The person before her had sunken eye sockets, corpse spots covering her entire face, eyes crimson red. Not only was her complexion darkened, but even her fingertips had turned a bluish-black, her nails and teeth grown sharp and elongated.

This was one form of corpse transformation.

Lang Jiuchuan caught the stench of aged, decaying remains emanating from him, and when she had used her spiritual sense to examine his five viscera and six bowels moments ago, she had found them entirely corroded by yin poison — he would not live much longer.

This corpse-poison plague had only erupted a few days ago, yet the symptoms had already progressed to this state. Was it not advancing rather quickly? She looked toward Daoist Zhishang and asked, “Daoist, you arrived early — do you know who in this village was bitten by the corpse specter first?”

“It was Uncle Dazhu.” Someone walked forward with a face full of anguish. It was a young woman roughly the same age as Lang Jiuchuan. She had clearly been bitten not long ago — her complexion was an ashen grey, though not as severe as the others.

Her eyes still retained their reason. Lang Jiuchuan noticed a wide strip of cloth hanging from the woman’s neck, winding all the way to behind her ear. One glance was all it took to understand — she had bound her own mouth to prevent herself from biting others.

“Master, please save us. We don’t want to die. I can bind myself so I won’t harm anyone.” The young woman finished speaking, then fastened the cloth strip over her mouth with a pull, securing her jaw so she could not bite anyone nearby. She then lowered it again and said, “Uncle Dazhu was the first to be bitten — that is the very person you are holding. He lives in the house by the edge of the mountain. While he was still lucid, he said he was bitten on the neck by a corpse ghost wearing a white dress. After that, he bit Auntie Gui, and it spread from there.”

“Where is Auntie Gui?”

“Dead. Pfft—!” The young woman spoke, then spat out a mouthful of black blood, her eyes growing even redder. “Auntie Gui bit her own son. Uncle Gui, in a fit of rage, hacked her to death.”

Lang Jiuchuan pressed the major acupoints on Dazhu, then called the young woman before her. She pressed two fingertips to the woman’s pulse — ice cold to the touch, the pulse beating in rapid, erratic jumps. She asked, “What is your name? Are you willing to be a test subject?”

The young woman was startled. “My name is Xiaoyu. Will being a test subject mean death?”

“Most likely. Someone who tests medicine may die if things go wrong, but with good fortune, you may survive. I can see that you contracted this condition about three days ago.” Lang Jiuchuan said, “Your corpse-poison symptoms are still mild. Let us try whether it can be resolved — consider it a dead horse treated as a living one.”

Xiaoyu choked back tears. “I was bitten by my husband. Though the village has already become a living hell, our betrothal had long been arranged. Three days ago, we lit red candles and performed our wedding rites ourselves, but he suddenly went into a wild frenzy…”

As she spoke, tears fell. She pulled open her collar to reveal the relatively shallow bite mark. “Yet he only bit me just this once, then pushed me away and fled.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s expression darkened. “Fled?”

Xiaoyu nodded through her tears. “I even went into the mountains to search for him, but he is no longer in the village.”

Lang Jiuchuan’s head throbbed with agonizing intensity. She looked toward Daoist Zhishang — the source of the poison had spread, and what they knew was merely the tip of the iceberg. The situation was far more severe and far harder to contain than they had imagined.

The infection was still spreading here, and in Wu Jing, the crisis of person-to-person transmission had already emerged. What of other places, then?

“What are his birth characters?”

Xiaoyu recited a set of four pillars and eight characters. Lang Jiuchuan took a few copper coins and cast a hexagram on the spot. Reading the divination quickly, she said to Daoist Zhishang, “Search toward the southeast. It is an ominous hexagram — exercise extreme caution in all things. Demon-suppressing talismans can temporarily subdue their bloodthirsty ferocity.”

Daoist Zhishang said, “This poor Daoist will take two people to search.”

“I am willing to be a test subject.” Xiaoyu, seeing this, let a desperate will to survive blaze in her eyes. “Even if it means death, I am willing to make one last gamble before I die.”

Lang Jiuchuan immediately had her sit to one side, then took out silver needles and sent them flying to pierce the major acupoints across her entire body. “I have no proper remedy yet. I can only temporarily seal the qi of your major acupoints for now, slowing blood circulation to prevent the poison from entering your viscera.”

Xiaoyu nodded.

Lang Jiuchuan also drew a purification talisman on Xiaoyu’s forehead to expel filth and dispel yin. After finishing all of this, her gaze fell upon the bone bell. Something came to mind, and she summoned the Water Spirit, asking it to condense a trace of watery spiritual mist within the barrier — she did not know whether it would work, but there was no harm in trying.

She looked at the villagers who had grown calm as the spiritual mist descended, her eyes cold and heavy. This corpse-poison plague had already silently spread far and wide. Once it erupted on a massive scale, it would inevitably bring catastrophe upon all living beings — countless souls wailing, the world become a living hell.

She could not help but think of the National Preceptor’s sinister scheme. If he needed the vast life-force, luck, and soul power of innumerable living beings to nourish and resurrect his physical body, then could this plague — one capable of sweeping across the realm — fulfill the deepest wish of his heart?

Lang Jiuchuan felt a chill run through her entire body. She closed her eyes, the tips of her fingers trembling faintly, not daring to let her thoughts go any deeper. She feared she would not be able to stop herself from rushing straight to that old monster and perishing together with him.

She turned to look at Dazhu, then at Xiaoyu beside him whose major acupoints were sealed with silver needles. If this corpse-poison plague erupted on a large scale, administering needles to draw out the poison was not realistic. Setting aside the lack of enough manpower, not everyone possessed the medical skill or the technique of needle-insertion required.

The only way was medicine — purifying talismans combined with herbal decoctions.

Lang Jiuchuan thought for a moment, took a yellow talisman, and using vermilion cinnabar mixed with yang energy, drew a Taiyin Filth-Cleansing Talisman, which she affixed to Dazhu’s forehead.

The Taiyin Filth-Cleansing Talisman carried within it the meaning of purity and cleansing. Though it could not drive out the poison, it could neutralize the corpse-qi on the surface of the body, soothe the already maddened and frenzied spirit-soul, and suppress his bloodthirsty ferocity to some degree.

The moment the talisman was affixed, the man who had been contorted with ferocity and agitation was instantly soothed, his expression becoming peaceful. The dense corpse-qi around him also stalled, as if encountering its natural nemesis, and began to recede and disperse.

It was feasible.

Though driving out the poison with needles was not entirely realistic, Lang Jiuchuan still laid Dazhu down, produced her golden needles, stripped away his garments, and inserted needles at several critical acupoints across his entire body, especially near the surrounding areas of his five viscera and six bowels.

Once the needles were placed, she formed the Crimson Yang Thunder-Fire Seal with both hands and struck it onto the needle shafts. The needle tails trembled in unison, growing searingly hot as flame, driving straight into the meridians.

The fierce thunder-fire energy surged through the needle tails into every limb and bone of Dazhu’s body, purging the yin poison within. The sensation was one of fire and ice simultaneously — he could not help but shake violently across his entire body, letting out a wretched cry.

Lang Jiuchuan placed his head to the side. Watching the agony play out across his face, she remained unmoved, instead waiting quietly until he began spitting up blood without cease.

Mouthful after mouthful of foul, dense black blood was expelled, pungent and nauseating.

Yet as the black blood was vomited out, the corpse spots on his face began to fade, no longer appearing as dark and ghastly as before.

The Daoist priest standing nearby was overjoyed at the sight. “It’s working, it’s working.”

Another Daoist priest murmured quietly, “Don’t make noise. Even if it works, not everyone can administer needles.”

The first Daoist priest stiffened, his expression falling.

Indeed — relying on a single person’s efforts, how many could possibly be saved? There were close to a hundred people here alone, and Lang Jiuchuan was no deity. She would tire, and her spiritual power and vital energy were not inexhaustible.

Lang Jiuchuan watched Dazhu expelling blood, her two fingers resting on his pulse while her mind worked on two things at once. She said to the young Daoist priest, “Write this down: mugwort, cinnabar, realgar, red peony root, fresh rehmannia, licorice root…煎煮 with pure rainwater.”

She recited the primary and supplementary herbs of a new prescription. As for the medicinal catalyst, she and the Water Spirit would provide it.