Who Is the Demonic Cult?

Fang Shuwen moved with astonishing speed, swift as a rising hare and a swooping falcon. It was mainly thanks to the footwork in Mahakala Palm. When he struck with Vajra Throws the Pagoda, his attack was like rushing thunder, carrying irresistible momentum. He moved so fast that even though the other cultist wanted to help, he had no time to react. By the time he came to his senses, his companion had already been captured by Fang Shuwen. In that instant, the question he had intended to ask no longer needed answering. Black Granny had indeed died by this young man’s hands. Previously, they had refused to believe it because Fang Shuwen was so young. Black Granny had cultivated her Black Fiend Demon Skill to an exceptionally profound level; how could she have perished at the hands of a youth like Fang Shuwen? Now that he had seen Fang Shuwen strike, not a shred of doubt remained. The man clutching the half-grown boy gave a cold sneer. "You’d better let him go, or I’ll kill this little brat." "Go ahead and kill him," Fang Shuwen said with an impatient look. "You've said it several times now, but you haven't killed him yet. Let me tell you, if you don't kill him, I'm going to kill this one." "I don't believe—" Before the man could finish speaking, a sharp crack echoed through the air. Without even waiting for him to finish, Fang Shuwen twisted the neck of the man in his grip through a full three hundred and sixty degrees. The crunch of splintering bone sounded like grinding metal, piercing and harsh! Recalling the sound made earlier when this man exchanged a palm strike with Fang Shuwen, Zhou Qingmei guessed that both men must possess an external hard-body kung fu. Otherwise, it wouldn't have produced such a sound. Meanwhile, the man across from them was dumbfounded. "...Y-you really killed him?" Fang Shuwen spoke with righteous indignation. "As the saying goes, a gentleman's word cannot be overtaken even by a four-horse chariot. I've always been a man of my word; I never lie. Unlike you... an evil heretic with no credibility whatsoever. You say you're going to kill, but you don't. Dawdling and hesitating—completely ridiculous." For a moment, the man's eyes went blank. He felt as though his brain couldn't quite process what was happening. Their plan before coming had been very sound. Zhou Qingmei was staying at a woodcutter's house; they would burst in, capture the household, and force Zhou Qingmei to submit. People of the orthodox path were all upright gentlemen. Even if some were despicable and venomous behind closed doors, they kept up a sanctimonious facade on the surface. Threatening people like that with the lives of ordinary folk was often miraculously effective. So why wasn't it working now? Looking at Fang Shuwen, it seemed he was even more eager for the brat to die than they were! When the cultist had moved too slowly, Fang Shuwen had become annoyed and given him a tongue-lashing! How on earth had things turned out like this? He was at a total loss. Fang Shuwen’s conduct made this cultist—who had grown up in the Black Fiend Cult, had long since become cold-blooded, and treated human life like worthless grass—wonder which of them was actually from the demonic cult. As for whether Fang Shuwen was merely bluffing... it didn't look like it at all. The Black Fiend cultist found himself riding a tiger with no way to dismount. Judging by Fang Shuwen’s martial arts just now, he was definitely no match for him. If the leverage in his hand was entirely meaningless, wouldn't this pursuit simply be sheep delivering itself into the tiger's jaws? At this thought, he suddenly pushed out his left palm, striking the boy's back. The force was applied cleverly—primarily a push rather than a lethal blow. As his left hand let go, he flicked his wrist. His hook claw latched directly onto a large tree outside the courtyard wall, and with a hard yank, he vaulted into the air. He was intent on retreating, seeking to use the boy as a distraction to make a gamble. If Fang Shuwen truly didn't care about the boy's life, he probably had little hope anyway. If Fang Shuwen did care, he would have a chance to escape. To his dismay, just as he reached midair, an ominous rush of wind suddenly sounded behind him. Whirling around, he saw the boy he had just hurled away flying back the exact way he had come! What was more, the force carrying the boy now far exceeded the strength of his own throw. Suspended in midair, he was powerless to dodge or maneuver. He reflexively let go of the chain and tried to execute a Thousand-Pound Drop, but it was already too late. With a resounding crash, the boy’s head slammed directly into his chest. His martial arts differed from ordinary Black Fiend Cultists; like his companion, he possessed copper skin and iron bones. These copper skin and iron bones had been forged since childhood through immense hardship, subtly altering the body so they took effect without even needing to channel internal energy. Having a head smash into his chest was no different from crashing against an iron wall. The boy was killed instantly on impact. Propelled by the immense momentum, they slammed into the wall of stacked boulders behind them, gouging out a large crater. The two figures tumbled and rolled, tumbling across the ground for seven or eight zhang before finally coming to a stop. The Black Fiend cultist rolled over and sat up, feeling as though his five internal organs were all shattered. His terror was beyond measure. Just as he tried to scramble to his feet and resume his flight, a shadow flickered before him. "I could tell long ago that your external conditioning was impressive, but I didn't expect you'd still be able to climb to your feet after being smashed like that." Fang Shuwen’s voice reached his ears like a demon's chime. Terror surfaced on the Black Fiend cultist's face. With a furious roar, he raised a hand to strike. Yet Fang Shuwen brushed his five fingers, executing Plum Blossom Scattered Hands in a smooth motion. Not only did he deflect the force of the palm strike, but with a reverse twist of his wrist, a succession of sharp cracking sounds rang out. The noise was grating, as though what had been twisted and snapped was not an arm, but a bar of solid iron. This showed that the man's external conditioning was indeed extraordinary—it was just his misfortune to encounter Fang Shuwen, whose divine art had reached great completion. In the next moment, Fang Shuwen unleashed a flurry of punches. First, he struck the man's mouth, knocking out all his teeth. Next, a punch landed on his Shanzhong acupoint and another on his dantian's sea of qi, scattering his internal force. Finally, he flipped the man's body over, hooked five fingers like talons into the pipa bones on either side of his back, and pressed down. As agony pierced the cultist's heart, Fang Shuwen’s force penetrated straight through his copper skin and iron bones, crushing both of his pipa bones into pieces. Only after doing all this did Fang Shuwen drag the Black Fiend cultist, who was now limp as a dead dog, back into the small courtyard. With a casual toss, he threw him before Zhou Qingmei. Having long grown accustomed to Fang Shuwen’s prowess, Zhou Qingmei merely let out a soft breath. She was just about to ask a question when footsteps emerged from the house. It was Old Mistress Sun. Her expression was blank and dazed. She looked at her husband’s corpse, then at her son’s. Finally, stepping past the courtyard wall, she gathered her grandson’s body into her arms, trying to wipe the blood from his face. Yet no matter how she wiped, the blood never stopped. "Retribution! This is retribution!!" Sun's wife also emerged. Her scarred, hideous face showed not the slightest hint of grief, only growing even more twisted. "You Suns... deserve to have your line ended!!" Without a word, Old Mistress Sun slowly set down her grandson’s body, then suddenly charged headlong toward the stone wall. She smashed her head into the stone wall and died.