Chapter Fifty-Six: The Terrifying Old Schemer

Wang Changsheng did not hurry to the Spirit Stone Hall or the Spirit Medicine Hall straight away. Instead, he began exchanging jests and banter with the disciples of the Corpse Refining Sect. Having grown familiar with them, Wang Changsheng realized that these disciples were actually rather endearing, not nearly as terrifying as Li Fusheng had described. In fact, perhaps it was because they had never ventured out into the world, had never experienced the ruthless machinations of the martial realm or witnessed the treacheries of human nature, that they seemed all the more simple and pure.

Of course, the cultivation of these disciples was truly formidable. Wang Changsheng had now broken through to the ninth level of the Vein Opening stage, but even so, his senses told him that any one of these Corpse Refining Sect disciples could take his life with ease.

“Old Quan, what’s with that look in your eye? Put that away. We’re familiar enough now to be friends, aren’t we?” Wang Changsheng grumbled at Old Quan, “I may not be able to beat you now, but just wait—when I can, I’ll definitely give you a thrashing!”

Old Quan’s unabashed stare left Wang Changsheng helpless. The only real issue with the Corpse Refining Sect disciples, he mused, was their peculiar taste. Even after befriending them, their gazes would sometimes linger on him as though he were a succulent morsel, just begging to be bitten.

“Hey, Old Xian, did you just swallow your saliva?” Wang Changsheng roared again. Even though he was used to it, he could barely tolerate the way these disciples never bothered to hide their hungry stares.

In fact, Old Xian did swallow hard.

Of course, Wang Changsheng knew it wasn’t because they truly wanted to eat him; it was simply a reflex of their nature as disciples of the Corpse Refining Sect—a primal instinct, nothing more.

By now, Wang Changsheng was no stranger to the workings of the Corpse Refining Sect. Its structure was most unusual. There was no distinction between inner and outer disciples; instead, there were only four types of people in terms of status.

At the top was, of course, the Sect Master—whom Wang Changsheng had never seen. In fact, many of the sect’s cultivators had never laid eyes on the Sect Master; he was shrouded in mystery. Wang Changsheng simply referred to him as “that man”—powerful and elusive as a dragon’s head without a tail.

Second were the elders, of whom there were eleven. Wang Changsheng had met only one: Elder Yun, whom he’d encountered upon his abduction to the sect.

Third were the stewards. Xiao Hui, the gray-robed cultivator who had abducted Wang Changsheng, was one such steward. These stewards rarely practiced the sect’s own arts. The Corpse Refining Sect never lacked for cultivation methods, but the principal duty of a steward was to abduct people. To do so, they had to move freely through the cultivation world; if they cultivated the sect’s unique arts, they’d be recognized at a glance and hunted down before they could carry out their tasks.

There were very few stewards—fewer even than elders, only five in total. Wang Changsheng had even heard from Xiao Hui that, aside from himself (whose cultivation was not high), the other four stewards all had prominent positions and identities in the outside world.

Fourth were the sect’s disciples, numbering a little more than three hundred, with no further rank or hierarchy among them. Only when an elder passed away would a successor be chosen from among the disciples, leading to the odd situation where some disciples’ cultivation surpassed that of the elders. Many disciples were constantly on the lookout, wondering if perhaps an elder had finally departed this world.

Such was Wang Changsheng’s understanding of the Corpse Refining Sect.

For nearly two years, he had been trying to learn the true identity of Old Mou. Given Old Mou’s renown and his unique standing within the sect, Wang Changsheng’s curiosity only grew. Yet no one knew who Old Mou truly was.

According to the stories, Old Mou had already been in the menial servant quarters when the other disciples first joined the sect. As for why everyone feared him, there was a reason for that as well.

In the past, the servant quarters had truly been a place for menial laborers, those who served the sect’s cultivators. But as it became harder and harder to abduct people from outside, some disciples began preying upon the ranks of the servants instead.

Of course, no one dared lay hands on Old Mou, who was a long-time resident. Eventually, the servant quarters were reduced to just two people: the perpetually befuddled Old Mou, whom no one could remember, and his neighbor—the only person Old Mou ever seemed to remember.

One day, an elder made a move against Old Mou’s neighbor. That very day, Old Mou appeared in midair above the sect, radiating a pressure as heavy as a mountain. The cultivators of the Corpse Refining Sect were stunned, thinking an enemy had attacked, but soon realized the source of the terrifying might was none other than Old Mou.

“You have no idea, Old Wang. I was scared half to death that day!” The one revealing this to Wang Changsheng was Old Quan, whose already ashen face turned a shade darker as he spoke, his body trembling.

After appearing without a word, Old Mou struck down the elder who had targeted his neighbor with a single slap—instantly obliterating not only the elder, but his refined corpse as well, leaving nothing behind.

Even more astonishing, the Sect Master and the other ten elders made no response at all, leaving the disciples completely dumbfounded.

From that day on, it was understood: Old Mou was not to be provoked under any circumstances. He might seem muddled and unable to remember anyone, but his power was unfathomable. After the elder’s death, it was Elder Yun who succeeded him—the same Elder Yun Wang Changsheng had met.

When Wang Changsheng first heard the tale, he was deeply shaken. He now understood why none of the Corpse Refining Sect’s disciples dared lay a finger on him: he had been remembered by Old Mou.

“So that’s why Elder Yun sent me to the servant quarters—it was all a test for Old Mou...” Wang Changsheng finally understood: Elder Yun hadn’t spared him out of kindness, as Xiao Hui had claimed, but rather to probe Old Mou’s reaction. In fact, the entire sect was testing Old Mou.

No wonder a coffin had come seeking him that day—everything was because Old Mou remembered him.

To be able to slap an elder to death, Old Mou’s strength was beyond terrifying—monstrous, even. Yet his true identity remained a mystery.

Snapping out of his reverie, Wang Changsheng found Old Xian staring at him again, swallowing his saliva.

“Old Xian!” Wang Changsheng roared. “Snap out of it!”

Old Xian shook his head, looking sheepish.

“Forget it.”

Wang Changsheng did not hold it against the disciples—after all, by now he understood their peculiar natures well.

He hurried across the plaza toward the Spirit Stone Hall and the Spirit Medicine Hall.

But when he reached the Spirit Stone Hall, he did not see Old Mou anywhere.

“Could he be at the Spirit Medicine Hall?” Wang Changsheng hurried over, but again found no sign of Old Mou.

“Did I miss him somewhere?” he wondered, frowning. “That can’t be. Aside from lingering in the plaza for a bit, I didn’t see him anywhere along the way.” But then, Old Mou could fly—it was possible he simply moved too quickly for Wang Changsheng to notice.

“I’ll head back and check first,” he muttered, making his way toward the small courtyard. Even as disciples greeted him along the way, he barely acknowledged them.

After all, Old Mou was supposed to be carrying back spirit stones and medicines; if Wang Changsheng returned late, the old man might forget all about it.

In less than half a stick of incense’s time, Wang Changsheng returned to the courtyard. Old Mou’s door was tightly shut, making Wang Changsheng uneasy.

He walked up and knocked at the door. “Old Mou, are you there? Old Mou? Have you come back?”

Thump, thump, thump—he knocked repeatedly, but received no reply.

“Where could he be?” Wang Changsheng pushed open the door, but the room was empty.

After a thorough search came up empty as well, Wang Changsheng’s face grew grave. According to what he knew, Old Mou only ever went to his room, the Spirit Stone Hall, or the Spirit Medicine Hall.

Now that he was missing from all three places, Wang Changsheng realized something serious might have happened.

“Could Old Mou have mysteriously disappeared?” he muttered anxiously. “Or... could something have happened to him at the hands of the Corpse Refining Sect?” But he quickly shook his head. “Impossible. Everything’s calm here—there’s no way Old Mou could have fallen victim to the sect.”

Given Old Mou’s ability to slap an elder to death, his power was beyond comprehension. If the sect’s higher-ups had truly acted against him, the place would be in turmoil.

If the Corpse Refining Sect had really moved against Old Mou, it would spell disaster for the entire sect.

Yet everything was peaceful; the disciples acted as usual. Wang Changsheng immediately ruled out that possibility.

“But then, how could Old Mou have vanished?” Wang Changsheng was at a loss.