The letter was a masterpiece of diplomatic obfuscation. It began with a deluge of flowery prose, heaping praise upon Jiang Dao's recent exploits, before pivoting seamlessly into a lament about the deteriorating state of the world. It painted a grim picture of the Great Ye Dynasty's precarious position, insinuating that chaos was not coming, but had already arrived. It wasn't until the very final lines that the true intent was revealed: an invitation for a meeting.
Jiang Dao read it once, his expression unreadable, before a faint, cynical sneer curled his lip. He crumpled the parchment in his massive hand. With a surge of internal heat, the paper didn't just tear; it disintegrated, turning into fine, grey ash that drifted to the floor.
"Where is the messenger?" Jiang Dao asked, his voice a low rumble.
"Answering the Guild Master," Xiang An replied, bowing slightly. "It was a young child. I had him investigated immediately. He was merely paid a copper coin to run an errand. He knows nothing of the sender."
Jiang Dao nodded slowly, brushing the ash from his fingers. He looked at his trusted subordinate. "Xiang An, tell me. Do you think the Blazing Flame Gang needs to find a patron? A mountain to lean on?"
"A patron?" Xiang An paused, stunned. His mind raced, calculating the implications. He shifted his weight, unable to meet Jiang Dao's burning gaze. "Does the Guild Master wish to hear the comforting lie, or the harsh truth?"
"Cut the crap," Jiang Dao snapped, the temperature in the room seeming to drop despite his fiery nature. "Naturally, I want the truth."
Xiang An took a breath and steadied himself. "Subordinate believes that two fists, no matter how hard, struggle to block four hands. Regardless of how powerful our gang becomes, we are ultimately mortal. It is difficult to compare our resources with the established Spirit Remover factions. There is an old saying: " The wind is bound to destroy the tree that stands taller than the rest of the forest."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering earnestly. "As the premier gang in the Southern Region, we are a lightning rod. If calamity descends, the Blazing Flame Gang will be the first to bleed. Therefore, finding a nominal backer is pragmatic. It provides a layer of insulation. When the next wave of chaos hits, our enemies might hesitate, fearing who stands behind us. Furthermore, a nominal backer is just that—nominal. We need not follow their every command like dogs. On critical issues, we can still carve our own path."
Xiang An had served as the 'dog-headed advisor' to the previous leader, Fang Tianba. He was a survivor, a man whose intellect had kept him alive in a world of brutes. Jiang Dao valued that survival instinct.
Jiang Dao fell into a contemplative silence. "This Sky Spirit Prefecture mentioned in the letter... I fear they are not an easy force to coexist with."
The flattery in the letter was a hook, baited with the acknowledgment of his strength. But respect in this world was conditional. If he accepted the meeting, he would be tested. They were extending a hand, yes, but they were not fools to be easily manipulated.
"Make the arrangements," Jiang Dao said suddenly, his decision made. "Tomorrow, you will accompany me to Sifang City."
Xiang An's analysis held water. This was an era where fighting alone was a fast track to the grave. Seeking an alliance wasn't an admission of weakness; it was a strategy for survival.
Jiang Dao turned and walked toward the Weaponry Workshop, the heavy thud of his boots echoing his resolve.
Miles away, within the walls of Sifang City, the atmosphere was markedly different.
In a secluded, gloomy courtyard, the remnants of a heavy snowfall were finally retreating. The thaw had left the garden a mess of brown slush and withered vegetation, casting a desolate pall over the residence.
Three figures sat around a small stone table, the steam from their tea rising into the cold air.
"It is merely a mortal gang," a young man dressed in pristine white robes scoffed, breaking the silence. "Is it truly worth the effort to court them? Even if this so-called Guild Master has some obscure background, he is a big fish in a very small, muddy pond. What sort of climate can he possibly influence?"
"Hehe, you shouldn't be so dismissive," a short, rotund man sitting opposite him chuckled, his face creasing into a jovial smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "This Jiang Dao is far more than a local brute. I've dug into his history. He has ascended Tianshi Mountain and returned alive. A character like that... well, it's safe to assume he has reached the 'Dragon Level' of strength."
The white-robed youth swirled his tea, unimpressed. "Dragon Level? So what? Do you think our Three Great Forces are lacking in Dragon Level fighters? We are the legitimate Heavenly Mandate Royal Families. We are not some ragtag group like the Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountains."
"We do not lack them, no," the fat man conceded, leaning in. "But none of our own are willing to come to this desolate backwater to stand guard. By recruiting a local mortal gang, we secure considerable profit every year without dirtying our own hands. Why not do it? Besides, a Dragon Level fighter is a master of their domain. In a critical moment, a pawn like that can be sacrificed or used to solve a problem we'd rather not touch."
"Fine," the youth sighed, clearly bored. "Since the higher-ups want him, we will recruit him. But before we open the gates, we must weigh him. If he is too weak, there is no need to waste resources."
"Agreed," a third man said. He was dressed as a monk, holding one hand up in a vertical gesture of prayer, though his smile was sharp. "If he does not possess strength equal to ours, recruiting him would be nothing more than acquiring a burden."
They laughed softly, the sound swallowed by the dead garden, before turning their conversation to lighter matters.
Back at the Blazing Flame Gang headquarters, a predator was on the prowl.
Wang Long walked through the bustling compound with a languid, almost wicked grace. He had returned the previous night and slept the deep sleep of the satisfied, yet upon waking, hunger had returned. He hadn't bothered with breakfast. He had more refined appetites.
His eyes, dark and abyssal, swept over the gang members rushing about their daily duties. To them, he was a high-ranking officer, a familiar face. Some bowed fawningly; others nodded in passing; some were too busy to notice him at all.
To Wang Long, they weren't people. They were inventory.
Specifically, they were heads.
His gaze lingered on the curve of a neck, the shape of a skull. All top-quality heads, he thought, a shiver of delight running through him. If I take one today... and swap another tomorrow...
The calculation was intoxicating. If he harvested them all, he could curate a collection that would last him a year, maybe two. He would never have to worry about looking for a new face.
But as he walked, a frown marred his features. The selection was vast, yes, but the quality was... lacking. These men were rough. Their skin was weather-beaten, darkened by the sun, coarse to the touch. They were hard on the eyes.
He craved perfection. He wanted skin that was tight, poreless, and healthy. He wanted a head that radiated the rich, vibrant Yang energy of youth—just like his own current form. He remembered distinctly that the Blazing Flame Gang was full of vigorous men, brimming with life force. Where were they hiding?
He continued his patrol, his standards high. He wasn't in a rush to strike. He needed the perfect angle. His targets were only vulnerable when they turned their backs.
Then, he stopped.
A bizarre, stretched smile crept across Wang Long's face. He had found it.
It was a target that stood in stark contrast to the rough men around him. This one had not been ruined by the wind and sand. The subject looked incredibly healthy, bursting with an untainted vitality. Crucially, it was a type of head he had never worn before.
It was a child. A girl, perhaps seven or eight years old.
Qin Qingqing wiped the sweat from her forehead. She had just finished her morning regimen on the plum blossom piles, her small body exhausted but energized. She had encountered several roadblocks in her martial arts cultivation and was eager to ask Jiang Dao for guidance.
She shook out her limbs and headed toward the Weaponry Workshop.
Behind her, Wang Long stared. His focus narrowed to a pinprick. She was the most perfect prey he had ever seen. His breathing hitched, becoming rapid and shallow.
She has her back to me...
She is unsuspecting...
It is time.
Wang Long's pace quickened involuntarily, his feet silent on the stone as he closed the distance.
Qin Qingqing, possessing the sharp instincts of a martial artist even at her young age, heard the hurried footsteps. She turned around, her expression suspicious.
Wang Long froze. His predatory mask slipped instantly, replaced by an awkward, friendly demeanor. "Miss..."
"Do you... Need something?" Qin Qingqing asked, her brow furrowed.
"No, nothing..." Wang Long laughed nervously, bowing slightly. "Just passing through."
"Oh." Qin Qingqing lingered for a second, sensing something off, but dismissed it. She turned her head back around and continued walking.
The moment she turned, Wang Long's face contorted. The smile returned, wider this time, stretching the skin near his ears. His eyes bulged with anticipation.
She has turned away again.
He lunged. His large hand reached out, fingers hooked like talons, aiming to snatch Qin Qingqing's head with the speed of a striking viper.
COUGH.
A heavy, deliberate cough thundered from nearby.
It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical force. Accompanying the noise was a wave of suffocating heat, heavy and scorching, like a blast furnace door being thrown open. The air in the courtyard distorted. It felt as if a fire dragon had been unchained.
Wang Long stopped dead. His body locked up as if the air around him had solidified into lead. His face drained of color, cold sweat erupting along his spine. The twisted smile vanished, replaced by primal fear.
He slowly lifted his head.
Standing in the corridor ahead was a titan. A figure over two meters tall, with shoulders like a mountain range and jet-black hair that seemed to absorb the light. He stood like a Demon God, his indifferent gaze pinning Wang Long to the spot.
Jiang Dao.
"Big Brother Jiang!"
Qin Qingqing's face lit up with pure joy. Oblivious to the near-death experience behind her, she sprinted toward Jiang Dao and hugged his massive thigh.
Jiang Dao looked down, his expression softening imperceptibly as his large hand patted her head. But his eyes never left Wang Long. Deep within his pupils, faint golden flames flickered.
"You are Wang Long, correct?" Jiang Dao's voice was calm, terrifyingly so. "What were you trying to do just now?"
"Cough... Guild Master..." Wang Long forced a trembling smile, bowing low to hide his eyes. "This lowly one greets the Guild Master..."
Jiang Dao didn't answer. He was analyzing.
To the naked eye, Wang Long looked normal. But under the gaze of the Celestial Master Divine Eyes, the truth was laid bare. There was no Yin energy—the hallmark of ghosts—but there was a thick, suffocating aura of death. Around Wang Long's neck, Jiang Dao could see faint, dead-grey lines wrapped tight, like sutures.
Yet, below the neck, the body was pumping with vigorous Yang energy.
It was a walking contradiction. A dead head on a living body.
"I asked you a question," Jiang Dao said, taking a step forward. "What were you doing?"
Qin Qingqing, sensing the sudden tension, pulled back and looked at Wang Long. Now that she really looked, he seemed... wrong.
"Replying to the Guild Master," Wang Long stammered, sweat dripping from his nose. "I wasn't doing anything. I just wanted to... to check on the Young Miss's progress. I was admiring her form."
"Is that so?" Jiang Dao's voice was flat. "But I feel there is something wrong with your head. And tell me, have you grown taller? The Wang Long I remember was not this height."
"I... I have had a breakthrough in my martial arts recently," Wang Long lied desperately. "My bones have expanded..."
He didn't get to finish.
Jiang Dao moved. It was a blur of motion that defied physics for a man of his size. The ground cracked under his launch, the air detonating with a sonic boom. In a fraction of a second, he bridged the distance.
Wang Long flinched, trying to retreat, but a hand the size of a shovel clamped onto his skull.
Squelch.
Under Jiang Dao's grip, Wang Long's head didn't feel like bone. It felt soft, yielding like a rotten watermelon. Jiang Dao held him firm, staring at the neck.
He applied a fraction of pressure, tilting the head.
It didn't bend naturally. It slid.
Like a wooden puppet with a loose joint, Wang Long's neck shifted laterally, displacing two inches from the shoulder base. There was no blood. No muscle tearing. Just a gap.
And from that gap, a stench rolled out—thick, putrid, the smell of a grave that had been sealed for weeks.
The jig was up.
Wang Long's face transformed. The human fear evaporated, replaced by a look of sheer, venomous malice. His eyes turned a glowing emerald green. His fingers exploded outward, turning pitch-black and elongating into razor-sharp claws. With a shriek of wind, he swiped at Jiang Dao's stomach.
Jiang Dao snorted. His grip tightened violently. The skull in his hand deformed, caving in with a wet crunch.
But the body didn't stop. The claws kept coming, fueled by the necromantic energy in the limbs.
Jiang Dao sidestepped with effortless grace. Simultaneously, his free hand, fingers stiffened into a spear-hand strike, plunged directly into the crown of the ruined head. He hooked his fingers and pulled.
RIP.
With a sickening tearing sound, Wang Long's head was ripped clean off the shoulders.
The headless body did not fall. It lunged, a headless nightmare seeking destruction, its black claws grasping for Jiang Dao.
"Tenacious," Jiang Dao muttered.
He caught the creature's wrist mid-strike. He didn't just hold it; he channeled his Extreme Yang True Qi directly into the corpse's meridians.
SCREEEEEEE!
A sound that was not human erupted from the open neck of the torso. It was the sound of a spirit burning. The Extreme Yang energy acted like napalm. The body ignited from the inside out, flames bursting through the pores. It thrashed once, then collapsed into a heap of burning meat and ash.
Jiang Dao looked at the object in his hand.
The head was rapidly decomposing. In seconds, the skin sloughed off, revealing writhing masses of maggots beneath. The features melted away into a slurry of rot.
Disgusted, he tossed the mess aside. His face was a mask of thunderous anger.
Qin Qingqing stumbled back, eyes wide with horror. "Big Brother Jiang... was that... an Evil Spirit?"
"It should be," Jiang Dao said, wiping his hand on the snow. "But it's strange. I sensed no Yin fluctuations. And..."
He glanced at his internal interface panel.
Modification Points: 0.
His eyes narrowed. Killing an Evil Spirit always yielded points. If the counter hadn't moved, it meant one of two things: either this wasn't the main body, or this wasn't a true Evil Spirit at all.
He strode out of the courtyard, his anger radiating like heat waves.
The audacity. To infiltrate his home? To hunt his people at his doorstep?
"Summon Xiang An, Yan Wushuang, and every senior officer immediately!" Jiang Dao barked at a passing guard.
The guard took one look at his leader's face and sprinted away as if his life depended on it.
"The Guild Master orders all officers to assemble! Immediately!"
The cry echoed through the compound. Within minutes, the training plaza was filled with the anxious faces of the Blazing Flame Gang's elite. Xiang An and Yan Wushuang arrived breathless.
"Guild Master, what has happened?" Yan Wushuang asked, sensing the violence in the air.
"Protector Yan," Jiang Dao said, his voice cutting through the wind. "It seems my seclusion has lasted too long. Long enough for monsters to walk among us, wearing the skins of our brothers, without anyone noticing."
"What?" Yan Wushuang paled. "An Evil Spirit infiltrated the Gang?"
A ripple of panic went through the crowd. The Blazing Flame Gang was their sanctuary. If it was compromised, nowhere was safe.
"Guild Master, is it... is it still here?" Xiang An asked, his voice trembling.
Jiang Dao didn't answer immediately. He activated the Celestial Master Divine Eyes. His pupils shifted, glowing with an ethereal light as he scanned the assembled crowd. He looked past their skin, examining their Qi, their blood flow, the integrity of their souls.
He frowned.
Normal. Every single one of them. No death lines on the necks. No erratic pulses.
Was Wang Long an isolated incident? Just a piece of bad luck?
"Where was Wang Long stationed recently?" Jiang Dao demanded.
"Wang Long..." Xiang An checked his mental roster. "He and Sun Yue were overseeing the Zhang Family Iron Mine in the west of the city. Why? Was Wang Long compromised?"
"Wang Long and Sun Yue," Jiang Dao repeated. He scanned the crowd again. "Where is Sun Yue? I do not see him."
The officers looked around, murmuring.
"Sun Yue!" Xiang An shouted.
"I saw Manager Sun last night!" a lieutenant called out from the back. "He was laughing with Wang Long. I saw him this morning, too, right here at headquarters. He can't have gone far!"
"He's still here," Xiang An said urgently. "Should we lock down the compound and search?"
"No," Jiang Dao said, his voice cold iron. "I will do it."
If Wang Long was a puppet, Sun Yue was likely one too. And the Iron Mine... that was likely the nest.
It was a mockery. While Jiang Dao worried about external politics and distant alliances, a cancer had been growing in his own backyard.
Whoosh!
Jiang Dao launched himself into the air, landing heavily on the highest watchtower of the fortress. He overlooked the sprawling complex of the Blazing Flame Gang.
He closed his eyes for a second, then snapped them open. The golden fire in his pupils roared to life.
The Celestial Master Divine Eyes engaged fully. The world sharpened. Walls became transparent; distances collapsed. He zoomed in, sweeping his gaze across the barracks, the mess halls, the dark corners of the armory, hunting for the next puppet.