The old wolf struggled to climb the ridge, its claws were worn bloody.
It panted uncontrollably, its gait severely distorted and its fur peeling off in patches to reveal raw, bleeding flesh.
It gave the impression that it could die at any moment.
The old wolf forced itself toward the depths of the Mountain, its clouded eyes barely making out the path and yet it seemed to have lost even the most basic awareness.
When it finally stopped, a dense thicket of vines blocked its way.
Thud.
The old wolf collapsed weakly to the ground, its faintly rising and falling belly the only sign it wasn't yet dead.
Just then, the fur on its belly gradually parted, revealing a narrow slit, like a clam opening its shell.
A shriveled head emerged from the gap, its skin devoid of flesh, resembling a bare skull.
Who could have imagined that a living person was hidden inside the wolf's belly?
Slowly, the figure wriggled out, a limbless torso.
"Ghost Envoy… Ghost Envoy… Ghost Envoy…"
The old man's expression was cold, his face tinged with barely suppressed excitement, lending his ashen complexion an unnatural flush.
He lowered his head and greedily tore into the wolf's flesh, devouring it.
Limbs gradually regrew, but deep wrinkles now covered his entire body, and his breathing was so faint it seemed on the verge of stopping.
Moments later, only the wolf's skeleton remained.
"Fifteen days of life left…"
The old man stood, wiped the blood from his lips, then traced a barely visible cut across his forehead with his finger.
He gripped the wound and pulled, his skin began peeling away by force.
Most horrifying of all, the skin writhed like a living thing, trying to reattach itself to his flesh and bones.
The old man's face twisted with fury. Knowing his chance was fleeting, he yanked harder, making the skin struggle violently.
Just as it was about to tear free-
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Several throwing knives embedded themselves in a distant tree trunk.
Though they landed over ten meters away, the cautious old man still halted his actions. The skin seamlessly reattached, leaving no trace of injury.
The old man said darkly, "Who's there?"
"Ren Qing. This is our second meeting."
Ren Qing stepped forward calmly, though his muscles were tense, his right hand never loosening its grip on his sword hilt.
A flicker of surprise crossed Song Rong's eyes he clearly recognized the other man. After all, few constables borrowed The Thatched Cottage Travelogue from the Martial Library.
Ren Qing's dual pupils locked onto Song Rong. Even without his Hundred Eyes, Song Rong's remaining two supernatural arts posed little threat.
Yet Ren Qing still maintained a distance of over twenty meters.
Song Rong asked amiably, "Those eyes of yours are interesting. Is it the Blindless Method?"
Clang!
Ren Qing didn't answer, but his great Miao blade slid half an inch from its sheath.
Suddenly, Song Rong seemed in no hurry. He spoke as if instructing a junior:
"I've always believed the Blindless Method had a third path of mutation. Never thought I'd see it in you."
He laughed, a sickly sound. "If I hadn't lost my Hundred Eyes, I'd have been very interested in yours."
"Does it matter if it's the Blindless Method?"
Ren Qing felt a chill down his spine but quickly steadied himself.
"True, it doesn't."
Song Rong smiled, testingly taking a step back. Ren Qing immediately matched it.
"If you're not rushing to attack, you must have questions for me, no?"
"Are there ways in this world to extend one's lifespan?"
"Tch, of course. But all come at a cost. Eating human eyes is just the most common method. Some are so gruesome even I can't bear to look."
Song Rong edged closer, his tone odd. "The Restraint Officers will arrive in a hundred breaths. Don't you want to know-"
When barely half a meter separated them, his right arm suddenly tore free at the root, hurtling forward faster than the eye could follow.
Even midair, the arm moved, its nails shimmered with supernatural energy, clearly capable of flaying Ren Qing alive.
Originally, Song Rong had planned to peel off his own skin-bound supernatural remnant to create a restricted zone, breaking the Restraint Officers' blockade.
But now, if he could kill Ren Qing, he might conserve enough strength to breach the Disaster Dispelling Restricted Zone.
Ren Qing wouldn't give him the chance.
His dual pupils tracked the arm's trajectory effortlessly. Closing his eyes, he felt as if he'd returned to the mine shaft where he'd practiced his strikes a hundred times.
The mountain breeze brushed his face; he sensed every shift in the air.
SCREECH!!
Blade and sheath grated together, a piercing shriek as if the great Miao Blade thirsted to taste blood.
Draw.
Ren Qing vanished.
Before Song Rong's disbelieving eyes, Ren Qing reappeared half a meter away, and the arm imbued with two supernatural arts split cleanly in two.
The cut was flawless, even through bone.
"Eating human eyes sounds unappealing anyway. Seems like it has limits."
Ren Qing knew the Restraint Officers were combing Flat Top Mountain for Song Rong. If he wanted answers, he had to act fast.
"How fascinating."
Song Rong snapped back to focus, swinging his left arm.
His flesh bloomed like flower stamens, morphing instantly into a grotesque beast's maw that snapped at Ren Qing.
This was the Flayer's power, control over one's own flesh, unnaturally precise.
Ren Qing didn't flinch. A slight lift of his blade blocked the beast's bite.
He knew Song Rong, desperate to enter the Disaster Dispelling Restricted Zone, had pushed his body to the brink.
He'd orchestrated wolf attacks on hunters, forcibly grafted limbs onto them, and shed his Hundred Eyes supernatural remnant.
This was why Ren Qing's information had failed, the hunters' limbs and torsos had become separate entities.
Ren Qing even suspected the prison restricted zone had been Song Rong's experiment in harnessing supernatural remnants.
"Won't talk? Fine."
His legs twisted into lupine form, and he struck again, too fast for Song Rong to react.
The flesh-beast's head flew off.
Song Rong's expression turned amused, a smile tugging at his lips.
The blade hovered a hair's breadth from his neck.
Song Rong chuckled. "So Ren Qing, you and I are the same."
"You, too, crave longevity, immortality. But you're luckier than me. At least your path wasn't cut short by supernatural remnants."
His gaze drifted skyward, murmuring, "My fortune's been poor. I won't reach the end. I'll die in the Disaster Dispelling Forbidden Zone, or during my ascent."
Ren Qing felt no pity, only a twinge of reflection.
In a normal cultivation world, a ruthless genius like Song Rong could've achieved the unimaginable. But this world belonged to the grotesque.
Survival was luck.
Song Rong's eyes blazed with fervor. Like a pilgrim, he whispered:
"Ren Qing… the true path to longevity lies in the far north..."