Chapter 82: Am I Avoiding Its Edge? Sis, Open the Jar! Gather the Crew!

"Orders from the Grand Admiral: Today, the blades are not to be sheathed!"

"Burn everything! Kill everything! Take everything!"

After the gentry faction's mass exodus, the Five Peaks Banner and the Shanhai Society had already swept through Moon Harbor several times inside and out. Though they knew it was impossible to truly purge the place, they were nonetheless taken aback by the sudden surge of so many Japanese marauders.

In truth, even the marauders themselves had no idea what their leader's talisman, the "Openly Repair the Walkways, Secretly Cross the Chen Warehouse," really was. All they knew was that as they swaggered their way into Moon Harbor, none of the aquatic Guardian Spirits drifting in the outer waters, nor the countless giant sea clams lining the harbor, nor even the treasure tower garrisoned by a supervising official, paid them the slightest heed.

Once the signal came, they erupted all at once, an armed force of eight hundred spreading chaos throughout Moon Harbor. To the Japanese, this was a grand army indeed; after all, in the great campaign on Yingzhou Island just last year, the combined forces of Arakaki, Amano, and Yoshikawa numbered only twenty-five hundred.

The most disciplined and elite units, some fake marauders among them, charged straight for the coastal artillery batteries centered around the treasure tower, intent on demolishing the cannons and pulling the city’s fangs. The rest, a rabble of drifters, howling as they rushed toward the wealthy estates, money houses, and shops to loot their riches.

The antiques street, where nearly half the stores bore the surname Wang, was not spared either. The clerks of Phoenix-Lin Studio sprang up at the first sound of the alarm bell. Head clerk Zhao Jinbao, no stranger to turmoil under his master’s guidance, quickly gathered all the clerks to guard the entrances.

“In our trade, the rules are clear. A man may die, but the goods pawned by our clients cannot be lost! We are of humble station and little strength—other matters are beyond us. But if anyone wishes to take what’s in our vault, they’ll have to step over our bodies first.”

He gripped a bronze-banded yaksha staff and took up his post at the main door. Just as he prepared to peer through a crack in the door to assess the situation outside—

Boom!

With a thunderous crash, the main door was smashed open by a group of marauders wielding a corridor pillar torn from God knows where. Zhao Jinbao barely dodged aside before a heavy blade came crashing down at his head.

“Ha! Thousand Rocks Collapse and Soar!”

Though the old man had never awakened the light of the heart, decades of training with the yaksha staff let him instinctively block the vertical slash. Still, age had sapped his strength, and the force of the blow sent him reeling back, arms wide open and defenseless.

The marauder pressed his advantage with a savage grin, ready to bring the blade down again.

A cold gleam flashed.

The marauder, arms raised high, suddenly found a thin line of blood tracing his throat—then his entire head, along with both arms, tumbled to the floor.

Zhao Jinbao, nearly knocked to the ground, felt a steadying hand catch him.

“Master Zhao, please take a rest. Leave this to the younger generation.”

Wang Cheng strode past him and the other clerks, blade whirling in a dazzling arc as he charged the small squad at the door.

As the marauders roared and threw themselves at him, Wang Cheng flipped his palm to reveal a red incense bead. Using the secret technique "Burning Incense" from the Divine Fragrance Codex, he blew on it forcefully.

The bead ignited instantly, white incense smoke swirling into the forms of several celestial maidens scattering petals over every marauder.

This incense was known as "Imperial Concubine's Chamber Fragrance"—as the name suggests, a treasure of the inner chambers, intoxicating and euphoric, its effect growing stronger the more familiar the company. At once, the marauders glanced at each other with a blush in their eyes, their blades and swords going limp.

Wang Cheng swept through them like the wind, from the front to the rear, unharmed himself, while seven or eight marauders, frozen in place, collapsed in a bloody heap.

Even the corpses were not wasted—he activated the "Universal Treasure" and sold them all, converting their fate into his own fortune.

Meanwhile, from the other end of the street, another of his shops echoed with the sounds of fighting and weeping. Another squad of marauders had broken into Antique Alley, smashing down a gateway, the black lacquered doors hanging askew.

“Damn it! Every coin for repairs comes out of my pocket.”

Wang Cheng, unafraid of stray shots, seized a black lacquered double-curved bow of the Grand Zhao army, swung himself up onto the courtyard wall of Phoenix-Lin Studio, and nocked an arrow. With the eye in his mind, he could pick out any target within a hundred paces in the night’s darkness.

Thwip!

One laughing marauder caught an arrow through his open mouth, the shaft bursting from the back of his skull—dead in an instant.

Arrow after arrow sang through the night, each finding its mark. Marauder after marauder, whether truly Japanese or just bandits disguised as such, fell without ever seeing their assailant.

No longer daring to attack the inner courtyard, their leader cried out, rallying his men to charge out together, gambling on whether Wang Cheng’s arrows were faster than their legs.

As it turned out, the gun was fastest of all.

No sooner had they burst out than they ran straight into Zhang Wen and a group of Wang Cheng’s loyal guards, already assembled in anticipation.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The triple-barreled muskets roared like beans in a pan, felling them all.

Yet more marauders emerged from the darkness.

“Brothers, fight with me! We take no prisoners!”

Wang Cheng led his men forward, sparing none—whether they were locals or marauders, all who came would be cut down.

“Fourth Master, count us in!”

“Brothers, let's help Fourth Master defend our homes!”

The merchants and wealthy families were not all pushovers; many sent their people to join Wang Cheng’s ranks, holding the marauders at bay at the street’s edge.

At the same time, bloody fighting erupted throughout the city. The influx of marauders through the "Openly Repair the Walkways, Secretly Cross the Chen Warehouse" stratagem had indeed caught them by surprise. Not everyone was as prepared as Wang Cheng, nor, even if they were, did they have the strength to face such a crisis.

In that moment, the harsh truth that ordinary people have no choices in the face of disaster materialized in full.

Only the voice of the city’s commander, Superintendent Shen Yuting of the Direct-Year Hall, carried through the wind, steadying nerves:

“Team A, support Zhuma Alley.”

“Teams D and G, to Battery Seven—approximately thirty marauders.”

“Team B—”

Eight hundred marauders alone could only cause a temporary storm, not truly threaten Moon Harbor’s defenses. But as residents and marauders alike fell, the scent of bloodshed became a spark igniting the already boiling cauldron of collective willpower.

All manner of malevolent spirits began to riot across the city.

Thud, thud, thud.

At every door, someone knocked—anyone who dared open up was instantly taken away by the specter known as the "Ghostly Knocker." A black-furred rat, larger than an ox—the "Cat-Eater"—prowled the shadows, devouring anyone born in the Year of the Tiger.

A squad of marauders, hearing frantic footsteps behind them, turned to see nothing but a pair of embroidered shoes walking alone. Anyone who saw them was compelled to match their pace, running until they dropped dead from exhaustion.

The outbreak of malevolent spirits attacked everyone indiscriminately. At the end of Antique Alley, two "Frozen Bones," spirits of the perished, appeared huddled over a fire, and a chill wind swept the entire street.

It must be said, Pu Shouying’s plan to unleash both marauders and spirits had its intended effect. The civilian factions in the port struggled to fend for themselves, the fleets and coastal batteries were isolated, and Moon Harbor’s situation teetered on the brink. The defensive line built by the Shanhai Society was close to breaking.

Zhao Jinbao seized the blood-soaked, still-battling Wang Cheng, pleading earnestly:

“Fourth Young Master, the spirits are strong—perhaps you should bar the doors and bide your time. Your life is worth more than anything.”

Wang Cheng’s lips curled, teeth gleaming white.

“Me, bide my time?”

He turned to the woman appearing at the Phoenix-Lin Studio’s door, as graceful as a lotus upon water.

“Sister Xia, it's time.”

Tonight, the temple attendant was dressed quite unlike her usual self—a white cloak covered her from head to toe, clearly bearing a special mission.

She nodded.

“Very well. The gentry faction’s plot has been fully exposed. Now that they’ve played the spirit card, there’s no taking it back. Let’s go to the Octagonal Tower and open the altar for counteraction.”

At this moment, Shen Yuting, stationed at the treasure tower, relayed new orders through the agency:

“Fugui, Xia, Team C has just cleared the main street. Take your assigned positions immediately and prepare to capture all the spirits. The gentry faction has no cards left to play.”

“Yes!”

Wang Cheng assigned guards to protect Antique Alley, then led his loyal men to escort Yunxiao directly to the Octagonal Tower at the city center.

Passing by two "Frozen Bones," the pure yang life fire of these two seventh-rank officials burned so brightly it reduced the spirits to ashes with a single sweep.

Now, less than an hour remained until the deadline for forging the Dragon Vestment.

On their way, they slew every marauder and spirit they encountered, entering the Octagonal Tower—the very heart of the Eight Directions Agency—without hindrance.

With all the grand admirals gone, only a handful of Five Peaks Banner guards remained here. The rest stayed below; only Wang Cheng and Xia climbed to the top floor, swiftly preparing the ritual altar.

Yunxiao kicked off her embroidered shoes, her fair feet stepping onto the altar, silver bells at her ankle chiming sweetly. She shed her cloak, revealing a sumptuous robe of red and blue, and donned a fierce black mask, hiding her exquisite features.

Burning incense and offering prayers, she intoned:

“Mortal affairs are managed by mortals, the affairs of the dead by spirits and gods. Merciful Lady of Heaven, may your generals heed my call and protect all living souls!”

No sooner had the words left her lips than the treasure tower’s polluted, sealed temple burst forth in a pillar of spiritual radiance, merging with the Eight Directions Agency’s power rooted deep in Moon Harbor.

Yunxiao spun, her skirt swirling, one foot arched like a crescent moon as she leaped lightly into the exorcism dance. At the same time, she began to sing the "Twelve Sorceresses' Chants"—words unintelligible to ordinary ears.

At first, the melody was like swallows in the courtyard, like clear springs flowing; then, suddenly, it bristled with a chilling, murderous energy:

“First devour the ominous, then devour the tiger, then devour the fiends, then devour misfortune. Let the twelve spirits chase all evil, strip your flesh, tear your limbs, sever your meat, draw out your lungs and intestines. If you do not flee, you’ll be food for those who come after!”

Bell after bell rang out.

As she danced, her red skirt fluttered, the silver bells at her white ankles chiming with every step, blending with the rhythm of her hands into an eerie melody. Song, bell, and stamping feet rose and fell together, solemn and sacred, yet with an ineffable otherworldliness, soaring instantly to the heavens.

Gradually, as she shook her head, swayed her arms, and stamped her feet, her whole being became like a delicate marionette, animated by invisible hands, singing and dancing at their command.

Her unique exorcism steps were haunting, beautiful, and tragic all at once—so much so that, even knowing the truth, Wang Cheng’s scalp prickled with fear.

At that moment, Yunxiao appeared to shake her head, but in truth, she was calling the spirits.

The more violently she shook, the fiercer the spirits she summoned.