Chapter 121: Possessed by a Ghoul

It had a physical form, was fast, could induce hallucinations through the diffusion of its powder, and was parasitic. Even worse, it possessed an extraordinary vitality that allowed it to rapidly recover even after being torn apart. How on earth could one kill this two-headed monster once and for all?

It seemed the *juan* vegetable seedlings weren't particularly effective either; otherwise, it wouldn't have dared to get so close to Qi Yan earlier.

They say plants fear fire. Even if it had achieved some form of supernatural sentience, its essence was still that of some kind of flowering plant, right? But... burning it to death wouldn't be easy. Besides, they were out in the wild. A small fire wouldn't be enough, and a large one would inevitably put them in danger too—the creature had plenty of "legs" and could run much faster than a person.

Setting the mountain on fire would mean a life sentence in prison...

Qi Yan truly wanted to just abandon the old man, Uncle Yan, and make a run for it. What was this? He had only come here to find an occult talisman, and now, not only had he lost the lead, but he had also stirred up such a massive disaster.

Watching the monster recover, the vines of varying lengths and thicknesses surrounding it swayed like salivating snakes, their heads bobbing as they stared at Qi Yan.

The *luge* ghost he had summoned had been incapacitated, and the blue spirit that had helped him earlier had vanished without a trace...

Only Qi Yan remained standing in front of Uncle Yan, backing away step by step as the demon slowly crawled toward them. Its two pairs of bloodshot eyes, identical to those of a human, were filled with a fierce, cruel light, laced with a hint of gloating—as if the prey were already in its grasp, and it was in no hurry at all.

Beyond its monstrous shrieking, it could also emit low, whimpering sounds identical to those of an ordinary woman.

Good heavens... Qi Yan felt helpless. If he were truly going to die at its hands today, he would almost rather it have happened while he was under that hallucination. At least, while he would have been oblivious, he might have died "happily," without having to endure this much terror and panic.

What was most infuriating was that the demon could have pounced and killed him instantly, but it chose to move at a leisurely pace. Its two faces, already hideous, stretched into a gloomy, eerie sneer.

Qi Yan let out a long breath from his chest, as if trying to exhale all his fear along with it. He even began to curse, a stream of profanity so fluent and "soul-stirring" that it flowed like water. At this moment, only swearing could soothe the frustration and terror in his heart.

He even blurted out his favorite catchphrase from back when he used to get into trouble: "Damn it, you lousy piece of garbage, you thousand-man-ridden whore! You only pick on the soft targets, don't you? Did I ever offend you? You insist on killing us... turning into a beauty to play the demon, with that lewd smirk on your face—you look like a withered sunflower that's begging to be screwed! You rot, you could choke four thousand three hundred soldiers with your cunt alone..."

"To hell with you, come at me then! The drums of war are beating, if you want to fight, I'm not afraid of you!"

As he spoke, he scrambled to pry open the casing of his occult talisman. He struggled to open the cover, nearly dropping the charm tube itself.

Just then, Qi Yan heard Uncle Yan behind him... as if he had finally stood up from the ground.

Subconsciously looking back, he saw Uncle Yan with his head hanging low, his glasses fallen to the ground. The old man twisted his stiff neck, producing a rattling sound of grinding bones.

He raised his head. His murky eyes had not returned to normal; they remained a dull, lifeless gray. Not only that, but his left cheek, his exposed arms, and his neck were covered in dense, intricate runes—marks that looked like tattoos, though the specific characters were illegible, appearing only as a mass of black ink.

The small, crimson centipede had, in the chaos, crawled onto his forehead. It writhed and twisted across Uncle Yan’s face, creeping along his left cheek toward the root of his ear, until it finally burrowed directly into his ear canal.

Once the centipede had completely vanished inside, Uncle Yan’s body convulsed several times. His mouth split open in a wide, unnatural grin. The expression, paired with his transformed appearance, made him look even more terrifying than the demon itself.

The laughter coming from his mouth was no longer his own; it was the high-pitched, playful giggle of a child, like a toddler who hadn't even grown its teeth. His movements were comical, and as he began to walk, he shuffled with the unsteady gait of a child learning to walk.

Qi Yan, who had just forced himself to summon the courage for a final stand, was stunned and terrified all over again by the sight of Uncle Yan being possessed.

Just as he was considering whether he should knock Uncle Yan unconscious with a club, "Uncle Yan" let out a strange laugh, shoved Qi Yan aside, and pounced on the demon like a nimble old monkey.

He struck with the force of a falling mountain. The moment he pinned the demon’s head beneath him, those eager vines bit into him like electric shocks. But "Uncle Yan" seemed to feel no pain. Ignoring the snake-like mouths tearing at his clothes and flesh, he used his bare hands to dig wildly into the demon’s face.

He didn't even use his fists; like a shrew, he grabbed the demon's hair and gouged at its eyes with his fingers. He didn't care about the disgusting fluid spilling out; he scratched and bit with everything he had.

It was madness... even the demon was caught off guard. It tried to escape, but it was too late; its main body was pinned down tightly by "Uncle Yan." No matter how it attacked with its vines or sprayed its fragrant mist, nothing worked.

"Do you have to be this... desperate?" Qi Yan had been on the verge of breaking the seal on his talisman and had felt quite proud of his own fighting spirit, but seeing "Uncle Yan's" style of assault, he realized he couldn't even compare.

Qi Yan finally realized: the laughter coming from "Uncle Yan" was none other than that *luge* ghost he had summoned earlier.

So that was why he couldn't find it—it hadn't fled or been destroyed, but had possessed Uncle Yan.

"Uncle Yan" had the demon under control; at the very least, it could no longer run and hide. However, even though Uncle Yan was possessed by the ghost and his physical attributes had increased, he was still a mortal in his fifties, and he likely wouldn't be able to hold on for long.

Qi Yan picked up his sharpened wooden stake and charged again. No sooner had he approached than he was tripped by a stray vine, falling face-first into the dirt.

Still, he didn't hesitate. He reached out, grabbed the demon's hair to steady its two faces, and with all his might, drove the wooden stake—which he had coated heavily in *juan* seedling juice—into its face.

"Screech!"

Green liquid sprayed out, splashing all over Qi Yan’s face. This time, he didn't miss; he hit the eye squarely, driving the stake five or six centimeters deep, nearly piercing through the skull.

"Ah!!!"

Qi Yan’s eyes were glued shut by the viscous fluid, and he heard two deafening, high-pitched screams that nearly knocked him unconscious.

Acrid white steam seeped from the demon’s eye socket, smelling of a foul, rotten stench mixed with a cloying floral scent—it was absolutely nauseating.