Chapter Ninety-Three: Launch! The Sixteen Heavenly Demonic Dances, Nine Dragons Spitting Pearls Formation

“At your command!”

Sensing something amiss about the corpse atop the tower, her elite troops held back, leaving only the Corpse Retriever, Cheng Chuantou, to wave his retrieval hook.

Behind him, seven or eight black-robed imperial guards silently stepped forward.

As they shed their robes, pale bluish skin, swollen limbs, and eyes rolled back revealed themselves.

Among them were both men and women, exuding a suffocating stench of decay that was almost nauseating—these were fierce malevolent entities known as the “Evil Wraiths: Deadfallen”!

Cheng Chuantou, the corpse retriever, had mastered the unique “Back-Carrying Technique” to control them.

“Go ahead, clear a path for me!”

Under the direction of the retrieval hook, the Deadfallen stepped forward, grasping the edges of the iron octagonal tower to climb upward. Though their movements seemed sluggish once ashore, their strength was immense.

This time, the situation was entirely different from when Wang Cheng and Yun Xiao had ascended the tower earlier.

Nearby, the corpses hanging like dried fish from the eaves suddenly opened their eyes, staring fixedly at their kin below.

Then, waving and swinging the hooks that clasped their upper jaws, one after another, they began to swing through the air.

As the bell tolled loudly, the Deadfallen were firmly seized by the “dried fish” corpses, their swollen bodies rapidly shriveling before being neatly hung onto the vacant fishing hooks.

Of course, some of the sub-commanders were incredibly brave, tearing apart the “dried fish” that had hung there for an unknown length of time.

But the vast disparity in numbers between the two sides created a qualitative difference in strength; the Deadfallen, who only charged wildly, were quickly wiped out.

However, the hooks, imbued with the resentment of nine dragon spirits, soon realized that after draining the corpses, their bodies contained no trace of dragon qi—only a bone-deep stench of decay.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The bell’s chime echoed across the sky, urgently conveying their fury.

Hidden within the tower’s pavilion, Wang Cheng immediately saw the empty hooks beside him raise their heads like serpents, poised to strike.

One of them suddenly darted straight toward the corpse retriever!

Having arrived at the source of the Nine Dragon River, everyone’s dragon qi had naturally manifested.

The corpse retriever was no exception; his dragon qi took the form of a muddy river carp with two golden whiskers and a golden scale on its tail.

But when he cast his iron hook, it was no longer the leisurely fishing mode using dragon qi as bait, but a violent hooking technique capable of snatching a leaping fish within one-seventh of a second.

“Ah!!!”

A sharp, agonized scream rang out. Everyone turned to see Cheng Chuantou’s upper jaw pierced through by the sharp iron hook.

As the hook was withdrawn, it dragged him, hanging him from the eaves.

Sharp-eyed officials even heard the gurgling sound of water being swallowed. The golden-whiskered carp illusion on his body rapidly faded, and his body shriveled.

He twitched twice mid-air before falling motionless.

Everyone gasped in shock.

Wang Cheng experienced firsthand the wrath of a seasoned angler and sighed:

“They’re fishing for living dragon qi. If you can’t resist the temptation and attacks from the ‘dried fish,’ you die; if you can withstand it, you live. But you tried to cheat by sending a bunch of Deadfallen. What’s the difference between that and shouting right in the angler’s face that you can catch anything but fish?

No wonder it’s furious.”

A rare item appeared on the nearby iron hook—the true emptiness of the nine demon dragons was evident: no consciousness, no memory, no self—only an eternal, unyielding obsession:

“I shall ascend to godhood; why was I slaughtered? Offer me incense and worship! I shall ascend and answer your prayers!”

The name Stone Drum revealed the story’s setting in the ancient pre-Qin era, when ghosts and gods were indistinguishable, and struggles over incense offerings and blood sacrifices were common.

Ghosts and gods who ruled through fear and demanded sacrifices far outnumbered those who protected people.

Demon dragons sought godhood by instilling disasters and intimidating the populace to demand incense offerings—a common if not exceptional practice.

But these nine demon dragons were unlucky to encounter a tough opponent, losing more than they gained.

Even thousands of years later, their obsession remained unbroken.

As long as they received incense offerings, they instinctively responded to their “followers’” wishes.

“Seems promising?”

Wang Cheng glanced at the chaotic pursuers below and took a round paper talisman stamped with a red ingot seal from his treasury.

The talisman was slightly larger than a copper coin, yet felt weighty in hand.

When it touched the iron octagonal tower, it emitted a crisp, jade-like chime.

This was no ordinary paper money but a standard incense offering talisman!

Ordinary yellow paper money, when infused with concentrated incense intention, naturally exuded a divine aura.

One such incense talisman could fetch nearly two taels of silver. When market conditions were favorable, exchanging for one or two taels and a fraction was common.

Few were willing to redeem them, as even high-ranking officials and deities had unlimited demand.

Both the mortal bureaucracy and the divine officialdom adhered to the same principle: wealth was the key to advancement; without it, no chance existed.

This was because the divine officialdom focused on cultivating virtue rather than fate, dependent on human society, requiring fewer resources; otherwise, it would drain the state’s treasury.

Snap!

Wang Cheng slapped an incense talisman onto a hook; the thick incense aura appeared briefly before vanishing, the paper turning to ash and scattering in the wind.

Lowering his voice, he said:

“I want to kill a fifth-rank treasure hoarder. Name your price.”

Paying to hire and command a group of dragon spirit grudges to actively lock onto a target was a bargain no matter how you calculated it.

Doubt, understanding, becoming, surpassing subcontractors—always subcontracting was a joy!

Until he saw the price, which doused his enthusiasm with cold water:

Third rank and below: three thousand to ten thousand; sixth rank: over ten thousand; fifth rank: over fifty thousand.

“Loving money must be a common affliction among dragons worldwide. Their obsession is costly; I, a poor wretch, simply can’t afford it.”

His hopes dashed mercilessly, he noticed the silver in his pouch flicker again.

After a while, Tang Miaofu and her group made new moves.

One of the imperial guards skillfully employed an external martial art seemingly derived from a fusion of Monkey Fist styles called the “Great Sage’s Slash and Hook Fist.” Like a nimble monkey, he leapt upward, grasping the eaves to reach the second level.

Dodging two “dried fish” flanking him, he ascended another level.

Running along the iron eaves, circling the tower to find a defensive weak point, he swiftly reached the fourth level.

Tang Miaofu and her group rejoiced:

“Yes, exactly like that. Don’t clash head-on; use flanking maneuvers.”

Just as he prepared to climb to the fifth level, a pill exuding strong dragon qi fell before his eyes.

Almost instinctively, he kicked off with both legs and bit into it.

At once, he wavered and hung himself from the southeast eave.

“Hiss! Mortals should stop trying. Only officials who have lit their inner lamps can resist the lure of dragon qi.”

After further discussion, another sixth-rank executioner, Wei Zhong, attempted the climb.

He advanced farther, his blade flashing repeatedly, felling countless dried corpses by brute force until he reached the twelfth level.

Ultimately, he was pushed back by the dense tide of corpses above.

“Yin—!”

At that moment, a sharp dragon’s roar resounded from the tower’s summit.

Wang Cheng crouched and glanced behind, noting the sunset and moonrise—the time had reached midnight on the first day of the second lunar month.

Yun Xiao’s transformation, stimulated by the impending “Dragon Raises Its Head” celestial phenomenon, accelerated. Within the white light cocoon, a figure undergoing violent change was reflected.

This meant Yun Xiao had reached her most vulnerable, powerless state.

“Not good, the Dragon Maiden is about to break free.”

The West Lake Boat Maiden, Tang Miaofu, uncertain how long the transformation would last, could no longer restrain herself and took action.

With a twirl, scattering a flurry of peach petals, she was clad in a sheer, pale blue and pink dance dress, holding a golden plate-shaped wooden gourd, barefooted.

She lifted a long leg, dancing gracefully.

Her veil was light as smoke, thin as cicada wings, fluttering with her movements.

Gold-threaded lotus flower and scripture patterns embroidered on the veil shimmered like rippling water over her fabric and skin with every twist.

Her fire-red painted toes lightly touched the eave’s edge, and she stood poised on the first level.

On her crystalline, fair bare feet was a long red ribbon, making her seem to float like stepping on a red cloud.

With each step, tiny golden bells hanging from fine ankle chains jingled like water droplets falling on jade plates.

Her arms moved elegantly, fingertips like blooming orchids or gently parting lotus petals—truly a spectacle of spinning pearls and swaying stars, flowering vines trembling like dragons and snakes.

Her flying swallow plate and noble gourd were not burdens but perfect props.

Every smile and frown exuded ultimate charm. Anyone witnessing her dance—man, woman, or even a boneless earthworm—would transform into a sacred sword of physics, standing in respectful salute.

Even the corpses hanging from the eaves showed undisguised infatuation, retracting their raised claws.

Wang Cheng’s rare item scan revealed the secret of this dance:

“The last emperor of the Yúnméng Empire, Hui Zong Borjigin Tuohuan Tiemuer, indulged in pleasures, commissioning sixteen palace maids—San Shengnu, Miaole Nu, Wenshu Nu, among others—to perform the 'Sixteen Heavenly Demon Dances.'

They predicted the fall of the kingdom: ‘Who dares question the Heavenly Demon Maiden, singing the Chen Gong Jade Tree song?’

Even in flight from a fallen kingdom: ‘The felt carts carry Heavenly Demon magic; only orioles hold imperial garden flowers.’

If the mightiest empire’s sovereign could be so bewitched, imagine the power of this exotic art, the 'Sixteen Heavenly Demon Dances.'

Warning: This dance attacks the five senses. Only by blocking the senses can one resist.”

Wang Cheng quickly closed his eyes, using only his “mind’s eye” to perceive, turning everything into black and white lines.

He then tried spending a hundred incense talismans to buy from the Nine Dragon hooks a shriveled “dried fish” skin drained of dragon qi, which surprisingly concealed his own dragon aura.

Silently, he hung a hook chain on himself and slipped down the tower’s side.

“Heavenly Demon Dance, the banquet begins, camel humps, horse’s milk, and lamb fetuses.

Crystal plates reveal white scales, tortoise shell mats raise swans!

If you dare, come kill me then. Hehehe.”

Tang Miaofu now resembled a bewitching femme fatale who had captivated a king, her peach blossom eyes tender and moving, her iron heart melting to silk.

She breezed through the second, fourth, eighth, twelfth, and sixteenth levels effortlessly.

She was about to reach the wellhead to seize the Dragon Maiden when she suddenly noticed a corpse descending from below.

Perhaps emboldened by lust in life, and now in death as well, the rotten, desiccated corpse tried to touch her smooth calf.

Even an old beggar might have been tolerable before—but a decayed, dried-out corpse? She thought better of it.

Turning away with disgust, she prepared to ascend from the other side.

Suddenly, alarm bells rang in her mind!

A low shout sounded in her ear: “Beauty, undress!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of cold light in the corpse’s hand—and a lightning-fast “Divine Quick Draw Slash”!

She had seen this move before on the fake Japanese leader Pu Shouyan under her skirt.

Within seven paces, even full concentration made it nearly impossible to defend against, let alone a surprise attack.

The West Lake Boat Maiden’s perfect form was cleaved by Wang Cheng’s ruthless blade.

In a hurried dodge, a jade-like calf and the delicate foot adorned with jingling gold bells flew into the air.

“Ah—!”

Tang Miaofu screamed in pain, her enchanting Sixteen Heavenly Demon Dance instantly broken, nearly falling dozens of meters.

From all directions, the corpses’ claws surged forward, eager to feast on this irresistible bait.

In her ear came the mocking voice she despised:

“Sorry, I told you, I really have read the Spring and Autumn Annals.”

Then another slash severed one of the boat maiden’s arms.

Tang Miaofu let out a ghostly, piercing scream:

“Wang! Fortune! Glory—!”

At this critical moment,

A ray of dragon power, deep and solemn, shot from the Nine Dragon River, bathing the iron tower’s hooks and corpses in purple divine light.

Pu Shouying’s grim voice sounded:

“Decree: Set!”

Within the purple light, a fist-sized dragon pearl transformed into a purple sunwheel, from which nine illusory rivers surged forth, linking the earth’s veins, the Nine Dragon River’s water dragon veins, and the East Sea’s sea-eye at the celestial-sea boundary.

Looking up, the time had passed midnight. The Nine Dragon Pearl-Spitting Formation, born to drain the dragon qi of the East Sea, had already aligned with the celestial phenomenon of the second day of the second lunar month, poised for action.