Just A Daoist Who Occasionally Kicks Ass-Chapter 427: The Bizarre Daoist Temple

Li Yanchu’s expression remained stoic, but his mind was racing. Was this strange painting a cursed killing method? The appearance of a person’s portrait meant they were selected for the next step: drawing the life-or-death lot. But if someone didn’t follow the “rules,” it would kill them outright, and in an extremely bizarre manner.

Although he had heard Zhang Wei’s description of the temple before entering, seeing this strange method of killing firsthand still made Li Yanchu frown.

Zhang Wei hadn’t mentioned that after death or bloodshed, the body would be absorbed into the floor. Was it incomplete intel, or did the temple not possess this sinister ability at the time?

Li Yanchu had a vague guess, leaning toward the latter: the danger level of the temple had clearly increased.

The demonic monk’s magical artifact was impressive, but it only blocked the attack momentarily before he was killed.

After the monk died, Li Yanchu sensed that the chanting of sutras within the temple seemed louder and clearer. It seemed that not only was the strange dragon-headed bird-bodied deity painting problematic, but the entire temple itself was likely cursed or abnormal.

The recitation of the Scripture of Infinite Salvation was strangely sinister, yet it was hard to pinpoint why it felt so unsettling.

As the chanting grew louder, Li Yanchu felt as though his control over his own body was weakening. This was a subtle, creeping influence, yet it felt very direct. The chanting of the sutras entered directly into one’s mind, penetrating the soul.

Strictly speaking, this level of effect didn’t constitute a physical attack, so Li Yanchu merely felt it; he did not activate defensive artifacts such as the Clearheart Jade Pendant or Daoist talismanic armor.

He had already tried Qi Sight, Spirit Wood Technique, and perception with his primordial spirit, but all of these were suppressed within the temple. It was as if he had entered a quagmire, or was enveloped in thick fog, unable to sense or see clearly...

At that moment, the middle-aged feng shui master, accompanied by the seductive mature woman, emerged from the back hall, their faces expressionless.

“What’s in the back hall?” The wandering swordsman, who had been silent in the corner, shouted, finally breaking the tense atmosphere.

The middle-aged feng shui master gave a faint smile. “Nothing at all. If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself.”

The room fell silent again.

This place was rife with deadly danger, and any small mistake could result in death, greatly dampening the group’s willingness to explore.

The wandering swordsman fell silent, but his razor-sharp gaze remained fixed on the feng shui master.

Jus then, Li Yanchu glanced at the feng shui master and noticed that although he had spoken, his facial expression was rigid and numb, giving off a strange, uncanny feeling. It was unclear whether this was his normal demeanor, or something had happened after entering the temple to cause this.

The air was heavy with tension and a sense of killing intent.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The bell rang again, this time clearer than before. The dragon-headed bird-bodied deity on the painting vanished, replaced by a stern-faced man, the wandering swordsman himself!

The swordsman, still wearing his straw hat, showed no expression, yet moved with lightning speed to sit on a meditation cushion, as if he had been ready all along. On the painting, his image wavered like water, then disappeared entirely.

“This meditation cushion is suspicious!” the feng shui master’s eyes flashed with insight.

He exchanged a glance with the seductive woman, each grabbing a cushion, then carefully surveyed the surroundings.

Li Yanchu remained standing in place, motionless. Zhang Wei also stood beside him, frowning, lost in thought. Li Yanchu suspected that the problems in this place would not be solved so easily.

As he pondered, the bell suddenly rang even louder. The burly young man, whose composure had previously been shattered by the painting, gradually regained his calm. He grabbed a meditation cushion firmly in hand.

At this point, only one cushion remained.

Yet, Li Yanchu still did not move, and Zhang Wei felt a flutter of hesitation in his heart. However, in the end, he gritted his teeth and stood beside Li Yanchu, refraining from grabbing the meditation cushion.

Their unusual behavior caused the feng shui master to pause and think. The cushion, which was normally used to protect one’s life, suddenly seemed less valuable. Could there be something wrong with this cushion?

He inspected it carefully but found nothing unusual. Then he exchanged a glance with the seductive woman beside him and gradually moved toward the corner. No matter what, this cushion had just blocked the painting’s deadly curse, so survival came first.

At that moment, a handsome scholar with rosy lips and pearly white teeth entered the room, wearing a moon-white long robe. The young man was extraordinarily beautiful; if he were dressed as a woman, he would definitely be a breathtaking beauty.

Just then, the bell rang, and on the eerie painting, a new image appeared. It was the feng shui master with the bronze bells on his waist! The seductive woman instinctively looked at him, but the feng shui master remained calm. He imitated the straw-hatted swordsman, sitting directly on a meditation cushion.

Sure enough, his image wavered like water and then disappeared, reverting the painting back to the dragon-headed bird-bodied deity. Seeing this, the feng shui master exhaled slightly, relieved.

Until now, Li Yanchu still had not seen the life-and-death lot. It was unclear whether the Mount Taoyuan cave had changed since before, or if these people were using the cushions to resist the strange force.

The feng shui master had temporarily escaped the danger, but the straw-hatted swordsman suddenly widened his eyes as a sharp pain surged through his buttocks and legs. He sprang up, realizing the cushion had somehow completely fused with his skin!

He tried to pull the cushion off, but deep, crimson, monstrous blood vessels surged from it, fusing entirely with his body. His blood was continuously drained by the cushion. Even with his tremendous strength, he could not break free. Instead, the constant blood loss caused his vitality to weaken, and his face to turn pale.

The swordsman acted decisively. He drew a knife from his waist and, with a brutal swing, sliced off half of his buttocks and a portion of the leg skin along with the cushion. The action was shockingly ruthless, revealing stark white bones that sent chills down the spine.

Blood continued to drip from the wound, but as it touched the ground, it was absorbed by the floor.

“What the hell is this thing?!” the swordsman shouted in anger.

As his voice fell, the blood-soaked cushion quickly drained dry, then rapidly dried and crumbled into ash, scattering into the world. The grotesque blood vessels retracted back into the cushion, as if nothing had ever happened...