Becoming a martial arts god starting from the mortician.

Old Wu caught up with them.

He glanced back, then quickly leaned close to Shen Qi's ear: "Brother Qi, once this job is done, don't take any more work for the next month."

Upon hearing this, Shen Qi turned to look at him and asked, "What do you mean?"

Old Wu licked his lips and opened his mouth, as if he was carefully considering his words.

It's getting dark.

Mr. Zhou's voice drifted over from behind the courtyard wall.

"Master Shen, you should head back soon. The roads are difficult to travel at night."

Old Wu shut his mouth.

He patted Shen Qi on the shoulder and turned back into the courtyard.

Shen Qi stood at the alley entrance, the autumn wind blowing into his collar, making him feel chilly.

He looked down at his palm again.

The grayish-white life threads floated there quietly. On the other side, the bundle of crimson life threads, which was wrapped up, continued to rise and fall, showing no sign of dissipating.

The alley was deserted; the eaves of the houses on both sides hung low, leaving only a narrow strip of sky overhead. Autumn winds rushed in from the alley entrance, making him shiver.

Hurry up.

Shen Qi is not an impatient person.

Long-term illness and over seven years of working with corpses had long since worn away his restlessness; he was patient, patient, and took it slow. But today was different. This lump in his palm had a huge impact on him.

I've never seen such crimson life threads before, and the heat surging from my palms.

For him, this was like a windfall.

The thought of this made it impossible for him to slow down.

After turning into two alleys, the gate of the old house finally came into view.

Shen Qi quickly took out his key, and unlocked the door with a "click." He quickly walked into the yard and bolted the door shut behind him.

It was completely dark by then.

The courtyard was quiet. The shadow of the old locust tree was stretched long by the moonlight, spreading across the bluestone slabs like patches of ink.

The mortuary door was tightly closed, and the old lady from Zhang's butcher family was still lying quietly inside.

He went straight into the main room, closed the door tightly, and sealed the windows.

The medicine pot on the stove had long since gone cold. The bitter smell of medicine lingered in the air, but he had no interest in cleaning it up.

He pulled up a chair and sat down at the table, then used a skewer to adjust the wick to make it a little brighter.

A dim, yellowish halo spread out.

He opened his right hand, which he had been clenching all the way.

Above the palm, crimson life threads were wrapped in grayish-white life threads, with the crimson color seeping out faintly through the grayish-white wrapping layer, appearing and disappearing slowly.

Shen Qi stared at it for a long time.

He took a deep breath.

Start.

Assimilation, in essence, means breaking down foreign life threads and integrating them into one's own.

The gray-white silk assimilates into the gray-white silk, slowly but gently.

But these crimson life threads are clearly different from the grayish-white life threads.

He adjusted his breathing, focused his consciousness on his palm, and tried to peel a strand from the crimson thread.

After much effort, Shen Qi's forehead was covered in a layer of white sweat, and he finally managed to separate a single, hair-thick, crimson strand.

He carefully guided the thin thread to adhere to his gray-white life thread.

The moment the red thread touched Shen Qi's life thread, it seemed to come alive and suddenly burrowed inside.

A surge of warmth rushed to my heart.

Shen Qi's jaw clenched.

He hurriedly clenched his fist and used the life thread he had pulled out to wrap the remaining crimson life thread tightly again.

Although the heat flow was cut off, the crimson thread that had already rushed in was still writhing wildly within his life force. His right hand was burning hot from his fingertips to his shoulder, and his heart was pounding incessantly.

Shen Qi forced himself to endure the discomfort and tried to use his gray-white life threads to entangle that strand of crimson.

But it couldn't be contained.

The gray-white silk thread was scattered as soon as it touched the crimson silk thread.

Cold sweat dripped from Shen Qi's chin onto the table.

He gritted his teeth, gathered the scattered gray-white silk threads back together, piling them up by quantity. One layer wasn't enough, so he added two; two layers weren't enough, so he added three. Although the gray-white silk threads were of low quality, their quantity made up for it. All the savings he had accumulated over the years came in handy at this moment.

Finally, layer upon layer of gray and white silk threads completely wrapped up that strand of crimson.

Although the crimson thread was still struggling, its movements had noticeably diminished. After being enveloped by layers of grayish-white, the intense heat began to seep in and spread little by little.

It became.

Shen Qi let out a long breath.

My back was completely soaked.

He looked down and saw that the veins on the back of his hand were bulging, and his right hand was still trembling slightly.

Just this one strand.

Just a single wisp of crimson life force nearly cost him his life.

If he hadn't been able to resist and had pulled out a few more strands, he would probably have had his life force severed and be going to see his father by now.

Shen Qi glanced at the large clump of crimson life threads remaining in his palm and fell silent.

With the current carrying capacity of his gray-white life threads, he can assimilate at most one strand at a time.

If forced, the life force cannot withstand it; at best it will scatter, at worst it will break.

But even this tiny bit...

Shen Qi flexed the fingers of his right hand.

Clench your fist. Release it. Clench it again!

"Snapped!"

A crisp cracking sound came from between the knuckles.

Before, even if he used all his strength, his fists would still be weak.

I start panting after walking only a few steps.

But now, he can clearly feel that his body, which has been weak for many years, has regained its strength, a strength he has never had in his life.

Shen Qi slowly loosened his fist and looked at the lines on his palm.

Even a tiny bit of it made him feel like he had been reborn.

His gaze was fixed intently on the remaining crimson life threads.

There are at least dozens, if not hundreds, of strands here.

If all is assimilated...

greedy.

He admitted it.

He's greedy. He's greedier than anyone else when it comes to living.

Previously, he only wanted to live a normal life.

But now, he not only wants to live, but also to live well and live a wonderful life.

Having witnessed its wonders, how could one not admire its splendor?

He stood up, walked to the stove, poured out the cooled medicine, grabbed another dose from the cabinet, put it in the clay pot, added water, and started a fire.

The flames licked the bottom of the pot, and the aroma of herbs slowly spread.

Shen Qi moved a small stool over, sat down by the stove, stared at the flickering flames, and seemed a little lost in thought.

Assimilation takes time. The assimilation of the gray-white mortal silk takes about half an hour.

As for the crimson life threads… he wasn’t sure. It could take an hour, a day, or even longer.

It can't be rushed.

He began to examine the crimson thread that had been wrapped up again.

The crimson color is slowly fading.

The process is slow, but it is indeed underway.

He closed his eyes, and his tense nerves finally relaxed.

Shen Qi's breathing gradually calmed down.

Suddenly, he frowned.

The flickering fire in front of me suddenly became blurry.

It's like looking at something through a layer of water.

Those were a pair of fists, with large knuckles and calluses all over the tiger's mouth.

He was smashing something, like a wooden stake, with incredibly fast punches that made a whooshing sound, sending wood chips flying with each blow.

Then the video cut out.

Shen Qi suddenly opened his eyes, gasping for breath.

The medicine pot next to him was bubbling away. The stove fire was burning brightly, and the room was filled with a bitter smell.

He lowered his head and stared blankly at his right hand.

The veins on the back of his hand were still throbbing.

Was that Wang Laosan's memory?

Shen Qi's pupils contracted slightly.

He had taken the life force from thousands of corpses, and this had never happened before.

Grayish-white silk is just grayish-white silk; after assimilation, nothing remains, leaving nothing but cleanliness.

But the Crimson Life Thread is different.

There was something else inside.

Shen Qi slowly straightened up, staring at the crimson life thread floating in his palm, his gaze darkening.

The medicine finally overflowed, flowing down the rim of the jar and dripping onto the charcoal fire, sizzling as a plume of white smoke rose.

Outside, the autumn wind grew increasingly fierce, howling as it blew across the eaves.

Across several courtyard walls, the faint sound of a night watchman striking a bamboo clapper could be heard in the depths of the night.

"At three-quarters past Xu hour—close the door and lock it—"