Chapter 022: The White-Haired Zombie

“Are these people a criminal syndicate or a cult?”

Outside the iron door, Su Cheng noticed that the human skin hanging inside the house was still fresh, as if it had just been flayed from the deceased not long ago. It was also unusually clean, unstained by dust or filth, likely because someone had taken great care to preserve it.

The victim appeared to be a woman, seemingly quite young—about the same age as Izumi Yoshioka.

But why had these people, after killing her, gone to such lengths to carefully remove her skin and preserve it? What was their purpose?

Just as Kurosawa closed the door, Su Cheng slipped by soundlessly and observed the scene inside through the keyhole.

“This batch is pretty good. The boss will be pleased. You lot, go invite the boss out.” Inside the blood-reeking house, a crew-cut man with a knife scar over his left eye eyed the unconscious Izumi Yoshioka, excitement flickering as he licked his lips.

The underlings who’d been playing cards at the table froze, forcing out grimaces uglier than tears.

“Uh, my stomach suddenly hurts. You go ahead with the cards—I’ll just pop to the restroom,” said one with slicked-back hair, sensing the tension and eager to escape.

But as soon as he stood, the crew-cut man grabbed him. “Cut the nonsense—just go.”

Moments later, Su Cheng saw them drag a black coffin out from inside the house.

The slick-haired underling knocked three times on the coffin lid. Suddenly, a heavy crack split open, and a shriveled, white-haired hand stretched out from within.

“Mother of—!” The underling nearly wet himself, but before he could dodge, the white-haired hand flashed out, clamped around his neck, and yanked him into the icy coffin.

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the house, and crimson blood seeped from the coffin. All of them—even the scarred crew-cut man—shivered uncontrollably, their teeth chattering.

Terror spread as the blood pooled.

Soon, the thing in the coffin seemed sated. A black shadow darted out from within.

A white-haired jiangshi—a hopping corpse.

Su Cheng’s eyes widened, a chill settling in his heart. He’d never imagined that such a creature could exist in reality. More absurd was that these people were actually feeding it.

“Boss…” The scarred man was drenched in cold sweat, but forced himself to respectfully offer a tissue to the white-haired jiangshi standing before him. Its flesh was desiccated, resembling bark on a dead tree, its eye sockets sunken, face twisted and terrifying. But should the crew-cut man betray even a hint of fear or disgust, he’d surely end up as food—just like the underling before him.

The jiangshi took the tissue and wiped the blood from its mouth, its ghastly gaze falling upon the unconscious girl.

“Heh heh, is this the catch you brought me?”

“Yes, boss. She’s a street performer. No family or friends in Tokyo—if she disappears, no one will notice, and the police will never trace it back to our Miike-gumi.”

Miike-gumi?

Su Cheng recalled hearing that name from Chu He. They were an infamous syndicate in Shinjuku, involved in vice, loan sharking, and drugs.

So this white-haired jiangshi was Miike-gumi’s boss?

“Well done,” the jiangshi rasped, its voice as chilling as a whisper from the underworld.

Then, to Su Cheng’s shock, the white-haired jiangshi donned the fresh human skin, transforming in an instant into a voluptuous, beautiful woman.

“So the jiangshi was male? Who would have thought he had such a penchant for cross-dressing…” Su Cheng was left speechless, his worldview turned upside down.

With the woman’s skin draped over him, the jiangshi’s movements and expressions were grotesquely unnatural, utterly discordant. Yet no ordinary person, meeting this woman, would ever suspect the horror beneath.

If some lecher happened to hook up with this white-haired jiangshi in disguise… The image was so disturbing that Su Cheng dared not dwell on it.

“This skin’s wearing thin—time for a new one.” The object of the jiangshi’s next change was, of course, Izumi Yoshioka.

As a jiangshi, sunlight was now his bane; he could not remain exposed for long, and needed a human skin to move freely by day. Thus, he had Miike-gumi collect skins for him.

At that moment, a cruel glint flashed in the jiangshi’s eyes. His black nails suddenly lengthened, as sharp as daggers, and lunged for Izumi Yoshioka’s throat.

It was with those same nails that he’d previously flayed another victim so cleanly.

But just as his nails touched the girl, a sudden knocking sounded at the iron door.

Miike-gumi’s underlings tensed, grabbing knives and iron bars as they crept toward the door.

“Could it be the police?”

“No, it sounds like there’s only one person outside.”

The crew-cut man peered through the crack and saw only a young man, a sense of foreboding rising within him. If their deeds were exposed, they’d spend their next lives in prison.

Knock, knock, knock.

A few seconds later, the knocking resumed, thudding against the scarred man’s heart.

“What do you want?” After a moment’s silence, he realized the visitor wouldn’t leave without a response.

“Delivery.”

Delivery?

Who would deliver food to an abandoned building like this?

Had there been a mistake?

“Boss, should we chase him off?” The crew-cut man hesitated and turned to the white-haired jiangshi in disguise.

A bloodthirsty gleam flashed in the jiangshi’s eyes. He shifted his voice, adopting a sharp, feminine tone. “Let him in.”

The crew-cut man dared not refuse, though for some reason the young man outside gave him an odd feeling.

Perhaps he was imagining it—the guy outside looked like just an ordinary delivery boy.

Still, he stayed alert and signaled to the blond underling, “Nakado, open the door. Don’t talk—just drag him in.”

“Leave it to me.”

After a moment, the iron door opened. Nakado feigned reaching for the delivery box, cursing, “Why so late? Trying to starve us?”

But the next instant, a cold flash lit up before his eyes.

A blade swept past, severing Nakado’s reaching arm. Before he could react, Su Cheng kicked him in the chest, sending him flying to land hard at the jiangshi’s feet.

Luckily, Su Cheng had stashed his weapon in his inventory before leaving—a move that made it easy to draw. Had he waited for the police, Izumi Yoshioka would have been dead by then.

“My hand!” Nakado’s forearm had been lopped off at the elbow, blood spurting onto the floor.

With one strike, Su Cheng darted into the room.

Seeing this, the scarred crew-cut man realized the newcomer meant trouble. He raised his machete in a frenzy, hacking at Su Cheng’s head.

But to Su Cheng, the attack was as slow as a scene in a movie.

He dodged easily and thrust his katana forward, the blade piercing straight through the man’s chest.

With a single-handed grip, he drew the blade sideways, shattering the man’s breastbone.

Blood splattered everywhere. The remaining Miike-gumi underlings were dumbstruck, as if a demon from hell stood among them.

“No!” Kurosawa, who’d lured Izumi Yoshioka there, screamed in terror and tried to escape.

The next second, a red line appeared on his throat.

It opened, and his head toppled from his neck, frozen in a mask of terror.

Perhaps, in those final moments, Kurosawa recalled how the girl he’d tricked here had also pleaded for mercy. Yet he had pushed that innocent soul into the abyss with his own hands.

Screams echoed as more bodies piled at Su Cheng’s feet.

With his soul strengthened, Su Cheng’s speed and reflexes were inhuman; these Miike-gumi thugs stood no chance and were cut down with ease.

Their hands were stained with blood. They all had reasons to be sent to hell, and killing them gave Su Cheng no guilt.

He didn’t notice how the horror game on his phone was subtly changing him.

Once, he could never have killed so many and remained so calm.

Perhaps, though, this change was not for the worse.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

As Su Cheng dispatched the last of the Miike-gumi, the white-haired jiangshi was not afraid. Instead, he seemed excited.

“I didn’t expect a master to come for me. Are you with the police?”

He appeared not to care about his minions’ lives, only rising once they were all dead.

Su Cheng drew a deep breath, focusing on the white-haired jiangshi in human skin.

“Do you want to kill me?” The jiangshi sneered. “Futile. Your blade cannot kill me.”

Since becoming a jiangshi, Jun Miike had never been wounded by a mere blade. Even firearms had little effect.

“Talkative for a corpse.”

The next instant, Su Cheng launched himself forward like a leopard, blade slashing across the jiangshi’s chest.

Ghostly power seared the wound like hellfire.

For the first time in ages, pain jolted through the jiangshi’s withered body. Jun Miike’s eyes widened with terror.

Su Cheng could actually hurt him!