Becoming a martial arts god starting from the mortician.

Shen Qi pushed open the door.

The snow in the yard was already above ankle-deep, and the white breath we exhaled was swept away by the wind as soon as it appeared.

He stood under the eaves and flexed his wrists a couple of times, the warmth spreading through his veins and the chill receding considerably. He performed the Tiger-Taming Fist twice, the force of his punches stirring up snowflakes, which swirled a few times in the hazy sunlight.

Finishing his stance, shaking off the snowflakes from his fist, Shen Qi lifted his foot and walked towards the front yard.

A row of icicles hung from the eaves on both sides of the corridor, making a crisp, shattering sound when the wind blew.

The door to the accounting office was ajar, and a sliver of dim light shone through.

Shen Qi pushed open the door and went in. Zhao Youtian was just stepping across the threshold from outside, his feet crunching through the snow. The fat man was wrapped in a dusty gray cotton-padded coat, his shoulders covered with a thick layer of snow, a brick-thick book tucked under his arm, a food box in his left hand, and an oil paper package in his right, looking just like a peddler.

"Damn it!" Zhao Youtian cursed as soon as he entered the door, slamming the food box on the table and brushing the snow off his shoulders. "This awful weather! Walking even a few steps feels like dying!"

He shook off the snowflakes covering his body, pulled the thick book from under his arm, and pushed it towards Shen Qi.

"Here, 'Yuanming Sui'. Brother hasn't opened it in the cabinet for a while, and the spine is even moldy. Seventh Brother, please don't mind."

Shen Qi took it and carefully compared it. It was indeed thick, three times thicker than the one he bought at the bookstore. He flipped through it and glanced at it; many obscure arguments had been broken down into vernacular by later generations, making it much easier to read.

"Thank you, brother."

"No need to thank me, we're brothers." Zhao Youtian plopped down, lifted the lid of the food box, and steam billowed up. "Eat it while it's hot. The wind is making my bones ache."

Shen Qi unwrapped the oil paper package, grabbed a meat bun, and took a bite. With his other hand, he opened the "Records of Peaceful Events" that Zhao Youtian had brought along.

The front page still features Yan Qing.

"Pingzhou's top scholar, Yan Qingxin, was concerned for the disaster victims. He dispatched his servants to transport three hundred winter clothes to the refugee shelters outside the city, and also hired people to build over a hundred shelters. The prefect's office issued a special commendation order and sent people to assist him..."

The Yan family is indeed doing good deeds.

He turned the page and continued reading. It was the same old story: the gangs in the outer city were fighting again, and seven or eight people had died. The fighting was still going on in the north, and the imperial relief grain still hadn't arrived.

Zhao Youtian was also munching on a steamed bun, but his small eyes kept glancing out the window. He swallowed the dough in his mouth, his expression not very good.

"Seventh Brother, if this snow continues for another two days, a large number of the refugees outside the city will freeze to death. The mortuaries might not be able to cope."

Zhao Youtian poked at the mutton soup at the bottom of the bowl with his chopsticks, clicking his tongue in frustration.

Shen Qi didn't respond and continued drinking his soup. He understood what Zhao Youtian was saying, but worrying was pointless; he was too busy taking care of himself right now.

As the two were eating, a series of hurried footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.

"Manager Zhao! Manager Zhao!"

A servant ran into the tent, the snow water from the soles of his shoes leaving a wet trail on the blue brick floor.

The young man was out of breath from running, and he leaned against the door frame, bending over to catch his breath several times.

"What happened? Why are you so flustered?" Zhao Youtian frowned.

"Manager Zhao!" The servant finally caught his breath. "Yesterday, the Chang Le Gang's branch in the eastern district of the outer city caught fire! The gang leader and over thirty members, not a single one escaped! They all burned to death!"

Zhao Youtian almost spat out the steamed bun in his mouth.

"They brought over thirty charred corpses on a cart, their faces completely mangled. The front yard is almost overflowing!"

"boom--"

Zhao Youtian slammed the teacup he was holding onto the table, splashing tea all over his sleeve, but he didn't bother to wipe it off.

"These bastards!" The fat man jumped to his feet, his fleshy face trembling. "They still won't stop in this snowy weather! They're making my life miserable again!"

After he finished cursing, he plopped back down, holding his head in his hands and looking worried.

"What are we going to do? There are so many more cases now... It'll take forever to finish this job."

Shen Qi put down his chopsticks and slowly wiped the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief.

Chang Le Gang.

Even in a small, insignificant gang like this, if they manage to establish their own branch, the gang leader and a few of the leaders must know a thing or two about martial arts. Of the thirty-odd corpses, there are bound to be a few with red ribbons on their bodies.

It's like a pie falling from the sky.

"Brother," Shen Qi said, "I have a day off today, and the heavy snow has blocked the roads so I can't go out. I'll take care of these thirty-odd charred corpses."

He added, "Consider it as sharing my brother's burden."

Zhao Youtian was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up.

"Seventh Brother!" The fat man jumped up from his chair, bowing three times in a row. "You really saved my life! You're so loyal! You're fucking loyal!"

He rubbed his hands and quickly instructed, "Since it was burned to death, there's no need to be too particular about the work. The charred flesh is all rotten, and it can't be stitched up anymore. Just separate the remaining clothes from the charred body, cover the face, and have someone take it away."

Zhao Youtian patted Shen Qi on the shoulder, his face full of gratitude.

"Don't overwork yourself. Take a break and drink some hot water. I'll have someone make you some ginger soup and send it over."

Shen Qi nodded and stood up.

Passing through the wooden partition door, the front yard of the mortuary was in complete chaos. More than thirty charred corpses covered with burlap were piled haphazardly in the yard. As you walked in, a stench of burnt flesh mixed with a sweet smell assaulted your nostrils, making your stomach churn.

Several servants stood at a distance, covering their mouths and noses, looking at each other, none of them willing to move forward.

Shen Qi remained expressionless and walked straight to his mortuary.

"Bring the bodies in in batches, two at a time."

The servants breathed a sigh of relief and quickly got to work.

The first two charred corpses were lifted onto the stone bed.

Shen Qi walked up to the nearest corpse.

The charred body was curled up in a ball, its limbs twisted and stiff, its skin and flesh cracked from the fire, revealing the dark red muscle underneath.

Shen Qi raised his eyelids and looked up at the corpse.

A wisp of dark red life force was suspended there.

A wisp of black was still wrapped around it.

Shen Qi was startled.

With a gentle flick of his fingertip, the wisp of life obediently detached from the charred corpse and disappeared into his palm.

Assimilation is completed almost instantaneously.

This amount of weight is nothing more than a stream flowing into a river for Shen Qi now.

Immediately afterwards, a small fragment of memory surfaced.

……

late at night.

The hall was dimly lit.

The oil lamps flickered on and off in the cold wind that swept through the hall.

A burly man with a face full of scars stood in the center of the hall, holding a short knife in his hand, his hair standing on end.

Several of his brothers lay sprawled in front of him.

They collapsed to the ground, their faces contorted in rage.

The burly man's eyes widened, and he was breathing heavily.

A man stood before him, shrouded in a large black cloak, his face obscured, only his eyes gleaming faintly in the shadow of the hood.

The burly man desperately spurred his leg back, his heel hitting a corpse, causing him to stumble.

"What the hell are you?!" the burly man roared, holding his short knife horizontally in front of him, trembling uncontrollably.

The next instant, a hand emerged from the side of the cloak.

Pale as paper. Long, slender fingers with bluish-gray nails, as if they had just emerged from a coffin.

The burly man tried to dodge, but his body suddenly froze, as if he had been nailed to the spot by some invisible force.

The pale hand slowly rose and pressed down on the burly man's crown.

The cuffs of the cloak slid down an inch.

Shen Qi saw it clearly.

On the inside of her pale wrist, a hideous, twisted black Taotie was clearly imprinted.

The final frame freezes on the moment before the burly man breathed his last. From his tilted perspective, he saw the oil lamp in the corner of the hall tilt over, its flame licking at the wall panel.

The fire started.

Then, everything returned to darkness.