Chapter 19: The Nineteenth Pig

The Sacrificial Killing Ceremony of the Lord of the Ghost Path was held on West Island, separated from Li Zhenzhen by a stretch of sea shaped like an isosceles triangle. Even if she flew there now, she wouldn’t make it in time.

The system hadn’t appeared these past two days, likely due to signal interference.

Li Zhenzhen felt a sudden shock, as if her leader had unexpectedly called an early meeting, but she hadn’t even printed her presentation materials yet.

Taking a deep breath, she rapidly reviewed possible solutions in her mind.

Then she recalled something the Ghost-Masked Man had said a few days ago when he came to capture her to be the cauldron vessel:

“This place is 1,350 kilometers from the Qiyan Pavilion. You’re mortal and can’t shrink the distance, so you can only fly slowly. If I catch you, will you even try to run all this way?”

Shrink the distance.

Li Zhenzhen glanced at the cup on the table.

Just now, she had casually poured out the contents but not thoroughly; some blood still remained at the bottom.

Under the steady gaze of the most beautiful woman in the cultivation world, Li Zhenzhen calmly returned.

“…Then how about this, we make a deal.” She placed one hand on her knee and met Deng Xizhi’s eyes. “I don’t have the habit of drinking human blood, but I can feel your sincerity. If you help me with a small favor, I’m willing to satisfy you.”

“Feel my sincerity,” Deng Xizhi nodded, a faint smile at the corner of his lips, repeating her words, “Willing to satisfy me.”

There were all kinds of people in District Twelve, and Li Zhenzhen had heard a little about “carnivorous enthusiasts” — people who could derive pleasure from consuming or being consumed.

She suspected the male lead belonged to the latter group.

She was greatly shocked but understood.

Before, she hadn’t understood why the male lead, so powerful in battle, would willingly be imprisoned and slaughtered for five hundred years, having his blood and flesh taken daily.

With this explanation, everything made sense.

It was tragic, yet also a twisted kind of mercy.

They thought they were imprisoning the Supreme Immortal of Taiqing.

Unbeknownst to them, they were rewarding him.

“You so sincerely recommend your blood to me; I can hardly refuse.”

Li Zhenzhen’s tone was subtle: “But you know you can’t show yourself openly now. There’s no one else in my family—aside from me, who else can satisfy your preferences?”

Deng Xizhi’s smile deepened: “Mm, and satisfy my preferences.”

Though the beauty’s smile was captivating, it reminded Li Zhenzhen of the male lead’s equally dazzling smile before the massacre.

She had a bit of a psychological shadow from that.

To show sincerity, Li Zhenzhen picked up the cup and tilted her head back, drinking the remaining blood at the bottom.

She even turned the cup around to show Deng Xizhi it was empty.

“Is this enough?”

In the dim and silent wooden cabin beneath the heavy snow, only the long breaths of the two remained.

Deng Xizhi fixed his gaze on her deep gray eyes.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

Just as Li Zhenzhen thought he had entered meditation, Deng Xizhi slowly released the tea cup he had momentarily gripped.

He spoke calmly, “What do you want to ask?”

“Shrink the distance,” Li Zhenzhen said, “How can I learn it quickly?”

For some reason, since she drank the blood, Deng Xizhi’s expression had grown cold—not the icy cold, but a lifeless cold, like the dying embers at dusk.

He rested his cheek on one hand, leaning on the wooden desk. “How fast do you want it?”

Li Zhenzhen glanced at the hourglass floating on the task panel, converting the ancient time unit: a quarter of an hour was 14.4 minutes.

She humbly asked, “Would one-third of a quarter be enough?”

Deng Xizhi: “……”

—

Li Zhenzhen mastered the technique in less than five minutes.

Because Deng Xizhi had only given her one hint.

The third Ghost-Masked Man she had killed, his last move before dying in front of her, was shrinking the distance.

It was not a complicated technique, and based on replication, Li Zhenzhen grasped it almost instantly.

She was just more wary of Deng Xizhi.

If she hadn’t taken the initiative to ask for his guidance today, she would never have known that Deng Xizhi not only saw through her ability to replicate others’ killing moves but also discerned the premise and rules of her replication.

Damn it, how many flaws had she revealed before him?

After Li Zhenzhen turned and left, Deng Xizhi remained seated by the snow-covered window.

He slowly toyed with the tea cup, snowflakes landing on his fingertips, wetting his lashes. The cold winter sunlight shone on him, casting scattered shadows on the floor.

Dawn gradually unfolded, the sparse light growing bright and golden.

The shadows of the trees stretched and lengthened with the light’s angle until they completely engulfed him.

“So it is like this,” he murmured, his narrow phoenix eyes betraying no emotion, voice hazy and hoarse like sunlight: “So it is like this.”

After an unknown time, he finally set down the tea cup and rose to leave.

A few breaths later.

The tea cup cracked with a faint “crack” and shattered into powder.

—

Island Lord’s Mansion.

Three bodies lay covered with white cloth on the white jade floor outside the study.

Several trusted aides and advisors stood nervously nearby. The atmosphere was suffocating, the weight in the air palpable, as if moisture might drip from it.

One at Refining Void Stage, two at Refining Qi Stage—all died at the hands of a mortal overnight.

In this Age of Declining Laws, spiritual power was scarce. Cultivating a Refining Void Stage expert was no easy feat.

Not to mention they were just part of the earthly royal court.

Such losses would be considered severe even for a major cultivation sect.

Shen Que set down his tea cup, his tone indifferent but commanding his subordinates: “Clean up this mess. Wipe the blood from the floor.”

Immediately, servants knelt and began mopping.

Only then did murmured discussions begin.

“What’s this person’s background?” one aide swallowed nervously. “These three bodies are cleanly slashed, not like after a fierce battle. It’s more like a one-hit kill—what mortal can do that? Are you sure he’s mortal?”

“Certain. One of the dead guards we found still had some breath when we arrived. According to his memory, the man showed no spiritual power fluctuation, and he described his appearance. I’ve ordered the painter; the portrait will be ready after the afternoon’s sacrificial rites,” the leader of the Ghost-Masked Guards replied. “Too bad he died so quickly, or we could have asked more.”

“If we didn’t get answers, then we didn’t,” Shen Que poured warm water into his tea cup calmly. “No need to make excuses.”

Though his words were mild, everyone shuddered.

After a long silence, another aide speculated, “Only that leader can make mortals cultivate. Maybe he has other methods to let mortals kill cultivators beyond their level?”

Shen Que pondered without speaking.

The aide bowed and suggested, “Coincidentally, the Sacrificial Ceremony is today, and that leader will appear. Perhaps the Island Lord could inquire; there might be clues.”

“Very well,” Shen Que picked up his tea cup again, blowing the mist off it. He asked what truly concerned him: “Has today’s ceremony been arranged properly?”

“The Island Lord personally supervised it; everything is well prepared,” the first aide, finally able to report something substantial, bowed respectfully. “The High Priest recalculated the rituals and moved the ceremony three hours earlier. There will be no conflict with the sacrifices, and there’s still time before sunset to invite the Ghost Lord to officiate the wedding.”

“That’s good,” Shen Que’s gentle eyes softened behind the tea mist. “Where is Miss Weng today?”

The aide, who had checked half an hour earlier fearing such a question, now breathed a sigh of relief. “Still in the mountains.”

“Keep a close watch on her. Don’t let her escape before the wedding procession arrives,” Shen Que rose and headed outside. “She’s no ordinary woman.”

“Yes,” the aide replied obediently but thought little of it.

Just a rustic village girl—if the Island Lord wanted to marry her, it was as if his ancestors were blessing him. She’d be grateful and wouldn’t dare run.

Over the years, countless beauties and demon children had been presented to the state, but no one had ever captured the Island Lord’s heart like this.

“How could this fisherwoman be so stunning that the Island Lord prepared such a high-class wedding for her?”

They even worried about her humble origins causing scandal and personally sought the Ghost Lord’s blessing.

The Island Lord was still too young and naive, unaware that love at first sight was the most unreliable thing in the world.

Someone like Weng Zhenzhen, a lowborn commoner without family background, deserved only to be trampled upon. If given even a bit of dignity, she’d become arrogant.

Mortals are so shortsighted. If it weren’t for the fact that Qiyan Zhenren’s heart was set solely on the Great Way, this Island Lord’s seat wouldn’t belong to Shen Que.

The aides were contemptuous.

Not just him.

But outwardly, all bowed deeply, respectfully saying: “The Ghost Lord has appointed it, the Lamps are lit from all directions. We will prepare the highest rites for the Island Lord to wed Miss Weng.”

—

The principle of shrinking the distance was somewhat like folding spacetime in physics; when spacetime folds, the person naturally folds with it.

By the time Li Zhenzhen reached her destination, she already felt detached from her own body.

The Island Lord of Wuhuan Island lived in Miaojigong Palace, an area cold and deserted, utterly lacking any festive atmosphere.

But that was inevitable—like the right to commune with gods and the divine right of kings, such privileges were monopolized resources.

Only rulers and their clans were allowed to directly pray to ghosts and deities; commoners had long been cleared out.

Li Zhenzhen evaded patrolling guards and stealthily infiltrated Miaojigong Palace.

The palace was heavily guarded, like a blooming flower closing inward, with each layer guarded by troops.

Li Zhenzhen counted from behind the glazed tiles on the roof—there were seven layers of guards.

With such tight security, it would be very difficult for the original female protagonist to sneak in and disrupt the ceremony.

A fisherwoman who didn’t know counter-surveillance techniques sneaking in at midnight to free someone—Li Zhenzhen understood that was impossible.

She also wondered how Heng Yu had gotten in.

Between the sixth and fifth layers stood over a hundred prisoner carts.

Each cart was packed with more than twenty human sacrifices.

Some were mentally broken, clawing at the wooden bars, trying to escape until their hands bled.

Some murmured incoherently, screaming or laughing wildly, or banging their heads against the carts.

Li Zhenzhen recognized a few—the batch she had freed last time but who had been recaptured.

Rumor had it that the Lord of the Ghost Path, Cen Xueling, loved hearing the screams of sacrifices. The louder the howls from the animals offered, the happier he was.

Therefore, guards did not stop the screams.

They would even intentionally amputate the limbs of those who didn’t scream enough to increase their pain and thus their cries.

Li Zhenzhen only cast a glance before climbing onto another beam to continue inward.

The fifth layer was quiet, with only guards pacing back and forth.

Li Zhenzhen guessed it served as a soundproof barrier.

After all, the Lord of the Ghost Path liked screams, but that didn’t mean the dignitaries enjoyed hearing them.

At the fourth and third layers, the sound of copper bells rang out.

Li Zhenzhen lifted a glazed tile and saw below a scene of blooming flowers and flowing wine.

Meat was stewing in copper cauldrons, fine wine filled the pots with fragrance.

In the main hall, a peerless songstress twisted her slender waist, her skirt fluttering like layers of petals.

As the dance ended, she bit her wine cup and looked up, rising gracefully. Cheers broke out: “Encore!”

Her slender waist and long legs were indeed captivating.

Li Zhenzhen was about to leave when the dancer turned her head, preparing to exit.

Suddenly, Li Zhenzhen saw the dancer’s androgynous face clearly.

It was none other than Heng Yu.

Li Zhenzhen: “…” This guy’s something else.