Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

But after the security guard left...

Liu Cuihua stood up, spat in her face, and said, "Just wait to die."

That night, her parents' house caught fire.

When her parents escaped, all the family's food, savings books, and property certificate were burned to ashes.

Everyone knows who started the fire.

There are no witnesses.

There is no physical evidence.

I reported the case three times, but it was rejected each time because there was insufficient evidence to file a case.

Her husband died in the mine last month, and the boss paid her 8,000 yuan in compensation.

That same day, Liu Cuihua brought Gou Sheng to her door and robbed her of all eight thousand yuan, saying it was her son's funeral expenses and that she, as his mother, had to keep it safe.

Miao Xiu knelt on the ground, her forehead was cut open, and her face was covered in blood.

She looked up at Song Chao, her eyes filled not with fear, but with a mad hatred.

"Is she dead?"

Her voice was trembling.

"Is that old geezer dead?"

"I saw her fall. I saw her holding an axe, trying to steal your money. She's dead."

"Good. Good riddance. Good riddance!"

She suddenly raised her head and let out a desperate roar at the sky.

Tears welled up in her sunken eyes, mingling with the blood on her forehead and staining her entire face red.

"Six years ago, I married into this village, and she stole all my dowry. She called me a slut in front of the whole village. She set fire to my parents' house. She stole my husband's funeral expenses. She even had Gousheng kick down my door in the middle of the night!"

"Where is the village chief? Where is the village party secretary? Has anyone spoken up for me?"

She turned around, pointed at the group of people behind her carrying hoes and sickles, and her voice was as shrill as a vengeful ghost.

"You! You all know!"

"Who among you has ever helped me? Who has ever spoken a word of justice for me?"

"None of you are any good!"

"You want to rob other people's money? What right do you have? How are you any different from my wicked mother-in-law!"

A few people in the crowd glanced at each other.

But most people showed no change in expression.

The bald young man frowned impatiently and spat on the ground.

"Miao Xiu, have you gone crazy enough? Your mother-in-law stealing your family's money is your bad luck, what does it have to do with us?"

"Get out of our way, don't delay our business."

He took a step forward, holding the butcher knife, the tip of which was pointed at the child in Miao Xiu's arms.

"If you don't get out of here, I'll take care of you too."

Miao Xiu did not move.

She knelt on the ground, holding the child tightly in her arms, her eyes fixed on the bald young man, filled with hatred.

Song Chao never glanced at Miao Xiu from beginning to end.

He didn't even look at the bald young man.

He kept walking forward.

The pace was slow.

Every step I took carried a heavy sense of pressure.

The blood mist in the air grew thicker and thicker.

It turned from a light pink to a dark crimson, as if someone had splashed a whole basin of blood into the air.

Blood beads began to appear on the gravel road.

It didn't seep from underground.

The water vapor in the air was drawn by his power and condensed into blood-red droplets.

more and more.

It's getting denser and denser.

It densely covered every stone, every wall, and every leaf.

The entire alleyway seemed to be soaked in blood.

The soul seed within his body was throbbing wildly.

He absorbed, transformed, and refined the blood of forty-six people, compressing it all into his veins, like a dam filled with water, ready to burst at any moment.

He needs an outlet for release.

The pockmarked old man swallowed hard.

He sensed something was wrong.

The rusty smell in the air was so strong that he could hardly breathe.

He looked down at the back of his hand and found that the fine hairs on his hands were covered with tiny beads of blood.

He raised his hand to wipe it, but the blood beads on the back of his hand only increased.

"W-What's going on?"

The lame old man's voice began to tremble.

He looked down at his good legs; his trousers were soaked with a layer of dark red water stains, clinging wetly to his skin, icy cold.

"What's there to be afraid of!"

The bald youth roared and charged at Song Chao with a butcher knife in hand.

"He's just a sickly old man on his deathbed, putting on airs—"

The word "ghost" hadn't even been uttered yet.

Song Chao raised his right hand.

Spread your five fingers.

He gently shook hands with the group of people from a distance.

The air trembled violently.

It looked like something had broken.

It's like something has opened.

Everyone standing in the alley felt as if their heart was being gripped tightly by a burning hot hand.

The old man with the pockmarked face had his pupils dilate instantly.

He looked down and saw his chest heave violently.

There's something bulging under my skin.

Like a snake, it slithered wildly through his veins.

His blood began to flow backward.

It surges from the limbs to the heart.

It then surged from the heart to the brain.

It was pounding wildly inside his skull, making dull thuds, like someone was smashing his skull with a hammer.

He opened his mouth as if to shout.

No sound could be produced.

His tongue was swollen, so much so that it blocked his entire mouth.

That's because blood was forced into the blood vessels of the tongue, stretching the soft tissue to twice its original size.

His eyes started to bulge outwards.

One by one, the capillaries on the surface of the eyeball burst open, and the white sclera instantly turned bright red.

Dark red blood could be clearly seen seeping from the edge of his eye sockets and flowing down his cheeks.

"Help……"

He mustered his last strength to squeeze out two words.

The sound seemed to be coming from the bottom of a covered jar, muffled and indistinct.

No one can save him.

The people behind him were in even worse shape than him.

The bald young man's butcher knife fell to the ground, and his entire right arm was swollen like an inflated balloon.

His skin was stretched so tight it shone, and the veins beneath the skin were clearly visible, as if someone had drawn a distorted map on his arm with red ink.

He clutched his arm and screamed in agony.

After making two calls, a metallic sweetness welled up in my throat.

He spat out a mouthful of blood.

Then came the second and third bites.

Blood gushed from his mouth, nose, and ears at the same time, as if an invisible high-pressure pump was forcibly squeezing the blood out of all his orifices.

The lame old man collapsed to the ground.

His blood had completely spiraled out of control.

It boiled, churned, and flowed backward in his blood vessels, like boiling water bursting through a pot lid, piercing his nasal cavity, ear canals, and mouth.

He lay on his back on the ground, blood gushing from all seven orifices at the same time, looking like a tomato that had been juiced.

The old woman who had lost her tooth turned around and tried to run away.

The moment she took a step, all the blood vessels in her knee burst.

Dark red blood gushed out from under the skin, shooting more than half a meter away, splashing onto the stone wall and leaving large splatter-like bloodstains.

She fell to the ground, her ten fingers digging into the gravel pavement, her fingernails peeling off piece by piece.

She couldn't feel any pain.

The area below the knees has completely lost sensation.

She looked down at her legs.

My calves were swollen and thicker than my thighs; the skin was stretched to its limit and could burst at any moment.

Thick blood seeped from his pores, dripping onto the ground and quickly forming a small puddle.

"My legs! My legs!"