WBICDPH Chapter 76

Chapter 76: Burning the Boats

“I like Ah Yao…”

Zhou Wencai muttered blankly. He swallowed the shredded flesh in his mouth, then bent down again to sniff at his mother’s abdomen.

Zhou’s mother lay on the ground, her body convulsing uncontrollably.

Her eyes were wide open. Her mouth trembled as it hung ajar, but only harsh, ragged breaths escaped—no words.

Her pupils quivered as she slowly shifted her gaze toward her son. The admiration and gentleness that once filled her eyes were gone, replaced by overwhelming fear.

Perhaps, in this single moment, she was truly seeing her son for the first time.

But he was no longer the bright, spirited youth he had once been. He was no longer even human—only a monster devouring his mother’s flesh.

“Mother, you killed Uncle and Auntie. You should turn yourself in…”

“Mother, I don’t want to study far from home. I just want to stay…”

“Mother, I don’t want to be a glorious top scholar. I just want to live as an ordinary man, with the one I love…”

Zhou Wencai lowered his head and tore open her abdomen.

“Mother, I like Ah Yao…”

“Mother, I want to marry her. I only want to marry her…”

“Mother, why did you force me to wed someone I didn’t love? Why did you marry Ah Yao off to another man…”

“Mother, why do you never listen to me? Never ask what I want?”

He ripped her open—but he did not continue chewing.

Instead, he pressed his massive head against the wound again and again, smearing half his face with blood.

At first Lin Jin did not understand what he was doing.

Then he did.

A chill ran from his feet to the crown of his head.

Zhou Wencai was trying to crawl back inside his mother’s body.

He wanted to curl up in her womb like an unborn child, seeking protection.

“You said you were protecting me… said it was for my own good…”

“Then why… did I turn out like this?”

“Mother, let me go back…”

“If I go back, I won’t suffer anymore. And you… you can keep protecting me…”

The oil lamp fell from Lin Jin’s hand.

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He bent over and retched.

The thick scent of blood and the grotesque sight overwhelmed him. Zhou’s mother was not yet dead—she writhed like a dying fish, hearing her son’s murmurs, feeling his grotesque affection.

Right. She still had the puppet thread. She was not truly alive, so she could not truly die.

But she could still feel pain.

With trembling hands, Lin Jin took out a talisman and sent it drifting toward her. It hooked the puppet thread from behind her ear and pulled it free.

The moment the thread left her body, she stiffened—and finally went still.

Zhou’s mother was guilty, no question. But was Zhou Wencai innocent?

His mother had pressured him, interfered with his choices again and again. But he had been a person. He could have resisted. His fault lay in his weakness—his selfish belief that others should accommodate his cowardice, that someone could wait a lifetime for him out of love.

He had only been brave once.

And even then, it had been disastrously wrong.

That one moment of bravery had destroyed Zhu Eryao’s happiness.

Lin Jin forced himself to look away from the monster. Just then, a sword flashing with icy spiritual light streaked across his vision.

Yuxue left its sheath and shot toward Zhou Wencai—but to Lin Jin’s surprise, it did not strike him. Instead, it skewered into the ground at an angle.

He looked at Xiao Yunkong, who had frowned almost imperceptibly.

Xiao Yunkong formed another seal. The sword trembled, struggling to free itself. After a moment, it succeeded.

This time, the icy blade pierced through Zhou Wencai’s back. He convulsed, then collapsed limply.

“He is no longer human. Leaving him in this world would only prolong his suffering. This is release—not sin.”

Xiao Yunkong’s voice was soft but clear in the silent cave.

Lin Jin opened his mouth to speak—but something caught his eye.

Yuxue had already withdrawn, yet not a single drop of blood flowed from Zhou Wencai’s body.

And his head… it seemed even larger.

Under the faint candlelight, Lin Jin saw something writhing beneath the nearly translucent scalp, as if about to burst free.

He instinctively stepped back.

The skull split open.

But what emerged was not filth or gore.

It was a pure white flower.

A massive blossom unfolded in the cave—seven snowy petals spreading wide, revealing seven vivid red stamens at its center.

Zhou Wencai’s withered body had become the flower’s slender stem.

And that was not the end.

On the ground, Zhou’s mother’s corpse had somehow lost all its flesh, leaving only a skeleton supporting her clothes. Meanwhile, her head swelled grotesquely, hair falling away. The thinning scalp split open—and another pristine white flower bloomed.

A jolt ran through Lin Jin’s mind.

“I understand now… It makes sense… I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

Pale-faced, he hurried toward Hua Nanzhi and Xiao Yunkong.

“We need to leave. Now.”

Then he remembered someone else. He went to the cave’s corner and pulled the dazed Zhu Eryao to her feet.

“Let’s go.”

Hua Nanzhi was still shaken, but now even the stench no longer affected her.

“What did you figure out? What were you wrong about?”

As they hurried toward the exit, Lin Jin explained:

“The flowers in the fields aren’t the Seven Emotions Flower.”

“Then what are they?!”

“They’re its seeds.”

He continued gravely:

“In my hometown, there’s a medicinal fungus called cordyceps. In winter, it releases spores into insect larvae, parasitizing them—devouring their flesh, taking over their bodies. When spring comes, it bursts out from the host and grows.

“The Seven Emotions Flower likely works the same way. It manipulates the host’s emotions and malice, draining their vitality. When the host is exhausted, it bursts forth into full bloom.

“It doesn’t merely feed on malice. Malice plants the seed. To bloom, it requires flesh steeped in malice.

“Zhou Wencai wasn’t a monster. He was a flower bud.”

Hua Nanzhi fell silent.

“And I was wrong about the formation,” Lin Jin added, looking at the puppet threads in his hand. “The puppet master didn’t use people as the formation’s base—but flower buds.”

They climbed out of the cellar.

Xiao Yunkong blinked repeatedly once they stood upright.

“Is it night or day?” he asked.

Lin Jin’s heart sank. “It’s broad daylight.”

Xiao Yunkong sighed.

“Bad news. I can’t see.”

Of course.

The more spiritual power used, the faster the formation eroded one’s senses.

Before Lin Jin could think further, Hua Nanzhi swallowed hard.

“Worse news is coming.”

A mass of dark figures was approaching from the village—villagers with red eyes, clearly hostile.

Lin Jin felt despair flicker—only for a moment.

Then clarity struck him.

He even laughed.

“Are you insane?!” Hua Nanzhi snapped. “What do we do? Kill them or not? Do they even count as human?!”

“Now they do,” Lin Jin said calmly, summoning his Shan Hai Brush.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course!”

“I have a way to break the formation. Eighty percent chance of success.”

He drew a brilliant sigil. It shot into the crowd, hooking hundreds of puppet threads and drawing them back into his grasp.

“In one incense stick’s time, you’ll lose all connection to your spiritual seas. When that happens, hide in the cellar and trust me. Bet everything on that eighty percent. Dare?”

Xiao Yunkong smiled faintly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Fine!” Hua Nanzhi barked. “But if I die in this stupid mission, I’ll haunt you!”

Lin Jin watched as the villagers—now stripped of their puppet threads—began to wither, their heads swelling.

He smiled slowly.

“They’re no longer human.”

He lifted his brush.

“I want this village covered in true Seven Emotions Flowers. Miss Hua—kill.”

Hua Nanzhi laughed fiercely.

Her blade, Xiaoyue, erupted in flame as her final spiritual energy burned away.

She charged forward in a red blur.

White flowers burst open in her wake.

Her furious shout echoed across the fields:

“Kill them all!”