“How does it feel to watch these people die before your eyes, Lian Xin? I haven’t killed a single one of them—they all did it to themselves,” said Yue Sheng.

By now, over half of the villagers had died under Yue Sheng’s commands. Only five were still alive, and only San Kui was completely unharmed. Everyone else had their legs and left hands broken, though their right hands were left intact—it was so they could wield their knives against one another. Speaking of which, everyone was holding a kitchen knife right now—also distributed by Yue Sheng.

The knives had been procured from the villagers’ own households; Yue Sheng had not touched his own.

The Buddha statue was pitch black and covered in cracks at this point. There was a fissure on its head that had nearly split the entire head in two. Blood was streaming from both of the statue’s eyes, and the young monk outside was already struggling to stay on his feet.

At this point, the few villagers who had survived the ordeal finally...