Leng Zhentao had been dead for twenty-eight years.
By nine the next morning, Leng Yao had found three companies that disagreed.
The first owned a biomedical laboratory outside Suzhou.
The second imported rare spiritual reagents from Southeast Asia.
The third had purchased seventeen corpses from licensed cultivation hospitals during the past five years.
None listed Leng Zhentao as an employee.
His name appeared nowhere in their official records.
His signature did.
Feng Baoshu placed three documents on the desk.
“Same handwriting.”
Leng Yao compared them.
The signatures used different names.
Zhang Tao.
Li Zhen.
Chen Guang.
But each ended the final stroke with a slight upward hook.
Leng Yao had seen it before.
His family archive contained letters written by Leng Zhentao when he was young.
Same habit.
“He became careless,” Leng Yao said.
Feng shook his head.
“No.”
“You disagree?”
“He probably thought everyone who could recognise the handwriting was dead.”
Fair.
Leng Yao pushed the papers aside.
Gu Chen sat across from them.
Both wrists were locked to the chair.
Doctor Ren had treated the wound Feng gave him beneath the cemetery, though she had made no effort to reduce the pain.
Gu Chen looked better than he deserved.
“You found his companies,” he said.
“One laboratory.”
Gu Chen’s expression changed slightly.
Enough.
Leng Yao noticed.
“Suzhou?”
No response.
Feng leaned against the wall.
“He reacted.”
“I saw.”
Gu Chen looked between them.
“You intend to raid it.”
“Yes.”
“You will find nothing.”
“Maybe.”
“You believe me?”
“No.”
Gu Chen smiled.
“Then why ask?”
“I didn’t.”
The smile disappeared.
Leng Yao opened one of the company records.
Helixion Biomedical Research.
Publicly, it specialised in spiritual-organ regeneration.
Its permits were legitimate.
Its investors were not.
Three shell companies led back to the same network that had purchased chemicals used in the Rot Scripture.
“Who runs Helixion?” Leng Yao asked.
Gu Chen remained silent.
“Zhentao?”
Nothing.
“Someone else?”
Still nothing.
Leng Yao closed the file.
“Fine.”
Gu Chen frowned.
That was all.
No threat.
No torture.
Leng Yao stood.
“We leave in twenty minutes.”
Feng followed him towards the door.
Gu Chen finally spoke.
“The lower levels are trapped.”
Leng Yao stopped.
There it was.
“What kind?”
Gu Chen realised too late that he had volunteered the information.
“Rot formations.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Entrances?”
“Two.”
“Zhentao?”
Gu Chen looked away.
“I do not know if he is there.”
That answer felt genuine.
Leng Yao nodded.
“Thank you.”
He left.
Feng joined him in the corridor.
“That was easier.”
“He wants us to survive.”
“Why?”
“He wants something from Zhentao too.”
Feng considered that.
“Revenge?”
“Possibly.”
“Should we ask?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He will tell us when it becomes useful to him.”
Feng glanced at Leng Yao.
“You are doing the mysterious thing again.”
Leng Yao stopped.
Feng’s mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
Leng Yao corrected himself.
“Gu Chen called Yan Shuo a traitor.
Zhentao seems to outrank Gu Chen.
If Gu wanted us dead, he would have let us enter the laboratory blind.
He warned us because whatever happens there benefits him.”
“Better.”
“You are becoming irritating again.”
“Apparently that is normal.”
A thin black connection between them strengthened.
Leng Yao felt it.
He left it untouched.
Helixion Biomedical Research looked exactly like a company that had nothing to hide.
That was the first problem.
Glass walls.
White exterior.
Landscaped gardens.
Employees wearing identification cards while drinking coffee outside.
No armed cultivators at the gate.
No hidden spiritual pressure.
No demonic symbols carved into the walls.
Leng Yao watched from the back of a parked vehicle.
Ji sat beside him.
Duan occupied the front passenger seat.
He had replaced his broken staff with another wooden one.
Bai Qingyu had remained at the estate.
This time without arguing for twenty minutes.
Doctor Ren had threatened to sedate her.
Apparently there were forces even Heaven could not overcome.
Feng drove.
“Ninety-three staff currently inside,” he said.
“Cultivators?”
“Fourteen registered.”
“Unregistered?”
“Unknown.”
Ji studied the building.
“No Mandate activity.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“You say that often now.”
“I mean it every time.”
Duan pointed towards the entrance.
“We walking in?”
“Yes.”
“No disguises?”
“No.”
“Subtle.”
Leng Yao opened the door.
“We own twenty-two percent of the company.”
Feng looked back.
“We did until yesterday.”
“Qin revoked it?”
“Yes.”
Leng Yao stepped out.
“Then they can complain.”
The receptionist recognised Leng Yao before he reached the desk.
Her face lost colour.
“Mr Leng.”
“I need Director Xu.”
“He is in a meeting.”
“Cancel it.”
“I can’t—”
A man emerged from the lift behind her.
Late forties.
White laboratory coat.
Glasses.
Cultivation at the fifth Mortal gate.
“Mr Leng.”
He smiled too quickly.
“I am Xu Jian.”
“Director?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Leng Yao walked towards him.
Xu’s smile weakened.
“To what do we owe the visit?”
“Show me Basement Three.”
The man’s breathing stopped.
Only for a moment.
Ji noticed.
Feng noticed.
Even Duan noticed.
Xu recovered.
“We only have two basement levels.”
“No.”
“I assure you—”
Leng Yao punched him.
Not hard enough to kill.
Hard enough to drop him.
The receptionist screamed.
Security moved.
Feng drew one blade.
“Stay where you are.”
They did.
Xu held his bleeding mouth.
“You cannot—”
“Basement Three.”
“There is no—”
Leng Yao crouched.
“Gu Chen told me about the Rot formations.”
Xu went still.
That ended the performance.
He looked towards the receptionist.
“Evacuate the building.”
She stared at him.
“Now.”
The alarm began thirty seconds later.
Employees poured through emergency exits.
Leng Yao watched Xu.
“You care whether they live.”
“Yes.”
“Carrion Palace?”
Xu said nothing.
Leng Yao stood.
“Basement.”
Xu wiped blood from his mouth.
“This way.”
The hidden lift required a blood sample.
Xu pressed his thumb against a black plate inside his office.
A section of wall opened.
Duan looked inside.
“That is less subtle.”
The lift descended beneath the registered basement levels.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Ji looked at Xu.
“You said there were only two.”
“I was lying.”
“Good to confirm.”
The doors opened.
Rot hit them immediately.
Not an attack.
The smell.
Old meat.
Medicine.
Metal.
And something sweet enough to make the stomach turn.
A white corridor stretched ahead.
The walls were clean.
The floor was not.
Black stains covered the tiles.
Leng Yao stepped out.
Xu remained inside the lift.
“You asked for Basement Three.”
“You are coming.”
“No.”
Feng placed a blade against his back.
Xu stepped out.
Duan smiled.
“Negotiation.”
The first room contained hospital beds.
Twelve.
All empty.
Leather restraints hung from the sides.
The second contained cultivation equipment.
Old equipment.
Steel needles.
Spiritual pumps.
Glass tanks containing black fluid.
Ji stopped beside one.
“What did you do here?”
Xu remained silent.
Leng Yao looked at a clipboard.
Most patient names were numbers.
Vessel 31.
Vessel 32.
Vessel 33.
All marked deceased.
Thirty-four:
STABLE.
He turned.
“Where is Thirty-Four?”
Xu’s face tightened.
Duan walked towards another door.
Something hit it from the other side.
Once.
Then again.
The metal bent.
Xu moved.
“Don’t open—”
Too late.
The door exploded.
Duan disappeared beneath a grey shape.
Ji’s spear flashed.
She stopped before striking.
It was a boy.
Barefoot.
Thin.
Black scripture covered his entire body.
His mouth had been sewn shut.
He sat on Duan’s chest, one hand around the older man’s throat.
Duan looked up at him.
“Hello.”
The boy squeezed.
Stone cracked beneath Duan’s head.
“Less friendly.”
Leng Yao moved.
He caught the boy’s wrist.
Decay rushed into his hand.
Skin split.
His grip weakened.
The boy turned towards him.
His eyes were completely grey.
No recognition.
No anger.
Only attack.
He struck.
Leng Yao blocked with both arms.
The impact pushed him across the corridor.
Strong.
Far stronger than a fifteen-year-old at his apparent cultivation should have been.
Ji moved behind him.
Silver spear shaft across his throat.
She pulled.
The boy twisted and threw her over his shoulder.
Ji hit the wall.
Duan stood.
“Can I hit him now?”
“Not the head,” Leng Yao said.
“Specific.”
The boy attacked again.
Duan met him.
Wooden staff against forearm.
The staff began rotting.
Duan released it.
Then punched him in the stomach.
The boy barely reacted.
Second punch.
Third.
His feet finally left the ground.
Feng appeared at the landing point.
Two fingers struck the boy behind the ear.
His body went limp.
Feng caught him before he hit the floor.
Duan looked at his ruined staff.
“Again.”
Ji pushed herself upright.
“You chose wood.”
“I like wood.”
Xu stared at the unconscious boy.
Leng Yao grabbed his coat.
“Thirty-Four?”
Xu nodded.
“What is he?”
“A failure.”
Leng Yao looked at the cracked floor where the boy had thrown Duan.
“That word is doing a lot of work.”
“He cannot think.”
“Why?”
“The Rot Scripture damaged neural pathways.”
“Can it be reversed?”
Xu hesitated.
“Maybe.”
Leng Yao’s grip tightened.
“Better answer.”
“We don’t know.”
He released him.
“Who ordered the experiment?”
Xu looked towards the far end of the corridor.
Leng Yao followed his gaze.
A red door.
No markings.
“Leng Zhentao?”
“Yes.”
“When was he last here?”
“Yesterday.”
Everyone became still.
“Time?”
“After midnight.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he know I would come?”
Xu looked at him.
“Yes.”
Leng Yao’s expression hardened.
“How?”
“He knew Gu Chen survived.”
Of course.
The Carrion Palace cultivator who escaped Dock Seven.
Leng Yao had let him go deliberately.
He had wanted the enemy to move.
They had.
“What’s behind the red door?”
Xu’s face tightened.
“His office.”
Feng moved first.
No trap on the handle.
No Rot formation.
The door opened.
The room beyond was small.
Desk.
Chair.
Bookshelves.
One computer.
An old photograph sat beside it.
Leng Yao entered.
The photograph showed two young men.
His father, Leng Jian.
And Leng Zhentao.
Both were smiling.
The photo had been taken before Zhentao’s supposed death.
Feng picked it up.
His hand trembled.
Another memory.
Leng Jian and Zhentao sparring in the old courtyard.
Feng shouting at both of them for breaking a window.
The brothers laughing.
Then a different image.
Fire.
Zhentao standing beside men in white masks.
Feng placed the photograph down.
“He was there.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Feng looked at Leng Yao.
“I remember more.”
Leng Yao waited.
“Your father saw him.”
“The massacre.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They fought.”
“Who won?”
“Your father.”
That surprised him.
Feng continued.
“Zhentao was injured.”
“Then why did he survive?”
“I don’t know.”
Memory broke again.
Feng closed his eyes.
Leng Yao turned to the computer.
One file sat open.
No password.
A video.
Dated two hours earlier.
Leng Yao pressed play.
Leng Zhentao appeared on screen.
Older than the family photographs.
Fifty, perhaps.
Same dark eyes as Leng Jian.
Same straight nose.
A scar ran from his temple to his jaw.
He wore an ordinary grey shirt.
No mask.
No dramatic setting.
He sat in the same chair Leng Yao now stood behind.
“Yao.”
The recording began.
“You will probably punch Xu.”
Leng Yao looked towards the director.
Xu touched his swollen mouth.
Duan laughed.
Zhentao continued.
“If Baoshu is with you, he will threaten him with a knife.”
Feng glanced at his blade.
No one laughed this time.
“I don’t know how much Baoshu remembers.
If Qin used Severance correctly, not enough.”
Ji’s eyes narrowed.
Leng Yao paused the video.
“How does he know about Severance?”
Xu shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Carrion Palace works with the Central Court?”
“No.”
“You answered quickly.”
“Because the Palace hates them.”
Leng Yao resumed the video.
“You have questions.”
Zhentao leaned forward.
“I’ll answer the important ones.”
Better.
“Your mother brought you to Carrion Palace because you were dying.
That is true.”
“Your father agreed.”
Leng Yao froze.
Yan Shuo had not said that.
The recording continued.
“He hated the Palace, but he agreed to the first procedure because there was no other treatment.”
“The ritual succeeded.”
“You lived.”
“Then the Palace decided you belonged to them.”
Zhentao’s expression changed.
“Your father disagreed.”
Leng Yao watched without moving.
“He took you home.”
“For eight years, nothing happened.”
“Then your core began changing.”
“At fourteen, you started absorbing spiritual techniques during combat.”
Leng Yao remembered.
He had never understood it that way.
There had been incidents.
An opponent’s flame technique weakening after striking him.
A formation collapsing when he cultivated near it.
His father had called them side effects from his unusual core.
“He knew,” Leng Yao said.
Zhentao continued as though answering.
“Jian knew.”
“He tried to suppress it.”
“That was his mistake.”
Feng’s face hardened.
“Carrion Palace wanted to study you.”
“Jian refused.”
“So the Palace made another offer.”
Zhentao looked directly into the recording.
“To me.”
There it was.
No excuse followed immediately.
“I accepted.”
Feng stepped closer to the screen.
Zhentao continued.
“I believed Jian was wasting what you could become.”
“I believed the Palace could complete your core without killing you.”
“I was wrong about one of those things.”
Leng Yao’s expression became cold.
Which one?
The video did not play games.
“The Palace could complete your core.”
“It simply did not care whether you remained yourself afterwards.”
That answered it.
“I tried to withdraw.”
“They refused.”
“So I helped Jian move you.”
Ji frowned.
“That contradicts Gu Chen.”
Leng Yao said nothing.
The recording continued.
“I did not lead the massacre.”
“Carrion Palace did.”
“I was there because I tried to stop it.”
Feng stared at the screen.
His memory disagreed.
Or perhaps did not contain enough context.
“You fought my father,” Leng Yao said quietly.
Zhentao continued.
“Jian attacked me.”
“Understandable.”
Duan nodded.
Zhentao’s recorded expression almost looked tired.
“He thought I betrayed him.”
“I had.”
“Just not in the way he believed.”
Leng Yao’s jaw tightened.
Too many convenient distinctions.
Then Zhentao gave him something concrete.
“The man who ordered the Leng massacre is named Palace Master Luo Zhenhai.”
“Still alive.”
“Current location: Mount Qiyun.”
“Carrion Palace operates beneath an abandoned monastery on the western ridge.”
Leng Yao looked at Feng.
Finally.
A target.
“Do not go yet,” the recording said.
Duan sighed.
“There it is.”
Zhentao continued.
“Luo wants you angry.”
“He wants you to attack.”
“Your completed core requires three conditions.”
“One has already occurred.”
Foreign soul integration.
Leng Yao’s expression changed.
The dead transmigrator.
“Second: sustained exposure to external authority.”
Mandate.
“Also occurring.”
“Third: consumption of another vessel core.”
Silence filled the office.
Leng Yao slowly looked towards the unconscious boy outside.
Vessel Thirty-Four.
The timing was obvious.
Zhentao had left him here deliberately.
The recording continued.
“The boy outside is bait.”
“At some point during the fight, your core will attempt to consume his.”
“It may already have.”
Leng Yao looked at his injured hand.
The decay energy had entered him.
His inverted core had failed to absorb the Rot Scripture. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
Or so he thought.
He focused inward.
Something cold rested near the edge of his core.
Small.
Grey.
Waiting.
Leng Yao’s face hardened.
Duan noticed.
“He was right?”
“Yes.”
Ji looked towards the corridor.
“Then we move the boy away from you.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No curiosity.
No test.
“Five kilometres minimum,” the recording said.
Leng Yao stared at the screen.
Zhentao knew the process well.
Too well.
“Do not attempt to purge the residue yourself.
It will trigger integration.”
Leng Yao stopped circulating immediately.
“You now have a choice.”
The recording leaned closer.
“If you consume him, your core will advance.”
“You will become significantly stronger.”
“And you will complete the stage Carrion Palace has been trying to create for decades.”
“If you don’t, the residue will remain dormant.”
“It won’t kill you.”
“Not yet.”
The screen paused for several seconds.
Then Zhentao said:
“I am in Shanghai.”
Leng Yao became still.
“Find me before Luo does.”
An address appeared.
No mountain.
No secret bunker.
An apartment in Pudong.
Twenty-five minutes from the Leng estate.
The video ended.
Duan stared at the blank screen.
“That was unexpectedly useful.”
Ji looked at Xu.
“Is the address real?”
The director nodded.
“I don’t know.”
“That is a better answer.”
Leng Yao pulled the storage drive from the computer.
“Move Thirty-Four.”
Feng stepped towards the corridor.
“To the estate?”
“No.”
Duan understood.
“Null Temple.”
“Yes.”
Ji looked at Leng Yao.
“You trust them with him?”
“I trust Heaven cannot reach him there.”
“That was not my question.”
Leng Yao looked towards the unconscious boy.
“No.”
He corrected himself.
“But he has a better chance there than here.”
Ji nodded.
Good enough.
“Xu?” Feng asked.
Leng Yao looked at the laboratory director.
The man had participated in experiments.
How willingly remained unclear.
“You come with us.”
Xu swallowed.
“And the laboratory?”
“Shut it down.”
“There are patients upstairs.”
“Real patients?”
“Yes.”
“Transfer them properly.”
Xu looked surprised.
Leng Yao frowned.
“What?”
“I expected you to destroy everything.”
“Why?”
“Carrion Palace laboratory.”
“Burning sick people would be inefficient.”
Duan looked at Ji.
“He sounds offended.”
“He often does.”
Leng Yao walked towards the lift.
His phone vibrated.
Bai Qingyu.
He answered.
“What?”
“That is how you answer calls?”
“Yes.”
“Your guest is awake.”
Leng Yao stopped.
“Which one?”
“You have too many?”
“Bai.”
She paused.
“Yan Shuo.”
“What happened?”
“He asked for you.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Her voice became serious.
“Someone tried to kill him.”
Leng Yao’s expression changed.
“At the Null Temple?”
“No.”
He looked at Duan.
Duan frowned.
Bai continued.
“He never reached it.”
Silence.
“The transport was attacked outside Nanjing.”
Leng Yao tightened his grip around the phone.
“Survivors?”
“Four.”
“Yan?”
“Missing.”
Duan swore.
“Who attacked?”
Bai answered.
“White masks.”
Carrion Palace.
Fast.
Prepared.
They had known the route.
Leng Yao looked around the laboratory.
Another leak.
Or something worse.
“How did you learn?”
“Feng’s transport team contacted the estate.”
Feng looked at Leng Yao.
“I planned that route.”
“When?”
“After we left the cemetery.”
“Who knew?”
“Six people.”
Leng Yao looked towards Xu.
Then Ji.
Duan.
The guards.
Feng.
Himself.
No.
More people had received pieces of the route.
Operations.
Drivers.
Null Temple liaison.
He was not going to accuse everyone in the room because Heaven had trained him to see plots everywhere.
“Lock the route records,” Leng Yao said.
“I will.”
Bai spoke again.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“They left a message.”
Leng Yao waited.
Bai read it.
“Stop chasing the dead.”
“Or?”
“There was no ‘or.'”
“That is disappointing.”
Bai paused.
“You’ve been around Feng too long.”
Feng looked towards the phone.
“He raised me.”
“You keep saying that.”
Leng Yao ended the call.
Ji looked at him.
“What now?”
Two targets.
Yan Shuo.
Leng Zhentao.
One had been taken by Carrion Palace.
The other had given Leng Yao an address and asked to be found.
The obvious move was to chase Yan.
That was exactly what Carrion Palace expected after leaving a message.
Leng Yao looked at the Pudong address.
“Shanghai.”
Duan frowned.
“Yan was taken.”
“I know.”
“You’re leaving him?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“We find Zhentao.”
Ji understood.
“He knows Carrion Palace.”
“He also knew they would use Thirty-Four as bait.”
Feng sheathed his blade.
“And if the apartment is another trap?”
Leng Yao headed towards the lift.
“Then this time we know we’re walking into one.”
At 11:31, Shen Mingzhi broke through to the seventh Mortal gate.
Fortune poured through the Mirror Opposition.
Pressure slammed into Leng Yao while he crossed the Helixion lobby.
His injured core tightened.
The residue from Vessel Thirty-Four stirred.
Grey energy moved towards the centre.
Leng Yao stopped.
Ji saw it.
“Your core?”
“Yes.”
“Shen?”
“Yes.”
The Mirror link pushed more power towards him.
A compensation designed to keep the antagonist competitive.
Exactly the kind of external authority his core needed.
Leng Yao forced his cultivation down.
The pressure increased.
His core wanted to advance.
He refused.
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Feng stepped towards him.
“What do we do?”
“Nothing.”
“You are bleeding.”
“I know.”
“That phrase is also apparently normal.”
Leng Yao leaned against the wall.
The system appeared.
Mirror compensation available.
Accept forced advancement.
“No.”
Refusal will cause internal pressure.
“I noticed.”
Grey residue moved again.
Closer.
If he accepted the advancement, the third condition might begin.
Foreign soul.
Authority.
Vessel core.
Carrion Palace had spent decades preparing a body capable of consuming incompatible powers.
Heaven was now feeding that body exactly what it needed.
Perhaps unintentionally.
Perhaps not.
Leng Yao’s independent principle stirred.
A simple thought formed.
Growth offered is not growth owned.
He focused on it.
The Mirror energy paused.
Not disappeared.
Paused.
The pressure eased enough for him to stand.
Ji stared.
“What did you do?”
“Refused.”
“That worked?”
“Partly.”
The system flashed.
Advancement deferred.
Not cancelled.
Fine.
Leng Yao wiped the blood from his mouth.
Five days before the hearing.
Carrion Palace moving openly.
Yan Shuo missing.
His dead uncle waiting in Pudong.
Shen Mingzhi advancing because Heaven had tied them together.
For the first time, Leng Yao had more problems than time.
Good.
He walked towards the waiting vehicle.
“Pudong.”
Feng opened the driver’s door.
“No detours?”
“No.”
Duan climbed into the rear seat.
“If your uncle is actually there, what do you plan to do?”
Leng Yao entered beside him.
“Ask questions.”
“And if he lies?”
“Break something.”
Ji entered last.
“That sounds more like you.”
Leng Yao looked out at the Helixion building.
The laboratory workers were evacuating.
Thirty-Four was being moved separately.
No one had died during the raid.
No Mandate event had been completed.
No Chosen had appeared.
Still, Leng Yao had learned more about himself in two hours than Heaven had told him in days.
The vehicle pulled away.
His phone displayed the Pudong address.
Apartment 1704.
Leng Zhentao.
Alive.
Twenty-eight years after his funeral.
Leng Yao closed the screen.
“Drive faster.”