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However, Wu Ping remained vigilant, favouring sudden attacks for swift elimination. Calling out one’s own moves was not Wu Ping’s modus operandi. He preferred discreet, unexpected strikes. Zou Qiwen’s demise foreshadowed the Zhang family’s defeat. With the addition of Han Guang, Zhang Renjie succumbed swiftly.

With blood on his face, Wu Ping descended, and Han Guang promptly approached, presenting Zou Qiwen’s storage bag: “Brother Wu, consider this your spoils.” Wu Ping hesitated, his thick-skinned demeanour momentarily perplexed.

Zou Qiwen’s demise, instigated by Han Guang, was reassured: “It’s commendable. Had it not been for Brother Wu instilling fear in Zou Qiwen, pushing him to break through to the seventh level of spiritual guidance tonight, we might have faced adversity. Brother Wu, accept this storage bag.”

Despite starting later than the trio, Wu Ping’s position within the Blood Rain Sect hierarchy, which might dictate authority, became evident. Han Guang smoothly assumed the role of the elder brother, and only then did Wu Ping comprehend that Zou Qiwen had succumbed to his intimidation.

What on earth is going on here? He pondered countless scenarios but never anticipated someone being frightened to this extent. The trio agreed on his disdain for Zou Qiwen, judging by Wu Ping’s expressions, thinking he’d cower in fear. Be meek without putting up a fight. Yet, one shouldn’t underestimate the terror of their battle!

Can an average person not be scared? No one desires death.

Due to differing perceptions, ideas also went astray. In Wu Ping’s view, he hadn’t killed anyone in this world, though mentally prepared. He even felt his magic cultivation lacked competence. Magic cultivation that avoided killing but still instilled fear.

Is that reasonable?

Ultimately, Wu Ping accepted Zou Qiwen’s storage bag. Pleasant surprise! Bigger than what he took from Wu Feng about a cube. Inside were three spirit stones and a stack of silver bills for medicines. Wu Ping was ecstatic.

“Indeed, no need for bloodshed to build, repair, and pave the way,” Wu Ping remarked, a sigh to him but sounding like a mockery of Zou Qiwen and Qingfeng Sect to others.

The Wushuang Qing trio, familiar with Wu Ping’s previous verses, didn’t react, finding his words profound.

Deng Shuangjiang, unaware of the verses, chimed in with a smile, “Good poems! Isn’t it true that the Zhang family facilitated my Deng family’s prosperity without resorting to bloodshed? Hahaha, thank you, masters.”

Wu Ping shook his head and said, “It’s not that simple.”

Of course, he didn’t echo Deng Shuangjiang’s sentiment. Deng Shuangjiang, still smiling, said, “Thank you for your guidance. I get it, I get it.” It wasn’t clear whether he truly understood.

Can this confusion be clarified?

If it were, who would undertake bridge repairs and paving? Wu Ping: I didn’t mean it that way. Though he was unsure of Deng Shuangjiang’s interpretation, it didn’t matter anymore.

Retrieve the Qingfeng Sect technique from the storage bag and toss it to the trio. “I’ll share these. I can’t hoard the good stuff alone.”

Wushuangqing, eyeing Wu Ping’s hefty belly, couldn’t believe it and asked, “This… Brother Wu, don’t you want it?”

“Nah, not my thing,” Wu Ping dismissed it.

Despite the zombie crystal nucleus enhancing him, he wasn’t an extraordinary talent. Ranking sixth or seventh in a class of fifty hardly qualified as a genius. The cultivation speed of this righteous path technique was too sluggish, unsuitable for him in the post-apocalyptic world.

Han Guang and others, however, saw it differently. Their talents were decent, and the chosen magic exercises suited them, making the righteous path technique appealing. Han Guang and Du Yucui admired Wu Ping for their generosity, while Wushuang Qing couldn’t hide her envy, recognising Wu Ping as a potential adversary to the Qingfeng Sect.

“Oh, Deng Shuangjiang, gather the Zhang family corpses. I need them for practice.”

Wu Ping focused on advancing the Blood Flame technique, expecting the corpses to significantly boost his progress.

Everyone stepped back as Deng Shuangjiang asked, “Do you want help extracting their souls, master?”

“Nah, no need,” Wu Ping expressed his disdain, finding living souls inadequate for soul refining. His selection criteria puzzled the others, but it explained the ferocity of the evil spirits in his soul-refining streamers.

Han Guang’s eyes signalled a message to Wushuang Qing, who hinted that she’d have done the same.

“I get it. I’ll arrange for the master to collect them and stack the corpses in this family’s courtyard, okay?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Deng Shuangjiang agreed and trotted off with his son.

As time passed, the house filled with an increasing number of corpses, forming a gruesome mound. Blood streamed down, saturating the air with a nauseating stench. Igniting the corpse mountain, a small flame flickered, casting a sinister glow on Wu Ping’s smiling face.