I Slay Taiyi for the Mortal World

Lu Chenyuan jolted upright from the hard wooden bed, his brow beaded with cold sweat, his chest heaving as though he had just clawed his way up from the depths of a dark and fathomless lake. Even his breath was thick with the effort of someone who had nearly drowned.

He gasped for air, instinctively raising his right hand and splaying his palm open before his eyes.

Outside, the moonlight had grown viscous and frigid without warning, like a thin layer of solidified corpse wax, bathing the woodshed in a deathly pallor. He could see plainly the thin calluses, the marks of years spent in menial labor, lining his palm. Yet, as he stared, an unspeakable horror unfolded.

His five fingers suddenly lost their bones, turning supple and elongating, with thin webs growing between the knuckles. Beneath the skin, several crimson, pupil-less eyes slowly blinked open, rolling coldly within his flesh, surveying both the world and their unwilling host with a mute, malevolent intent.

He could feel, with dreadful clarity, those scarlet orbs turning beneath his flesh, each movement bringing a clammy, slippery sensation—like wet worms writhing just beneath the surface of his palm.

More terrifying still, an icy will crept up his arm, intent on invading his mind. It was a will filled with greed for the world, hunger for flesh, and a scorn for the feeble spark that was “Lu Chenyuan.”

It wanted to live—to replace him.

In an instant, a tide of violent malice surged from the depths of his soul. Images of Zhenhai River’s fishermen, woodcutters, and scholars