**Chapter 103: The Corpse-Stitching Needles**
He Yin was furious. He was about to give chase when a searing pain lanced through his shoulder. Qin Mu had used the scabbard to recall the Shao Bao Sword—that strike lacked real force, but the blade was so unforgiving it had punched clean through his shoulder blade, leaving a gaping hole in his flesh.
He Yin gritted his teeth against the agony. He produced jade vials of all sizes: first a wound-sealing salve, then a bone-mending poultice, and finally a flesh-regenerating balm. Each application brought fresh waves of pain he could barely endure.
Behind him, a flying corpse was rummaging through a medicine jar, smearing ointment onto the neck of another flying corpse whose head Qin Mu had severed. It then picked up the severed head and pressed it onto the medicated stump. The head wobbled and clicked into place, though it was attached backwards—its face staring toward the rear.
The "healer" corpse seemed oblivious. It walked over to another corpse that had been cleaved in half, fitted the two pieces together, and slathered on the rank-smelling paste. Even decapitated or split apart, these flying corpses refused to "die." As long as the Corpse Immortal Sect's ointments were applied and the limbs reattached, they could be restored to good as new—a truly bizarre art.
The Corpse Immortal Sect was famous for corpse manipulation, and they had their own peculiar expertise.
Suddenly, the sound of air splitting cut through the darkness. A group of Corpse Immortal Sect disciples hurried to He Yin's side. One female disciple asked in surprise, "Senior Brother He Yin, you're hurt? Was that boy really that strong?"
"He wasn't," He Yin replied, his face ashen. He spoke through clenched teeth. "He's at most at the Five Stars Realm, but his cultivation is solid, and his movement techniques are uncanny. He's proficient in both sword-control arts and spell-casting. He has a fine sword—its scabbard can automatically retrieve the flying blade, and the edge is so keen my flying corpses can't withstand it. His wounds aren't light either. He can't have gotten far!"
The other disciples were stunned. The female disciple said, "If he's skilled in sword-control and spells, his close combat must be lacking. Let's pursue and capture him for the Sect Master to judge!"
More than a dozen disciples vanished into the night.
He Yin rose, ready to follow, when another figure descended. Seeing the newcomer's face, He Yin straightened hastily and bowed. "Martial Uncle Qiao!"
Martial Uncle Qiao frowned. "The boy who killed the Sect Master's son is still at large, and here you are wounded by him. He Yin, you're becoming quite capable."
He Yin flushed with shame. "Martial Uncle Qiao, the Sect Master..."
"The Sect Master already knows. He's furious, but he's still stabilizing the situation and quelling the unrest in the city." Qiao continued, "The State Preceptor of Yankang has been gravely wounded. Heroes across the land are seizing the opportunity to rise up and eliminate his cronies to restore proper governance. Our Corpse Immortal Sect has just cause this time—we'll cut down the Preceptor's lackeys first and take Dijiang County. That county will become our Sect's territory. We must plant deep roots and net every last one of the Preceptor's remnants. Though the Sect Master grieves, he puts the greater plan first."
He Yin agreed, then added, "Martial Uncle Qiao, please follow those junior brothers and sisters. That boy is young, but he carries a sword that can transform into a fish-dragon..."
Qiao's expression changed. "A sword that transforms into a fish-dragon? What shape exactly? Describe it in detail!"
He Yin recounted the Shao Bao Sword and its strange scabbard. Qiao's heart lurched. He blurted, "That's a first-rank official's court blade—one of the finest treasures under heaven! Even our Corpse Immortal Sect doesn't possess anything so formidable. How did such a treasure end up in a mere youth's hands? Could he be the son of some first-rank official in the imperial court?"
His eyes gleamed. "This blade is extraordinary. Surely heaven favors our Sect's rise, delivering a first-rank court sword to us! I'll seize it myself!" With that, he vanished.
He Yin frowned, thinking, A first-rank official's court blade? That's a symbol of imperial status. Why would any first-rank official entrust such a sword to his own son? Martial Uncle Qiao hasn't thought this through. . . . I should report to the Sect Master immediately.
He hurried toward Dijiang County.
Qiao pursued the trail left by Qin Mu and the Sect disciples. Before long, he spotted the first corpse—a disciple of the Corpse Immortal Sect. A thin line of blood marked the throat; otherwise, no other wound was visible. From the angle of the cut, the blade had grazed the throat, severing the two major blood vessels. Judging by the angle of attack, the disciple had been flying on yellow memorial papers when someone struck from behind. Before he could react, the sword had already sliced his neck.
Oddly, there was no blood nearby.
Qiao frowned. That could only mean the disciple hadn't died here. He had flown for some time before being dumped. His blood had already drained away mid-air.
What did that imply? It meant the killer had been standing right behind him!
The disciple had been riding yellow papers forward, searching for Qin Mu's trail. The youth had appeared silently behind him, slashed his throat with a single stroke, then pressed against his back, seizing control of his paper-box. Fresh papers continued to stream from the box, laying a path ahead. The boy was simultaneously controlling the dead disciple's corpse, keeping it moving forward to maintain the appearance that it was still alive and keeping pace with the others.
"This is corpse-control!" Qiao's face shifted. "This boy knows corpse manipulation too! Our disciples are in danger! But then again, I don't recall any first-rank official in the Yankang court who specializes in corpse arts. Where did he come from? Where did he learn such techniques?"
It was deep into the night, approaching the third watch. Though moonlight persisted, visibility was poor.
Qiao could picture it: Qin Mu, cloaked in darkness, puppeteering the corpse as it closed on the other disciples. They would have had little warning. By the time they could see clearly, it would already be too late to dodge his blade.
Corpse manipulation existed beyond the Corpse Immortal Sect—other dark and heretical sects practiced it too, each with their own variations. The Corpse Immortal Sect was the acknowledged master of corpse control and corpse cultivation, though their reputation was poor.
Judging by Qin Mu's method, it was no less remarkable. To kill a Corpse Immortal disciple and then pilot the corpse so naturally that the other disciples noticed nothing—such skill in corpse manipulation was exceedingly rare.
"Somewhat resembles the Heavenly Demon Cult's Corpse Dominion Art. . . ."
Qiao pressed on. Before long he found the second corpse, then the third, the fourth . . .
His eye twitched when he reached the seventh. This one had been flayed—the skin peeled away entirely—yet there was no blood. Despite the flaying, not a drop had been spilled.
Qiao's face drained of color. He let out a turbid breath. "The Celestial God Creation Art! This boy is a disciple of the Heavenly Demon Cult!"
The corpse was unrecognizable. In other words, Qin Mu could now be any of the pursuing disciples.
A murderous glint flashed through Qiao's eyes. He continued the chase. Before long, he encountered a cluster of Corpse Immortal disciples standing in a tight circle, eyes darting warily. When they spotted him, they relaxed with visible relief.
One called out, "Martial Uncle Qiao . . ."
Qiao flicked his fingers in rapid succession. Needles thin as ox-hairs shot out like lightning, piercing the brows of every disciple.
Their eyes glazed instantly. Their souls dissolved in a rush, and white foam spilled from their mouths.
These needles were Qiao's spirit weapon—the Corpse-Stitching Needles. A single puncture dissolved the victim's soul, leaving a walking husk without consciousness. Even a Great Immortal could not reverse the effect.
A female disciple whimpered, "Martial Uncle Qiao, why . . . ?"
Qiao moved swiftly among them, examining their bodies, and frowned.
He hadn't found Qin Mu!
If Qin Mu had used the Heavenly Demon Cult's Celestial God Creation Art to shed skin and assume a disciple's appearance, there should be a red line marking the false skin. None of these disciples bore such a mark.
Qin Mu was not among them.
"Curse it—a trap! I killed the wrong people."
His eye twitched again. He regarded the fallen disciples and calculated silently: If he left their bodies, the Sect Master and the other old ghosts would surely notice. Better to destroy all evidence.
He flicked a nail, releasing a fine powder that settled on the corpses. The bodies dissolved instantly into a foul sludge—flesh, bone, and clothing all liquefied into puddles of pus.
Qiao exhaled, scanning the surroundings. He spotted no trace of Qin Mu. Suddenly his body swayed, and a cascade of red specks poured from beneath his Daoist robe—tens of thousands of Corpse Beetles.
The beetles spread their wings and fanned out in every direction. The moon sank westward and the eastern sky paled. The red beetles drifting through the air resembled fireflies wandering the fields before dawn.
"A first-rank official's court blade—more than enough to serve as our Sect's guardian treasure," Qiao murmured, gazing at the dawn glow in the east. "The Sect Master has sat in that seat long enough. Perhaps it's time he shifted his weight. . . ."
---
The Great Ruins. Village of Broken Elders.
"Child, time to wake and eat. Still sleeping?"
Grandma Si froze as the words left her mouth. Qin Mu had been gone for days, yet every time she cooked she still made an extra portion, then called for him to come eat—only to remember each time that he had left the village.
She sighed and ate breakfast alone. She left the dishes unwashed, sitting blankly at the table.
Then the small old woman rose, tiptoed into her room, tidied up, slung a basket over her arm, and slipped out of the house, heading for the village entrance.
The Herbalist and the Village Chief sat at the gate, sipping tea with leisurely ease.
Grandma Si walked past them without a word.
"Grandma Si, leaving without so much as a goodbye?" the Village Chief drawled.