Chapter 192: Little Devils

Zhou Qing had roughly heard the full story. Impatiently, he waved his hand, and an invisible force surged from his palm, slamming straight into Zhang Zhiming behind the door of the ancestral hall.

Zhang Zhiming’s figure was sent flying. He staggered back several zhang into the hall before collapsing to the ground.

No wounds marred his body, nor did he feel any pain. Yet his face was filled with raw terror.

“Huang Daxian, please come out and save me! If you don’t, I’ll have no life left, and no one will offer you sacrifices ever again!”

As Zhang Zhiming’s anguished shout echoed through the ancestral hall, the heavy snow above the mountain top suddenly grew darker. An invisible gale rose on the peak.

The wind cut through the chill like blades. Yin Mao stumbled back several steps, pressing himself against Zhou Qing’s side and staring toward the black ancestral hall.

The sudden upheaval in the heavens made Yin Mao’s expression grave. When he hid behind Zhou Qing, he glanced at his master. Zhou Qing still stood calm and composed. His own fear eased.

As the sky outside darkened, Zhang Zhiming stepped out from the hall and onto the threshold.

“Haha, Yin Mao Yin Tianshi—you delivered yourself to the door today, so death is inevitable. And the helper you brought will die here with you. Do you think you’re not harming him?”

While Zhang Zhiming sneered at the two men outside, an illusory figure flickered inside the hall and materialized beside him.

The moment the phantom appeared, Yin Mao’s face drained of color. It was no ordinary evil spirit—it was a ghost cultivator.

Zhang Zhiming greeted the newcomer with a respectful bow, then turned to Zhou Qing and Yin Mao with a mocking laugh.

“Haha, scared yet? I told you it was too late.”

Zhou Qing had expected the ghost cultivator’s arrival. Causing even slight changes in a small patch of sky required real power.

“Was the poison on my disciple placed by you?”

He looked straight at Huang Daxian, the ghost cultivator beside Zhang Zhiming, and asked calmly.

The named Huang Daxian caught a trace of undisguised shock on his face at Zhou Qing’s calm, fearless expression.

From that alone, one could tell Zhou Qing was no ordinary cultivator.

Yin Mao had shown terror when he arrived, yet Zhou Qing remained perfectly composed. The only explanations were that the man was either a master of unfathomable cultivation or a schemer who hid his depth behind a mask of ease.

If the former, a ghost cultivator’s strength might not make him fear Zhou Qing. If the latter, fear was out of the question.

After Zhou Qing’s question, the ghost cultivator’s spiritual form stirred. He drifted out of the black hall and walked step by step across the green grass at the mountain’s edge like a living man.

“Tsk tsk tsk. You little ghost carries quite the airs. What grand pretense is this? Trying to prove yourself an unfathomable high cultivator in front of me? And why bother walking like a human when you’re just a spirit? Want to prove you’re flesh and blood? But you already know you can never be human.”

Seeing the ghost remain silent, Zhou Qing answered sarcastically, then looked up at the sky and laughed.

“You just kicked up such a fuss to pretend to be mysterious in front of me. How utterly laughable.”

As he spoke, Zhou Qing raised one hand and pointed at the sky. Dark clouds began gathering at once, visible to the naked eye.

Moments later, the clouds thickened and swallowed the entire mountain peak.

Under Zhou Qing’s single finger, the darkness on the peak turned as black as night within ten breaths. Yin Mao, standing behind him, was stunned.

He had known ten years ago that his master was formidable, yet he had never imagined Zhou Qing could reverse the heavens with a mere gesture. The world itself seemed to bow before that lifted hand—wind and clouds surged, color drained from the sky.

Zhang Zhiming’s expression froze the instant the sky darkened. He stared blankly upward, knees buckling, and sank to sit inside the small black hall.

The ghost cultivator’s inner shock was no less than Yin Mao’s. He had planned to kill the master and disciple, flaunting his power to feed his vanity. Now danger had found him.

“Little ghost, I’m asking again: was the ghost poison on my disciple placed by you?”

Zhou Qing still asked politely the second time, though the answer was obvious. He was not unreasonable, and he knew the hardships of those who became ghost cultivators. Over the years he had met one, and the man had described the trials.

Though fear flickered in the ghost cultivator’s heart, he kept it from his face.

“I won’t ask a third time. If you don’t answer within three breaths, you will die today.”

Zhou Qing’s tone turned icy. He thrust out one hand and pointed. A bolt of lightning lanced down from the clouds.

“Crack—”

The thunderclap rang sharp and clear. The white lightning struck a small tree just beyond the ghost cultivator, splitting it cleanly in two.

The strike shattered the cultivator’s arrogance in an instant.

This world was merciless. No matter how strong a person was, if someone stronger existed, they became nothing but a younger brother—nothing but a weakling in his presence.

“It was me,” the ghost cultivator admitted, voice trembling with terror. “I didn’t know he was your disciple. Your disciple is unharmed. All of this is my doing. For the sake of your difficult cultivation, spare me this once.”

From the lightning Zhou Qing had called down, the ghost cultivator had seen no intent to kill. If the bolt had struck his spirit form directly, he would have been truly scattered to nothing.

If the lightning had struck his spirit form directly, he would have been truly scattered to nothing.