Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

About a minute later.

Slight footsteps came from the direction of the dilapidated stone archway. Two groups of people arrived at the edge of this low-lying area almost at the same time. It was the group of Qinglang who had given up on tracking Chen Mo earlier, and another group led by Guiyan.

The two groups stopped some distance apart, and the stench of blood in the air instantly put everyone on edge.

In the center of the depression, the bodies of the third brother and the other two lay scattered, the blood from their wounds not yet fully congealed, gleaming with a chilling hue under the dark red moonlight.

"It's Lao Zhuang and his men..." the fierce-looking man under Qing Lang whispered, his hand immediately reaching for the weapon at his waist.

Qinglang raised his hand to stop his subordinates from taking any further action, then slowly stepped forward and squatted down next to the short, stocky man's corpse to examine it carefully.

The wound was narrow and deep, with an unusually smooth cut, clearly not caused by an ordinary knife or axe.

He then examined the fatal wounds on the other two corpses; the methods were identical, precise and efficient.

"The wound is strange," Qinglang stood up, his brow furrowed. "A thin blade, extremely fast, giving them almost no time to react. And..."

He looked around and found that the depression was surprisingly clean, except for signs of a fight and bloodstains.

The absence of additional chaotic footprints suggests that the battle ended extremely quickly, possibly even a one-sided massacre.

"Nothing was touched."

He added that any valuables on the body were untouched.

On Ghost Eye's side, one of his men finished his inspection and returned to his side, whispering, "Boss, they're all dead. Each one was killed with one or two blows. No valuables were stolen."

Ghost Eyes remained silent, his eyes, seemingly capable of seeing through the subtle and hidden, slowly sweeping across the scene.

Besides the stench of blood, there seemed to be a faint, chilling aura lingering in the air.

His gaze finally settled on the depths of the mass grave where Chen Mo had disappeared. There, the darkness was even greater, and the shadowy graves and withered trees loomed like gaping maws.

"Blue Wolf," Ghost Eyes suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and flat, "What do you think?"

Qinglang walked back to his men, dusted off his hands (which weren't actually dust), and his usual hearty smile vanished, replaced by a solemn expression.

"We misjudged them. This wasn't a fat sheep, it was a nemesis. Although the third brother and his gang weren't exactly tough opponents, the fact that they were taken down so easily and cleanly, without even a chance to fight back, suggests that whoever did it... is no ordinary person."

He paused, then looked at Ghost Eye: "More importantly, killing someone without taking their valuables suggests either they don't care about such things, or..."

"Either they have something more important to do and just want to leave quickly. Either way, it shows that our original estimate was completely wrong."

Ghost Eyes nodded slowly, his sinister face revealing little expression, but a rare hint of apprehension flashed deep in his eyes. "His methods are unheard of. People from Listening Rain Pavilion... Hmph, Hu San is being polite, but it might not be just politeness. This pool is more murky than I imagined."

He turned away, no longer looking at the three corpses, and ignoring the depths of the mass grave. "It's not worth it to risk a tough case with an unknown background for some money that might not even be obtained. The third brother and the others are courting death, acting as fools to scout ahead."

Upon hearing this, Qinglang completely abandoned any remaining hope.

He was able to make a name for himself on the outskirts of the ghost market not only because of his ruthlessness, but also because of his careful judgment of the situation.

The scene before him and the judgment of the ghost eye both confirmed his inner unease.

"Brother Ghost Eyes is right." Green Wolf exhaled a breath of stale air. "Let's not join in this commotion. Let's go, this place is unlucky."

Both groups arrived quickly and left just as quickly.

Without much hesitation, they each led their men and quickly retreated from the bloody depression, retracing their steps and soon disappearing at the edge of the mass grave.

The depression returned to deathly silence, with only the night wind blowing through the weeds, the sobbing of the graves, and the gradually cooling corpses bearing witness to what had just happened.

The dark red moonlight flowed silently, making the bloodstains appear even darker.

The wind had stopped at some point, and even the faintest chirping of insects had completely disappeared, leaving only the sweet, fishy smell of fresh blood in the air.

The anomaly originated primarily from the moonlight itself.

The moonlight shone down, illuminating the still-damp bloodstains on the corpse, and the dark red liquid seemed to wriggle slightly, as if it were alive.

Wisps of chilling earth energy seeped from the cracks in every grave, converging into a visible gray-black stream of air that swirled and seeped into the open wounds and mouths of the corpses.

Then, a sudden change occurred.

The outlines of each corpse began to melt away in the moonlight, a mixture of eerie green and dark red.

It's not the melting of flesh and blood, but the shadow.

The shadows on the blood-soaked soil beneath them, which were originally indistinct, suddenly became as dark as ink!

It's as if there are invisible paintbrushes, dipped in the deepest resentment, forcibly outlining the flat shadows into distorted and three-dimensional shapes.

Three writhing humanoid shadows slowly peeled off from the backs of the three corpses.

They were entirely black, except for two tiny, eerie green phosphorescent lights on their heads where their eyes should have been, staring intently in the direction Chen Mo had left.

. . . . . .

Chen Mo, who had just walked out of the mass grave, was completely unaware of what was happening behind him.

When his figure had completely left the mass grave area, the night was still as dark as ink.

The dark red moon hung high in the sky, its eerie light casting ghostly shadows on the sparse, withered trees and desolate paths.

In the distance, towards Jinshi, only a few scattered, dim lights could be seen.

About half an hour later, scattered, low, and messy outlines appeared ahead.

This area is on the outskirts of Tianjin, a no-man's-land commonly known as the "three-no-man's-land".

The streets were deserted and silent in the dead of night, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the daytime.

The uneven gray-tiled bungalows and crooked wooden shacks on both sides had their doors and windows tightly closed.

There were no rickshaw pullers, no vegetable vendors carrying loads, no beggars or idlers.

Only occasionally, muffled murmurs or suppressed coughs could be heard from the depths of the alleyways, along with the faint cries of some unknown baby at night.

One or two stray dogs were scavenging for food near the garbage heap, their green eyes peering warily from the shadows before silently slipping away.

Chen Mo's gaze swept over the dark doors and side roads on both sides, and he turned into a narrower alley. The faded paper lantern at the alley entrance was still lit, casting a dim, blurry halo that reflected the shadow of the character "宿".

The third house in the alley, the Yuelai Inn, had its two wooden doors ajar, with a very faint light shining through the cracks, as if the oil lamp on the counter was still burning.

As Chen Mo pushed open the door, a strong smell of cheap tobacco and mildew hit him.

The room was dimly lit. Against the wall was a dilapidated cabinet, behind which sat a thin, frail old man in his fifties, smoking a pipe.

Upon hearing the voice, the old man raised his eyelids, his cloudy eyes sweeping over Chen Mo without any expression. He mumbled in heavily accented Mandarin, "Stay at an inn? A shared room is five copper coins a night, a single room is fifty."

"A private room." Chen Mo took out a handful of copper coins from his pocket, placed them on the greasy counter, and pushed them over.

The old man collected the money, opened a drawer and threw it in, then took out a brass key with a wooden tag attached and tossed it onto the table.

"The innermost room on the second floor, you make your own bedding and get your own hot water from the kitchen."

Chen Mo picked up the key; the wooden plaque was engraved with "Jia San".

Without saying much, he turned and walked up a steep, narrow wooden staircase next to the counter.

The stairs creaked and groaned, as if they might collapse at any moment.

The second floor was a dimly lit corridor with small rooms separated by thin wooden boards on both sides, each door with a similar wooden sign and lock.