Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

Two minutes later, Chen Mo dried himself off and walked out of the bathroom.

The sky outside the window was bright; the sun had risen, and golden light shone through the glass onto the floor.

He subconsciously stretched his hand into the sunlight, and the back of his hand felt slightly warm from the light.

The sounds from the street grew louder and louder, squeezing in through the cracks in the windows.

Chen Mo put on his underwear, walked to the window, pushed it open, and leaned half his body out to look outside.

The streets started to get crowded.

There was a queue in front of the breakfast shop across the street, and a plump woman was carrying a pot and talking to the shopkeeper.

An old woman was squatting next to a vegetable vendor's basket, picking out leeks one by one.

A uniformed policeman slowly strolled over from a distance, his baton swaying in the breeze.

......

Chen Mo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and savored the warmth and life of everyday life.

For some reason, ever since he fused with that ghost skin, he found his emotions becoming increasingly indifferent.

His human emotions are being slowly suppressed, and routine events are no longer able to evoke any feelings in him.

Eat, drink, play, have fun...

I've lost interest in it all.

This body is only nineteen years old this year, the age when its fiery temper is at its peak.

If it were anyone else, they would have already been staring at those young women and wives on the street early in the morning.

But he seems to have lost that impulse.

Just now, when I peeked out, there was a girl in a blue cotton jacket standing in front of the breakfast shop across the street.

He was about the same age as him, eighteen or nineteen, with two braids and a fair complexion, and he was queuing up to buy sesame cakes.

She glanced over and saw him standing shirtless by the window. Her face flushed, and she quickly turned her head away.

A normal man would probably have something on his mind right now.

A little proud, a little embarrassed, or something else entirely.

But Chen Mo looked at the girl's bright red ears and felt no stirring in his heart.

It's like seeing an object; I don't have any thoughts about it.

The girl with the braids couldn't help but look back one last time as she left.

He stood at the window without moving, meeting her gaze.

The man, as if burned, quickly lowered his head and hurriedly turned into the alley.

As Chen Mo watched her figure disappear into the alley, a thought popped into his mind: This girl has a pretty good walking posture, and her waist twists gracefully.

But it was just a thought.

It's like making a note in an account book, turning the page after writing it down, and then there's no more to it.

His intuition told him that this situation was not a good thing.

"Damn it, am I going to turn myself into a stone?"

He thought and thought but couldn't come up with a solution, so he just kept it in mind and shuffled downstairs in his slippers.

The soles of my feet creaked as I stepped on the wooden stairs.

Arriving at the sofa in the living room, Chen Mo unpacked his bag and took out the items one by one, arranging them in a row on the table.

A square wooden plaque, about the size of a palm, with its edges polished to a shine.

The wood was black, making it impossible to tell what kind of material it was. It was covered with messy carvings that looked like words or paintings.

Holding it up to the light, I could see dark red things embedded in the patterns, like dried bloodstains.

He found the wooden sign in the corner of the alley after daybreak; it was probably something the old dog used as the center of the formation.

Unfortunately, even after reading it several times, he still couldn't understand it.

The patterns were neither any kind of writing I had ever seen, nor were they ordinary talismans.

I took a closer sniff, and it smelled fishy.

Even after introducing Yin energy, there was still no response.

Helpless, Chen Mo had no choice but to put down the array plate and pick up the bone whistle.

The whistle was made of bone, about the thickness of a finger and an inch long, with three holes drilled in it.

The bones were yellowish and smoothed out, as if they had been handled and played with for many years.

After playing with it for a while, looking at the stains on the whistle, he gave up the idea of ​​trying to blow it.

Finally, there's that bell.

The bell was made of bronze, about the size of a fingernail, and covered with dense patterns.

Shake it, but it doesn't make a sound.

Even after shaking it harder, it still didn't make a sound.

Chen Mo brought the bell close to his eyes and found that it was solid inside and had no clapper.

A bell that doesn't ring.

I remember the old dog reaching into his clothes before he died, as if he was trying to take something out.

Is this what you're looking for?

Recalling the Taoist priests in movies from my past life, I guess this was also a prop used to control those three medicine corpses.

However, since the medicinal corpse has been destroyed, this thing has now become useless.

After putting down the bell, Chen Mo started rummaging through Lao Hou's things again.

A dagger, its blade gleaming, about twenty centimeters long, with an eagle emblem engraved on the hilt, suggesting it was military-grade.

A pocket watch, silver case, with foreign characters engraved on the dial when opened.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, it's keeping pretty accurate.

After looking at a few items, Chen Mo couldn't help but purse his lips, thinking, "They're too poor."

He thought he had encountered some extraordinary person after what happened last night.

It's all about formations, medicinal corpses, secret techniques, and powerful families—it sounds pretty intimidating.

The results of it?

With that kind of wealth, he dares to go out and make a living?

He recalled the novels he had read in his previous life, about immortal cultivation families, ancient martial arts lineages, and reclusive masters.

That was incredibly impressive and grand.

With piles of magical treasures and mountains of spirit stones, every move he made was accompanied by gusts of eerie wind and chaotic dances of gods and demons.

Then look at the two he encountered; they were wearing tattered clothes, were dirt poor, and their skills were just so-so.

The more Chen Mo thought about it, the more he felt something was wrong.

He had personally experienced the old dog's formation, so he only had a slight understanding of it.

If he had encountered ten or eight skilled fighters that night, charging in with guns, how long could his formation have held out?

The medicine-treated corpses could withstand the effects, but there were only three of them.

If a real fight breaks out, the drug-using corpse will charge forward, while the other side will circle around and fire from behind. How many breaths can the old dog last?

As Chen Mo pondered this, he suddenly had a realization.

So it turns out that this low-level, unorthodox sect only has this much ability.

He now somewhat understands why the people in the Zhenyi Division look down on unorthodox practices.

It sounds intimidating, but it can only deal with ordinary people and wandering ghosts. If it encounters a powerful one, it will immediately fizzle out.

Everyone looks down on you, and yet you're all so disappointing...

Chen Mo shook his head, and finally picked up the ghost banner that the fat man had offered as a sacrifice.

The flagpole felt heavy in my hand, much heavier than I had expected.

The pole is about two feet long and as thick as a chicken egg. It is jet black and shiny, as if it were carved from the heartwood of an old locust tree.

The wood grain is almost invisible; only by the light can one vaguely discern the densely engraved runes on it.

The banner was made of black silk and was folded neatly.

He unfurled the banner, and the black silk stretched out in the air, about two feet square, with a circle of silver thread around the edge.

The silver thread was not ordinary silver, but some kind of dark metal that gleamed coldly in the morning light.

The banner was embroidered with a ghost head with two fangs in silver thread. The embroidery was not very fine, and was even a bit rough.

He held the banner up to the window, letting the sunlight shine on it.

Suddenly, two eerie green spots flashed in the ghost's eye sockets, disappearing in an instant.

At the same time, a chilling aura surged from the banner, creeping up his wrist.

Chen Mo frowned, and the Taiyin True Qi in his dantian circulated.

The chilling aura seemed to be startled and immediately retreated, no longer daring to move.

interesting.