Chapter 8 : Not Worthy

Chapter 8: Not Worthy

The wind in the mountain forest was weak.

It could not disperse the thick, bloody stench of Red Snow.

Fang Chang discovered a small patch of wound on Zhao Yuntong’s arm, corroded by tainted blood.

Though it was only the size of a thumb—

It still made Fang Chang wince in pain.

Corpse Puppets Jia-1 and Jia-3—he could use them for self-detonation or bait without the slightest burden.

But Zhao Yuntong was different.

This was, in a true sense, the first Yin Corpse he was satisfied with.

He had even personally taken action to weaken part of the enemy’s protective barrier.

It was like a brand-new bicycle from his previous life.

At first, one always rode it slowly, afraid of scratching or bumping it. Even when braking, one would only gently squeeze one side.

Only after some time—

After sufficient breaking-in, after Fang Chang had completely grown familiar with the shape of the seat—

Would he dare to stand up and pedal hard.

At that point, both brake handles would no longer be treated gently—he would squeeze them however they bent.

Even if the front wheel got twisted out of alignment, it didn’t matter. He could just stop, clamp the wheel with his legs, and forcefully twist it back straight—then continue riding.

“So, what kind of reasoning is that?”

Zhao Yuntong allowed Fang Chang to blow lightly on her wound.

Being treated like a treasure made her feelings extremely complicated.

At the same time, her eyes flickered with curiosity as she sized him up.

“The Blood Demon Path emphasizes that blood is the golden core. It turns flowing vitality into something materialized, solidified, and collectible—a mass of dead blood that no longer participates in circulation.”

“Cheng Hua’s heart meridian blood is completely different. It hasn’t been refined and retains all its living vitality.”

“With just a slight secret technique, living blood can become the master of dead blood.”

Fang Chang spoke casually.

At the same time, he took out specially prepared healing medicine and gently applied it to Zhao Yuntong’s wound.

This medicine was specially made.

A Yin Corpse had already departed from ‘life’. Ordinary medicine that promoted natural healing was useless.

“What secret technique?”

Zhao Yuntong asked curiously.

At this moment, she was wearing the most ordinary coarse cloth dress.

The indigo fabric had been washed too many times, its edges softened into a pale, worn white. The sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm, revealing two smooth, jade-like wrists.

Her collar hung open, exposing her collarbones and pale skin, stained with faint traces of blood.

The coarse fabric stretched into fine folds, each line converging toward full, rounded curves—like it could barely hold a handful of ripened fruit.

Zhao Yuntong did not do this intentionally.

These clothes were simply not tailored for her—they could not contain her figure.

Fang Chang turned his head to look at her.

The future Holy Maiden slightly raised her chin.

The already uncontainable collar loosened further, the coarse cloth trembling along its stretched curves, every fold sinking inward.

Her tone carried a sweetness steeped in honey, yet forceful.

“Guess.”

“Hmph.”

Zhao Yuntong’s face turned cold. “…By your logic, wouldn’t all Blood Demon Path practitioners be utterly powerless before you?”

“The one who is powerless is not the Blood Demon Path—it’s the one standing before me.”

Among the Eighteen Demonic Sects and Thirty-Six Deviant Paths, a large portion relied on word-of-mouth transmission, with terribly flawed inheritances.

Though many practiced the Blood Demon Path, there were certainly plenty who had gone astray through blind experimentation.

Zhao Yuntong understood.

Every path had its own problems—hers, the Obsession Path, was no exception.

“Cough… cough!”

These words struck the half-dead Blood Demon Path old woman like a blade.

She lay helplessly on the ground, a massive bloody hole in her chest, silver hair in disarray, her deathly state fully revealed.

She looked like a kindly old grandmother who had fallen at the village entrance.

But at this moment, there was no resentment in her eyes.

Instead, there was sudden realization—and the unwillingness of someone who hated that time could not return.

“Child… this wasn’t a personal grudge… just a transaction. I failed… nothing more to say…”

“This blood… sixty years… heavy, sinking, pressing into the bones…”

She spoke slowly. “I thought it meant my cultivation had deepened. I figured, the heavier it sank, the closer I was to forming the golden core… until I heard your words…”

She looked at her blood-covered hand, as if it were something unfamiliar.

“At its root, it is stillness. Stillness returns to life… I heard it before, sixty years ago. When my master taught it, I even wrote it down in a notebook.”

“Only today, after hearing you, did I realize… it wasn’t meant to be practiced like that.”

She turned her head to look at Fang Chang.

Trembling, she pulled out a notebook from her side pouch. Just completing this action had nearly exhausted the last of her life.

“Child, you are a great talent.”

“I may have practiced it wrong, but I spent sixty years refining its applications…”

Fang Chang strode forward and took the notebook.

He flipped through a few pages casually.

It was filled with the old woman’s handwritten notes.

Various understandings of the Blood Demon Path, breakthroughs of her own bottlenecks, and numerous killing techniques.

Including 【Red Snow】,

The 【Blood Thorn Cord】 that had injured Cheng Hua,

And the 【Blood Whale Devouring Tide】 that had destroyed Corpse Puppet Jia-1 with a single strike.

Barely acceptable.

Fang Chang knew many ways to counter this path, but hadn’t really practiced it himself.

But as a player, he was a pragmatist—he accepted anything useful.

He didn’t plan to follow this path, but right in front of him was a ready-made, seventy-to-eighty-year-old Blood Golden Core.

What?

Refine the old woman into a Yin Corpse?

Fang Chang had artistic standards, alright? If he had to look at it every day, how could he tolerate it not being pleasing to the eye?

Zhao Yuntong walked over with a cold expression.

“She’s taking advantage of you. If you accept her notebook, you’ll count as half her disciple.”

Fang Chang scoffed, utterly dismissive.

“I’ll just wait until she dies and take it—wouldn’t it still be mine? She’s just feeling guilty and returning it to me before death.”

The old woman also knew she was playing tricks on a junior.

Her face flushed as she continued speaking to herself:

“I still have two sons nearby… if you meet them, please give them some guidance…”

“They’re also of the Blood Demon Path?”

“They are… Blood Demon Path.”

Fang Chang suddenly recalled something.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“One tall and fat, one short and thin—the former dull and slow, the latter shifty-eyed and sneaky?”

The old woman froze, looking over in confusion.

“How do you kno—”

“Earlier, your two sons came to the village to kill people and collect blood. I happened to run into them… such filial sons! They said they dreamed their mother was about to die and insisted on going ahead to wait for you. I’m kind-hearted, so of course I helped fulfill their wish!”

“You… you…”

Hearing this, the old woman’s eyes widened. A breath stuck in her chest, unable to move.

Shock turned into resentment—but before it could fully form, her body stiffened, and she died completely.

Fang Chang looked at the corpse and sneered.

After sixty years of indiscriminate killing, trying to act like a good person at death—how wishful.

Zhao Yuntong suddenly stepped forward.

Without warning, she kicked the corpse.

With a violent motion, she snapped the old woman’s neck.

The head flew like a football, smashing through the treetops and disappearing into the sky.

Fang Chang looked over strangely.

“What are you doing?”

Zhao Yuntong patted the dust off her skirt. “You are a Corpse Refinement Path practitioner.”

“So?”

“She’s too old. And too ugly.”

“So?”

“She’s not worthy.”

“Heh… not worthy of becoming my Yin Corpse? Or not worthy of standing on the same level as you?”

“Is there a difference?”

Fang Chang smiled and shook his head. He picked up Cheng Hua’s cool, soft body and began descending the mountain once more.