activa-t Chapter 85 The Gourd of Human Heads
Chapter 85 The Gourd of Human Heads
Chapter 85 The Gourd of Human Heads
Upon hearing Zhou Xing's words, the Japanese samurai's expression changed several times, and his narrow eyes stared intently at Zhou Xing.
Finally, his expression darkened, and he slowly stepped aside to make way, spitting out a few words: "Remember, I am Yagyu Muneaki. You will regret this."
Zhou Xing smiled and walked past him, his voice neither too loud nor too soft: "The Way of Patience, indeed, is about endurance."
Without stopping, he strode towards the inn's entrance, leaving behind the words, "If you don't want a slap, get out of the way."
Just as a few more men rushed out from the inner room and were about to block the door, a "whoosh" sounded behind Zhou Xing, and twelve constables stepped forward in unison, raising their long guns and short guns instantly, the muzzles cold and pointed directly at the men's foreheads and chests.
These old hands had no expression on their faces, but their numbness and demeanor were more frightening than any shout.
The men froze, their hands on their waists, too afraid to move.
Zhou Xing ignored them and walked straight to the counter.
The accountant was still sitting upright, his fingers fiddling with the abacus beads, his eyelids drooping.
"Sir, this is a legitimate shop—"
He pretended to be serious, but secretly reached his fingers under the abacus.
Zhou Xing stepped forward, reached out with his left hand, grabbed his wrist and pulled it outward, then snatched it with his right hand.
"Snapped!"
The slap was loud and crisp. The accountant was spun halfway around on the spot and fell onto the counter. Blood splattered from his nose onto the account book, and he saw stars before his eyes.
Zhou Xing shook his hand, concentrated and held his breath, slowly channeling his energy into the toad-fishing technique, listening to the force as if mercury were flowing onto the ground.
Thump-thump—thump-thump—that's a normal person's heartbeat.
A creaking sound came from the beam.
There was another sound, extremely muffled and hollow, coming from three feet below in the southeast corner, in a hollow cavity.
Zhou walked to that spot and stomped his foot. The sound was off. He glanced at the trembling accountant on the ground.
"Should I open it myself, or should I kick it open?"
The accountant's lips trembled as he pointed to a vase in the corner.
As Zhou Xing twisted and turned, the floorboards slid open with a "crack," revealing a dark staircase, from which a chilling aura mixed with incense and medicinal herbs rushed up.
Hans immediately stepped forward, raising his gun in a guard position. Zhong Ding craned his neck to look, then swallowed hard.
Zhou Xing was the first to go down. The basement wasn't large, but it contained strange statues of gods, and the table was covered with talismans, bone artifacts, and a box of miscellaneous items.
They are all evil objects; there are no tokens of faith.
Zhou Xing glanced at it and said to Hans, "Seal all the items in boxes, affix the police station seal, tie the person up, and take them back."
"yes!"
Hans pulled out a thick hemp rope that he had prepared beforehand, tied a slipknot, put it around the accountant's neck, tightened it, then pulled over two stewards and put the same rope around their necks. With a pull of the rope, the three men's necks were tied together, and they could only stagger along.
Hans held the other end of the rope in his hand.
The entire process took less than fifteen minutes, and the inn was completely under control. A crowd of onlookers stretched across half the street.
After leaving Longmen Inn, Zhou Xing didn't linger. He took out the list and led his men to the next location.
Fushoutang Opium Den.
The opium den employed seven or eight ruthless guards, and the owner was a tough nut to crack. Upon seeing the police arrive, the guards immediately blocked the entrance, brandishing axes and machetes.
The boss, hiding behind someone, cursed, "What kind of scoundrel dares to come to my turf? Does he know who's protecting him?"
Zhou Xing didn't waste any words and pressed his hand down.
The twelve guns behind him instantly rose to their level, a series of "clicks" as the bolts struck, their muzzles cold and menacing, pointing directly at the heads and chests of each guard.
"Police officers who resist arrest are shot dead on the spot."
Zhou Xing's voice was not loud.
The guards' morale plummeted as they stared at the dark muzzle of a gun.
Zhou walked forward, and the boss was still yelling. He slapped him across the face.
"Smack!" The boss was slapped and hit the door frame.
"Take it down, search it."
Hua Bu rushed in like a wolf, tied his hands behind his back, and put a rope around his neck. The opium den owner and his three head guards were tied up with the rope.
The onlookers, who were smoking, fell silent in fear.
Behind the line, a long string of people began to appear.
A large quantity of specially made soot paste mixed with talisman ash and "yin materials" prepared for transport were found in the cellar. Is this the territory of Yiguandao, or is there no token?
Yoshida & Co. warehouse.
The Japanese manager was very polite, bowed, and handed over various documents: "Sir, we are legitimate businessmen with all the necessary paperwork. We need some time to prepare if you require further information—"
Zhou Xing said directly to Chen Qi, "Read the terms."
Chen Qi immediately recited aloud the details of the Joint Security Ordinance of the Concession regarding "emergency inspection of suspected contraband."
The law was on his lips. Zhou Xing waved his hand, and the constable, gun in hand, entered the warehouse area. The supervisor tried to stop him, but Zhou Xing glared at him: "Are you going to defy the law?"
The steward's eyes were cold, and he lowered his head, saying, "I wouldn't dare."
Goods were piled up like mountains in the warehouse.
Zhou Xingting subtly moved his senses and walked to a row of wooden boxes labeled "Nanyang Dried Goods," where he had them pried open. The top layer contained dried goods, while the bottom layer consisted of earthenware jars sealed with oiled paper and covered with incantations.
Zhou Xing picked up a jar and walked up to the pale-faced steward.
Is this legal?
"This—this is—"
"Slap!" A crisp slap.
Is this legal?
The manager covered his face and bowed ninety degrees: "It's—contraband, we failed to notice—"
"Seize everything and take the people away."
The rope was put around the manager's neck. He struggled violently for a moment, but the Chinese constable behind him poked him in the ribs with the butt of his gun, and he immediately became obedient and was dragged into the ranks.
His sharp suit stood out conspicuously among the long line of prisoners of all kinds.
The backyard of the Tzu Chi soup kitchen.
This is the charitable organization's public charitable hall.
The old steward, leading a group of ragged women and children, knelt at the door, wailing and crying, "Your Honor! What crime have we committed in distributing porridge and doing good deeds!"
"If you close the soup kitchen, what will these children and elderly people eat?"
The large crowd of impoverished people, their emotions stirred, glared angrily at Zhou Xing and his group.
Zhou Xing remained unmoved, his listening skills already pinpointing the well in the backyard. He had someone remove the well cover and lower the rope.
"There's a horizontal hole three zhang (approximately 10 meters) down in the well. Let's retrieve it
Sure enough, they pulled up a booklet tightly wrapped in oilcloth. It was filled with densely packed birth dates and times, as well as records of recent violent deaths in the no-man's-land.
Deeper still, there are monstrous organs soaking in the medicinal solution.
The people were in uproar! Their shock and fear turned into anger towards the stewards of the soup kitchen.
Zhou walked up to the limp old steward.
"What is this?"
"Yes—yes—"
"Slap! Slap! Slap!" Three slaps, one on the front and one on the back, were quick and heavy, and the old steward was knocked unconscious.
"Tie it up."
Zhou Xing turned around and clasped his hands in a fist salute to the agitated crowd.
A rope was put around the old manager's neck, and several key accomplices were also identified and tied together.
The onlookers watched as the long line of dejected prisoners, led by ropes, walked out of the soup kitchen, pointing and whispering amongst themselves.
Abandoned City God Temple.
This place wasn't on the list. Zhou Xing found it at the end of a sewage river in the deepest part of the interspersed area, based on a common secret mark on the ledgers of the previous outposts.
This place is the most remote; the temple gate is dilapidated, and weeds grow taller than knee-high. Prying open the door, the inside is covered in dust and cobwebs.
However, Zhou Xing listened intently and the echo from the underground cavity was obvious.
The entrance is behind a decaying statue, next to a thick bluestone slab.
Two Chinese constables pried it open with force, and a pungent smell rushed out, stronger and more irritating than any other place before.
There were faint flickering lights and human voices below.
Zhou Xing made a hand gesture.
Hans nodded and was the first to go down with a shotgun, followed closely by Zhou Xing. The twelve policemen entered in pairs, their steps light and swift, their guns always pointing in different directions.
The staircase was steep and long, leading to a huge basement that was wider than the temple above.
This place doesn't look like a warehouse; it looks like a den of demons.
The walls were painted dark red and covered with twisted black runes. Dozens of oil lamps flickered in the niches, casting eerie shadows throughout the room.
In the center was a stone altar, stained with bloodstains of varying ages, which had turned a dark brown.
On a wooden shelf beside the altar, dozens of tanned human skins hung neatly, as thin as cicada wings, gleaming pale under the lamplight;
On the other side, various deformed fetuses were soaking in a glass jar, the liquid murky.
Even more horrifying was the corner where no fewer than twenty small, broken, thin-skinned coffins were piled up, each only big enough to hold an infant.
Several figures dressed in dark red robes were busy at work; some were grinding unknown bone powder, while others were writing runes on human skin.
Beside the altar, two men who appeared to be the leaders were whispering to each other. One of them held a bone staff, his face was ashen like a corpse, and his eyes were sunken.
There were also more than a dozen elite thugs around him, with short knives at their waists and fierce eyes.
The sound of Zhou Xing and his group coming down startled them.
All movement ceased. Dozens of gazes simultaneously turned towards the stairwell, cold and cruel, as if watching prey that had intruded into their lair.
The sorcerer with the bone staff slowly turned around, his eyes sharp and sinister: "Police? You've found your way here. You have a good nose. Who gave you the audacity to trespass on my altar?"
The thugs silently drew axes, daggers, iron rulers, and some even had a bulge at their waist that looked like a short gun.
They slowly dispersed, subtly forming an encirclement. Their movements were coordinated and methodical, clearly indicating they were well-trained, and combined with their evil magic, they had harmed countless people in the past.
Zhou Xing remained expressionless, raising his right hand: "Clear the area."