Chapter 22: A Complete Transformation

Not long after Gu Changqing underwent the marrow cleansing and blood transformation, two young men sneaked up to the wall outside the villa.

“Are we really going in?”

“What’s there to be afraid of? Big Boss Jin is dead. There’s plenty of valuable stuff inside—just picking up a few things will bring in a lot of money,” the other replied.

When Jin Manfu was alive, no one dared to have designs on this place. But now that he was gone, what was left to fear?

Moments later, the two entered the villa. They first tried the main door, but it wouldn’t budge.

So, they pried open a window and climbed through.

“Did you hear something?” One of them bent low as soon as he landed, glancing nervously at his companion.

“What could there be to hear here? Unless someone else beat us to it. Hurry up, before someone else gets ahead of us! You brought the tools, right?” The other grew tense.

“Shh, don’t you hear it? Sounds like a lot of people screaming in agony!”

“Maybe you’ve watched too much TV,” the other said offhandedly, then tilted his head to listen. After a moment, he forced a smile.

“Probably just the wind. Don’t scare yourself.”

With their flashlights in hand, they swept the room, then pushed open another door. The shrill, mournful cries grew louder.

There were voices of men and women, old and young, countless cries overlapping, so chilling that their hair stood on end.

“Ghosts!” Both shuddered, their scalps prickling.

These two, who had roamed the streets for years, knew more than ordinary people. They’d heard about people disappearing or meeting strange ends in the dead of night recently. Though they’d been skeptical before, now they were dripping with cold sweat.

“What do we do? Are there really ghosts?”

“What ghosts? Big Boss Jin has only been dead a few days,” one of them tried to steel himself. If he didn’t repay his gambling debts soon, he’d have more to fear than ghosts—he’d become one himself.

“Let’s check it out... It must be someone putting on a show!” He drew a knife from his waistband, gritted his teeth, and followed the sounds.

The source was upstairs.

Carefully, they traced the noise to a bathroom.

Easing the door open, their flashlights swept inside, and their breaths nearly stopped.

In the bathroom was a large bath, filled with boiling blood, its stench overwhelming.

Within the bubbling pool, faces surfaced and broke apart, the wailing seemingly the final anguished cries of those faces.

And in the blood pool, a cocoon of blood throbbed rhythmically, as though a heart beat within.

The two gaped, mouths agape, their flashlights falling to the floor.

“Ghosts! Run!”

They scrambled out of the villa, tumbling over themselves, vaulted the wall, and fell hard, limping toward the van parked nearby.

...

A day later, the blood in the bath began to dry.

The blood cocoon had grown several times in size, with distorted faces emerging on its surface, stretching the congealed blood as if trying to escape.

It was a scene straight from a nightmare.

Another day passed, and the faces on the cocoon faded, while the cocoon itself shrank. Even the agonized cries dwindled.

In their place came a sound like waves crashing against rocks from within the cocoon, growing ever louder, booming like thunder.

Accompanying it was a slow, powerful heartbeat.

That night, a few more thieves with similar intentions slipped into the villa, but as soon as they entered, the sounds of crashing waves and pounding heart greeted them.

Bravely, they tried to investigate, but the closer they got, the more pain twisted their faces— as if hammers were pounding on their hearts, threatening to burst them at any moment.

Clutching their chests, none dared go further, retreating instead.

Yet after only a few steps, they coughed up blood and collapsed against the wall, their breathing stopping within moments.

If someone had cut them open, they’d have found their hearts shattered.

...

Several hours later, only a thin layer of the blood cocoon remained, now clearly outlining a human form.

After another hour or so, a hand pierced through the cocoon.

First, a few pale, slender fingers appeared, then a hand, tearing the cocoon open to the side.

A man stepped out— his skin flawless and smooth as jade, tall and powerfully built.

Gu Changqing stretched, his bones crackling crisply like beans tossed in a hot pan.

He felt utterly transformed, his whole being crystal clear, his senses sharp as never before, as though decades of shackles had been swept away overnight.

Though his strength had not greatly increased, his power had nonetheless taken a leap.

And over the next period, every aspect of his body would improve further.

The jade blade spun in his palm before he gripped it in reverse.

Two cultivation techniques surfaced in his mind, along with a smattering of other knowledge.

The Blood Sovereign had once been a direct disciple of the Upper Purity Dao Sect, later expelled for turning to demonic ways. This “Flesh and Blood Refining Spirit Method” was, in fact, closely related to the sect’s own arts.

Unlike other sects, the Upper Purity Dao opened internal acupoints to cultivate and nurture divine spirits.

Twenty-four acupoints, twenty-four divine spirits, organized into three realms and eight divisions— each spirit refined enhanced a different ability.

Thus, the Upper Purity Dao was known as the foremost ancient sect.

The “Flesh and Blood Refining Spirit Method” was similar, but cultivated twenty-four Blood Spirits instead.

At the Qi Refining stage, one must open a single acupoint and nurture one Blood Spirit.

Of the two techniques now in his memory, one was the Qi Refining method for this path.

The other was a defensive and offensive art called “Blood Prison Scroll.”

This technique conjured a sea of blood—at higher mastery, a single move could unleash a tidal wave of blood, engulfing the enemy. Any caught within would be reduced to a puddle of blood in moments, their essence absorbed to nourish the user, the rest swelling the blood sea—a marvel of endless utility.

The “Blood Prison Scroll” complemented the “Flesh and Blood Refining Spirit Method.” Though primarily a combat technique, in some ways it also supported cultivation.

Gu Changqing mused: if, in the future, he traveled with a sea of blood billowing behind him, ghosts wailing, the scene would be... quite exhilarating.

Most importantly, after this marrow cleansing and blood transformation, he had been utterly remade, one foot now striding onto the path of immortality.

He had used the blood of three thousand people for his transformation, achieving the highest possible effect. His body could hold far more spiritual energy than the average cultivator—at least fifty percent more.

Casting the same spell, the spiritual energy he could draw upon was much greater, and thus, its power was thirty percent stronger.

“Damn it, that Yu family from Yuanhe!” The more Gu Changqing thought of the Yu family, the angrier he became, his eyes growing dangerous.

He walked over to the shower, washed himself thoroughly, then stood before the mirror.

His skin was now as smooth as jade, making him look several years younger. His features had changed as well, now more reminiscent of his previous life.

Though he resembled his father overall, there were hints of his mother’s beauty in his brows and eyes— especially those thick eyebrows and eyes that seemed to hold starlight within.

Gu Changqing’s expression softened briefly, then he arched an eyebrow, that unrestrained aura flaring even more.

“My appearance has changed quite a bit!”

“I’m taller too—from about one-eighty to at least one-ninety now.”

“But it’s not a big deal.”

After all, his captain had shared in his spoils before; even if he suspected something, he’d keep it to himself.

Besides, Gu Changqing already had an explanation ready— the presence of the guards said it all.

“First, I’ll return to the Security Bureau, since I’ve been missing for so long. Then I’ll use those two bottles of deep blue liquid, and after that, it’s time to settle things with the Yu family of Yuanhe.”

Gu Changqing donned his coat and, on his way out, noticed several bodies lying on the stairs.

He recognized the two small-time thieves from that day, but not the others.

They were all cold, livid with post-mortem marks—no use even as spare parts.

Gu Changqing couldn’t be bothered to deal with them, striding out of the villa.

With twenty meters to the courtyard wall, he pushed off and instantly appeared atop the wall, his movements fluid and beautiful, unique in their grace.

“Indeed, though my raw strength hasn’t risen much, all other aspects have improved significantly,” he thought.

Only when he was a street away did he hail a ride home.

Not to his old apartment, but to the place he’d later rented in the building opposite.

Once inside, he picked up his binoculars and scanned his own apartment—then raised his eyebrows.

Someone was in his home.

A man he didn’t recognize—about thirty, dressed in black, now sitting on his sofa with his fingers interlaced before him, a large ring on his finger.

Sensing something, the man looked this way.

Gu Changqing bared his teeth in a grin. This must be the person Jin Manfu had been entrusted to transport things for.

After all this time, he’d finally shown up.

“I’m damn well pleased!”

But since this man was in his home, Zeng Zhiqian’s fate was likely sealed.

Gu Changqing set the binoculars aside, changed his clothes, picked up a box, and headed out.