"Spit it out if you’ve got something to say, fart if you’ve got gas, cut the fake courtesy."
"What’s in locker number nine?"
"Who told you to ask about that?"
"I’m asking for myself. Someone’s got their eyes on that thing."
"That thing doesn’t have anything to do with our Funeral Home anymore. Cai Qidong came by last time and already took it."
"Huh?" Wen Yan was a bit surprised.
"It’s a rope. Looks like a hemp rope, pitch black all over. You can’t even destroy it in the Luxury Furnace.
Even the patina on it can’t be burned off. That thing’s not normal.
The Scorching Sun Department once used a rare artifact to have it appraised. Its name is the Black Rope.
It was hand-twisted by someone named Yi, the very first Black Rope.
What it’s been through, nobody can be sure now. The appraisal concluded that this thing is no longer just an ordinary object.
It contains some kind of abstract concept inside, it’s fundamentally indestructible.
When things got desperate, Old Cai borrowed the Black Rope to try controlling the Soul Devouring Beast.
All I know is, that was one of his contingency plans."
Wen Yan was a little surprised—this thing was already removed?
"Director, hold on, this thing’s already been taken out? Who picked it up?"
"Who told you that thing had to be in locker number nine?"
That’s info from three years ago. It’s not the kind of object you need to suppress. The Old Ice Warehouse was just relatively safe, that’s all.
Now, counting you, at most six people know about it."
Wen Yan did the math: the Director, himself, Minister Cai—that’s three.
The remaining three are the top brass at Scorching Sun Headquarters.
The thing was moved out of the Old Ice Warehouse three years ago, but the intel Fake Mo Zhicheng got is still about locker number nine.
For such crucial intel, at such a critical time, Fake Mo Zhicheng didn’t get the update.
That means at least one thing: the Director, Minister Cai, and those three top bosses at Scorching Sun Headquarters definitely didn’t leak it.
This made Wen Yan quietly breathe a sigh of relief.
Honestly, he’d thought Fake Mo Zhicheng knew a little too much.
He’d always had this nagging suspicion: could it be that someone high up at Scorching Sun Headquarters was already quietly working for the other side?
But now it seems, at least the three highest-ups are still onside.
This little intel error alone could ruin Fake Mo Zhicheng’s whole plan.
But still, it wouldn’t hurt to check with Minister Cai.
He grabbed the phone the Scorching Sun Department gave him, and dialed Minister Cai again.
"Minister Cai, I have some intel I need to confirm with you."
"Is number nine still there?"
On the other end, Cai Qidong was silent for a moment, then replied,
"Alright, no more questions. I’ll be there soon."
He hung up. Now it was fully confirmed.
If Fake Mo Zhicheng had known Cai Qidong had already taken the Black Rope, he wouldn’t have just charged through the camp so confidently, letting the Black Rope go.
Zhang Laoxi slammed the gas pedal, racing down the highway.
Meanwhile, a big box truck had already parked steadily just outside the camp.
The driver was from the Scorching Sun Department, but there was also a young Taoist, barely in his twenties, riding shotgun.
The junior Taoist got out, and bowed to Feng Yao, who came over to meet them.
"Junior Taoist Yinfeng, greeting you, Hermit.
The elders have all arrived; they’re not fond of conversation and haven’t had dealings with the mundane world.
To avoid any unnecessary mishaps, I’ll handle all arrangements on their behalf."
Feng Yao returned the bow and, without much concealment, laid out the situation as it stood.
"That’s about it. And the girl’s about to arrive, so to avoid any confusion, please wait here a bit longer."
Junior Taoist Yinfeng looked troubled.
"I need to ask the elders for instructions first."
The Taoist opened the truck’s rear doors. Inside, at least ten black coffins were crammed together, thick with a cold gloom far chillier than any icehouse.
The Taoist set up a Dharma Altar below, lit incense and candles, bowed reverently four times, and explained the situation.
As he spoke, the smoke from the incense wafted then actually began to retract.
Only when he mentioned that his Senior Brother Zhang, along with Wen Yan and the Little Zombie, were on the way, did the incense, nearly snuffed out, suddenly flare up again.
Wisps of smoke floated over to the truck, and in just a few breaths, multiple sticks of incense had burned away.
Yinfeng let out an inward sigh of relief.
"The elders have approved."
Honestly, he didn’t really want to come, but could he let the bearded elders travel a whole day and night by truck all the way from Binhai County to Nanwu County?
It’d kill the old guys.
Of all those left back at the Mountain Sect who could set up a ritual and talk with these Great Zombies—or even had the tiniest qualification for it—there was basically only him.
If he didn’t come, the Grand Uncle Master would insist on coming in person.
No way. He’s still too young to be hammered into the ground by Senior Brother Qin.
After an hour or so, a pickup truck came roaring over.
As soon as it stopped, the Little Zombie burst out and sprinted for the cargo hold of the big truck, pounding hard on the black coffins with his little hands.
Eight coffin lids slammed open, a surge of vicious, murderous energy bursting out like a blast of wind.
Wen Yan had just stepped out of the car when Uncle appeared before him in a flash, shielding him.
Inside those eight coffins, eight black-haired Zombies, clad in heavy armor, stood straight up in unison.