Crushing the Decayed

Liu Zheng leaned against the off-road vehicle, idly playing with an unlit lighter. The crisp snap of its metal cap closing echoed far along the national highway.

A few kilometers away, the village entrance was faintly visible. One of the agents, losing patience, sidled up and asked in a low voice,

“Captain Liu, why don’t we go into the village and continue questioning?”

“Staying in the village would just alert the enemy.”

Liu Zheng tucked the lighter back into his pocket, his tone flat. “That would give them time to react.”

After seeing the address, Liu Zheng had already guessed what was going on.

He also had Kuang Jianhua dispatch a team.

At times like this, involving the local police wasn’t ideal. Though it was all within Yangcheng City, a police force with such local ties could become a shield of sorts.

It made sense to avoid that risk.

The first to arrive were Xia Zhi and her team.

As soon as they pulled up, Xia Zhi and Shouzhen got out of the car and walked over.

“Nothing found?” Liu Zheng asked.

“No. The remains all had residual souls attached. The young Taoist helped perform their rites of passage. We can confirm none of them are the vengeful spirit’s host body.”

Liu Zheng nodded, not particularly surprised. The moment he received Lin Mo’s message, he’d already suspected as much.

“If that’s the case, then the vengeful spirit’s corpse must be somewhere else. Where do we search? Should we organize a sweep?”

Xia Zhi asked.

But Liu Zheng shook his head. “No need. Lin Mo sent me a message with an address. I’m pretty sure that’s where the vengeful spirit’s body is.”

At the mention of Lin Mo’s name, Shouzhen hesitated visibly.

He was a bit afraid of running into Lin Mo.

Even the Patriarch had remained silent on the matter, refusing to comment after hearing his report of what had happened.

Kuang Jianhua and his people arrived quickly.

Dozens of men, no sirens blaring, led by a few unmarked cars.

Their convoy headed straight for the address Lin Mo had provided.

Another factory.

Factories really were great places for cover.

Especially in villages or out in the suburbs—big workshops that nobody policed.

The surrounding land was overgrown, weeds nearly waist-high in some spots. The factory walls were smeared with peeling limewash, not even a proper sign in sight.

A place where you could scream for help and no one would hear a thing.

Several teams quickly surrounded the entire facility.

Two security guards were squatting at the entrance, smoking. Before they could even register who was approaching, they were tackled and taken down.

One guard tried to shout, but his head cracked against the concrete floor. He let out a muffled grunt and went silent.

“Team one, team two, cover the back windows. Team three, follow me to breach the door.”

Kuang Jianhua’s orders came fast, without a hint of hesitation.

When the heavy iron door was forced open with a hydraulic jack, a wave of stench hit them—a sour, moldy reek mixed with the cheap smell of instant noodles.

This wasn’t some production floor.

Dim bulbs dangled from the ceiling beams. Below, dozens of bunk beds were crammed together.

Women and children huddled in the grimy bedding, and when the sudden floodlight and the sight of police hit them, they didn’t burst into joy at being rescued. Instead, they shrank back, their faces frozen in a kind of numb paralysis.

They were like parts waiting for shipment, invisible tags stuck on them, waiting for a long-haul truck heading north.

This was just a transit point.

Women and children taken from the south were sold far away, while those taken from the north were trafficked down here.

“Sons of bitches, hope they rot in hell.”

A veteran detective leading the team clenched his jaw so hard it creaked as he watched the scene.

The workshop’s lighting was dim. The so-called supervisors were pinned face-down on the cold concrete floor, hands cuffed behind their backs.

Liu Zheng didn’t bother waiting to go back to the station to follow procedure. He kicked the managers into a makeshift interrogation room and launched into questioning on the spot.

Crouching by the wall, he pinched an unlit cigarette between his fingers and stared one by one at the faces that showed nothing but indifference.

He could tell at a glance—they were all seasoned slicksters.

Progress was even worse than expected.

These old hands knew the game well: human trafficking meant a few years behind bars at worst, but if they admitted to murders, they’d be spending the rest of their lives in prison.

No matter how hard Liu Zheng pushed, they stuck to the same line: “We just shuttled people around. Didn’t know anything else.”

After all, trafficking carried a lighter sentence than killing.

But didn’t trafficking also destroy people’s lives?

Trafficking ripped families apart at the root, yet these monsters were busy weighing their options.

Shouzhen joined the others as they tore through the workshop’s ventilation ducts, drains, and even the cold storage room. They found no bodies, nor did they sense the energy fluctuations of a lingering soul.

Just then, a young officer jogged in and whispered a report to Kuang Jianhua: “Sir, a few people showed up outside. The one leading them says his name is Lin Mo, and he’s here to investigate the case.”

Kuang Jianhua’s brow furrowed. He was about to dismiss some unknown punk, but Liu Zheng—who’d just stepped out of the interrogation room—moved like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. He rushed over: “Quick, bring him in!”

Liu Zheng’s head was pounding. If he couldn’t crack the interrogation, he’d have to haul them back to the Yanhuang Awakening headquarters and use unconventional methods. But that round trip could cost more victims.

With Lin Mo here, everything changed.

Moments later, Lin Mo crossed the threshold, followed by four girls—one of them a child.

The group looked wildly out of place in a workshop that reeked of machine oil and mildew.

Jiang Yunlu stared at the cowering kids and the numb women in the corner. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes instantly reddening. “Damn it, these people deserve to die. Even a firing squad’s too good for them.”

Xie Yuling and Chu Miaomiao said nothing but instinctively moved closer to Lin Mo.

Lin Mo stood in the middle of the workshop, scanning the room. His gaze finally landed on the men squatting in the corner. To others, they just looked mean. But in Lin Mo’s eyes, thick black miasma coiled around their shoulders—the unmistakable mark of conscience-damned wretches, the kind even the Ancestral Dragon would blacklist.

Killing them, in fact, counted as accumulating merit.

Liu Zheng hurried over, sizing up the group behind Lin Mo with a strange expression.

He knew Jiang Yunlu was the daughter of the Situ family’s heiress, and Ning Qingcheng was a top-tier talent. But why had Xie Yuling and Chu Miaomiao—ordinary girls—tagged along?

Lin Mo didn’t waste time on explanations. He cut straight to the point: “We’re here looking for the grandson of a dead old woman. The trail led us here.”

Liu Zheng blinked, then pointed at the group of children. “Did you find him?”

Lin Mo shook his head. “No. The child is dead.”

Old Bai, standing nearby, looked startled. He chimed in, “Was that fierce spirit raising hell earlier… was it the old woman’s grandson?”

Liu Zheng caught on, but his confusion deepened. “But we didn’t find any bodies here!”

"It's just not here, but let me handle it." Lin Mo said coolly, walking toward those cubicles.

The four women followed closely behind.