt, he forced a smug, “See, just like I said,” expression onto his face.

At that moment, Qiu Minmin lunged at Mao Chang’an from behind, her body coated in thick sludge.

Mao Chang’an spun to the side again, silver needles flashing from his hand. He stabbed Qiu Minmin and yanked on the attached thread, pulling her in close—then lashed out with a kick.

Bang!

Qiu Minmin, still severely weakened, was knocked to the ground.

Just as Mao Chang’an was about to straddle her and slice off her head with silver threads, Zhao Junfeng appeared. Mao had no choice but to abort and retreat quickly.

As he backed away, he cried, “Please, help me subdue the Dead Sinkers!”

Li Zhuiyuan clapped. “You all carry on. We won’t interrupt.”

He began stepping back.

“You—!”

Mao Chang’an’s eyes bulged. At that instant, realization dawned. “You’re not from the Dragon King’s clan!”

Li Zhuiyuan ignored him and kept retreating. Yin Meng and Tan Wenbin followed, stopping only once they were a safe distance away—to keep watching the show.

Tan Wenbin couldn’t help but ask, “Xiaoyuan?”

“That night in the dance studio, I tried to control Qiu Minmin but found her mind already dominated by another. She was a ghost-substitute.

Later, when I saw Mao Zhushan using those puppets to control the two Dead Sinkers, I got suspicious.

Not because those dark arts supposedly can’t control Dead Sinkers.

But because—I refuse to believe I’d lose to a puppet.”

That night, Li Zhuiyuan had almost succeeded in taking over Qiu Minmin. But the mind inside her had been unusually fierce, putting up a ferocious fight.

But a puppet is lifeless. Where would such willpower come from?

So, whoever was controlling Qiu Minmin—it wasn’t Mao Zhushan or Mao Chang’an.

Everyone in the house was now dead. Through process of elimination, however unlikely, the answer was clear.

Zhao Junfeng had been controlling Qiu Minmin all along.

“Binbin, remember the memory fragment we saw during the walking the shade session?”

“Yeah…”

“Did you notice how misleading Wu Xinhui’s memory was?”

“Right. Wu Xinhui clearly wasn’t the killer, but that scene made it seem like he was, and that he’d come to silence witnesses.”

“They could’ve replayed the memory a little further back to show that Wu Xinhui and the others hadn’t really seen the killer. The truth would’ve come out easily—but that part was conveniently left out.

Also, there were several doors in that scene. Three of them were shut. One opened to show Qiu Minmin’s face. The other two stayed locked. If one was Qiu Minmin’s, the other should’ve been Zhao Junfeng’s—but his was sealed.”

“Then what about the third door?”

“I used to think it was Mao Chang’an’s. After all, he was alive and part of the plot. But now I think it wasn’t. It was something deeper—something inhabiting Zhao Junfeng. Maybe that book he and his father mentioned.”

“A book? It could do all this?”

“Some things are deeply cursed. Runsheng ever tell you about that copper coin buried near the grave in Shigang? I left for college and still didn’t dare retrieve it.

Not because I forgot—but because I honestly don’t trust myself to touch it.”

That thing—just holding it might grow a tumor on you. Like catching a plague.

“So Mao Chang’an wasn’t the mantis lying in wait?”

“No. The mantis caught the cicada—but there’s a whole food chain behind it.”

“Xiaoyuan, you let them fight so they’d wear each other down?”

“What else? We’re just here to clean up. The old man was always on our list. Now that we know Zhao Junfeng was the real puppeteer, he’s on the list too.

They’re both targets. Why let the old man get taken out in a sneak attack? Let them bleed each other out—it saves us the effort.”

Tan Wenbin said, “Bro, if your brain ever feels heavy, let me carry it for a while.”

Yin Meng asked, “So what was the end goal of all this?”

“Dead Sinkers born of Yin-Yang duality aren’t easy to create. According to Wei Zhengdao, only righteous sects have the heritage to attempt something that advanced.

Two Corpse Retrievers from some wharf family? They shouldn’t be able to pull off something this big.”

Yin Meng looked crestfallen. Her family used to have a wharf too—but after her grandfather died, the Yin clan lost everything.

“I suspect the book they found had faulty instructions—like your Yin Clan’s Twelve Techniques. A simplified version that looks easy to use.”

That hit Yin Meng hard, right in the chest.

“As for the true goal… as absurd as it sounds, I suspect it’s a limited entity that wants a host body and freedom.”

Tan Wenbin: “The old man looks about done for.”

Inside the hall, Mao Chang’an tried to escape several times, but Zhao Junfeng and Qiu Minmin blocked every path. It was as if they were determined to keep him there at all costs.

“Zhao Junfeng, if you’re really conscious and not controlled, then you know—killing me won’t change the fact that you’ll have to face those three once you leave!”

“They were probably here long before this. They’re just waiting for us to destroy each other so they can clean up. If you want to take Qiu Minmin and flee, I won’t stop you. Whether you go on a rampage or vanish into the river, it’s your call!”

“Zhao Junfeng, let’s join forces. We take them out first—then we settle our score. Otherwise, we’re just letting them have it easy!”

Tan Wenbin muttered, “He’s not even pretending anymore.”

Yin Meng scoffed. “Shameless.”

“But Zhao Junfeng and Qiu Minmin are dead set on him. Like there’s deep, personal hatred.”

Dead Sinkers weren’t who they once were. Zhao Junfeng, in full control and able to direct Qiu Minmin, had already killed Ran Qiuping and Sun Hongxia. That meant he had shed his human ties.

Given that, if he really was sentient, he should be considering Mao Chang’an’s offer.

Li Zhuiyuan: “The book is on the old man.”

Mao Chang’an was running out of options. His body was covered in wounds, blood dripping everywhere. Any further delay, and his life would be forfeit.

He jabbed his thumbs into his palms, drew blood, and from the gashes, pulled out two red threads.

He braced his core and flung them forward.

Just then, Zhao Junfeng pounced again, releasing another cloud of red mist—but as it touched the red threads, it hissed, dispersed, and failed to block them.

The threads struck Zhao Junfeng, leaving a red line across his chest like ink snapped from a chalk line. It quickly melted into him.

Bang!

Zhao Junfeng was flung backward. His body twisted. The areas touched by the red thread began shedding flesh in chunks.

Qiu Minmin lunged from behind, arms stabbing forward.

Mao Chang’an didn’t dodge. Instead, he leaned backward, shoulder slamming hard into her.

As she staggered back, the sludge on her body stuck to Mao Chang’an and surged into his wounds.

“Ahhhh!!!”

Mao Chang’an screamed, but his arms circled out, looping the red thread around Qiu Minmin’s neck—and yanked.

“Spurt…”

Her head was severed.

The headless corpse stumbled back a few steps, arms spread. Pus gushed from the stump. Black miasma spilled out. Resentment began to dissipate.

“Damn… that old bastard’s tough.” Tan Wenbin swallowed hard. “Without Xiaoyuan’s backup, Yin Meng and I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Where the hell did that red thread come from?”

Yin Meng: “He nurtured it inside his body—used it like tendons.”

“Savage. Mengmeng, can you do that?”

“No. Grandpa used to tell stories about it, that’s all.”

“This stuff doesn’t look very orthodox.”

At that, Li Zhuiyuan recalled the blood-colored gills that appeared on Uncle Qin’s body before he went downriver. Truth was—righteous paths were just as bloody.

With Qiu Minmin dealt with, Mao Chang’an used his red thread to force Zhao Junfeng back again and again. But each time he tried to escape, Zhao Junfeng stuck to him like a shadow.

Still, it gave Mao Chang’an an opening. He feigned retreat, and as Zhao Junfeng lunged once more, Mao sprang back and landed on top of him.

He pressed down hard, wrapping the red thread around Zhao Junfeng’s neck.

Zhao Junfeng raised his arms and stabbed into Mao’s thighs, spewing red mist like a fountain.

“Die! Die! Die!”

Mao Chang’an roared, putting everything on the line.

Spurt—

Zhao Junfeng’s head was cut clean off. It rolled across the floor several times.

“Huff… huff… huff…”

Covered in blood, Mao Chang’an staggered toward the door like a walking corpse.

Facing the three standing outside, he smiled.

Against the gore, his teeth looked blindingly white.

The red thread in his hand had snapped. From his face to his arms to his legs, his skin sagged. He looked twenty years older in an instant.

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