CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 33 GLASSES

An ordinary private car was driving down the streets of Virtue City in the early morning. Mo Zhicheng sat in the passenger seat. The phone rang, and he opened the glove compartment, taking the phone from inside.

"Boss, I can’t hold on any longer. Your location has basically been locked in. In no more than five minutes, you’ll be found."

"Is it over there done?"

"Just finished, they’re getting ready to send the ’zongzi’ back."

"And the item?"

"The item hasn’t been taken back to the Funeral Home. According to protocol, they’ll take it back and seal it up at the Scorching Sun Department."

"Alright. Proceed with the backup plan."

Mo Zhicheng tossed the phone back into the glove compartment and pushed his glasses up. Things had deviated a bit from the plan.

Aside from him inexplicably exposing some things and getting tailed, he’d also misjudged the strength of the local Scorching Sun Department.

Not underestimated—overestimated.

Of the power in Wei State’s defenders, besides those transferred to Duanzhou, the people left really couldn’t hold the fort.

They actually let that newly awakened zongzi rush out, and it even managed to escape for this long.

Even if they just used firearms for suppression, that would have been enough—they should’ve been able to control it. He couldn’t understand how things turned out like this.

Mo Zhicheng pondered and could only reach one conclusion—even though he already knew that in Nanwu County, Yu State had the greatest strength, while the farther from Yu State, the more the power fell off a cliff.

But despite having accounted for that, in the end he’d greatly overestimated the remaining strength of Virtue City’s defenders.

The one who contributed the most tonight turned out to be some guy who scams ordinary people by performing dharma rituals for money.

Mo Zhicheng couldn’t help but find it both funny and absurd.

Just then, his phone rang. He answered it, and a mocking laugh came from the other end.

"Yo, Glasses, need a hand?"

"No." Mo Zhicheng snorted coldly.

The person on the other end instantly turned icy cold.

"Then you better not go screw up in the gutter. You should know, to cooperate with you at full capacity, we’ve paid a heavy price.

We’re on the verge of getting wiped out at any moment. If the Scorching Sun Department increases their threat rating just a bit, we might have to cross paths with Tuoba.

Forgot what happened last time? Do you think anyone among us could take on that not-human bastard?

If you fail, you’d better stay alive and run—I have a special fondness for your brain.

Oh, and the people working with us have arrived in Nanwu County now.

Alright, I’m done talking. Satisfied? Bye-bye.

No need for you to say anything else—I don’t want to get brainwashed by you into an idiot."

The phone went dead with beeps. Mo Zhicheng showed no emotion, tossing the phone out, landing it precisely under the wheels of a cargo truck in the opposite lane.

He parked the car at a street corner, got out, and looked around. When he spotted the rooftop of a high-rise, he smiled slightly, nodded in its direction, and turned into the building.

...

The hopping corpse was completely restrained and being dragged toward the Funeral Home. In all of Wei State, only the luxury furnace at Virtue City Funeral House could incinerate this hopping corpse to ashes.

"There are two luxury furnaces at Virtue City Funeral House—one basic, one high-end. The high-end one, including the necessary attachments, cost nearly fifty million to build.

After just one use, it needs maintenance, refueling, maybe even some parts replaced. One use costs as much as three years of my salary."

Feng Yao explained to Wen Yan, the Funeral Home worker, about the most valuable thing in the building.

"That expensive?"

"It’s pricey, but worth it. That high-end luxury furnace once turned a flying zombie into ash. To get the same effect, you’d need a group just below Celestial Master Zhang himself, totally prepped, with a full-on Dharma Altar ritual. But all we need is cash."

Wen Yan thought about it. Put that way, it really was worth it, because with enough money, you could keep duplicating the thing.

He’d watched Zhang Laoxi in action. That force couldn’t possibly compare with a sniper rifle bullet, but it could break through the hopping corpse’s defenses—the coffin nail pierced in, and the creature needed a good while to squeeze it out.

But sniper rifles with what seemed like specially made bullets—those wounds were healed by the hopping corpse in just a few breaths.

Just then, Feng Yao heard something in his earpiece and his expression turned serious.

"Found him."

His face was grave as he began typing frantically on the keyboard.

In less than ten minutes, Feng Yao breathed a slight sigh of relief.

"Got him."

On a blown-up surveillance screen, several team members with noise-canceling earmuffs were seen knocking out a now-unconscious Mo Zhicheng, taping up his mouth, then tying him up.

"How do we deal with this dutiful son?"

"That’s not my problem anymore. Interrogation specialists will step in. The Scorching Sun Department has a division of labor. My job right now is dealing with the hopping corpse."

"There are still tons of things I don’t understand. If I don’t figure them out, I feel really unsafe. Just feels wrong."

Wen Yan frowned. Ever since Feng Yao had told him that Mo Zhicheng had some kind of hypnotic or persuasive power using words, he’d been confused by all this.

If Mo Zhicheng knew his father’s body, according to procedures, would be sent to the Old Ice Warehouse—that required a premise:

Someone had to send his father into the Old Ice Warehouse.

Whether Mo Zhicheng knew that beforehand or not, by now he was certain: someone inside Virtue City Funeral House could pull it off.

Because his father managed to get the Wooden Armor Mask out—that meant he must’ve been taken into the Old Ice Warehouse.

If he wanted to confirm it was Wen Yan, with Mo Zhicheng’s abilities, that shouldn’t have been difficult.

So here’s the question: why didn’t Mo Zhicheng just quietly find a chance to hypnotize or persuade Wen Yan, and get him to grab it from the Old Ice Warehouse directly?

Why all this trouble now?

The whole thing reminded Wen Yan of the person he saw smiling at him at the bus stop ad board—a smile with a hint of cruelty. That still hadn’t been resolved.

That was back when he’d only just started working at the Funeral Home for a few days.

Wen Yan could only confirm: if there was an easier, quieter, higher success-rate way, there was no way a guy who could talk his own father into willingly dying and becoming a vengeful hopping corpse would give up on it.

Just as the vehicle was nearing the Funeral Home, Zhang Laoxi suddenly spoke up.

"Problem."

Everyone turned to look. Through the glass they saw the hopping corpse, wrapped in yellow cloth and placed in the pickup bed, beginning to leak blood from its face, staining the cloth.

Zhang Laoxi slammed on the brakes, rushed to check, and pulled back the yellow cloth covering the hopping corpse’s eyes. Inside the hollow eye sockets, two streams of bloody tears kept flowing. Its head was beginning to move slightly under the restraint.

"Quick, ask your people if something’s gone wrong on their end!"

...

Mo Zhicheng, dressed in a Scorching Sun Department field agent’s tactical suit, reached out and patted a teammate on the shoulder, glancing at the few people on the ground as he softly reassured:

"Don’t worry, they’re all alright—just unconscious. Otherwise it wouldn’t make sense.

This mission was a great success. When I get back, I’ll personally report to the Minister.

You know the Minister just parachuted in—not many trusted folks under him. I just happened to arrive first...

This thing, without that zombie, couldn’t possibly have been retrieved. It’s a big deal. We had to resort to this.

Some things have to be done, even if they can’t be brought to light, even if... I’m telling the truth."

"I understand. These were all done by Virtue City’s Mo Zhicheng." The teammate handed over the box that was supposed to be covertly returned to the Scorching Sun Department.

"Good job. Be careful." Mo Zhicheng patted the teammate’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile.

"Thank you, sir." The teammate handed Mo Zhicheng his partner’s anesthetic gun.

Mo Zhicheng fired it into his own thigh. The teammate staggered for a few seconds before collapsing.

Mo Zhicheng smiled and slowly removed his rimless glasses from the bridge of his nose.

In the next moment, the features of his face began to shift imperceptibly, and within a few seconds, he looked like a completely different person.

His face looked gentle, a faint smile always on his lips, an air of trustworthiness and affinity between his brows.

He took out a small mirror and, facing his reflection, intoned solemnly:

"You are not Mo Zhicheng. I’m telling the truth."

With that single sentence, even his eyes changed completely.

Now, his whole body—his frame, appearance, presence, temperament, even his gaze—was all someone else.

He took out a glasses case, carefully stored the rimless glasses, then pulled out a suitcase, took some new clothes from it, changed, placed the box with the Wooden Armor Mask inside, closed the suitcase, and pulled out a new phone.

"Hello? Shifu, it’s almost our appointment time. Are you here yet? I’m in a hurry."

"Ah, sorry, I just noticed my phone was dead and shut off automatically. Yes, yes, I’m almost there, so sorry for the wait."

Mo Zhicheng, dragging his suitcase, ambled to the street corner and got into the car he’d booked yesterday.

...

"They replied: all normal on their end."

"Impossible." Wen Yan looked at the hopping corpse sobbing bloody tears, feeling more and more that something was wrong—but couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

Feng Yao frowned slightly but said nothing. This time, he didn’t bother asking directly, but activated his privileges to check the team members’ locations.

According to his display, the team escorting the mask had already left the city, heading due east.

The team escorting Mo Zhicheng was also transporting him to the nearest holding area.

He stopped using the current comms and took out his personal phone, dialing a number. It went through, but no one picked up for a long time.

He immediately dialed another number; still no answer.

Feng Yao’s face turned grim. The other side clearly had network experts, so he had kept a backup plan. This was an emergency channel he set up privately with both squad leaders.

No way—these were all elite operatives. How could they get silently knocked out?

At this moment, the hopping corpse’s head, with a faint cracking of bone, slowly twisted to the side.