Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

Chapter 259 Altar Granny

Old Wu squinted and subconsciously looked up at the roof beam.

Nothing unusual was found.

But he noticed something: a black cat was squatting in the alley outside the door.

The cat was completely black, without a single stray hair, except for its two amber eyes, which stared intently at him.

These days, stray cats and dogs are everywhere. After the Red Moon, many people died, but many animals survived as well, so it's nothing unusual.

"Where did this stray cat come from?"

Old Wu and the black cat exchanged a glance, then looked away and gazed at the windowsill.

There was a sword lying there.

He had held this sword for three whole years.

Three years ago, he spent a huge sum of money to acquire it from a rogue cultivator, thinking he had gotten a great deal.

The hiltless flying sword is entirely black and appears to be naturally formed.

It doesn't look like an ordinary item at all.

Afterwards, several knowledgeable cultivators were asked to set a price, but none of them were willing to make an offer.

I tried blood oath and various other methods of ritual purification, but none of them worked.

This sword is like a dead object, yet it is not an ordinary dead object.

Old Wu couldn't quite describe the feeling.

Sometimes when I can't sleep at night, the moonlight shines through the window and falls on the sword, making me feel as if the sword is breathing.

He initially thought it was just his imagination, but after it happened so many times, he began to doubt it himself.

For the past three years, I've set up this stall, but very few people have asked about the price, and not a single person has made an offer.

Occasionally, one or two curious people would turn around and leave as soon as they heard that the seller was going to sell it for 100,000.

"Let's try again."

He sighed, wrapped the sword in an old cloth, and put it into the wicker trunk.

I'm going to the ghost market again tonight.

Recently, many unfamiliar faces have come to southern Jiangxi, including a few who look like wealthy people.

Maybe I'll run into someone who knows its value.

Southern Jiangxi, night.

The red moon hung high in the sky, the streets were deserted, and the shops on both sides had already closed their doors. Only a few lanterns covered with black cloth were still lit.

Under the red moon, ordinary lights can easily attract unclean things, and experienced residents know to lower the wicks of the lamps and cover the light with thick cloth.

Old Wu walked through the alley, a rattan box slung over his shoulder.

The rattan box wasn't large, and the handles were worn smooth.

It contained the things he was going to the ghost market tonight.

The sword was at the very bottom, wrapped in three layers of cloth, and several other miscellaneous items were placed on top of it.

The alley was narrow, with towering firewalls on both sides, topped with withered grass that rustled in the night wind.

The crimson light of the red moon shone through the wall, casting Old Wu's shadow long and distorted.

The copper coin on his left earlobe swayed gently with his steps, occasionally bumping against his collar with a soft, crisp sound.

He walked steadily, but he always felt a little uneasy.

Things have been going wrong since this morning.

After turning two more streets, you will arrive at the City God Temple.

One of the entrances to the Ghost Market is behind the City God Temple. He has been setting up his stall there for three years and knows the place like the back of his hand.

There are probably fewer than ten rogue cultivators in the entire Gannan region who can stay in the Ghost Market for three years without completely turning into a monster, and Old Wu is one of them.

After the Red Moon, the level of pollution in the underworld far exceeds that of the outside world.

Some independent cultivators went mad after setting up stalls in the ghost market for less than six months, while others began to experience physical mutations, growing things that shouldn't have grown.

Old Wu has been in the ghost market for three years and still looks like a normal person.

But he also knew that something was wrong with his body.

The skin on my left arm, below the elbow, is covered with cracks.

This abnormality started six months ago; at first, it was just that the nails turned black, but it got worse and worse over time.

"From now on, you only need to come once a month."

Old Wu was also somewhat helpless; if he could, he wouldn't want to go in either.

However, many cultivation resources are only available for sale in the Ghost Market.

Because those stall owners aren't human at all.

There's a crossroads ahead.

When Lao Wu reached the middle of the intersection, he suddenly stopped.

A woman was standing under the eaves of a building across the street.

.

The tall, thin man, dressed in gray cloth, had his hands hanging at his sides and was looking at him coldly.

Old Wu's pupils contracted slightly, and his right hand silently pressed the buckle on the rattan box.

The two people, standing a dozen steps apart, looked at each other for a moment.

Before he could speak, several more footsteps sounded behind him.

He turned his head and caught a glimpse of two figures walking out of the alley.

One was a short, stout, bald man, and the other was a middle-aged man of similar build, with a silver chain hanging from his waist, from which black mist swirled.

A glint of light flashed in Old Wu's eyes; it seemed he was being watched.

Clearly, they came with ill intentions.

He slowly turned around to face the man with the pointed mouth, his right hand already secretly slipped into his sleeve, his fingertips holding a talisman folded into a triangle.

"You've been hiding all the way from the south of the city to the north; it's time for you to show your faces."

Before the words were finished, a soft sound came from the roof.

A young man flipped down from the roof and landed three steps to Old Wu's right, holding a short knife in his hand.

On the left-hand wall, a thin old man in a Taoist robe squatted down, holding a gray-white triangular banner in his hands.

The banners fluttered gently in the night breeze, emitting countless soft murmurs.

His brows furrowed deeply.

Five directions completely blocked all his escape routes.

"Five against one," Old Wu put down his rattan trunk, his tone indifferent, "You think too highly of me."

Liu Qi laughed shrilly, "Wu Zhen, he can survive three years in the Ghost Market without any problems. It's not shameful to bring a few more people."

"Now that you know my background, you still dare to come to my door?"

"Who gave you the audacity?"

No sooner had he finished speaking than Old Wu took a jar out of the rattan box.

The jar is only the size of a human head, with a rough earthenware body and a layer of dark brown glaze on the surface.

The mouth of the jar was sealed with yellow mud, and three cinnabar runes were pressed on the mud.

This jar had been with him for over a decade, he carried it with him wherever he went, it was even more precious than that black sword.

Liu Qi's expression changed slightly when he saw the jar.

He had been involved in unorthodox practices for twenty years and recognized this kind of thing; it was something used to worship household spirits.

Previously, I had occasionally seen such things in the countryside, mostly fox, weasel, white willow and ash offerings made by witches and shamans.

However, after the Red Moon, many of the items inside changed.

Moreover, this jar gave him a different feeling.

As soon as it was taken out, the surrounding temperature dropped a few degrees.

"Damn, what is this old bastard worshipping..."

'

Liu Qi's expression changed, and the death-snatching bell at his waist jingled. "Make your move, don't let him open the altar."

The seven streams of black mist transformed into seven fierce ghosts, baring their fangs and claws as they pounced on Old Wu.

Almost at the same instant, the Ghost Banner Taoist on the wall waved his banner, and grayish-white smoke surged out like a living thing.

The smoke flowed along the ground, leaving a layer of white frost on the bluestone slabs wherever it passed.

This is a fog demon, which specializes in eroding the mind and meridians; once you come into contact with it, you will lose your senses.

"Good tactic."

Old Wu pulled his right hand from his sleeve, flicked the triangular talisman folded at his fingertips in front of him, and uttered a low shout: "Hurry!"

The talisman ignited without fire, but instead of turning into a fireball, it exploded into a blinding white light.

The white light expanded outwards in a spherical shape, appearing particularly dazzling under the red moon.

The seven vengeful ghosts rushed to the edge of the white light, only to be instantly burned and scream as they retreated.

Two of them couldn't dodge in time, and half of their bodies vaporized, turning into two wisps of green smoke.

Even the mist demons of Ghost Banner Daoist surged towards the white light, but dared not cross the line, and were instead forced to shrink back several feet by the white light.

Taking advantage of this break, he placed the jar on the ground, sat cross-legged in front of it, and took out three incense sticks from his sleeve.

The incense is black, coarser than ordinary incense, and has fine lines on its surface.

He made a cut on the palm of his left hand with his fingernail and applied it to the bottom of the three incense sticks.

The black incense absorbed the blood, and its patterns turned dark red, causing it to spontaneously combust without fire.

Old Wu stuck the incense stick in the ground, clasped his hands together, and moved his lips.

"Grandma Tan, sit below the altar."

When the cold wind rises, no living person can escape it.

I borrowed a road at midnight and returned home at dawn.

The red moon illuminates the road, and the black incense guides the soul.

Disciple Wu Zhen humbly requests that the venerable aunt appear at the altar.

As he chanted, the jar began to tremble slightly.

Fine cracks appeared on the yellow clay seal at the mouth of the jar, indicating that something was trying to break out of the jar.

Liu Qi's face turned completely pale, and she subconsciously looked towards where Chen Mo was hiding.

"Don't let him finish reading!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than the jar suddenly exploded, scattering debris everywhere.

"Hahaha, too late! None of you are leaving tonight!"

Old Wu knelt before the altar, his hair mostly white, and his face was covered in deep wrinkles that could trap mosquitoes.

But his eyes shone like two lamps, staring intently at the mouth of the jar, his lips curled up in a wide grin, his expression slowly shifting from smugness to near-manic excitement.

"Come out, Auntie, let these blind brats see what's what."

Under everyone's gaze, two arms as thin as an infant's emerged from within, their skin a corpse-like grayish-white.

The palm has only three fingers, and the joints are abnormally long, at least one and a half times the length of a normal person's.

The fingernails are black, curved into hooks, and leave deep scratches when they pierce the ceramic body.

The head is behind it.

When that head emerged from the mouth of the jar, the surrounding temperature dropped by more than ten degrees.

Liu Qi and the others gasped, and seven words floated into his mind.

Old, ugly, strange, evil, fierce, poisonous, wicked.

It was an old woman's face, but she only had one eye, located slightly above her brow, and it stood vertically.

There was no mouth; only two dark red slits of flesh remained where her lips should have been, extending from the left earlobe to the right earlobe, as if someone had slashed her face with a knife and then forcibly closed the wound.

Blackish-red viscous fluid seeped from the crevices of the flesh from time to time, dripping down the chin onto the ground with a hissing, corrosive sound.

Her ears were pointed and stood upright, with many teeth marks on the auricle.

The neck is several times longer than normal, and there is something wriggling under the skin, moving around.

In the blink of an eye, she had already climbed out halfway, supporting herself with both hands on the ground, and was dragging the remaining half out.

The vertical eye on his forehead rolled over, and his cloudy eyes fixed on the bald man nearby, his gaze revealing a thirst for flesh and blood.

The short, stout man's legs trembled, and his crotch was already soaked.

Before she could launch an attack, a dark shadow silently rose from the shadows at the base of the wall.

Old Wu only saw a black afterimage flash past his eyes before the old woman's body, which was crawling out, suddenly froze.

A jet-black shadow blade, with lightning speed, pierced through the back of her neck and emerged from her throat.

After succeeding, Shadow Puppet quickly withdrew from the scene and disappeared into the shadows in the corner.

At the intersection, Granny Tan's single eye suddenly widened, and black blood gushed from her neck, carrying a strong stench of decay, splattering onto the bluestone slab and etching pits into it.

Her ugly head tilted back, her vertical eyes wide open, and a hint of disbelief flashed in her turbid pupils.

Its grayish-white body began to convulse violently, its three long fingers scratching wildly, making a harsh sound on the bluestone slab and leaving deep grooves.

But after struggling three or four times, his movements slowed down.

Finally, his arms went limp, and his head and half of his body collapsed to the ground.

Aunt Tan died.

From the moment he left the altar to the moment he was killed, only a few breaths passed.

The surroundings suddenly fell silent.

The chilling aura was still there, but the lively evil of the old woman was gone, leaving only the stench of rotting life.

Black blood continued to seep out, spreading along the cracks in the floor tiles with a hissing sound, corroding and creating a fine layer of foam.

Old Wu was still kneeling in front of the altar, his hands clasped together, with three black incense sticks stuck in front of him, and wisps of smoke still rising.

He was frozen in place, completely still.

His eyes were fixed on the corpse of Aunt Tan lying on the ground, and the pile of grayish-white flesh that was rapidly rotting.

The pupils slowly dilate.

"Aunt..."

'

His lips trembled slightly, and his voice was so soft that even he couldn't hear it.

Something from over ten years ago.

He carried this jar with him from when he was still a novice shaman, traveling all over the country, risking his life, and being saved by the altar guru several times.

Now it's all gone.

He was killed by a shadow?

Old Wu's body began to tremble, from his fingertips all the way to his shoulders.

He looked down and saw fine cracks spreading visibly across the skin below his left elbow.

Dark red viscous liquid seeped out from the cracks.

The fingers begin to deform, the joints bulge outwards, and the nails turn black and thicken.

It's exactly the same as Aunt Tan's.

"what!"

He let out a roar that sounded inhuman, his entire left arm completely deformed.

My arms are two sizes thicker than before, and my skin is grayish-white with cracks all over it.

Only three fingers remained on the palm, with shiny black nails bent into hook shapes.

The skin on the left side of his face was loose and sagging, revealing dark red muscles underneath. His mouth was split from the corner of his mouth all the way to his ear, revealing half a row of blackened teeth.

"She's dead...my great-aunt is dead..."

'

Old Wu mumbled incoherently, the crack on the left side of his face curving upwards to form a strange smile.

His right cheek was filled with terror and pain, tears streaming from his right eye, mixing with the black blood seeping from his left cheek and dripping down his chin.

"That's alright."

His voice changed, as if two people were speaking at the same time.

One was Old Wu's own hoarse voice, and the other was the old woman's voice. The two voices overlapped, making one's scalp tingle.

"My great-aunt is dead, so I am her now."

He lowered his head and looked at his deformed left arm. His three gray-white fingers slowly clenched together, his nails digging into his palm, and black blood seeped out from between his fingers.

"The jar is still there... we can just raise another one."

'

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