Chapter 8: Four-Armed Yama, Song Zongwu
1300 Words
Outside the prison, Scribe Zhao’s face was etched with anxiety. He shuffled toward the iron gate, wanting to enter the prison, but turned back at the last moment.
By now, the corpse handlers should’ve returned with the first batch of bodies.
But there was nothing he could do except wait patiently.
Moments later, dozens of constables scrambled out from behind the iron gate in a panicked rush.
Zhao exhaled in relief, about to reprimand them—only to realize these were all jail wardens, not a single corpse handler among them.
He grabbed one of them and demanded, “What happened in there?!”
The warden collapsed to his knees, his legs trembling. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Screams… came from below. Qian Han went to check... All the corpse handlers are dead!”
“Where’s Qian Han?!”
The wardens shoved forward a thin figure. “Here! He’s here…”
Zhao seized him. “Speak!”
Qian Han murmured, almost in a trance, “The human skins came alive… they’re eating people. None of the corpse handlers trying to escape survived…”
“I understand.”
Zhao turned and strode toward the prison guards, rage boiling in his chest. Hadn’t they claimed the strange phenomena inside had been cleared? How could such a m******e still happen?
But as he stood before the three prison guards and saw the cold, indifferent eyes beneath their wide-brimmed bamboo hats, he swallowed his anger.
The guard in the center, voice raspy with age, spoke: “It’s not time to act yet. As for the dead constables, they’ll receive double the standard compensation.”
“…Fine.”
Zhao turned, his face livid, and stormed off.
After he was gone, the elder prison guard’s expression darkened. He glanced coldly at the man beside him, voice filled with killing intent.
“Li Yaoyang, how many more anomalies are still hiding in the prison?”
Li Yaoyang let out a light laugh and spread his hands. “Elder Song, how would I know…”
Before he could finish, Song Zongwu punched him hard, sending him sprawling. The air around him pulsed with oppressive force.
But Li Yaoyang wasn’t angry—instead, he continued calmly, “Elder Song, the prison’s forbidden zone was created by the ‘Book of Human Skins.’ The creatures inside are capable of possession.”
“If anything happens to us and the forbidden zone expands, who knows how many people in Sanxiang City will die,” said the third guard, a woman carrying a longsword.
Song Zongwu didn’t strike again. He composed himself and asked, “Then what’s the situation in the prison now?”
“One moment.”
Li Yaoyang sat cross-legged on the ground. Moments later, a rustling sound came from below, and a centipede crawled up to the surface.
The insect was palm-sized, with a dark purple carapace—clearly highly venomous.
Li Yaoyang gently picked it up and swallowed it without hesitation.
“There are still three remnants of human skin left.”
Song Zongwu cracked his knuckles loudly, like a starving wolf baring its teeth. “When do we strike?”
“Patience. The human face hasn’t appeared yet. It could be hiding in any crack between the floor tiles. If we don’t find the source of this anomaly, the forbidden zone can never be broken.”
Li Yaoyang then looked to the woman. “Miss Bai, whatever you do, don’t draw your sword. You might harm the innocent.”
“So my swordsmanship is that lethal, huh?”
…
Back inside the prison, despair hung in the air like a heavy fog.
The survivors looked numb. Though none blamed Bo Feng for what had happened, no one had the energy to comfort him either.
They might be dead soon themselves—just another hollowed-out husk.
Ren Qing wasn’t going to wait around to die. He closed his eyes, recalling the details he’d seen earlier.
Bones, human skins, straw, and a few centipedes clinging to the walls…
Centipedes?!
He hadn’t seen a single rat inside the prison. That meant nothing living could exist in the forbidden zone. So where did those centipedes come from?
Ren Qing remembered the prison guards outside—could the centipedes be some kind of surveillance spell?
“Human skins… human skins…”
He muttered to himself. Suddenly, a thought struck him: the human skins might fit together like pieces of a larger whole.
“One piece is missing—so that’s why the guards haven’t made a move?”
It wasn’t fear that was holding the human skins back. They were simply cornering the survivors to devour them one by one.
With this rough idea in mind, he decisively summoned his system stream. Just as he was about to spend life force to unlock a branch of the Eyeless Art, a shout came from beside him.
Xiao Wu gripped his arm tightly, terror in his eyes. “Brother Qing, I saw a skin… they didn’t go far!”
“Don’t panic.”
Ren Qing narrowed his eyes. There was no time to advance to the Double-Eyed state—those skins had already marked him as the only real threat.
Advancement would plunge him into darkness for a time—and even a moment of vulnerability could be fatal.
“Whatever happens, don’t leave the stairwell.”
Ren Qing drew a short blade gleaming with cold light and began scanning every corner for any sudden assault.
Most others were still dazed, oblivious to the growing danger.
Time dragged on. Ren Qing had already finished his supply of pig eyes to sustain his strength, but the skins were still patiently waiting.
He had to take the initiative.
Ren Qing closed his eyes and feigned exhaustion, straining his ears.
A face crept silently through a crack in the wall, lured by the scent of blood. It slowly extended part of its body.
At that moment, Ren Qing’s eyes snapped open. As he locked onto the face, he lunged and drove his blade into it, pinning it to the wall.
The face twisted in agony, radiating pure malice. The blade tore open its flesh, and blood began to seep out.
Hissssss—
The face launched itself toward the crowd. Ren Qing could see its speed, but his body couldn’t keep up.
A corpse handler didn’t even have time to react before collapsing, lifeless. The face absorbed his life force and instantly healed its wound.
Then it turned its attention back to Ren Qing, and the remaining skins crawled into the stairwell.
Panic erupted. People trampled each other in a desperate bid to escape.
Dozens of figures swirled in chaos.
Ren Qing suddenly felt a coldness on his arm—the face had fused with him. But it wasn’t consuming his flesh; instead, it was boring toward his head.
“Damn it.”
Ren Qing stabbed himself repeatedly with the dagger, but it was no use—the face had reached his neck.
Just then, his system stream appeared on its own:
[Book of Human Skins]
[Created by the eunuch Huang Ling. To cultivate this technique, one must completely flay their own skin and regrow it using special medicinal guides. After repeating this process seven times, mastery is achieved.]
[Spend one year of lifespan to bypass the cost and learn it instantly.]
Ren Qing didn’t even hesitate to see how much it would cost—he confirmed immediately.
Agonizing numbness surged through him, growing stronger with each second.
The face sensed a kindred aura and paused.
In that instant, an old man with white hair crashed through the wall. He ripped the face off Ren Qing’s neck with one hand.
“Kid… I suppose you’ve never heard the name ‘Four-Armed Yama, Song Zongwu,’ huh?”
- Writer
