The moon was bright and the stars sparse. In the western room of the old village chief's house, Wang Zhi's body was covered in knife wounds—sharp blades had sliced through her flesh, leaving grotesque, curling gashes that formed a horrifying pattern. What sent chills down the spine was that these crisscrossing scars eerily composed a sacrificial offering to a deity. On the nearby table, a bloodstained curved knife bore witness to the unspeakably cruel process. The symbols looked inscrutably sinister, their mere sight enough to make one's back crawl with dread. Wang Zhi wore a blue-and-white ceremonial robe, its white portions long since dyed crimson. The village chief and a young man gazed at her motionless form on the bed, both wearing genuine smiles.
"Haha. This woman was worth the great risk we took and the effort spent acting alongside her. The struggle and despair churning in her spirit are as potent as the combined resentment of over a dozen people. Truly befitting a disciple of the True God—you're in for a blessing. Our God will surely reward you greatly," the chief mused, glancing at the young man beside him. The young man's face was alight with excitement, as if fortune had smiled upon him. "Praise be to our God. And to you, Chief. I will surely offer more exquisite souls to our God in the future."
The chief nodded in satisfaction. "Very well. That human swine is ripe today. Take her—we must present our loyalty to our God. We'll also need to perform the nocturnal sacrificial dance. Have the villagers prepare the bonfire and ritual tools. And ensure the ancestral hall is ready—once the dance concludes tonight, we'll proceed there to offer the human swine's soul to our God. The ritual must proceed flawlessly—not a single misstep is permitted."
The young man hurriedly nodded. With that, the chief patted his shoulder, and the two rose to carry the swine from the backyard.
Wang Zhi felt as though she had been submerged in the depths of the sea. She could faintly hear the chief's conversation, but her body was crushed and immobilized, as if weighed down by the ocean's pressure. Even her thoughts had slowed to a crawl. She knew she wasn't the first—nor would she be the last—to be sacrificed. There were others who had come with her, others who had died unjustly before. She had carried the villagers' expectations, and now, the fury, hatred, and crushing sense of responsibility threatened to rupture her from within. She had to do something. But she was powerless. The cycle of defiance and helplessness, of futile resistance, was a torment bordering on madness…
Just as Wang Zhi was on the verge of collapse, she finally encountered a turning point amidst these repeated struggles. As her blood slowly soaked through the bedding and the rust-stained traces from her nails dissolved into her bloodstream, the lingering resentment of souls sacrificed over centuries surged into her spirit like a tidal wave. Once again, Wang Zhi donned the Yazi armor, finally breaking free from her imprisoned state.
It turned out that her spirit had been hovering above her physical body all along, while the symbols and patterns on her flesh transformed into a sharp spear and chains. The spear pierced through her spirit, suspending it mid-air, while the chains bound her tightly, forcing her to face the ancestral hall. The rhythmic chanting from the hall boiled like scalding water, each syllable driving waves of scorching heat toward her. The heat seared her spirit, releasing an eerie fragrance—akin to the scent of a soul being roasted to perfection. Mixed with the hall's specially prepared incense, it was unmistakable: something was slow-cooking her soul as if it were an ingredient.
The Yazi armor granted Wang Zhi just enough space to struggle against the chains. She ignored the deafening shrieks in her mind, like thousands of needles stabbing into her spirit. With all her might, she pushed against the spear's shaft, gradually freeing herself from its impalement. The agony, sharp as a blade carving into her heart, left her spirit limp on the ground shrouded in gray mist. Gritting her teeth, she slowly rose to her feet, closing her eyes as she responded to the obsessions of countless souls sacrificed over the ages.
These spirits had endured endless cycles of torment under the malevolent deity. The only difference was that some had been sacrificed before the village's founding, others after. Once both body and soul were offered, they would appear on the deity's altar, forced to relive their sacrificial deaths over and over in the spirit realm, each time experiencing the despair of failed escape. Too many had already perished in this cycle, leaving behind only remnants of resentment, hatred, and an unyielding attachment to the world. These lingering souls clung to the sacrificial blades, hoping to destroy the cursed instruments—or for someone to wield them in vengeance.
Today, at last, the countless wronged souls had their answer. They slowly coalesced in Wang Zhi's grasp, forming a crimson Tang blade. The sword measured over three feet, its slender body slightly curved, with a thick spine and a razor-sharp edge that gleamed with an ominous dark-red hue. Intricate golden patterns coiled like serpents along the blade, shifting like living things under the light, faintly forming ancient symbols and incantations. Most striking was the hilt's guard, carved into the ferocious head of Yazi—a dragon with bared fangs, as if devouring the blade itself. Its crimson eyes, cold and piercing, seemed ready to glare at the world. The scales were meticulously detailed, seamlessly merging with the guard in a single, imposing piece...
Silently, Wang Zhi swore to shatter this sinister cycle of the malevolent deity, even if it cost her life. It was both a vow to steel her resolve and an answer to the desperate hopes of countless vengeful spirits.
Wang Zhi felt she was unfortunate to encounter such bizarre events. Yet she was also fortunate, for these countless vengeful spirits had no chance to resist, while she—after receiving their collective hopes—gained the right to fight back. Upon answering their expectations, Wang Zhi also learned from these myriad souls how to break this cycle of reincarnation. Armored with curses, a blood sword to slay the demon. The "armored curses" referred both to the Yazi divine armor on Wang Zhi's body and the cursed sigils carved into her flesh while she was trapped in the spirit world. By harnessing the accumulated desire of thousands of resentful souls over centuries to kill the evil god, along with their lingering attachment to time, Wang Zhi could shatter the cycle and face the deity directly. The most impossible part had already been accomplished by Wang Zhi. Now, it was simple: she only needed to use the blood sword to destroy the corresponding idols in both the spiritual and physical worlds.
After her spirit returned to her body, an electric surge of pain shot through her nerves, tearing at her consciousness. Gritting her teeth, Wang Zhi bit her tongue to stay awake. Enduring the agony, she stared at the flaying knife on the table, pondering how to break through the village chief and villagers' blockade to retrieve the iron sword in the physical world. Every plan was forced to a halt when considering the inhuman combat prowess of the chief and his men. "What can I do? There's no way to snatch that ritual sword from them. Unless… I can seize an opportunity during their sacrificial ritual?" Wang Zhi's spirit left her body once more to consult the myriad wronged souls about the details of their sacrifices. Finally, she found her last chance to turn the tide.
Wang Zhi rose and headed to the backyard. The scabs on her scar-covered body split open again as she moved, fresh blood seeping out. Knowing she couldn't leave bloodstains on the path, she clenched her teeth and sprinted to the pigpen. There, she hacked at the trough where the eight-character clue was inscribed. Unable to obtain the ritual sword, Wang Zhi had no choice but to make one herself. And no material was better suited than this pig trough, which had once held the vengeful spirits' collective will to fight back. With each forceful strike, she endured excruciating pain. Blood once more dripped onto the pigpen floor, though thankfully concealed by the scattered pig feed. When she finally pried out a rectangular block of wood, dizziness nearly sent her collapsing. Staggering, she dragged herself to a pile of pig feed nearby. Slowly, she removed her clothes, pushed aside the top layer of feed, and wrung the blood from her garments onto the lower layers to prevent any traces or clues in the courtyard. The scent of blood was unavoidable, but the drafty pigpen's gaps would likely disperse it before the village chief and others finished their ceremony.
Wang Zhi swiftly made her way back to her room and opened the cabinet. Carefully, she used a skinning knife to whittle the wood into the shape of a small sword. She hollowed out a tiny section in the middle, then scraped off the rust from the remnants of the ritual sword embedded under her fingernails, mixing it with her own blood before stuffing it into the wooden blade. She then forcefully hammered the small wooden piece she had carved out earlier back into place with the back of the knife. Now, her physical-world ritual sword was ready.
The countless vengeful spirits had told her that in the end, the village chief would stand before her, pierce her navel with the ritual sword, and offer her to the evil god. If possible, she could use the very sword the chief stabbed her with to destroy the idol. If not, she would have to rely on her own blood-soaked wooden blade. Neither Wang Zhi nor the spirits knew if this would work, but it was the only preparation they could make. Prepare—do everything within her power—and then pray for heaven's mercy to shatter this cruel, inhumane cycle of the evil god and restore justice to the world.
Wang Zhi hid the wooden sword against her chest. Her undergarments had long been replaced with layers of bandages inscribed with symbols, and she tucked the blade snugly between her breasts, where it would be completely invisible from the outside. Glancing down at her chest, she gave a bitter laugh. "Guess this is one of my few advantages, huh?" With that, she lay quietly on the bed, her spirit separating from her body. In one hand, she pulled out the spiked spear that had once anchored her soul, and in the other, she gripped the Yazi Sword.
Now, she waited—for the village chief to deliver her physical body to the final altar, where she would settle the score with this evil god once and for all.
"Reckoning comes for everyone sooner or later! Just you wait—I'll make damn sure you pay… See if you can survive this!"